After several weeks of not riding more than a mile or two at a time, I finally rode to work and back on Friday. It was a ride, normal and refreshing. The ride home was really a ride. A friend from high school asked me early in the week if I wanted to go to the B-CC homecoming game on Friday night. This was our high school's homecoming game. On Monday, this sounded like a fun idea. I talked to Josh about it and he thought we were going. On Friday, I was skeptical and decided that happy hour in Bethesda was far favorable to a night reliving my self-concsious days of partying behind my parents back and living up to everyone else's expectations when all I knew about football was that there was a quarterback and yellow field goals. This game ended up not being full of the weirdness I thought it was and I was really glad I went. Just watching live football is really nice sometimes. Especially in the cold... that's not something I had much of the past four years. The point is that I stayed at work until 5:30, when Josh called me and told me that he thought we were going to the game and that it started in an hour. He had left a work golf outing (yes, we're serious adults now) to get home in time for it so I wasn't getting out of it. I had to rush home and I did. It was fall so I sweat but not too much. As I rode by a woman walking her dog, another dog cam running up to them to play. She yelled frantically, saying something about being scared of dogs. I shook it off because who is scared of dogs, walking their own dog down the street. But as I rode off she continued screaming to the house the dog came from for the owners to "CALL YOUR DOG". I feel bad I never stopped to help. I felt bad for the next ten minutes. But, really, why are you walking a dog if you're afraid of them?! And how can you expect people to stop for you and believe that you are afraid? It was sad but the dog that approached them was harmless and I'm sure she was fine. And, what can I say, I was in a hurry.
Not as much of a hurry as I was in the next morning though, as I rode to Adam's Morgan from my Bethesda apartment. I had quite the busy day ahead of me. Crafty Bastards, an annual art fair on 18th street started at 10 am. My soccer game started at 11:30 and I was supposed to arrive for warm-up at 11 am. And Josh and I were leaving immediately after the game to drive out to Castleton, VA to spend the weekend with our friends Julie and Kevin. I was determined to attend Crafty Bastards for the first time so I had an hour to do it. Ingrid and I made plans to meet at 9:45 to make the most of it. Of course, I was unprepared for the weekend and packed the morning of. I didn't leave by 9am, as planned, and, instead, called Ingrid at 9:25 to say I was on my way. I told her I'd be there at 10 which was a stretch/lie because it takes me 35 minutes to ride to work (at Van Ness) every morning. I was riding to 18th Street and Kalorama, 2.4 miles past Van Ness which, at 15 miles per hour, would add 10 minutes to my ride. So, leaving at 9:25, I would get there at 10:10. Why is all this obnoxious, on-the-dot math necessary? Because I am here to brag about how I did this ride in UNDER 30 minutes on that sunny Saturday morning. It was like those instances you read about when moms get superhuman strength and lift cars or concrete to save their dying babies. Well the clock was my concrete and Crafty Bastards was my dying baby. I put my heart and soul into that ride, I rode the majority of it on Wisconsin and Connecticut Avenues among speedy cars, and I rode an average of 18 or 20 miles per hour. And I got there in 30 minutes and my baby came alive because instead of getting there at 10:10 and leaving at 11, I got there at 9:50 and left at 11:10. That extra thirty minutes made a world of difference. Not really, but it let me see how I can push myself. And I rode on the streets and wasn't afraid. It was Saturday morning so the road was nothing like it is at 8:30 am on weekday mornings, at which time I'll continue to use the sidewalk, but, in a crunch, I know I can run with the cars.
Ingrid and I left the arts late and barely made it to our game on time. We lost, as usual, and it sucked. Because we know we're good and we kill ourselves to play well and play like a team. But we have guys with egos and we don't pass enough and our offense can't score. So we lose and that's our story. But it's ok because Josh and I left for the county where we went apple picking, cooked grass-fed lamb from Mount Vernon farm, drank lots and lots of pumpkin beer and watched some disappointing football. Kevin, who just bought a new bike off craigslist, a 10 speed Peugot, requested that I bring my bike and that we go for a ride. We ended up riding around the farm on Sunday morning, on hilly and grassy gravel roads/fields. This wasn't exactly a bike ride but it was a party for Lucy and her new friend (Kevin, does your bike have a name?). Man, what gorgeous scenery and weather and people. I'd like to go back there, get off the farm, and ride those country roads like they've never been ridden before.
Here are some pictures of the weekend.