maxine

The trip was great! I used Bob's "Monument to Monument" cue sheet. I was a bit worried about getting lost on the trail parts of the ride, but I didn't have any trouble. Bob, the "landmark cues" (basketball hoops, baseball field, etc.) were especially helpful.

I left my place around 12:45 on Friday. I figured the easiest way for me to jump onto Bob's route was to follow my commute route to work, and then head west on MD 175 unitl I hit Brock Bridge Road. That meant that I had to ride on 175 from Reece to Brock Bridge . . . and what a miserable 2-ish miles that was!! But I knew it would be, so I was mentally prepared.

I was pleasantly suprised at how nice Brock Bridge was to ride on. I sooooo wanted to take pictures of the prison complex when I rode through, but I didn't want to piss off the guard tower guys (or have them think I was acting suspiciously!)

While stopped at the red light to get on Muirkirk, a guy pulled up in the next lane, sporting Elvis sideburns and Elvis sunglasses, and riding a teeny tiny scooter-type contraption. He said "Hey, wanna race?" I just smiled and said no, but I was thinking, if I didn't have 16 pounds of crap on the bike, I'd almost take you up on that . . . He asked about a dozen questions (about my bike, my helmet, my helmet light, my trip, etc. etc.) He finished up with "I get 100 mpg on this thing! How many do you get?" "I get *infinite* miles per gallon!"

Stopped at another red light, on Edmonston. There were three lanes; I was the first in line in my lane. It wasn't a turn-only lane, but it was possible to turn right, so as is my habit when I'm first and going straight, I scooted my bike over to the left so that if a car came up and wanted to turn right on the red light, he would have room to get by me and not have to wait for me to move on the green. I was just chilling, leaning on my forearms on the handlebar top, when all of a sudden I hear a long horn blast right behind me. What in the hell? I turn around, and there's this guy, 95 years old if he's a day, in an ancient gold Chrysler Something-or-Other, scowling at me from behind his Mr. Magoo glasses. I just stared, dumbfounded, and then turned back around -- didn't say anything, didn't do anything, just back to leaning and chillling. A minute later, he pulls up alongside me and starts yelling. I couldn't really hear him -- the oncoming traffic was too loud -- but I caught "you" and "lane." When he took a breath, I said, very kindly and calmly, "Sweetheart, you have PLENTY of room to go around me." He glared a few seconds more, and then took off to the right. I returned yet again to leaning and chilling. Then the middle-aged lady in the huge SUV in the lane to my left, through her open passenger window, started yelling, "He shouldn't even be on the road!! What's wrong with him! I always give respect to cyclists!" And more stuff, a lot of which I couldn't hear, either. It was, overall, a surreal encounter.

The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Ironically enough, once I got to downtown DC, I kept getting stuck in traffic; it really slowed me down! I was on Madison, the small road that runs between the museums and the Mall, and it was choked with tour buses and such, so I didn't want to squeeze between them and the parked cars. I tried riding on the gravel path, but that was slow slogging, too, plus I had to dodge pedestrians. I hit every blessed red light between Catholic University and Georgetown.

I rolled up to our hotel, at which there is valet parking only ($30 a day!) unless you want to try to find something on the street. The bell dude came over, and I said, "Um, I'm checking in, but I don't have a car . . . is there someplace that I can lock my bike?" He looked amazed, but then said to follow him around the corner to the underground parking garage. He and I wandered around for a while, but there was literally nothing down there to which I could have attached my lock. Finally, he said "Can you squeeze the bike by this car? Back here is the housekeeping supply closet, and only the bell captains have keys, we can keep it locked in here for you." The kid kept apologizing, and I said "That's fine, I just really appreciate you finding a place for me to keep it!" He said "We don't get a lot of people showing up on bikes." I said "Yeah, I bet not." So my bike spent the weekend in the closet with the ironing boards and such.

My Pittsburgh friends arrived about an hour later, so I had time to shower and change and get settled. It was decided (I forget how) that we would go to the "Wonderland Ballroom" for food and beers. This place is in Columbia Heights, and our DC friends who were joining us told us "The bar is okay, but *DO NOT* leave the bar on foot!" (It was pretty clear on the cab ride over that this bar is in what urban cheerleaders like to call a "transitional" neighborhood, LOL!)

Saturday was sightseeing day. One of my Pittsburgh friends had never been to DC, so we walked all over the Mall checking out all the war memorials and such, and then walked back to Georgetown. I caculated it later on Streets & Trips: she and I walked 5.3 miles on Saturday.

Saturday night was dinner at the Old Ebbitt Grill (very good!) and beers at the Pour House on Capitol Hill. I was pretty tired, though, and had had a low-grade headache almost all day; my friend was pooped, too, so we headed back to the hotel fairly early.

I left Sunday morning. I told the bell dude on duty that my bike was in the housekeeping closet; he, like the first bell dude, looked at me like I had two heads, and then went off to find the keys. I expected him to come back and get me; instead, he came in through a back door, rolling my bike through the lobby. I attracted quite a bit of attention as I stood on sidewalk attaching my panniers. The bell dude asked me a bazillion questions, and a guy and his wife came up -- the guy was a cyclist, said he was doing the Columbia Triathlon -- and he was quizzing me, too. It took me about 15 minutes to actually get out of there, at about 10:30, I think.

There was an immigration reform rally getting started on the Mall; there were lots of people milling around, but they were mostly in the center. I decided to make a stop at one of the multitude of Port-O-Pots that was lining the walkway. Afterward, I was fiddling with the bike a bit when I heard someone say "Excuse me!" I didn't think they were talking to me, so I didn't pay much mind, but then I heard "Excuse me, do you have a pump?" I looked up, looked behind me -- yeah, they were talking to me. It was a family, with dad pushing one of the kids in one of those three-wheeled jogger carriage things, and all three tires were completely flat. I got my Topeak Road Morph pump out of the pannier, and then proceeded to totally screw up, as I ALWAYS do , the process of converting it from Presta to Schrader. (Fortunately, I keep a small cheat sheet in my bike bag on how to do it; and, yes, I finally gave up and consulted it. ) They were extremely grateful. My good deed for the day done, I set off again.

Now, Bob's directions for returning home start from the Old Post Office; I didn't think about that, and just started heading back toward Union Station, the way I had come in. I got a bit confused near the circle, and got on the sidewalk to stop and peruse the maps and the Bike Washington cue sheet. While I was standing there, a Swiss guy and his wife and son came up; the guy started asking me heavily-accented questions and taking notes about my Trek 520. ("It is steel? It came with that kind of shifter? Did it come with the rack and bags?") He was asking where he could buy one in the States (much cheaper to buy it here and ship it to Switzerland than to buy it there.) I guess he'd been living here a while -- in Miami -- and was getting ready to head back home.

(I noticed this on my bike camping trip last year to Gifford Pinchot State Park, too. People seemed utterly fascinated by the bag-laden bike, and would without hesitation or preamble just walk right up to me and start talking.)

On the way out of town I stopped to walk around the grounds of the Basilica at Catholic University, and as I was doing that, I spied in the near distance the tops of the golden domes of the national Ukrainian Catholic church shrine. I knew it was somewhere in the same area as the Basilica, but I hadn't realized it was that close. I rode over to it -- it ended up being only about a quarter of a mile away -- and checked it out. I had taken my Ukrainian grandmother to visit the shrine quite a few years ago, but I hadn't been back since. They had just finished the liturgy, and were having an Easter bake sale in the basement, so I bought a tasty pastry.

The rest of the ride home was pleasant and uneventful; by the time I hit Fort Meade, though, with about 5 miles left, I was *so* ready for a cool shower and the couch! I have not ridden much at all since shortly before the snowstorms, and boy could I tell! The route from my house to Georgetown was 40 miles. There were a few semi-nasty (8-9%) hills, although thankfully they were pretty short, and a few more in the 5-6% range.

Like Barry, I worry that I'm just too slow to ride with you guys on the canal trip. I averaged only 10 mph on both legs. Now, it's true that the DC traffic slowed me down horribly for the last leg of my in-bound trip, and that I was doing a lot of dawdling on the way out of town, and of course I was carrying 16 pounds of stuff in the rear panniers. But still. That is pretty damn slow! But I just enjoy having other folks to hang around with and enjoy the post-ride relaxation; I don't mind riding on my own and getting to the destination an hour later than everyone else. I hate slowing anyone else down. And I do love me some dawdling, if I'm riding past pretty or interesting stuff.

We could not have asked for better weather for the weekend; it was fantastic! Perfect for both biking and walking-around sightseeing. As it was POURING down rain Monday, I was thinking how lucky I'd been, and how happy that I didn't have to ride home in that! I really enjoyed the entire trip.