Alphabet City

They call it DC, this city that’s also a state (or rather a district)—not to be confused with VA across the river or MD, which surrounds it on every other side. That two-letter moniker—DC—is apt, since letters seem to float across and even organize this town. 

Although it’s the place where (federal budget) numbers, with dollar signs, tend to get the final say, at heart, Washington is an alphabet city.

Guest Post by Victoria Day: Cappie Diem

They’re red. They’re sturdy. They’re affordable. They’re cappies.

For the past five days, I’ve been riding around Washington, DC, on Capital Bikeshare bicycles—or “cappies” for short. I rode on city streets and bicycle paths. On paved trails and gravel trails. I rode in the sun and the rain.  And I loved it.

Capital Gains & Losses

Cycling around Washington, DC, for the past 10 days has been terrific—about as good as urban cycling gets in a major North American city, in my experience anyway. It’s got the kind of cycling infrastructure you’d expect in a Portland, Madison, or Tucson: the usual web of bike lanes, sharrows, and secure lock up stations, not to mention an impressive bikeshare program. Then, to boot, there’s a remarkable network of cycling paths (such as the Capital Crescent Trail and Mount Vernon Trail) that connect major suburban areas (Bethesda, MD; Arlington, VA) to the core of DC. The sight of these trails at rush hour is a marvel to these North American eyes: a steady stream of thousands of people riding their bikes to and from work.

Washington DC Postcard

It was during my first full day in the nation’s capital that I stumbled upon Fletcher’s Cove. It’s a sleepy, leafy hideaway tucked in the eastern shore of the Potomac River along the Capital Crescent Trail between Washington proper and Bethesda, Maryland. I was cruising along the busy commuter trail in the drizzle, heading north, when I suddenly realized I was starving.

Birth Announcement: MB 2000

Gil Morgan is tickled to announce the completion of his bouncing baby bicycle, the MB 2000, after a seven-month, over-winter gestation period. The MB weighed in at 25 lbs and 7 oz and looks shiny, sleek, and ready to roll.

Winter Rust

I love the smell of WD40 in the spring time.

The long winter of commuting by bicycle here in the Great White North has taken its toll on my machine. Every little nut and cranny seems to have a blossom of rust. And the chain? Well, despite my frequent applications of Tri-Flow over the winter, the chain has a distinct orange-vomit hue that just won’t go away. The drivetrain is disintegrating; the derailleurs are pretty much seized up. The bike looks a little sad; crusty is the word that comes to mind—like it’s come down with the mechanical equivalent of pink eye (orange eye?), all seasonal gunk and pus. Such is the cost of winter cycling in these parts.

MB 2000: Decals

Assembling a bicycle from scratch, watching its essential bike-ness evolve, raises a metaphysical question: When does a bike-building “project” officially become a bike, as opposed to a collection of parts or a work in progress. When exactly is the official moment of bike conception?

Is it when the drive train is complete? When the wheels are attached? Or is it not until the whole shebang, bottle cages and bells, are attached? (Should the building of the frame be considered the moment of conception, or can we not properly speak of a bike until it emerges fully formed from the shop, like a full-grown Uruk hai popping out of Saruman’s slimy birthing pit?) I was thinking about this the other day in Val’s garage, as we made significant progress on the MB 2000.