All the Way, Baby!

The stars aligned, I got early release, I'd listened to enough Richmond Fontaine, and it was just plain about time.

I left work Friday afternoon and rode my bicycle all the way home.

Yes, instead of careening down the I-5 shoulder to the train station, I braved crossing Revelle, Muir, and Marshall (Third) colleges, then exited the University and braved old highway 101.



Ah, the open road...such as it is. However, a closer inspection revealed this:




Yes, that's right, I was entering Encinitas' photo enforced tsunami danger zone. While I could have stayed there for hours contemplating government bureaucracy gone haywire, I was racing the sun and I was getting hungry and thirsty, so I braved the danger of a tsunami-based citation and pressed on north.

I haven't done this whole ride since, well...one of the reasons I keep this blog is to remind me of when stuff happens...so, sometime in late 2009. Since then I've discovered that:

1. The guys on my former cycling team, Swami's, are a lot faster.

2. Encinitas is now more dangerous than Del Mar.

3. I really no longer give a fuck about how fast I ride.

Nope, not anymore. Too many dreams about cycling when I couldn't have altered my perception of it. As much as I like the atmosphere, companionship, and scenery of the afternoon Coaster train, there's nothing like being able to stop on a whim and take in all that's around you. Especially when it's familiar pleasantries that you've been without for a while.



However, the sun sets on everyone, and it set on me in South Carlsbad. From here, the ride got serious. Carlsbad Village may be a joy during bikini season, but it is otherwise a nightmare of jaywalkers...then there's the State Street/Hwy 101 merge to negotiate. Oceanside is skirted through pretty quick, until the harrowing Crouch St. descent to Oceanside Blvd. If you pick the right line on the potholed descent, you can hit 50mph, but there's always a line of cars wanting to both turn left and right in front of you at the bottom of the hill. At night, it's just that question rattling through my skull, "does *anyone* see me??"

Once on Oceanside Blvd, I felt okay, and as one goes east, the calm increases. When I got to Melrose Station before the 6:22, my competitive side was assuaged a little. From there it was all downhill to the Stater Brothers, where they had food and just enough beer to get me through the evening.

Yeah, I admit, I jumped up and down a few times when I got to my garage and I'd realized that, yes, I did it. I could then eat and drink like I deserved it, and sleep a sound sleep. Today, there were hours spent in the garage with the bikes, and more will be spent tomorrow, because, since I rode home Friday, I have to ride back Monday.

See this space for details...

Commuter Prologue

I went for my first bike ride since my accident yesterday, and I realized right away that riding a bicycle is still a lot of fun!

Before setting out on the day's modest adventure, I felt I had to at least be able to perform a particular piece of bicycle maintenance--changing a tube--and after successfully performing that task, I felt comfortable enough to take on my first challenge--a ride to my train station. I live a little more than a mile from it, so that ride seemed an ideal way to start my return. If I punctured, well, it's not too much of a walk...

I've done this ride a zillion times, but usually with the imperative of having to catch a train looming over me, which gives the ride the feel of the individual time trial. Also, I usually do it early in the morning, which means the synapses aren't firing at full strength yet. Yesterday, however, I left home midday, fully aware, on a warm, sunny spring day, and in that atmosphere my return to cycling was nothing but enjoyable.

My destination was the Melrose Drive Station which is one of the NCTD's Sprinter train stops. I didn't pay exacting attention to my departure time from home, but I must have developed a certain timeliness because I made it to the station in time to comfortably catch a westbound Sprinter had I wanted to.



Here is ol' 4008 posing for a picture. Sprinter trains are inviting, unpretentious, and have a friendly feel (even if some of the passengers don't). The entrances are like an elevator's, so bikes, baby carriages, and wheelchairs roll right in with no fuss. Also, Sprinters have no competing traffic on the line, so their on-time performance is quite good.




See ya later, 4008!





While bikes are welcome on the Sprinter, I prefer to leave mine at the station in a bike locker. I have access to lockers at both ends of my commute, and they are of two different types. At Melrose, the NCTD has keyed lockers which are not shared. Locker #3 is mine because I was the third person to ask for one. I also think I am the last to ask for one at this station, since I haven't seen #4 used yet (actually, I've only seen another one--#2--used once).



Here's my bike in storage position. The lockers open on either end, and a diagonally placed sheet of wood separates the lockers. I suppose you could sleep in one, but hopefully it doesn't come to that. I like that this saves me having to bring a lock and remove a wheel to lock up securely. Also, sometimes my commute results in having to leave a bike in a locker for a couple of days which is safer than leaving a bike locked up outside. Drier, too.

Satisfied that I could ride to the station and secure my bike, I started my return home, but it was such a great day, I thought why not go for a little ride? I took a broader loop home, testing the performance of my left hand by making left turns in traffic. Since I don't set my bikes up like the Italians (as demonstrated here by Mario Cipollini), my left hand operates the front brake, and it feels little bit mushy. The tendons I severed are essentially repaired, but I also severed the Ulnar nerve, and that heals much more slowly. Hence, like early morning brain synapses, not all the hand muscles are getting the signals from my brain. This makes the ones that do get the signal have to do all the work and it fatigues them rapidly. While my legs feel great, my riding isn't limited by them but rather on my left handed squeezing stamina.

Still, it was fantastic to see the world from the saddle again and feel that unique feeling of freedom that cycling provides. I'm even looking forward to Monday morning when I'll resume my early morning diminished-capacity time trial to catch a train (don't worry, Mom; I'll leave a couple of minutes earlier).

It Starts With a Hand

This is intended to be a blog with a broad view of a narrow focus--bicycle commuting on the North San Diego County coast, but it all starts with a hand...



I've considered inflicting my thoughts about this on the web for some time, and now misfortune has given me the opportunity. The day before the Super Bowl, I had a (non-cycling) accident, of which I'll spare all of us the details, but the result was a severe laceration of my left wrist. Now, after surgery, numerous doctor visits, and about 25 occupational therapy sessions I am just about ready to get back on my bike and return to commuting on it.

However, until then, a bit about me and my commute. I've been a cycle commuter since 1985. Some periods more intensely than others, but about half the time since then I've lived without a car, so the idea of driving to work seems a little odd to me now. Until 2000, I rode to work every day, but then I moved up here to extreme North County, and so I started using the Coaster train to help cover the distance. Currently, my one way commute is 30 miles by bicycle, and at my best I make six of the ten one-way commutes by bike each week. The other commutes are a complex combination of bicycles, bike lockers, and trains.

However, at this moment, I drive to my Coaster station, ride the train, then take a shuttle bus--one I often passed on my bike--to my final destination. From the train, I see my commute and all the other cyclists, so my determination to return to the status of rider is constantly fueled. When I return, I'll have to start small, but the final goal is the 60-mile round trip...a couple of times a week.

The route I take is roughly an inverted L-shape, and base of the L is the hilly one-third from the home to the coast. The other two-thirds is along the coast on old highway 101, which I think of as "the show". The terrain is undemanding, but the road is busy with cars, pedestrians, tourists, girls in bikinis, surfers and their surfboards, and 50-something cyclists trying to live up to the pedigree of the bicycles that they're riding--all of which are a challenge to the cyclist who strives for efficiency.

However, on my commute I've seen a lot of great sights, met a lot of great people, had some great conversations (with others or just with myself), and gotten a really good feel for the area where I live and work. I can't wait to get back to riding it, and I look forward to sharing my observations and memories with you. Until then, I'll be stretching tendons, training nerves, and practicing puncture repair in preparation. Happy Trails!