Monday, July 25, 2005

Tour De Rock Creek

So, about two months ago, Amy and I decided that we wanted to go biking. I did not have a bike and haven't had one since I was like 13, so we took a trip to the Performance Bike Shop to pick one up. I figured I'd start using it if I had one and maybe even bike to work since my office is only about a mile from my house.

Well, unfortunately Performance Bike Shop doesn't work like Toys R Us used to and they would not let me walk out with a bike that day...instead I got a claim sheet and had to return four days later to grab my shiny new, perfectly greased and calibrated, blue and silver Boulder SE mountain bike with front end shocks. Yeah, might have been a little overkill but you never know when I might be driving in the middle of the mountains with some buddies and decide to do some off-roading (huh?)

Glad I got that bike, because it has been sitting nicely in my garage since the day I bought it...until Sunday.

Sunday was a pretty nice day, so we decided it was time we get prepped and bike. Now, I remember being 13, and getting prepped for a bike ride meant putting on your shoes, and not much else. Apparently things have changed, because we had to fill the water bottles, attach the storage pouch for my wallet and cell. phone (we could fall and require fuck off), inflate both tires on Amy's bike, attach the bike rack to the back of my car so we could drive to Rock Creek Park, put the bikes on the rack. SHIT!

My bike doesn't fit. The rack was Amy's and apparently my bike is too extreme for this rack, which is also bending the spoiler on the back of my car. We're going old school. We leave from the house and go wherever. Actually, I only live about a mile from Rock Creek Park so we head out and the journey is off.

They are right about the whole "like riding a bicycle"'s like I'm thirteen again. Well, except for the size of my nuts, which have apparently grown and don't quite belong jammed onto this seat. But hey, that's what getting in touch with nature is all about...feeling a dull pain in your balls.

So, we make it to the Rock Creek Park path right next to Rockville Pike and then start cruisin'. Before we know it, we've crossed Connecticut Avenue and we're seeing signs that say DC is only 5.9 miles. I'm up for it. So, we push on and before you know it we cross East-West Highway. Amy is lagging a little behind but I keep my pace slow so that we're within about 10-20 feet of each other. By this point, I'm feeling pretty comfortable on my bike, so I'm biking with one hand, bolting off into the grass whenever I get bored, and trying to make the bike do a wheelie. No luck on the wheelie, but it did hop like a '64 Impala.

Next thing I know, we're in the middle of the forest on a street that cars are not allowed on and I can only assume DC is getting close. We haven't seen a sign for a while and we're probably about 7 miles into our biking. More than I expected and much more than Amy did. That's when things start to break down.

Apparently, Amy doesn't believe in the biking equivalent to the runner's high, because now she's asking where we are... and if I know where we're going... and her butt is hurting from the seat. Ugh.

I can't really be too upset with her since we've been biking for a while now and I don't think she figured we'd be going for this long or far...but how do we get back?

We see signs for the zoo (did we really make it to DC?), and there's a main road heading east so I take it. Amy is livid and refuses to go any further, insisting on walking. She's really lagging behind, so I get off my bike, walk back to her and begin pushing both our bikes up this path along the main road. Of course, it's all I'm really not sure what the road is.

When we get to an intersection, we finally find out that we have, in fact, biked all the way into DC. We are on Military Road to the east of Connecticut Avenue, and I might as well be wearing a yellow shirt. I'm pretty proud of myself and Amy just wants to sit down. But at least I now know where I am, and I have a plan.

We take Military Road over to Nebraska and then shoot down to Tenleytown where I grab myself a bike lock from the bike place there (forgot that when I got the bike) to tie up the bikes, and we head into Guapo's. Nothing ends a long ass bike ride like Mexican Food. When we finish up, we decide to take the metro home and bike the last mile from the metro to our place.

Now I don't know how much fun and adventure Lance Armstrong has in France, but I'm pretty sure it can't compete with this...and he certainly didn't get any Mexican Fried Ice Cream.

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