No Foolin’--A Different Kind of Ride for My First Day of 30 Days of Biking

The 30 Days of Biking challenge asks people to pledge to ride their bikes every day in April. For someone who doesn’t have an existing bike-riding habit this represents a major commitment and a new way of life. For an old hand like me—Bike to Work Barb!—no biggie, right? 

Well,  maybe the fact that this challenge starts on April Fool’s Day has something to do with it, but here’s my story for Day One.

First challenge: On a day that dawned sunny and beautiful I couldn’t ride my bike to work. I needed to leave with my sweetheart straight from work for a family voyage so I rode the bus to work. I had thought in advance about how I could get in a ride, no matter how brief, and I had my plan.

Thanks to the City of Spokane we have a loaner bike at work for check-out and I had a hair appointment less than a half-mile away. Perfect solution! 

I dressed for riding—meaning, I wore a cute dress I picked up at Carousel Vintage and a pair of black pumps with 2-1/2” heels. (Secret weapon for ladylike bike straddle: "Bloomers" made by Cuddle Duds that give me shorts-like coverage under the dress.)

I normally find these shoes pretty comfortable for running around, but by the time I needed to leave I had realized the new shoes I wore yesterday created some sore points that these shoes rubbed as well, so I had some hot spots developing. 

My salon had called to see if I wanted an earlier appointment and I was scrambling to try to make that work, which created a sense of time pressure I don’t usually feel when using a bike for transportation.

A construction project has the campus streets torn up pretty thoroughly. As I teetered at the edge of the dirt pit a construction worker waved me toward one of my two options for crossing the street. I headed west, then south, then east, trying to reach the Transportation Services office to get the bike.

One little snag: You can’t get there from here. I picked my way through a parking lot only to discover that the construction had me cut off on the east, so back I went the way I came.

By this time my dogs were barking, to say nothing of the way this was chewing up the clock. When I got back to the grassy, un-torn-up part of campus I pulled my shoes off and ran barefoot across the lawn for a little foot freedom. Then I wiped off my feet, put the by-now-really-ouchy shoes back on, and hiked through the construction zone and another parking lot.

Luckily the nice folks in Transportation Services had some bandages so I could buffer my blisters a bit.

The loaner bike has both a cable and a U-lock. It took me a little bit of effort to get that all coiled up and attached in a way that kept the U-lock up where it wouldn’t fall into the spokes and jam me up, but finally I was off.

I set off on the loaner bike back through the construction and around through campus.

I hadn’t bothered to adjust the seat, so my pedaling form would have reminded you of the scene in the Wizard of Oz with the mean old neighbor lady pedaling like mad. The rain had started coming down too, proving to my satisfaction that the Wicked Witch of the West theme music playing in my head didn’t really apply since I wasn’t melting.

After a few blocks I stopped to adjust the seat, which took a few minutes because I loosened the wrong attachment, then figured out what I needed to do and raised the seat. I got on to pedal away and promptly sank downward—in messing with the mechanism I had managed to rotate the handle a couple of times and had loosened the nut on the other side [insert your own joke here].

Back off the bike. Tighten the attachment. Raise the seat and finish the adjustment. Get back on and ride, much happier now that I at least had a decent seat height although the bike size really doesn’t match me and I felt like a Shriner on a toy bike. 

While our loaner bike has a rack it doesn’t have panniers so I didn't have my usual handy-dandy way to carry stuff. I carried my cell phone and wallet in a little bag, alternately dangling it from my wrist, my shoulder, and the handlebars. 

On the plus side, this bike has a step-through frame; my usual bike is a road bike and the straddle involves more flashing of bystanders. I also enjoyed the more upright posture; I may just have to start scouting around for something along these lines despite the increased resemblance to Almira Gulch that entails.
The rain kept sprinkling—more than sprinkling, really, but not bad and spring rain just doesn’t seem as cold and bone-chilling as winter rain. I couldn’t really appreciate this difference until I started riding in all kinds of weather and paying more attention to my surroundings and the change of seasons.

I made it downtown, locked up the bike, got the quick hair trim I needed before heading out of town next week on a business trip, headed back, and did the whole construction zone-parking lot dance in reverse.

Compared to my usual easy-squeezy biking—get on bike, ride to work, park in rack next to my building, ride home—this represented a lot more effort, and probably a lot more entertainment value for anyone watching any portion. But I got my 30 days of biking started.

Now to figure out what I do for bike access five days next week when I travel to Washington, D.C., without paying an arm and a leg for rental. Does the hotel exercise bike count?

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Set Down that Heavy Load: The Things We Carry

A #LetsBlogOff Post

When I was younger, I enjoyed the acquisition and accumulation of stuff. Clothing, books, cute knick-knacks, purses (because no purse is ever the perfect purse, but hope springs eternal).

My older sister went shopping for baby clothes with me when Eldest Daughter was but a newborn and distinctly remembers me saying, “Why buy one when three will do?” (In my defense I was talking about baby bonnets—I figured there would always be one in the wash and one misplaced somewhere. In this I was correct.)

In the same way I acquired thoughts and emotions. Packed ‘em around in my head for years sometimes. Chewed on old grudges, mourned old sorrows, felt guilty all over again for some dumb or cruel thing I did in high school. (Sorry, Tim T.—I should not have teased you.)

Then I began reading Buddhist thought by various writers. I discovered myself in those pages and realized that indeed, attachment causes suffering. Every time I dug up an old bone and chewed on it I left yet more toothmarks—on myself.

No one else learned any lessons or said they were sorry or changed their minds based on the scenes that played out in my overactive imagination and memory. Yet the body responds to those things in your head just as if they are real, so I got all the same adrenalin, accelerated pulse, and shallow breathing from an imaginary fight or debate as I had experienced in the real thing.

I began to say to myself, “Why dig those ruts any deeper?” I learned to stop myself when I started playing the tape over again (for you young ‘uns, think of that as hitting the left arrow button).  I began to set down the stuff I carried in my head.


Somewhere in one of the books I read I picked up the line, “Don’t let someone else live in your brain rent-free.” Every time I poked an old mental bruise, I once again gave that person or that incident residency in my brain. I gave away my energy for free.

There is a wonderful Buddhist story that illustrates this in the children’s book Kindness, a collection by an author in my hometown of Spokane.

The story describes two monks, one young and one old. The old one helps a woman cross a stream by carrying her on his back, which the young one considers a violation of their vows.

Hours after the incident he scolds the older monk, who replies, “I set that woman down beside the stream long ago. You have carried her all this time.” (Various versions of the two monks story can be found here.)

I try to set something down every so often, whether it’s a once-treasured possession I wouldn’t bother to replace if the house burned down (a new measuring stick I just learned) or a negative thought.

I asked my friends on Facebook what they carry, leaving it up to them whether they wanted to answer metaphorically or concretely. I got such wonderful answers that I’m saving them for a follow-up post. 

A teaser for that post: Some carried negative thoughts like those I describe here. Others, though, carry things like a song to sing, lessons learned from a beloved grandfather, optimism, and peace based on religious faith. You don't have to set down everything in your head. And I apparently have very practical friends, since among them they have everything from a multi-tool to a Swiss army knife and a tape measure to lip goop (always lip goop).

Your Turn
  • What do you carry?
  • What have you set down?
  • What are you still carrying that you would like to leave beside the stream?
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#LetsBlogOff Participating Blogs You Should Check Out


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Those Nice Lady Drivers

I had such nice encounters with drivers today it’s worth blogging about as a thank-you.

After hearing the rain pouring down last night, I was delighted to wake up and find a crisp, sunny Saturday morning waiting for me. I was scheduled to speak at a bike commuting workshop at Sun People Dry Goods and would have ridden my bike no matter what, but I’d much rather arrive dry than damp.

So I dressed in my typical workday commuting outfit: Black knee-length skirt, black tights, black dress shoes, Smart Wool top, cardigan. Part of my point when I promote bike riding is that it’s entirely possible to ride in regular clothing as just another regular person, not a Spandex Superwoman, so I dressed the part.

After a fun workshop with Spokesman-Review Slice columnist Paul Turner, Cycling Spokane blogger John Speare, and Mother of Bike Education Eileen Hyatt, I headed homeward.

At a busy stoplight at Browne and Second, where I waited in the southbound lane second from the curb (the through lane for the left-hand turn I needed in the next block), a woman pulled up next to me in an SUV, rolled down her window, and said, “You look so cute! Keep it up.” We chatted briefly. She said she thought we really need more women riding bikes. The light turned green and away we went.

I took the eastbound left turn on 4th and waited at the stoplight at Division. A really huge SUV hung back about a half-block behind me. The lights rotated through a complete cycle and skipped us. I realized my bike wouldn’t trip the light sensor and the vehicle was too far back, so I waved the driver forward.

The vehicle eased up beside me and the passenger-side window rolled down. The woman driving said, “I was just trying to make sure I gave you plenty of room.”

“Thanks!” I said. “I just need you to trip the light because it’s not changing.”

“Okay; just wanted to make sure I didn’t crowd you.”

“Thank you so much! I really appreciate it!” The light changed and away we rolled.

No earthshaking revelations here—just two really pleasant encounters with friendly, supportive drivers on a sunny Saturday. Well worth noting.

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Losing Weight

No, this isn’t the grapefruit diet, or the all-you-can-eat diet, or the “use this one silly trick to blast stomach flab” diet. It’s the purse diet.

As in, when was the last time you took everything out of your purse and then decided what to put back in? Or—brace yourself—switched to a smaller purse?

That’s essentially what I did to move into panniers for bike commuting. It illustrates yet another of my life lessons learned from biking: If you can’t carry it, you don’t need it.

If you’ve ever ridden a heavy bike load up a steep hill, you know that you don’t want to carry excess weight (whether it’s on you or on the bike). I’m not talking about the crazy roadies who obsess over shaving 10 grams off the weight of their pedals—just your average concern for not working any harder than you have to.

When I started commuting, I’m reasonably sure I hauled a lot of extra weight because my instinct was simply to transfer my purse straight into my pannier. That way you get to carry not only the weight of the stuff, but the weight of the purse too.

But honestly, how much of that stuff that you carry do you ever really need? You’re carrying it “just in case.” Just in case what—you find yourself stranded 85 miles from the nearest Rite-Aid or 7-11 and you don’t have an emery board? (My mother always carried at least three.)

Honestly, how long will it be until you can get to a source of whatever it is you’re not carrying right this very second? And can you survive that long? Unless you’re a diabetic and looking at your insulin, I bet you’ll be okay.

Every so often I find that the little detritus has started to creep back in and the pouch of essentials I carry is inching upward. (And if I do carry an actual purse, as I do on the days I ride the bus, all bets are off. I rarely bother to clean out my purses because I use them so seldom.)

The basics? I use two pouches. One pouch has “me” stuff:
  • Bike wallet with ID, debit card, folding money, and a couple of essential cards (bus pass, insurance, library card, Rocket Bakery preloaded card for coffee)
  • Checkbook only on days I actually know I need to write a check
  • Lip balm or lipstick, although I keep those in my desk at work so technically I don’t “need” to carry them
  • Nail clippers (because I obsess about my fingernails in a highly unhealthy fashion and can’t stand it if I can’t immediately deal with a broken nail—and because they make a good emergency pair of scissors)
  • Keys (to get into my house and my office, silly--did you think I meant car keys?!)

The other pouch holds “tech”:
  • Smartphone
  • Extra battery for my phone (a work necessity)
  • Patch cable so I can use my phone as a tethered modem if need be
  • Flash drive
  • A couple of my business cards
  • Pen

That’s it for the basics. On work days I also carry my lunch, a water bottle, and a laptop with power cable (I bought an ultralight so this only represents about 3 pounds total).

Play Our Home Version:

  • What excess baggage do you carry? 
  • What would it tell me about you if I looked in your purse?
  • What are you afraid of if you don't carry this stuff?
  • When was the last time you actually used most of the things in your purse?
  • What's the worst thing that could happen? (In my case, if I'm not carrying the nail clippers I will chew on the rough edge in a most unladylike way. This is not a terminal disease but I prefer not to.)

Feel free to extend the meaning of "if you can't carry it, you don't need it" metaphorically. I've had thoughts that weighed me down and when I finally set them down and rolled away without looking back, I felt light as a feather.

Post inspired by “Instead of Driving . . . I Won a Pack!” on Kent’s Bike Blog. He won a pack and could have received a larger size, but said, “If I have too much space, I tend to take too much stuff.”

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