Chocolate cake

Chocolate.

I recoil ever so slightly when, upon finding out I'm into cycling, an "ah-ha" moment washes over people wondering how I lost and keep off all this weight. Scanning for some sort of easily explainable reason I could possibly drop more than 70 pounds, they finally pounce on the fact that I ride a bike, and to them, it explains it all.

"Oh, so that's how you stay so thin," they'll say, or some variety.

What a strange time and space we occupy where it's simply unbelievable that someone could lose a ton of weight without being on some strict diet or being a kettle-bell throwing fitness freak.

I understand, I guess. It's part of the world we live in. Everyone wants to know the shortcut, because everyone uses the shortcut. And I guess it would be disingenuous to say that cycling has had nothing to do with losing weight. It obviously has. I lost a considerable amount of weight before I even bought the Peugeot, though, and I'm convinced that all these CrossFit crazy people are at least slightly misguided. I think keeping trim is mostly about eating right. Just look at that food pyramid the doctor always told you about, and that's sort of my guide.

Sometimes I do feel like the miles I put on my bike do, shall I say, allow for some slop in the system, however, and that brings me to chocolate, my true love. My middle guy's birthday cake request was chocolate cake with a ganache frosting. Yes, my 10-year-old requested ganache as his topping.

Who am I to argue? I went to my go-to. What recipe is that, I am always asked? I proudly tell them it's the "Perfectly Chocolate Cake" recipe on the back of the Hershey's Cocoa label. I actually find product recipes to be some of the best there are. For example, there' s a great recipe for cookies on the back of Reese's Pieces.

I've often considered making a different chocolate cake, but the label really is truth in advertising: it's perfect, and I just can't bring myself to mess with it. There's an odd step at the end with boiling water that I don't understand, but why question it?

The only audible I called was my son's request for the ganache. I just poured hot cream over about 8 ounces of semi-sweet chocolate, and that was it. I made the "Perfectly Chocolate Frosting," which is also on the back of the cocoa container, and used a whole cake's worth in between the cakes.

The cake is delicious. I know restaurant food is a different way of cooking, but this cake is something I would put up against anything in any bakery. I'm not bragging--it's simply that good. It's moist (I think that's the boiling water part), and unlike box cake, it tastes like chocolate. That's the thing about from-scratch baking with chocolate. The end result ends up tasting like chocolate. A little bitter, a lot sweet, a little coffee-ish.

So I had a huge slice and part of a few others, and it felt wonderful and right and why would you ever want to deprive yourself of something like that?

Check out the geese in the background. Coes Pond, Worcester, Mass.

Yes I rode yesterday and today, but not in some frantic race to balance out what I ate. I rode because I wanted to ride my bike. If it happens to absorb the dietary blow of eating wonderfully good food, then that's a bonus. I suppose that's one of the great things about cycling--it's a hobby that's actually incredibly good for you.

The end of the tunnel

The Ernest A. Johnson Tunnel is a short little bypass of Lincoln Square that squirts you out onto Main Street from under Lincoln Square. It's a superfluous road in a section of the city that doesn't really need a tunnel, but I love it, for no other reason than there's something viscerally cool about a tunnel.

My favorite part of riding through the tunnel is coming out of it. That contrast of dark and light just adds, I don't know, something theatrical. It makes it an event.

It's fun, and the general rule I employ is that if it's fun, it's fun on a bike, too. I have been looking for new places to take the Fuji and I have enjoyed every inch I've traveled on my shiny new bike. It has truly been a great experience, and it has only been a few weeks.

New bike.

"And then you just press this button with your thumb to go toward the harder gears," said Peter, the owner of Barney's Bicycle, said as he demonstrated how to use the integrated brake/shifters.

I'd love to say that with that simple, bike jargon-free explanation, he sealed the deal with me on the stunning new Fuji Sportif 1.7. That's almost exactly what I say to my son when riding with him and trying to get him in the right gear. Make it harder. Make it easier. I have no idea what high gear or low gear or what numbers they are.

But by then, I had already made up my mind in two ways--I was leaving that bike shop with a bike that day, and Barney's had sealed the deal months ago.

Barney's operates a new bike shop at Park Avenue and Coes Street, and keeps open its old shop for used sales and repair (It's called "Chandler Bike" now). Chandler Bike is a revelation. The used bikes, I have come to realize, are ridiculously overpriced. But they have an impressive array of do-dads and oddball parts in all different sizes for even the most obscure projects. They are friendly and courteous, and humor people like me who have the most harebrained ideas with the most godforsaken bikes.

The good service extends to the new store, as well. They have no qualms about selling you a few bearings or cable crimps or bar end plugs. It's a nice, airy place to be.

So once my wife gave me the go-ahead, I knew my first-ever new bike experience at a bike shop would be Barney's. I don't have much experience with other bike shops, but I enjoy the easy-going feel to the place. It lacks any hit of the elitism that infects so much of the cycling world.

The Fuji was the cheapest road bike available at Barney's. I wasn't necessarily approaching it that way, but it was certainly a factor. I wish they had more options in my price range, but I guess that was the compromise I made when I decided I wanted to buy the bike from a particular shop. That said, it appeared to be a good deal on that particular bike.

It sports Shimano Tourney-level shifting and braking components. That's the lowest teir of Shimano's offerings, surely scoffed at by the carbon fiber types. But it's all relative. The Peugeot is a friction-shifting 10-speed mountain bike made in France in the early 1980s. The light years of progress I made just by moving up to modern braking and indexed "brifter" shifting give me no real reference point from which to judge. I just know it's better.

And that's how I wanted it, in many ways. When I bought the Peugeot two years ago, I wanted a used, basically functioning bike to re-learn cycling on. Some part of me wanted to "learn the old ways" so I got a full appreciation of how a bike worked and functioned.

Friction made me a better rider, I think. It requires much more organization and planning about what gear you want to be in at any point in time. It's a deliberate, gradual mechanical system that relies a lot on feel. Does it feel like the chain is solidly in gear? Do I need to trim it back a little? Is it worth shifting right now?

I absolutely love the new system. Shifts are smooth and crisp, and it's an easy system to learn on. It becomes intuitive after one ride, and I'm impressed with how the front derailleur action, typically the toughest part of shifting, functions. If I had to guess the difference between the Tourney set I have and something like Ultegra or Dura-Ace, it's probably something to do with more crispness, maybe faster shifts, or maybe a more robust feel. But who knows? Maybe I'll find out someday.

What I really love about the Fuji is the frame. It's beautiful to look at, and that blue paint was a major draw. Bikes seem to be either black or white or silver these days; I specifically wanted a splash of color. I am going to have to ride this bike every day; I want it to be pleasant to look at. 

From what I've read about the Fuji Sportif, the all-aluminum frame is the same geometry as the high-end carbon Fuji Gran Fondo. It leans toward the comfort end of the road bike spectrum, and I can confirm it's a spectacularly comfortable bike.

It's a big bike, at 59 cm, but I wanted it that way. It feels like I can really stretch out while riding it, although on the hoods I perhaps stretch a little too much. I may try a slightly shorter stem (the XL Sportif employs a 110 mm stem, which is pretty long), which I think will make it perfect.

It rides quiet and smooth and light, and again, it's all relative. But I can't seem to get enough of my new blue Fuji. I took it up over Aiport Hill the other day, which two years ago I would never have even attempted. I never felt that nervousness that I was going to stop or fall over or go backwards. The bike just pulls, and I think I finally realized what bike dorks talk about when they say "acceleration."


Worcester has famously bad roads, and I cringed a few times going over some unavoidable ruts. The Fuji has an aluminum fork, which is fine, but I immediately realized why the bike dork community always recommends chrome-moly or carbon forks. They just soak up the bumps better.

It's a great bike, but then again, I think the conventional wisdom these days is that most new bikes made today are great bikes. Of course it's more than that. This awesome little bike is a dream realized. Something I visualized happening. It represents my full immersion into something I've become quite passionate about. I love riding my bike, and I love bicycles. I love what they've done for me, physically and mentally, and I love what they represent about life, society, and good, healthy living. There's nothing like the sights, sounds, smells, and physicality of riding a bike. It has helped me learn so much more about my city and my area, and so much more about myself.

That's a whole lot of emotion and philosophy packed into a Chinese-made 23-pound amalgam of aluminum and rubber and steel. But it doesn't matter so much when you're out on the road. Nothing really matters as much, really. It's volume gets lowered as you concentrate on the road ahead. When's the next turn? Will I have to take the lane? What's the hill situation over there? Can I get a tailwind, or is Mother Nature messing with me? Do people really throw this much glass out the window? How much pot are they smoking in that car? Those are the only questions that matter out there. Just you and the bike. Communicating.

Stopping

I'll admit it--I like Strava. I like looking at a map of where I just went. I get jazzed when one of those little trophies pops up, although the other day the air partially went out of my balloon when I realized that my "second best time" going south to north on Mill Street was just that--I almost beat my own personal best. I was 67th or somewhere near there when stacked up against other cyclists.

I figure I'm pretty safe right now with my free-level membership, and I obviously don't take it too seriously. But I have noticed I have to tell myself every so often that it's not a race. I don't need to aim for a target speed or calorie burn or longest ride.

Today I rode down to the Blackstone River Bike Path, and it's as wonderful as it always is. The rains have swollen the mighty river, and as I approached, the thought crossed my mind that someone has probably Strava'd their time on the path, and I pedaled harder thinking I might rate. 

It was silly and harmless, but I had to tell myself to stop and get off the bike. It's beautiful, and it's not 20 degrees like it was in March. 

It's okay to stop. Stop and take a drink. A look. A bite to eat. It's like golf and rally racing--you're only competing with yourself. 

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. 

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.

Enjoying the winter rides

Don't worry, I don't ride on the sidewalk! 

I can't quite take a break from my bike. The weather has been quite lousy lately; rain and snow have lingered, and we're gearing up for another cold snap after enjoying about a week-long respite from the last one.

My limit is 20 degrees. Anything below 20 degrees and I'm not taking the bike out. It just gets painful, no matter how properly attired I am for the ride.

It's not just the cold, either. It's always wet, and the sand and salt spread on the road just seems to torture my bike. I'm not a neat freak about the Peugeot, but I have my limits.

Hanging from my basement ceiling awaiting a wipedown. 

The downtime is probably a good time to just do something else for a while. Relax. Do some maintenance. Work on some stuff around the house.

But I just can't resist getting out there. It has been in the high 30s-low 40s this week. Relatively speaking for this time of year, it's balmy. The recent melting has widened roads.

This wonderful wall my Peugeot is sitting against is Hope Cemetery, Worcester's municipal cemetery. I love living near cemeteries; they are beautiful, peaceful places. They are full of history and character.

Surveying all that is before her.

This is one of my favorite monuments. I've never checked out what the story is behind her -- one of these days -- but she always looks to me like she has this perfect view of the gently landscaped grounds. The hair, the pose, the garb, the patina. It's just all right.

Puffy snowboarding gloves fit the bill.

One new addition this year has been the puffy Burton snowboarding gloves you see perched above the Pug. It was the most money I have ever spent on gloves, and it seems to have been money well spent. They do have their limits -- I was at a scene for work last week in about -5 degrees and it was pretty chilly. But for bike riding in 20 degree-plus weather, they perform flawlessly.

I truly enjoy riding my bike in the cold. I end up warming up pretty good, and I am always in a better mood after a ride, no matter the climate. When it's 70 degrees in May, I will look back on the dead of winter and maybe shiver a bit while wondering what possessed me to drag my bike out of the basement at the first sign of the low sun. But I'll also look back with a smile that even in those conditions, I still made it outside, in the fresh air, zooming along, clearing my head.

Racks and rides

 This morning marked the debut of an old rack I threw on the Pug. It's a nice Blackburn that I took off of the Fuji I rebuilt for my son a while back, and it went on pretty good, although the braze-ons on the bike were not threaded like they were on the Fuji, so I had to use a nut and bolt instead. It seemed to work out fine. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about a recent post on Lovely Bicycle; the discussion revolved around how short a bike ride can be while still being enjoyable. The comments were interesting--you can tell a lot about what kind of bike riders people are without them coming out and saying it, but it made me think about what kind of bike rider I am.

 When I got back on a bike about a year and a half ago, the big goal I had in mind was fitness. Walking simply wasn't enough of a workout, and I had never been able to make running work for me. Fitness was not a singular goal; I had always loved riding as a youth, and I was excited to feel those sensations again. As I kept riding, I wondered if the motivations and inspirations were changing. I don't think they were changing as much as they were fluctuating. What does it matter, anyway? If I'm out on my bike, that's the point. I think every time I go out for a ride I look forward to checking off the fitness box, but I also just look forward to riding my bike.


 The other night, for example, I had been jonesing all day to get out for a ride. I finally got out and rode through Kelley Square, up Vernon Street, and down Vernon Street. I felt great; God knows how many calories got burned, but those 7.5 miles made my mind and my body feel better.

 A few weeks ago, I tagged along with Worcester Loops, a sort of underground riding group (they tend to drink in parks after they finish), for a 13.7 mile loop around the city. It was thrilling, challenging, and invigorating. It was a beautiful, warm evening, and it was lovely to see parts of the city on a bike I had only ever driven through.

 I wasn't thinking about how many watts I was pushing out; I was having such great fun leaning into the Washington Square rotary like I was a MotoGP rider.

 One of the comments on the Lovely Bicycle blog post went something like "If it's not worth starting up Strava, it's just transportation cycling..." I've never done Strava, but when I read that I thought, hey, I resemble that remark! Most of my rides average about 5-8 miles. I'm probably putting in 40 miles a week. I simply don't have the long stretch of time that a longer ride requires. That commenter probably does as many miles in a week that I do in a day. But is he getting what he wants out of how much he rides? Am I getting as much as I want out of my rides? Hey, maybe the answer to both is yes. I think I have some longer riding in me, but right now, I don't know any better. I rode a few miles to the library with my cool new (to me) rack, dropped off a book, and rode home. It was immensely satisfying. I don't know what a 25-mile ride feels like, but at this point, it's all relative.

Routes

There were periods of time -- sometimes months, sometimes years, sometimes only weeks -- over the past 15 to 20 years during which I went to the gym.

 I largely enjoyed it, but it never seemed to stick. Typically, what started as pretty developed workouts would end up reduced to simply half an hour on the elliptical, maybe some pointless situps, and that was it.

Chalk that failure up to many things, but I always suspected boredom played a major role in my vanishing act. Having music or television to watch always helped, but it all just became dreadfully repetitive after a while. With that in mind, I decided that riding a bike might go a long way toward addressing the boredom issue as I was putting together a sort of path out of this malaise about a year-and-a-half ago.

Turns out I was spot on. The scenery, the concentration required not to get killed or injured, and the ability to stop and snap a picture of something cool have allowed me to create a routine for doing something that's good for me and enjoyable. One of the biggest advantages over watching a half-hour of closed-captioned Food Network is that I am not captive to any particular route.

There are shorter routes I take and longer ones, but among those, I tend to keep returning to a few favorites. Living in a pretty centrally-located section of the city, I enjoy ready access to a lot of different routes on my bike. One of them is the Blackstone River Bikeway.

Completed several years ago, the bikeway runs about four or five miles. It starts in Worcester and ends in Millbury. There is  a grand plan to run it from Union Station all the way to Rhode Island, but that's eons away. For now, it's a nice little spot, that's super kid-friendly.

Cookson

Cookson Park is one of my favorite places. It's a dinky little spot long ago relegated to the bottom tier of the Worcester city parks hierarchy. It's named after Walter Cookson, a longtime school board member and Republican mayor who died while attending the 1936 Republican National Convention in Cleveland. The hilly 18-acre spot once afforded spectacular views of the city from atop Mount St. James. It's all overgrown now, save for some decently maintained trails. Still, there's something to be said for an unassuming, scruffy spot. You're usually the only one in there, which is nice. It's quiet and pleasant and just a bunch of trees and brush. What else do you really need?
The park serves as a jumping off point to some nice bike-riding roads. I received clearance to depart after dropping the kids off at school on a recent morning, and took off. I just ride through the main trail that runs the length of the park. It's actually a road, and I'm told it once carried trolleys through the neighborhood.

It was a beautiful, warm, morning, and it was a nice, refreshing ride. Riding in the winter -- all the gear, the numb extremities, the windchill -- seems like a lifetime ago. Since installing the drop bars on the Pug, I feel like my speed has really picked up, which probably has less to do with aerodynamics than a more thigh and butt-friendly seating position. I have also been trying to get in the habit of riding on the big chainring most of the time (big chainring=harder to pedal, but more speed).

There's always a lot of second-guessing about any big purchase, and God knows what I would have went with if I knew back then what I know now about my riding style, bicycles in general, and the preferences I've developed. But by starting out with a heavy older bike with friction shifting and well-made but fussy mechanics, a new bike, when the time finally comes, will be a revelation. And by then, my fundamentals and my knowledge base will be such that I will truly choose the bike for me. I'm always thinking of what my next bike will be, but I enjoy every moment on the Pug.