two for two

My first commute since the sickness, and first since daylight savings. So dark and stormy! The lad stayed upright the whole way, but not me – a couple miles into it, cornering of course, I hit a metal plate in the street and then executed a supremely dignified slide and tip, bonking my (already bum) knee into the curb on my way down. Lovely! It’s such a sickly feeling, knowing you’re doomed and just wondering how bad it’s going to be. And if you’re me, mentally apologizing to your dedicated orthodontist for taking such risks after all those miserable metal-mouthed years, and appealing to the fair and just gods of cycling to take you if they must, but for pete’s sake let your skeleton keep a set of straight teeth! It’s called priorities, people. Luckily it wasn’t a bad spill, and the rest of the ride was uneventful. So, for those keeping score, that’s two rides, two crashes. Winter, you’re winning so far! But the war is far from over…I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. First and foremost – I wonder if Surly sells training wheels?

Commuter Roosters

My what a brisk morning it was! Relatively light out, too. Rumor (weather dudes) had it that we’d be seeing 62-ish degrees, so I was bound/determined to ride. Down at Lake Forest Park I pulled in behind a commuter biker and we pulled up to the red light.

Rather than the blood-letting ferocity of wanna-be racers or Lycra’d logo monkeys, a commuter rivalry, clad in REI-branded gear, bright yellow jackets, lots of layers etc, is much more of a sedate scene… sort of like eunuch roosters circling the barnyard mumbling cock-a-doodle-doos sotto voce, everything steeped in passive-aggressivity, but to get to the point I did bide my time and decided to burst past on that slight hill just before the old Sandpoint navy base… Strangely enough, the same guy did a jerk off move on me on the ride home–I’d stopped to let some walkers cross the Burke, it does say YIELD after all, and I need my pedestrian kindness merit badge, but he pulled out in front of me in the middle of the intersection… grrr. I didn’t wait very long this time to blow past ‘im. Hmph.

Another exhausting day filled with moments of joy scattered among hours of frustration… I hate being so behind the curve, myself and dept, that I’m/we’re constantly in excuse making mode, ugh… the nice ride home. Just at the purplish sunset. I pulled into the line of cars outside my building and another bike arrived, saying “Hey that looks like a Paris-Brest-Paris bike!” And I said, “Sometimes the Burke Gilman feels just like that!” Which, really, now that I think about it, was sort of stupid.

Had to stop off in Wedgwood to pick up some drugs for the pup… no, that’s not a euphemism, Mr. Sniffers. Up to that point, however, I had been blazing along, close to 19mph, feeling really, really good. The saddle height change has helped so much, I feel like I can really push things whereas before was more tepid rather than intrepid. Got off in Wedgwood, as I said, oh don’t dare spell it Wedgewood! and pulled up the 95th hill… oi! what a right bastard that hill is, especially without a shoulder. To cry on.

Got to the vet, picked up the drugs, got back to the intersection and made a snap decision: rather than retreating back down the hill to the Burke, I would instead follow 35th down to Lake City Way, and therefore on to Lake Forest Park. It was terrifying and exciting. Shading towards more terrifying. I followed 35th down, playing tag with a stupid Metro bus that had to stop every other block. Then I followed a back street off of 35th and get back on to Lake City Way around that Taco Smell, just before the strip clubs. After stopping off to help judge the waitress contest (oooh, I don’t know, they’re all so nice!) I ventured on to LCW. At one point, doing about 40mph with traffic whizzing by and hardly any shoulder (to cry on) I hit a drainage/drain kind of bump and the violence was such I almost lost control of the bars… everything was dark, uncertain, flashing lights, high speeds, one big blur and then before I knew it I was in Lake Forest Park, just in time to catch the cross walk sign.

Yeah, I probably won’t do the Lake City Way route again in complete darkness during rush hour with crabby car drivers… however I did earn my ‘real urban street commuter’ merit badge.

sick & wrong

Want to hear something sad? While the lad has been gallivanting around Lake Washington and enjoying this last little bit of fall sunshine, I’ve been stuck inside, pale and fragile, struck with the flu bug. I’m not asking for sympathy…actually, yes I am. Give me some sympathy! It’s so nice out there today:

too. weak...to open curtains...

I should be out there on the Surly, but instead here I lie, buried under blankets, overpowered by cats:

This little heat vampire loves it when I have a fever.

I’m running out of things to do in here! Though I’m thinking I might start writing to prisoners for some human interaction. Mostly because there’s been a Law & Order marathon on, and I feel I’ve gained a lot of insight into the criminal mind. Also, Ice-T rules.

He is the OG.

He sure has come a long way since Breakin’, hasn’t he? While I’m catching up with my heroes, let me see what Ms. Stewart is up to:

is that dude giving Martha the finger?!

Oh Martha, your clipped speech is like a soothing balm to my achy temples. Except when you laugh, then I get scared. Time to turn off the teevee.

I just noticed that my kleenex box looks like this:

Flowers! Whose mean idea was it to decorate kleenex boxes with pictures of the things you can no longer smell?? For shame.

Uh oh, the cat’s coming back and he’s not taking no for an answer. Time to accept my fate as a couch-dweller. Farewell, outside friends..remember me fondly.

scritch.

The Feral Free-For-All of the First Daylight Savings Commute

Speaking of not reading my own blog – didn’t I previously say something about not riding to work the first commute after Daylight Savings? It was nuts out there. Especially through the U-District. Legions of Suzy Students riding with massive U-locks in one hand, the other on the bar of their bike replete without a stitch of lighting. Legions of Polly and Pauly P.E. kids out for a fun run jog-a-thon, including the determined “we’re going to run three abreast so screw you” types, together with their charmingly sudden, inexplicable speed ups and stops, not to mention psychotic grad student types who suddenly take 90-degree turns as they decide they’re late for their dang bus after all. Sheesh.

The first day after Daylight Savings already is like a bunch of dyslexic bats that find themselves in the middle of an Air Force electronic counter measure test, like the first night of a nerdy summer school where everyone’s playing uncertainly with flashlights and all the usual pecking order criteria isn’t established or is summarily suspended due to the total darkness and unfamiliar surroundings… without, uh, the complications listed above. Basically, it’s a big adjustment.

My main thing about the bikers that don’t think they need lighting? That think having reflectors will save them? What happens if they run into another similarly idiotic rider who is also un-illuminated? I’m cranky cuz there’s nothing worse than going to the trouble of having headlamps, cruising along the totally tunnel-like Burke and then seeing thru the murk some sudden emerging bike 10 feet away, thanks to the millimeter reflectors on their Nikes.

However, not to be cranky, it’s really kind of fun to be in that tunnel, craning your neck forward, mentally mapping the bumps and irregularities of the Burke and trying to anticipate. There were many, many miles where I was the only rider around. Like an old two-lane highway in Nevada, this sense of point-to-point dependence, a complete lack of interstitial meaning.

Sweet November Ride

If this is any indication of what November holds in store for us, and I’m prepared to believe/hope it is, then we’re off to a great month. October seemed to be entirely full of rain with a few spells of mere drizzle.

Just before the University Bridge

The water mitigation service came by today to pick up all the equipment – as our drywall had cleared up, so had the sky. I thanked him, hurried him out the door, threw on the bike togs and took off. Surlylady couldn’t come because she’s got the flu – I think I made enough sympathetic noises as I velcro’d the shoes on and pedaled out into the gorgeous day. And when I say gorgeous I mean just that – perfect day, perfect weather, not too cold, not too warm (wore a t-shirt and arm warmers the entire time). A long time ago our buddy KonaLad had devised a route that included a stretch through downtown Seattle, along 5th avenue, down to the I-District, across to the I-90 bridge…

I-90 bridge looking North

I-90, looking at a cloud

thru the Mercer Slough, up through the heartery of downtown Bellevue, up along the 520 highway and then on to the Sammamish Trail in order to loop back around Lake Washington through Bothell and Lake Forest Park and then back home. The first time we ever did this, starting from work on a Friday in June of 2008, I just about died about 15 miles from home. I believe I blogged about it… awkward silence. You know, way down there t’ward the beginning. Anyway, it became our go-to arduous training ride after that. Once I even remember carrying along my old Brooks saddle in a pannier because I was trying out the newer Brooks Imperial. It’s in blog post too… awkward silence. Fine, let’s just talk about today.

Bellevue, just before the worst hill of the day

At one point this ride, around 57 miles, became too easy/not interesting enough for the ‘Lady and me; in truth we instead gained a yen for the lovely lines of the Skagit Valley and up around Snohomish. So, at one point a killer tough ride for us, then somewhat tame, and now today killer again. I figured all those rolling hills in Mercer Island and Bellevue would be good for my rehabbing (keep in mind I haven’t done anything more than 40 miles since the collar bone). And I was right, today’s ride kicked my butt.

Sammamish Trail in fall colors

Surprisingly, I was able to average a fairly good rate. In fact, when I got home SurlyLady seemed shocked to see me so early – usually it takes us about 6 hours to do this but I’d done it in about four-and-a-half. There were periods, even toward the end, when I was able to average 20mph. However – for hubris avoidance (don’t want any more spills/karma) I’ll admit I’m in terrible shape. The back, the neck, general muscle strength… blech. But this was a small step back to form, a return to our humble beginnings. The other day while laying awake stressing about work the SurlyLady suggested I come up with a new biking goal – something such as doing one more century before the year is out. So that’s what I’m doing, today’s ride the first in a series of training rides of longer lengths until a century – weather permitting. I’m also hoping to pass 5000 miles for the year, but I should have no problem with that as I’m only 300 away.

This will all be in prep for next year:

1. Seattle Randonneur winter series
2. Chilly Hilly (?)
3. Ride at least 4 days per week for May commuter month
4. Do the full 100 mile Flying Wheels, with a 35 mile commute to it
5. STP in one day – 210 miles
6. Ride around Puget Sound – 170 miles in one day
7. High Pass Challenge

Should keep me busy!

On a final note, I’m writing this from our new iMac. A couple of months ago I got a music royalty check that was enough for a new computer. I thought I’d save it and wait for the next generation to come out, and I’m so glad I did… these are sweet machines! I can’t believe how much faster it is; for instance, editing these pix in Photoshop was astonishingly faster. I estimate the ‘Lady and I will save half an hour a day, at least, just in speed savings. We went from a 1GB/100GB machine to this 8GB/1TB monster, with the nicest screen I’ve ever used. Amazing how things change. I still remember the iMac we bought in 1999, how thrilled I was with that. I imagine in 10 years, when I’m mental-interfacing through these old blog posts (… awkward silence…) I’ll come across this entry and a smile might twitch until an angry instant impulse from my boss triggers an alarm in my nerve center, auto-triggering my stomach juices to produce more acid and placing an electronic purchase order for a bottle of Pepto.

On a truly final note, I have a new book I’m in love with – what’s with all these awesome contemporary authors churning out such good shit? Dang. Anyway, it’s called The Manual of Detection, by Jedediah Berry. There’s a sparse style, fitting with the sort of anonymous-cryptic-bureaucracy vibe, a bureaucracy not so much Kafka as Brazil, although a more straightforward 1930s-ish Americana rather than Terry Gilliam dystopia. This book, along with the Sacco and Vanzetti Must Die! – I highly recommend.

Hydroplaning on a bed of wet leaves

What a week!

It ended well. I got some very good news at work today. Even better, I went out on a bit of a limb with the department I’m leading, sort of a calculated gamble, and it paid off much better than I’d been hoping. Some sprinkes of good amid a trainwreck of a week at work. We’re under the gun, it’s crisis time, we’re trying to prioritize the crises as more crises arise-s and I’m having to coordinate, interview and hire contractors, figure out a way to spend most of but not overspend a million-plus budget – all whereas just a few weeks ago I was barely able to tie my own shoes, metaphor-manager-ically speaking. Stress city and 50, 60 hour weeks – sounds like a recipe for riding to work!

Except…

Wednesday, waking at 5:15 to let the pup water the lawn I stepped into a lake of water in the back part of our house… what the flood? I said. She just cocked an ear and gave me this look like ‘yer screwed dude’. Next up were about five hours of frantic trying to turn the damn water off at the meter (need to get one of those long leveraging key things), watching the water heater continue draining its 50 gallons, jury-rigging a Rube Goldberg contraption to route the hot water draining into a nearby shower, grabbing the wet-dry vac and realizing oh yeah I need to put a filter on that thing and instead grabbing two dust pans and scooping water with one into the other, calling the plumber, plumber saying “hmm in twenty years I’ve never seen a water heater do that before”, plumber saying “you need to call a water mitigation service, with this much water, all that drywall is going to rot, you might lose that tile, etc” and then working with SurlyLady to haul all of the bike room and random junk out of that room and into the garage.

So that ruined the ride for Wed, not to mention denting our savings account. New water heater and three days of house-shaking dehumidifiers and driers later, things are looking better. They had to put some sort of ‘inject-a-dry’ system to dry the walls from the inside, but anyway we’re close to back to normal. Thursday’s ride was off as well, due to having to be present to meet all these folks.

Friday then, and we’re thrilled to be back on the bikes. Unfortunately, for one brief period we weren’t!

The Burke was October-customarily wet and completely dark. I remember smiling as we pedaled off through our neighborhood – I needed this so badly. Somewhere past Sandpoint, with me in the lead, I suddenly felt my back wheel slip. Then fishtail. It all happened in a hurry but I do remember split-second thinking, yeah, even disc brakes aren’t going to help when traction is so bad yer hydroplaning. I was in that indecisive wobble second where it seemed I might go down either on the right side or left, because hitting the deck was now a foregone conclusion, and so I let out a very manly sounding Nooooo and thrust all my weight to the left in order to save the right collarbone and crashed, sliding about 10 feet. SurlyLady said “Oh shit” or something like that and crashed into my back wheel, knocking it from the frame and then doing a soft slide crash landing of her own. She popped up quickly so I was happy to see that. When I followed suit I was surprised, pleasantly, to find I hadn’t broken anything this time. The bike was a little more scary looking – at first when I tried putting the wheel back in I was having problems and thought that maybe I’d bent the frame but it was just a case of cold fumble finger. Had to bend the fender stays a bit, but other than that not a scrape on her, aside from the chewed up skewer handle. I think shoulder and saddle bag took the brunt of the fall. I wasn’t even all that dirty, come to think of it. I think the bed of wet leaves, while causing the fall, also cushioned it enough.

On the ride home I had to leave early and crank as fast as possible in order to meet the water damage folks at 5:30. Past Sandpoint and closer to Lake Forest Park I came across a strange scene: a squirrel, surprised on a section of the Burke that’s closed in with bushes, running ahead of and then beside me for a good twenty feet, me hitting the brakes, wondering how this was going to end, thinking the Adelaide pup would love to be with me watching this squirrel, until he found a suitable hopping off spot and did so.

It’s been a squirrely week.

rain, again

This morning, I got up to let the dog out and it was raining so hard that the dog just looked up at me, crossed her legs and shook her head no. I went and casually informed the mister that it was storming with such ferocity as to portend the end of days, and that our likelihood of death by drowning would increase by about 1500% the second we stepped out the door, and then nonchalantly added that I’d still be up for riding to work, if he was. I was half-hoping—no, let’s be honest, whole-hoping—that he’d be the one to wuss out and say “Nay, it is far too dangerous to attempt a two-wheeled commute on a day such as this. Instead, let us retreat to the moist haven of the overheated bus.” And since this was a fantasy, he’d then say “Come to think of it, you need to get more sleep and see more matinees. What’s say you quit your job and live a life of leisure, while I support the both of us in the manner to which we’ve grown accustomed.” Of course by this point the lad was snapping me out of it, fully dressed and ready to head out into the deluge. Dangit.

It was dumping but good, but it’s funny—once I’m soaked through and past the point of caring, there’s something about the stormy, before-sunrise Burke this time of year that really appeals to my adolescent love of creeping myself out. It’s pitch black, almost completely deserted, with rain waterfalling loudly through the leaves above and the wet leaves below making an eerie dull-knife-slicing sound. As the miles roll by, it gets psychologically interesting. Like sensory depravation with a teensy bit of waterboarding mixed in for good measure. By the time I get to the UW, I’m ready to talk! To myself, at least. Sadly, myself is not a very good conversationalist.

Anyway, where was I? Sopping, sniffling and splashing into work, hanging wet woolies wherever I could (sorry about that, coworkers), wondering what the ride home would be like. And what do you know! It was dry and mostly blue skies. Which is really good news for the poor dog’s bladder.

Bike Fit Therapy Blues for a Dumb Ass

What a week. My manager is gone, last day (or really hour) was Friday. Bit of limbo to be sure but early indications are that the status quo will remain, i.e. myself, the lower manager, filling the gap upward of one and 13/15 headcount, with the manager above helping out for that 2/15 th’s part. I don’t complain that much about all of this, surprising even me (and likely surprising SurlyLady who’ll be rolling her eyes), but I think it’s cuz I recognize this has been a period of forced growth, and I am definitely the type that learns more quickly that way, i.e. cut off those apron strings and let me go and fail and flail a little bit then boom I’m running smooth for six months then I’ll get bored and look for something else to do.

In spite of all the work shenanigans, Friday was a two-appointment day – one in the morning to return a 24-hour blood pressure monitor, the other in the afternoon to get a bike fitting at my physical therapy clinic on First Hill. First the blood pressure monitor. Ugh. Kept me up pretty good Thursday night. You wear one of those BP cuffs on your upper arm, tethered to a smallish unit that, at 15 minute intervals, performs an inflation and BPM/BP routine. At night it cycles down and does it infrequently, but enough to make the whole sleeping thing hellish. Even worse was the ride in the morning – according to the tech at the hospital, oh yeah you can wear that cycling, no problem! What she failed to say was that in the middle of exertion, having a torture device come on every 10 minutes or so (it came on more frequently because I think BP drops during exertion, or maybe I was only imagining the stepped-up frequency) that squeezes your arm so hard it goes numb, and you have to pull your hand down to your side because touching anything at all is too much. This all sounds so exaggerated but I think what was happening was that after 24 hours of my left arm getting squeezed periodically it was going over the top. One of the last sessions, just before I called a taxi (raining, had to deliver a 3 hour presentation/work session in half an hour), I watched as my left hand almost doubled in size, became a deep chestnut red color and had veins popping up all over the place… so glad to take that off. I wouldn’t recommend riding with one unless it’s daylight out – on the dark Burke, having to go one handed to pass around people and prepare for unseen roots was a bit challenging.

Later that day, glad to leave the building as the gossip vultures circled regarding the news of my manager as it started to circulate, I jumped into my bikey clothes and onto the Poprad and rode a little over a mile to First Hill. Walked my bike into the reception area and smack dab into the coolest bike fitter therapists ever. I had two, each representing a different ’school’ of thought on bicyling and physical therapy (Dutch versus Flemish perhaps) – an instant ’second opinion’ as I quipped and they dutifully laughed at. To get down to the essentials, I was in there secondarily to talk about the shoulder (still having pains) but primarily due to the knee. Ever since I started riding I’ve paid no attention to lactic acid thresholds (something about dairy intolerance?) or VO2 max threshold (hair spray?)… I’ve read the articles in Bicycling Magazine, nodded my head, and understood not a word. In my world, I have only been concerned with KPT – knee pain threshold. Friday then, I was going to get the benefits of two physical therapists who had each been trained as bike fitters – a mix of mechanics and pain. Perfect!

As I was saying, I pulled in and we swapped out the skewer (amid bike talk, the main therapist liked my Carradice, buddy flaps, Brooks saddle, Speedplay Frogs, Schwalbe tires… she apparently recommends the Frogs and Brooks as often as possible) and hopped up on the trainer. Immediately she noticed the Brooks has a nice dimple on the right side only. Apparently not only is the Brooks great for short and long rides, etc, but it’s the only seat, including the Selle Anatomica, that is actually anatomic-forensic friendly. In this case, my bully right cheek showed that I possibly have one leg shorter than the other, a condition my dad enjoys. Hmm. And it’s on the right side. And my right knee is the one that always hurts. Hmm.

First off, while on the trainer, they spotted that my handlebars are way too wide, ‘pparently cross-bars are nice and wide for leverage when sprinting through the mud etc, or possibly the 44cm size is just a lowest/highest common production bike denominator. She recommended a 40cm, after measuring my shoulders in front, back and with arms straight out front (zombie pose). Secondly, they saw right away that the seat post was wrong. They raised it up quite a bit, several centimeters. I could tell a huge difference. Not satisfied they raised it another centimeter. Wild. I never dreamed I was off that much. Guess my home school measuring is about a good as you could expect. One trick for measuring (the two therapists used two, one a bend-enabled sort of compass plastic thing held up to the knee) is to have your crank arm at a parallel angle to the ground, pedal out in front. Take a plumb and line and the tip of the knee should line up with the center of the pedal spindle (Knee Over Pedal Spindle, KOPS). My left was okay, the right was bad. Good KOPS, bad KOPS. Raising the seat sort of evened out the differences between the two legs, I guess for a relative ideal. I was curious to how raising the seat height could help with the knees. Their explanation, and it’s a good one: Stand with feet held shoulder width apart, but feet placed as far behind the knees as possible. Bend down. It hurts. I can’t even do a couple. Move the feet forward, keeping the relative width the same, and it’s much better. You get the same squat motion executed, but the pressure on the knees isn’t as bad. Next up was some pedal technique eyeballing from straight ahead to see deviation from the up-down mean. And boy did I have some deviation! The right leg, unsurprisingly, had a tendency to flop all over the place. I had noticed this in a spin class once while I was checking myself out in the mirror, saying, Oh yeah, you’re the guy, keep on pedaling, Travolta? Ain’t shit. Mel Gibson? Val Kilmer? Don’t ask. Julian Sands? Who? The therapists explained that this was causing the knee pain. In spite of all the mitigating steps (pun) I’d taken, Speedplay Frog for maximum float, trying to stick with a high cadence spinning style in easier gears, it still wasn’t enough. Essentially my problem is I have a dumb ass, i.e. the right cheek especially isn’t working the way it should, and the foot is compensating, either for being a shorter leg or for the relatively weak hip action, meaning the knee is flopping left to right. On top of that, the seat height was way too low, and so even though I wasn’t putting pressure on the knee (mitigating steps) it was getting ground between two out-of-synch forces, the foot and the hip. Curiously, the two therapists each had a school of thought about the Frogs; one felt they allow too much float, that something like SPDs enforces the good stuff whereas Frogs encourage laziness; the other felt that Frogs are great for the float, and to really fix my knee problem it’s not the pedal, it’s the hip/core/abdominal and strength/pedal training and technique). They had me do some one-legged pedaling (what is the sound of? ideally, it’s the sound of a constant pitch whir with no speedup/slowdowns or dead spots) and hot dang that helped. When I looked down and watched myself and concentrated on keeping everything lined vertically, and also sort of clinching the dumbass, all per instruction, it felt better. They recommended I do the one-legged pedaling (I’ve heard about this in magazines, nodded, didn’t understand a word) several times a week.

Verdict: on the ride home, on that high, high seat (so high I felt like I needed a bib and some airplane/hangar inducements, or, conversely, so high that I could almost see eternity) was freaking awesome. Huge reduction in knee pain, and that was with still poor form – hard to concentrate when in the middle of a deluge such as the SL described (odd how she never ever exaggerates). Early days, but I’m happy. And happy in a way because I know it couldn’t have been a ‘one thing’ fix, that they gave me a range of fixes to try, namely 1) seat height, 2) pedal/knee/hip alignment technique, 3) strengthening/training work to develop the technique. I guess we’ll see. I do know that if I’m ever to get to my goals of one-day STP (200+ miles) and 4 days a week of commuting, maybe even 5, then I needed some help.

there’s gonna be a floody floody

It’s possible that, on the rarest of occasions, I’ve been known to exaggerate, but I think it’s safe to say that I’ve never been rained upon with such mighty, biblical force as on today’s ride home. The monsoon started about five miles from home, just when we were starting to get cocky about beating those bruise-colored clouds in the distance. My town turned into a lake, my bike turned into a boat and I think I turned into a religious person, because the hot shower I just took felt like pure heaven. Amen!

Dischord Changes

5:00 AM, roll over. 5:20 slumber’d unspok’d argument, one loses gets up to pee- and feed-enable the pets. Other takes the time to roll over. Then run thru stretches before heading to the kitchen to throw a couple slices in the toaster oven and whisk a coupla eggs. Woolens, cottons, strtetchy stuff, the slightly tight fitting compression from the bike clothes aiding in some excitement building. Last minute packing, tell the pup to have a good day (wish we had that kinda day, lounging around, oh I think I’ll nap in this corner for an hour…), booties, jackets, helmets, gloves, go go go have an 8AM meeting! Glistening streets, chronic street construction obstructions, dodging cars splashing you with puddle spray, only able to check the speedo under infrequent, watery yellow-red streetlights, make sure not going too fast for the knee and the long term; ah, there’s that pothole. Great.

Down Frisbee hill, tuck, stop pedaling, keep feet at 3-and-9 to avoid spray, feel the cold intensify, going from Fall to Winter in 10 seconds, become almost polar palpable, past the idling Community Transit bus perpetually parked at the bottom of the hill, glance back to see Surlylady’s headlight seemingly showing twice, is that a car or is that her, one light above and one from the pavement reflection. Down and out of Mountlake Terrace to Lake Forest Park, dodge the circling Starbuck-driver-throughers, wait at light. Wait. Wait. Remember to turn off annoyingly nuclear blinkie. Wait. Light changes, on to the Burke. Dodge the pair of chatty Kathy joggers who couldn’t be bothered to wear anything luminous. Dodge the other pair of joggers similarly dimmed and dim-witted. Then the day-glo wannabe marathoner. Then the walker clad in dark clothes walking the black dog with a black leash for some black humor philosophy problem. We dodge the silent tree that’s fallen and since samaritanly pushed aside; did this tree, did this sight make a sound? No, just a hand signal and a slight swerve. Up along t’ward Sandpoint we come to Shawn’s favorite pull-over spot, there he is, cross-your-heart style reflective sash and blinkie, as we parallel he mumbles something, to us, himself, the world? What if it had been substantive, some essential alchemical secret we could use to poach fish or hunt poachers with? We wave as usual and continue on, Surlylady on my six, long ago abdicating first-place throne in order to hakkalugi.

You really notice the canopy in fall, even in the weak streetlighting, some trees still hanging on to their green like a graphic in the corner of a new ad campaign, other trees long since relinquishing to the red and gold phase; today the trail is showing the strewing and piling effects of the cyclic cause, hiding root bumps and winter debris, adding a little more excitement, some grist.

Tonight, emphasis on night, I have a late meeting in which I learn in a matter of days I’m either getting a promotion or, if not, then by extrapolation a demotion. Especially eager then to get out of the building and take that first clean deep breath of air I practically launch out of the alley and sprint along to beat a red light next to Subway, past a line of people waiting at the old Off Ramp (what is it now, Corazon something something?) past REI and into the promising sky which hints at some full-on sun breaks.

At the top of Eastlake I’m suddenly glad I’m on the Poprad; Buick Riviera in front of me, awkwardly in the right lane (not really a two-lane road but since the Lincoln Toe towing monopoly is so zealous about the 4-6pm offenders it’s a bit of free-for-all) decides to turn right; I squeeze the disc brakes, then squeeze harder, then harder still; I barely avoid becoming a trunk ornament on a late model Riviera. Said disc brakes come in handy later on the Burke, not too far from Lake Forest Park, as a car came flying down one of those access roads; again the brakes worked, mercifully, stopping me so quickly I almost twisted sideways.

There were portentous clouds as soon as I pulled up in LFP. The skies northward looked particularly dark and nasty. As soon as I climbed to the top of the pre-Mountlake hills the rain came down, cold, all encompassing, flash-flood menacing, it’s not funny any more I just want to be home and wearing my jammies, staying in the big ring up that last hill because dang it I’m in a hurry kinda rain.

In short, no matter the seven-course variety of riding through several zip codes, it all seems somehow familiar and comforting; especially the bulk of the Burke section which after a year plus seems to pass so quickly now. I find my mind drifting off and then processing the fact I’m only a mile from the turnoff and I think how the heck did that happen? Who was that masked mental lapse?

A comfort attempt after the pivotal meeting included a ‘the only constant is change’ comment (groan). Throwing on my old empirical David Hume hat (David Hume could out-consume…) it seems to me the only constants are decay and the illusion/elusion of free will. The former is the guiding absolute, the omega behind everything; the latter is the noise before the decay defeat, to twist Sun Tzu’s phrase. Nothing is constant, everything is constant; in thousands of commutes I could experience nothing greater than slight knee pain or I could be a Riviera trunk ornament.