The way of nature

Obadiah Hadwen loved trees, and I love him for that. He donated the land for which Hadwen Park is named, and it's a wonderful place to ride through. 

My eyes-on-the-prize goal is a road bike, and I'm told by the Power That Is that the day is coming soon, perhaps in the next month or so. But what I haven't told the Power That Is is that I've developed a hankering for mountain biking. 

Now it's not as big a problem as it might seem; my vaguely imagined plan is that if I came across a halfway decently put-together mountain bike of any vintage for dirt cheap, I'll scoop it up. 

But it's riding through places like Hadwen that really gives me the hankering. It's just nice being out in the dirt, away from traffic and glass and sewer grates and potholes. It's always nice to be near water. And cemeteries. 

It's times like these when it dawns on me that I am more fully submersed in modern bike culture than I thought I was. Padded shorts. Dreams of a road bike and clip less pedals. And now the storied "N+1" affliction. How many bikes will wander into my basement? 

 I submit myself as a full-fledged, triple-butted bike dork.

The long ride

The numbers don't lie. It's true--I averaged 0.0 miles per hour.

The big cycling goal this year is simply to just pile on the miles. Longer rides, more adventurous routes, perhaps a tour or charity ride or two seem like tangible targets. It has been two years; I am in shape, and feel perfectly capable of the distance.

The other morning, after fixing my sunglasses with a tiny little screw and my long thumbnail, I filled a water bottle, drank some water, and headed out on a ride.

Just over 31 miles later, I returned home. What a fantastic feeling it was, putting that much distance on the bike. My legs felt a little weak, and there was some soreness in my knees, but other than that I felt no different than if I had just completed an 8 or 9-mile jaunt.

Getting this nice long ride in gave me some good data. It told me that my bike must be at least a halfway decent fit for me, and is in great working order. I never had any leg numbness or extreme pain anywhere, and I wasn't even sore the next morning.

It told me that next time, I might want to pack a snack or two, even though it was still a relatively short ride in the whole scheme of things. Maybe just some granola or a banana.

It told me that mapping out a route in your head and actually riding it can be two different things, and that details matter.

Cutting through Webster Square and onto Mill Street, I made my way up Olean to the reservoirs. It's nice scenery and nice roads. It gets really hilly, though--the reservoirs have to collect that water from somewhere.

My mini-backpack is trespassing.

I did succumb in a few spots in Paxton and had to walk it a bit. I'd say I walked no farther than a bit less than a quarter mile the whole ride. That's what I was talking about with the planning. Perhaps next time a little recon in the car beforehand would go a long way.

The sun was out, although it was chilly for late April. But the big challenge was the wind. God that wind was horrible. Gears aren't only useful for hills; they are invaluable, I found out, for heading into brutal winds. I knew what I was getting into checking the weather forecast. It was a northwest wind, so I figured if I rode into it on my way out, I'd get the wind behind me on the back half of my ride.

It didn't quite work out like that. The wind was brutal the entire way to the reservoirs, but then it miraculously died out. Perhaps it was all the hills providing some sort of barrier, I don't know. But once I got to the hills, it was pretty much the hills that were tough, not the wind.

Well, the wind did contribute to me almost getting killed. Yeah, I'm not exaggerating. I almost got killed by a falling tree. I had just completed a disastrously long detour due to a wrong turn taken after a picturesque stop at Paxton center.

I have a thing for cemeteries, I guess. This is a really really old one.

What I was thinking I don't know, but I decided I knew where to take the turn for Route 56, a road I've driven down in a car dozens of times in my life.

Turns out I was very wrong, and I ended up in the wilds of Spencer until getting back to 56. As I coasted down a hill toward the intersection of Paxton Road in Leicester, I heard the unmistakable crack of a tree about to fall. A few loud cracks, increasing in frequency, just to my right. For a split second the thought crossed my mind to take a look and try to gauge where it was going to fall and get out of the way, but I instead decided just to pedal as fast as I could toward the intersection. I blew through the intersection, figuring my chances of surviving getting hit by a car were better than being crushed by a tree. As I got to the middle of the intersection I heard and felt the giant old tree fall to the ground.

Those limbs were huge, I swear!

I turned around and saw the wreckage in the road. the bulk of the trunk stayed in the woods, but some big limbs sat in pieces in the road, right where I had been. A couple pulled up, and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window and said, "Boy you dodged a bullet there, eh?"


I agreed, composed myself, took a couple pictures, and headed on my way, knowing I had used up my free pass for the day.

The reward for this harrowing experience came at the top of yet another climb, seemingly toward some Star Wars--esque cloud city.

Oddly enough, this was one of the milder climbs I had to do that day

I've driven around here many times--I used to drive around here with the kids in the car when they were babies and it seemed they would only stop crying when in a moving car. But it's a whole new world on a bike. You think something is coming up, but it's far away. You didn't notice what a nice view a certain vantage point provided. You didn't notice that farm. Those sheep. That nice old house.

A landing plane would have really knocked this pic out of the park

Route 56 goes along the backside of the Worcester Regional Airport. It's just a nice place to be on a sunny day. My bike almost blew over after I leaned it against the fence. But this is really what the destination was when I mapped out the ride in my head. On this day, this is where I wanted to be. It took an extra 45 minutes or so because I was where I didn't want to be for a time. But no matter. Besides some apologizing for wildly underestimating the time I was gone from home, there was really no penalty. It made it better. And it produced that nice big number on my bike computer.

My reward? A simple roasted chicken, cooked according to legendary chef Thomas Keller's old recipe. It's not even a recipe, really. I did brine the chicken first, which he doesn't mention. But then I just threw it in the skillet and put it in a 450 degree oven for about an hour and 15 minutes. It's delicious every time.

My go-to chicken. Basically throw it in the oven. You won't be disappointed.

My city

In the course of following more bike blogs and advocate/activist groups, I've noticed there's a huge emphasis on whether a particular city or town is "bike friendly." 

I would break down the particular bike-friendliness of an area into two categories: culture and infrastructure. 

In Worcester, it's hard to say whether the infrastructure is quite there yet, or whether it's pretty decent considering what it's like in other cities. I dnt have a heck of a lot of perspective, but compared to, say, Cape Cod, Worcester falls behind. But jeez the Cape is amazing. You can basically get to wherever you want to go mostly using dedicated bike paths. That's never going to happen in Worcester. 

Worcester has it's end of the Blackstone, and there are random bike lanes here and there. Construction is supposed to start soon on an extension of the path up to Union Station, but that seems to be about it right now.

As far as riding a bike in the city goes, I find it easy and enjoyable. Take Mill Street, which I meandered down the other day. I was told recently that the wide shoulder was actually conceived as a bike lane. You wouldn't be able to tell, but there is one of those "bike route" signs. Bike lane or breakdown lane, it's very nice and long, and there's nice scenery to chew on. 

Even in the thick of city traffic, it's not too bad. Chandler Street is a nice climb and a chance to pay respect to the place where it all started, Chandler Bike (it was still Barney's then, but technically it still is). Just under two years ago the Pug rolled out of there all nice and not shiny. 

I think what I'm finding is that the infrastructure, quite simply, isn't as important as the culture. And right now, from where I pedal, that comes down to how drivers treat you. 

And one of the revelations of my adventures in cycling in and around the city is just how expectation and stereotype-defying 99 percent of motorists are when I'm on a bike. Sure there are some bad apples, as with all aspects of life. Nobody and no city is perfect, and besides being the recipient of the odd yell out the windshield or having someone make a big show of how they're gunning it by you the first chance they get, I find that most drivers most of the time just give me the room or time I need, and pass by when they feel it's safe. 

If anything, weirdly enough, some of my biggest peeves come not out of unfriendliness but of too much consideration. For example I don't like when people stop everything to let me turn. It makes me feel pressure to do so, even if I don't feel it's safe. And I also would rather a driver pass me closely, than leave some exaggerated wide berth around me. It makes me feel like I'm going to cause an accident. 

So I guess I'd say that in my experience--obviously everyone's opinion is shaped by their own personal experiences--Worcester is a pleasant place to ride a bike. 

Easter

A morning spent watching the kids revel in Easter greatness, it seemed a good afternoon to head out on a newer route I've been trying out lately. 

I pretty much ride alone so there is little frame of reference to how much climbing other cyclists do. But I feel like I do an inordinate amount of it. 

Maybe all cyclists feel that way. Partly because of time constraints, and partly because of a sort of ethos I seem to be ahdering to that says it's a bit silly to drive your bike somewhere so you can ride it (I think I'll realize this is ridiculous sometime soon), hills are just plain unavoidable in my little neck of the woods. 

Today took me out to Auburn for a nice 11-mile run around some water, because in Auburn it seems like there's a lake around every corner. I suppose that explains the hills, too, to a certain extent.

 

These are quiet little roads on any day, but it was nice to have such little traffic on the holiday ride. It's funny the things you notice on a bike. For instance, on a bike there's much more time to realize who is having an Easter gathering--cars packing up a driveway and spilling onto the street. There were a lot of people just sitting outside in their front yards today, which was nice to see. I didn't see another cyclist. I am sort of curious what the big bike thoroughfares around here are, because the typical cyclist I encounter is some guy going the wrong way on the sidewalk or pretty clearly getting to work the only way he can since his DUI. 

Maybe that will be my hill solution. Go where the spandex-clad cyclists are. Because for all the talk about challenging themselves with climbs, my guess is they know the long, flat routes that fill up their mileage logs. 

I am acutely affected by that sort of obsessive self-convicing behavior where I decide something is the way it is, and I put the blinders on. One thing I've convinced myself of is that I need cycling shorts, and I think history will judge that this is not one of those times I just talked myself into something. 

My mileage hasn't gotten extremely longer, despite my willingness to put more distance on my plate. Still, butt soreness is about the only complaint I can come up with, regardless of distance. I don't really get a sore back; my hands get a bit sore, but that's because I have unpadded, shellacked cotton handlebar tape and I don't wear padded gloves, so I know I'm sort of asking for it in that respect. My knees get a bit sore, but finely tuning my gear selection helps alleviate that. 

I really enjoy a nice hard saddle, and I think it's much better ot have a harder saddle than a soft squishy one. That's probably why I don't have a lot of back problems, even in light of my bike being a drop-bar converted 80s French mountain bike with slightly smaller geometry than I probably need. 

But I feel that just a little bit more padding would do wonders for my comfort on the bike. A cushier seat I think would be too much. Plus it seems cheaper to try a set of padded shorts before going for a nicer and/or cushier saddle. d

.  

Saturday afternoons

Vacations with my boys are always crazy, stressful, tiring, and fantastic. Three little men who continue to impress and amaze me. 

Of course time off for them means my carefully honed routine gets tossed aside in favor of playground trips, backyard frolic, long, made-to-order breakfasts, and just time spent together. Wonderful hours burned off as the weather gets warmer and the sun feels just so nice on the skin. 

How do I find the time to ride a bike? The best way to describe it is probably that my riding schedule is like a firehouse. My bike is like the turnout gear sitting by the fire truck, boots and uniform perfectly ready for when the radio crackles a call over the air. 

Planning for an elaborate day built around a bike ride is simply a superfluous luxury for me right now. If the time is right, I will simply guzzle down some water, grab my phone (Strava dork in traiining!), and bolt into the basement, where the Pug awaits. In just a few minutes I'm plunging down the street to start a ride.

Any hesitation, any contemplation, is a debit on the ride itself, so it is not considered. So today, with my wife about to rise for her day and me finishing up mine, I surveyed my tired boys, who were laying around watching television and poking at their tablets after a long day of playing outside, for the most part and to to their credit. 

I needed coffee for Easter Sunday--not a day when you want to add an extra trip. So there was my carefully curated ride log. Coffee. 

"I'm going for a quick bike ride." I announced. "I'll be back." 

Off I went, downtown on a beautiful afternoon. Starbucks for some beans (and those chocolate-covered graham crackers that are, I believe the best thing besides the coffee there). I always feel like Captain Bike Commuter when my rides have a purpose or a destination. I get to lock my bike, and I wonder what people think when they see it. Whatever they think, I hope it includes a happy thought about how much they liked riding a bike as a kid. 

I don't do it enough to have a system down pat, so I tend to fumble with things. I'll put my wallet back in the backpack when I'm going to need it to pay. I'll put my keys back in my bag when I get ready to go when I need them to unlock my bike. Stuff like that. 

The weather is getting really wonderful, and the environment is following suit. Not only is it getting warmer (although it was cooler than usual this week, but in a tolerable way), but everything is greening up nicely. The street sweeping is in full swing, which as a cyclist and driver I doubly appreciate, and I'm seeing more people riding, which is really nice. 

One of the teachers at my youngest's preschool was rejoicing at the weather the other day and talked about how it just lifts her mood. I agree wholeheartedly. I feel so much better now that it's nice out. I enjoyed riding through the winter (when I could--it was a nasty this year), but just a few weeks in, and spring has put much distance between me and those memories of staring out the window, wondering if the roads would be ok for a ride. 

Maybe, with this whole week off, I'll plan a nice long ride one of these days. Just take off for half a day and explore. Go somewhere and find a nice twisty route. Find some hills and a nice view and maybe some other riders to share the joy with. 

Riding all over the place

At the gym, what can you do when you get tired of the same old routine on the elliptical? Maybe change the channel on the tv display, maybe go with a different mix on the headphones?

That's the problem I developed with the gym--it's way too easy to get in a rut, and at that point the obstacles loom larger--getting to the car. Carving out the time. The drive there. Et cetera et cetera.

One of the many aspects of cycling that I have grown to love is that the gym dilemmas, which in essence is just convincing yourself that you aren't going to the gym, simply don't apply. 

When I shove the Pug through the basement doorway to head out for a ride, I usually pick one of about three or four more-or-less fixed routes. There's no real hierarchy; there's a quicker one,  hillier one, a few longer ones, and an easy one. 

If I ever get even a hint of feeling the monotony of going out on the bike, I know it's time to switch up the route. Today I took advantage of the almost instantaneously nice spring weather and blasted through the cemeteries, across Park Avenue, down Mill Street, down June Street, on to May, and eventually back home. 

I spent a lot of time riding bikes with a very good childhood friend in this neighborhood. It represented an amazing amount of freedom for a fourth grader. Just bombing around, exploring, with an occasional foray into the woods. In fact, I may or may not have fallen waist-deep into this brook at one point. 

It's still a little chilly in the morning, but I look forward to continually adding mileage. The different route today provided just the amount of newness, just the amount of fresh scenery to chew on, that in just 8 miles any hint of boredom with cycling was wiped away.

Random bike stalking

On a Home Depot run the other day and I came across this beauty. It's an old Merlin. I just thought it looked like a neat old road bike, but when I got home I found out they were a Massachusetts  company that helped raise the bar on titanium frame construction. Apparently when the company was bought a few people defected and started Seven Cycles, whose bikes I lust after. 

There are a lot of people who baby bikes like this, so it's just refreshing to see a nice high-end back barely locked to a Home Depot shopping cart rack.