Routine isn't always routine.

The other day I nearly hit a kid with my car. I was driving "over the mountain" as they say and coming through one of the little hamlets that dot the hillside. I had just pulled away from a stop sign and was picking up speed, while up ahead in the opposite lane sat a man in his car talking with people on the porch of an apartment building on my side of the street.

I'm about fifteen yards from this man's car and he beckons to someone on the porch. A kid, maybe six or seven, comes running off the porch with his backpack, straight into the traffic lane -- no sideways glance, no hesitation. I'm ten yards away now, tops. I'd never had this happen to me in my 24 years of driving. I slammed on the brakes and the car slowed down, inching closer to the kid, who was in no position to get out of the way.

I think the car stopped about a foot from the kid.

He looked at me half a second then ran to the man's car. The man, who was probably his father, starts to yell at him. I catch the man's eye, mouth the word "sorry," because it shook me up and I bet it shook him up a bit, too, and then I drive on.

That's how quickly something so everyday can change on you. I don't know if that kid learned a lesson about checking the roads, or if the father learned a lesson about beckoning your kid out into the street without checking the road (or how about a lesson in not doing a pickup sitting in the traffic lane?!), but I learned a lesson about not taking even a routine trip for granted.

Sad.

I ride my bike every day in the District, and much of the time I've got one kid on a child's seat behind me and one kid pedaling in front of me. That's why when I read about bicyclists struck by automobiles, I get a creepy feeling.

This morning, Alice Swanson was hit and killed by a garbage truck at 20th and R Streets NW. That's only a few blocks from my daughter's daycare, a few more blocks from my son's school. Most days I ride through the 19th and R intersection, just one block away.

I've been hit on my bike a few times, although never seriously (except for a bike-to-bike head on collision when I was in 8th grade that required surgery...) and with one exception, never in the District. You always have to be aware of traffic, because you know most drivers don't pay enough attention to bicyclists, motorcyclists, or pedestrians; however, you're always trusting that they're paying enough attention to avoid flattening you. Sometimes, being aware of traffic isn't enough.

And while it's always in the back of your head, it's moments of extreme violence that force you to understand again how fragile the frame and wheels are, how exposed you are sitting on top of them.

The death of any cyclist brings our own vulnerabilities into focus. Although I didn't know her at all, I am deeply saddened by Alice Swanson's death.

Not dead yet.

Sorry to alarm my readers...or reader I mean (thanks MA). As my good friend Bobby Dylan once said, it's alright ma, it's life and life only.

Here's what's happened this morning (slightly edited):

1. It was raining. Biking in the rain is always more of a pain.
2. I got hit by a cab. I was fully in my rights, riding the right hand lane through a green light, when a cabbie decided turn right on red meant "turn right on red into a bicyclist." Fortunately, I wasn't hurt, my bike wasn't hurt, but he did knock me off the bike a bit and I did pound on his hood and call him a nasty name. His reaction seemed to indicate it was an everyday occurrence for him to run over cyclists -- a quick wave of his hand, like a "sorry...my fault."

Still...being hit on a bike, even if you're not injured, gives you cause to pause.

While on my bike, I've been hit by cars about three times (I don't count the daily near misses from clueless drivers who pass you up and then turn into you, etc.). I've never been hurt in any of those collisions. While on my bike, I've been hit by another bicyclist once. I ended up in the hospital with a broken cheekbone for that collision, then ended up in the hospital again when the bone didn't set right and they had to rebreak and reset it.

I suppose I'm still a little shaken from this morning's close call.

3. I was in the Library of Congress for a forum related to International Education Week. It was several government functionaries and the executive director of the NEA and a few education types. Two low points: one panel member told an anecdote about teaching science and his niece or cousin or something and how it was hard because, "she's a girl, so she doesn't like science to begin with." WTF? And they've invited this moron to talk about advancing education? The other low point was realizing that most of the panelists couldn't think their way around education except to believe its purpose was to serve either the business community or the CIA (Why learn a foreign language? So you can be a spook!).

Grumble grumble.

Darkness at the break of noon.

I'm not sure how many people have actually noticed, but with this time change thing, it gets dark really early. I may have lived through 38 ends of DST, but it always catches me by surprise when I walk outside at 5 p.m. and it's dark. Dark means night riding, and that means lights. Of course, the bracket for my front light had broken in the spring, and I never replaced it, and a few weeks ago some asshole stole the rear light from my baby seat.

I ask, what sort of low-down jackass steals a safety light from a bicycle baby seat?

So I had to go plunk down some money on some new lights to enhance the safety of the three members of the family who rely upon two wheel transport to get around on a daily basis. What I discovered was that you could spend fifty dollars on a headlight if you so desired, or you could spend $17.99 on a combopack of a headlight and a taillight. If you ask me, the taillight is more important, since it's the cars coming up from behind that are more likely to run you off the road, although I won't discount the importance of a front light given the propensity of oncoming traffic to make left turns into bicycles.

Now if I don't find my bike gloves soon, I'm going to have to get a new pair, and that's not fun because they generally cost around $50 a pair, and I'm not sure why, because they don't protect against really cold temperatures -- they're more of a late fall, early spring sort of glove (unless you by those big ass "lobster mitts" that you see some messengers and takeout delivery people wearing in the winter) that are great for cutting the wind and providing some warmth, but are absolutely useless below forty degrees. That's when the big ski gloves come out.

Thanks to the lack of snow around the District, we can, with very few exceptions, bike all year round.

Consider the bicycle...

You can love your bicycle, right? I mean, you can really enjoy sitting on that saddle, pumping the pedals, and feeling the air rush by you as you roll you down the street, isnt' that so?

Of course.

So if you love your bike, and have made a relatively substantial investment in the machine so you don't herniate yourself dragging it up and down stairs, chances are someone else loves your bike, although not for the same reasons you do. Others may admire your bike because it represents a small but significant resale value as stolen merchandise.

So if you love your bike, for the love of all you hold dear, don't trust a cable lock. You will end up like this:

Very sad. I spotted this unhappy remnant of better times Friday as I dropped my daughter off at daycare. It was a fairly thick cable lock, but now it's worse than useless. Invest the extra $90 in a strong U-Lock and avoid when possible leaving your bike outside for extended periods of time, especially on poorly lighted/travelled side streets.

Tomorrow is bike to work day.

In celebration of bike to work day, I'm going to bike to work...like I do every day.

Seriously, if you live in the city and you don't own a bike you are missing out on one of the quickest ways to get around: no parking hassles, no sitting in traffic jams, no waiting for yet another delinquent L2 bus.

Sure you have to wear a helmet unless you have a deathwish, many motorists are less than happy to accomodate you on the road, and occasionally some asshole steals your bike or tries to, but bicycling is environmentally friendly, good exercise, and generally convenient.

Yesterday I had to get my bike fixed.

I was taking the kids to school and daycare and somewhere near the school, I hit some glass and poof there goes the tire. So having dropped the two off at their destinations, I walked the bike to City Bikes, using the flat tire as an excuse to get new brake pads. I used my being dressed in work attire to excuse myself from doing it myself.

While my bike was being repaired, I wandered into Idle Times Books. Back before I had children, one of my great joys was to wander through used bookstores unattached to time. Yesterday I spent a long time on the second floor of Idle Times, digging through the Sociology, Philosophy, History, and "Left of Center" sections. I picked up a few books, and now I'm reminded of a certain bad habit of mine, which is that if allowed time to browse in bookstores I inevitably purchase books at a faster pace than I can read them. As bad habits go, it's sort of innocuous, but it does lead to stacks of unread books and a guilty conscience.

The neighborhood is pleasant during the workday. I'd love to have one day off a week to enjoy it: to sit in Tryst, a place I never would go into before the smoking ban, and read a book or maybe take a slow look through Crooked Beat. Instead, I had to pick my bike up and get in to work by noon.

Still, half a day out is better than none.

The old bait and switch

I would write about the Federal Prosecutor Purge, but I'm a little late to the table on that one. When that story initially broke several weeks back, it was pretty clear that the whiff of rat was in the air, but like any good stew, it's taken a little time for the scum to rise to the surface. In this case, we found out that one prosecutor was fired to make way for one of Karl Rove's staffers. Oh, that's just the kind of person I'd entrust with enforcing the law: a toady for an administration that has overseen corruption, dirty tricks, and plain old international war crimes unequaled since Nixon. Lately, the stories have gotten even more sordid, with New Mexico's Congressional delegation (at least two of them) attempting to exert pressure on the now-fired prosecutor for not rushing through an investigation of Democrats in that state.

But I've been rather busy and haven't been posting as regularly as I used to. It's hard to keep up with every outrage perpetrated by this administration, which combines incompetence, negligence, and corruption, yet manages to excel in fundraising and publicity tactics -- tell the big lie and keep telling it...keep telling it.

Instead I'll write about how damn cold it was this morning and how my sunglasses kept fogging up everytime I exhaled, since my coat was zipped up the whole way to protect my face from the nasty wind. It's dangerous enough riding a bike in DC, let alone having to deal with peering around the lenses when they fogged. The alternative, though, is to be blinded by the sun and arrive at work with a headache from squinting. No thanks.

This is just to say...

This morning was a glorious morning to be on a bike. If I hadn't already missed most of last week due to family illnesses, I'd have probably called in sick just to take a ride down the GW Parkway, or maybe down to Hains Point. Either way, it would have been better than coming into work.

We only had a few weeks of real winter weather, so I'm not complaining about that. It was just beautiful whipping around Dupont Circle this morning with the sun behind the fountain. Seriously you know it would be good riding along the Potomac right now, in the few months we have before the air sticks to you like a wet shirt.

Let me leave you with this gem from Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.


---

I was having a good morning until...

As is usual, my son got on his bike and I put my daughter on my bike and off we went to school this morning. It was warmer than normal (this winter I've taken the bus two or three times and my wife's dropped us all off once or twice), so it was almost pleasant on the ride down the hill to his school. The school sits on one of those one way streets that's single lane but is used by so many commuters to get across town, and the commuter in a good mood is a rare thing indeed.

It just so happens that on Mondays the schoolchildren assemble, weather permitting, on the playground outside the school and have a short assembly: announcements, class presentations, etc. This morning weather permitted, and the children were assembled listening to the principal. The traffic on the street was bad, and this one driver, all alone in his Maryland tagged light green Saab, decided that right in front of the school he needed to lay on his horn. Repeatedly.

Surprisingly enough, the gridlocked traffic didn't dissolve at the blast of the trumpet like the walls coming down at Jericho, but that didn't stop him. On and on he pounds on the horn until I go over to him and ask him (I paraphrase now), "WTF is wrong with you, you idiot?" and I point at the children at assembly. Mind you, I'm on a bike and am in no way responsible for his delay, but he looks straight at me and lays on the horn. I laughed at him and turned back to the assembly.

The great irony -- actually it's probably not ironic, just what you'd expect -- is that at that moment the children were having a moment of silence for the six year old DCPS student killed in a crosswalk on his way to school by a Takoma Park driver.

Ode to Inconsistency

How I curse you, L2, most capricious of busses,
you of the infrequent stops and skipped promises.
I despair of reading yet another 9x line marquee
still each time my pulse quickens in my hope
to read your name writ bold atop your broad face.

Bah, you have dashed my hopes!

Twice, you have dashed my hopes
and I look to my feet
like a scorned suitor, his rival
escorting his love through the dance floor.

Then, like the sun cresting the hills at dawn,
you appear, come rumbling past the post office into sight.

I am saved, dear diesel-scented mistress of my desire!