In Which We Enter the Dark Times

Pretty morning sky Monday, Nov. 27. It's maybe 8 or so, and I've just pedaled up the hill to the Rohde Family Plaza. I have not had to use the winter beater bike much this week, as it's been nice enough for Clarence.

Dec. 1—for this time of year, today was a warm, pleasant one. It was frosty during my morning ride, but not windy, with a pretty soft blue winter sky.

It got warm in the afternoon, but by the time I was riding home from work—I got home close to 5—had cooled again to jacket weather, although I did ride home without hood or gloves.

Two 5 p.m. looks at almost full moon reflected in pond on C Avenue, Dec. 1.

We’ve arrived at the dark times, when I often have to use my lights for both the morning and afternoon bicycle commutes. So far, however, this particular Iowa winter has been nice. We’ve had a dry fortnight, although fortunately it’s at this time of year when no plants are trying to extract water, and warmer than usual weather.

That’s supposed to change. I may need to dig out my headband, mittens, thermal underwear and boots next week, when a Canadian air mass is supposed to give us a reminder of what winter in Iowa means.

Well, for me it means wearing a few more layers and biking on! I hope you can get out some even during these dark times.

Almost home, Dec. 1. Dry Creek valley--you may not see them well, but there are two deer about to cross the creek bed. 

In Which I Check: Cedar Lake Is Still There

Sunset viewed from Rohde Family Plaza, Mount Mercy. Not sure what day this was, but it was last week--maybe last Wednesday? Or Tuesday after bells? Anyway, pretty sunset.

I have not had much time for bike blogging lately—too busy at the end of a busy semester.

For biking, December has been a mixed bag. I have been able to ride most days, although I have not taking time to change pedals on my fast new bike, so have been riding the pickup truck, Francis. That’s OK, since the rides have not been long and since I’ve often had loads of papers and/or books, which are easier to carry on the sturdy old commuting bike.

But it has been damp and cloudy. I don’t react well to rain as a biker, and cold December rain is especially not my thing, so several days in the past two weeks have been driving days.

Still, even windy, cool and cloudy days have been OK for biking, and I’ve biked more than I’ve driven. Sunsets in this odd, warm December that feels more like late October have been early, but sometimes, when the clouds are not solid, also very pretty.

Today, the sun was actually shining in the afternoon, and since I don’t have classes—just a mountain of grading—I left campus a bit earlier than usual and actually rode down to Cedar Lake, just because I haven’t in some time.

The lake is still here. Around 4 p.m., with the sun getting low and a cold wind blowing, it’s still a pretty place to be.

Two views of Cedar Lake around 4 p.m. today. Top one is southeast corner of lake, bottom is north end of lake, showing geese at geese party. It's been very cloudy recently, so a sunny day, even a cold windy one, was a treat.

Mornings rides have pretty much all been with lights on. Most days the ride home is in the full dark, although full dark arrives around 5. We’re in the dark weeks of the year, not normally the best for a bicycle rider, but I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve had to wear the coat and gloves, but neither long underwear nor mittens.

Snow? I don’t really miss you much. But rain? The creek behind my house spilling over its banks in December? That’s more than a bit odd.

Two views of Dry Creek out of its banks Tuesday morning as I biked to work. More often, at this time of year, you can go for long walks in its dry bed--but not this year.

Well, world leaders in Paris. I’m trying to do my bit. I’m sure I contribute some carbon to the atmosphere as I huff along the chilly, dark December streets of Cedar Rapids on my old back bike. But far less than if I drove them, I’m sure.

And I get to spend more time in the pretty sunsets.

In Which Spring Comes As Team Joe Grows

Ice on my driveway is divided by streamlet of melting.

Friday afternoon on the way home--crossing Dry Creek on C Avenue. It's been iced over, a walkway for deer, and now the deer will have either dip their hooves or find a new route. Water! Spring!

Well, our merry band is up to five. A sister-in-law on my wife’s side from Florida will be riding the whole week of RAGBRAI on Team Joe.

And, the weather is finally taking a turn for the seasonal. There is still a snow pack over most of the ground, it’s below freezing at night—but the March sun has been aided by slightly warmer afternoon temperatures, and we are seeing some melt.

March 6, squirrel on Mount Mercy University campus. Receding snow.

That made biking on Thursday and Friday a bit dicey. The ride Thursday night was a bit tense because I have a late afternoon class and can’t leave until 7 or so. By then, it had been dark for an hour and what had been wet on the streets was starting to freeze.

Still, although I definitely rode over lots of ice, no spills.

This morning, it felt like spring. There was a warm sun shining, even if the air was still in the 20s. I didn’t even put my hood up at first, but when I went around the first corner and faced into a stiff southern wind, that changed pretty quickly. Still, I wore my light gloves and only one pair of socks.

The afternoon ride, in which I took the longer trail route, was wet. Today was a cloudy day of thawing, with more melting weather coming this weekend.

It will cool off again next week, but there aren't the bitter cold temperatures in the forecast that we had to start March. And this weekend we turn our clocks forward—it won’t be full dark at 7 anymore when I have to bike home.

That will be nice. In fact, I’m pretty confident that overall, things are getting nicer for biking weather in this cold corner of the globe. It’s not over yet—we sure could still see some early spring snows—but winter is waning, and aren't we grateful.

Coneflower seed head in side garden. I'll have to cut it off and toss it behind the fence in hopes of starting some coneflowers there.

In Which I Ride In A Poetry Fog

Moon over water tower, seen on Blair's Ferry this morning. Now, isn't that cool?

Water in Dry Creek, a new sight this morning.

Your bicycle correspondent was in an odd mood last night and this morning. Not a bad mood, just an odd one.

In fact, the rides have been very pleasant—this morning, in particular. It was the day after overnight thunderstorms, and if you know Iowa, you know the day after a storm can be beautiful. Despite clouds, that’s what this day promises to be.

No, the oddness comes from metaphors dancing in my mind. On the way home yesterday, I passed by Elmcrest Country Club—as I do every day that I don’t take the trail ride home. The club has tennis courts that are hidden from view, but near enough to the street that you can hear that distinctive “thonk (pause) thonk” sound a tennis ball makes as it is struck by a racquet or thumps off a court surface.

I don’t mind that sound, but I found myself wondering how a writer could describe it. What metaphor or other comparison would capture something as distinct as that particular sound that seems to be made by nothing else?

It was worse this morning. For one thing, the weather has cooled and the morning was just breathtakingly fine. Before my commute, I spent a few minutes doing routine service to Francis—greasing the chain, checking the tire pressure and then pumping both tires up when it turned out I should check the tire pressure more often. I wasn’t rushing the task, and somehow the simplicity of it had me tuned into the world around me.

I had an empty bottle of bike lube. I walked around the house to the backyard to toss it into a garbage can there, and walked about 20 yards too far, carefully stepping on the walkway stones to avoid the damp earth, breathing in the morning air, admiring the sudden lushness of a parched land that has been blessed with its first deep drink of …

There, you see? Hang on. Events will conspire to make it worse.

After gazing at leaves for a while as if I were a stoner on a high (is that a simile or metaphor?), I retraced my steps, and when I got to the side garden by the wall in front of the house, a silent little shape flitted into my field of view, hovered briefly maybe 10 yards in front of me, and then zigzagged off into the setting full moon. I wrote on my other blog how, after a rare recent rain, I mistook moths on some hostas for a crowd of hummingbirds, but this was not a mistake. The iridescent shininess of his body, the upright posture of his flying—I could, only briefly, see his curved, sharp beak, but I saw it. This was no insect. This was a bird—probably, by the brightness, a macho bird, although with some species you can’t tell, and I haven’t used Google to research hummingbirds to see if the females are also bright.

Because I was just too busy enjoying this one.

And that moon! The sky was mostly cloudy grey, with just a few milky blue breaks in the west. An almost full moon was setting at 7 a.m. this morning, and it looked like a golf ball resting on a bed of cotton as it slipped through a blue patch towards a cloudy horizon.

Darn you, Carol Tyx! Again, pushing my other blog (y’all click now, you hear?), I attended a program of hers yesterday in which she described her poetry writing style.

I’m no poet, but I do write. One thing she said is that she tells her students that she sometimes suffers from a literary hangover, where she stayed up too late the night before reading a book she could not put down.

I didn’t stay up late last night reading. Instead, I wrote the post about her program and was in bed by 10:30. But, my brain must have been slightly fried by the exposure to poetry. After the hummingbird, I was entranced by the sight of water in Dry Creek (it has been dry for weeks), by the moon several times, by geese and squirrels and crows that scampered and squawked and otherwise provided unintentional distraction to the mind suddenly aware of its love for the simple, natural world around. The smell of wet soil perfumed the air, a smell I have not encountered a lot recently in this dry patch of the world.

It was cool this morning in every sense of the word. The ride was nice. And I think I was also suffering from a slight poetry hangover. That was OK, too.

Feather on the steps of Warde Hall when I got there this morning. Why did I photograph it? Because I can, man. I promise no illegal (or, for that matter, any fun legal)  substances were consumed in the writing of this blog. I'm just stoned on poetry.

In Which A Rail Takes a Sail for Reasons Not Known

Something is missing on the C Avenue Bridge ...

I feel a little naked biking now. My trusty Canon PowerShot camera, with which I documented RAGBRAI for two years, is on the fritz—it has a “lens error,” which means the lens does not open.

Looking down at Dry Creek, there's the missing railing.
How much does that much steel weigh?

I like that Canon a lot, but have only owned it a year. A digital camera, even one that gets a lot of use, should last longer, don't you think? Francis is more than three years old and going strong (of course, one bike I owned I rode for 30 years—probably a bit beyond a digital camera's life span).

Anyway, I do own an old Fuji digital that has 3x (yes, 3!) optical zoom and 3.2 megapixels (more than 3!) for image size. Hardly a “cool” camera by today's standards, but it deploys its lens and takes photos, as you can see.

Today, I rode to the gym in the morning and did the Lindale-Boyson Trail route on the way home. On the way there, I totally overlooked the big news of my biking route, which my wife, who walked, noticed right away.

A big chunk is missing from the rail of the C Avenue Bridge. A huge piece of steel was knocked or tossed into Dry Creek. This happened sometime Monday night. Was it a car? A truck? A sledgehammer? Onlookers want to know.

I took the derailed railing photos (with my trusty old Fuji) on the way home from MMU this afternoon.

So, blog fans, what do you think? What would have severed such a huge chunk of metal on one of the mean streets of Cedar Rapids?

In Which Some Early Spring Rides Are Freakishly Cold

Dry Creek, early this morning, from the C Avenue bridge. For this time of year, it's very unusual for it to be iced over. A pretty, but very cold, morning ride to the gym--the air temperature around 7, I think.

The sun was shining Wednesday, and I had an errand to run at Mount Mercy, so late in the morning I set out.

Man, it was very cold. Luckily, I had checked the temperature, so I was not surprised and I had long johns and a scarf on—the full winter biking outfit (other things, too, I just mean the long johns and the scarf are things I would not normally have also been wearing).

The morning ride was cold, but I assumed as I worked that it was warming up a bit—so by 12:30 p.m., when I got ready to head out, I texted my wife to suggest we meet downtown for lunch. Fortunately, she did not respond and I headed for home, because, even though the temperature had gone up, the wind speed had gone up even more, and it was a psycho cold ride home. I took the trail, wanting a bit more of a ride, and frankly, I don’t know that I enjoyed the extra ride all that much.

Today, March 21, it’s still January weather in spring. I rode my bike to the gym this morning, and briefly toyed with the idea of a trail ride on the way home. However, the Lindale Trail is closed right now (I assume maybe flood damage on the Boyson Trail?), and the very cold air persuaded me to head directly home.

I may yet ride this afternoon. The wind is much milder than yesterday, and the temperature warmer. I know I’ll need two pairs of socks, but I’m not totally sure about the long johns.

Well see, but this morning was quite cold.

I found, via the Northtowne Bike Shop web site, a “map my route” application, that I sort of regret using. I mapped my morning commute, and it came to 3.6 miles. Now, the actual route I ride is slightly longer—the mapped route does not include climbing the hill at MMU and crossing campus, and there is a detour west of the Rockwell Collins building that doesn’t show up on the mapped ride—but that 3.6 number deflated my ego, a bit. I always claimed I was biking about 5 miles. Just short of 4 isn’t exactly the same—and the fact that it takes me 30 minutes is a bit sobering.

On the other hand, it’s an in-town commuting route. There are lots of stops, waiting for traffic or the light to change, and few long stretches of flat-out biking .And 4 (I’ll claim 4 due to the extra distances not mapped) is still 4.

It makes me more determined to ride for a little while this afternoon. I definitely need the RAGBRAI training miles!

Ice on Dry Creek.

Doe, A Deer, A Female Deer

Doe in muddy Dry Creek which was dry last week but has a bit of water in it.  She's a fair distance from me, my point-and-shoot has a good amount of zoom--I'm on C Avenue bridge and she's in the creek.

Ray, a drop of golden sun that fell on Iowa and made it friggin' HOT HOT HOT.

I got back Monday from a fun weekend trip to Rochester, Minnesota and the Twin Cities. Jon was in a wedding there, so he was able to come home for a couple of days before returning to the Peace Corp in Paraguay.

Due to a broken spoke, I didn't ride as many miles last week as I had intended, and while I will make up some this week, I won't push it. It's the week before RAGBRAI. The body needs a little rest before the ordeal.

I picked up Old Blackie from the bike shop Monday evening and took her out for a quick trail spin near my home. As I crossed the C Avenue bridge in the fading light, I saw something below me. Not that golden valley, but a creek that had been dry last week with some muddy water, and a thirsty doe, clearly having a drink.

She paused to look at me, but it was just too darn hot to run, so she just watched and I just photographed and after a few minutes I moved on.

I took the bike out again this morning for a 30-mile or so ride. I finished by 11:30, and it was already blisteringly hot.

Well, the first few days of RAGBRAI should be warm ones, but upper 90s, not 100s, and the forecast seems to include some 80s by mid-week. Maybe we'll be lucky and RAGBRAI won't be so hot, after all.

The water in the creek was a bit of a surprise, a gift from weekend rain. It's still very dry, and we could use more. There is a slight chance of storms tonight, so knock on wood and think wet thoughts!

It’s A Good Friday Ride With Mr. T

Mr. T on a walk this afternoon down to Dry Creek behind our house, not long before our ride. He loves the creek, and we saw it several times on the ride. "Look at water?" he often asks.

It was cold overnight with a low of 32, but despite a frosty start to the day, this turned out to be a gorgeous spring Good Friday in Iowa.

On Thursday evening, Katy’s three kids came to stay overnight with us. We went up to the Bowman Woods School play area—the ladies (Amelia, Nikayla and Audrey) walked, while I took Mr. T in the trailer attached to Audrey’s bike. I didn’t use my bike because Audrey assumed it might be a good idea to have “carrying capacity” in case Nikayla wanted a ride home, but when we left the play area, she said she wanted to again walk.

Well, Audrey, Amelia and Nikayla left first while I loaded Mr. T. They headed north to walk up to Boyson Road and then to turn south on Kent. Tristan and I took the south way out of the park. When Audrey came to Kent, she turned left. When I came to Kent I turned right. Both of us were headed to Sussex.

And we met. And Nikayla, by then, two blocks in to the walk, wanted to ride, so she got loaded into the trailer, too.

Today, for one reason and another, Nikayla didn’t nap when Tristan and Amelia slept, and Audrey was trying to get her to lay down later, so she suggested Mr. T and I take a later afternoon bike ride.

Well, you don’t have to push us very hard. I’m such a biking fan that I write a biker blog. Mr. T pretends to be me with his toy bikes, announcing, for example, that he’s “going to work” when he gets on a bike, which he will then ride between kitchen and living room before returning and noting that he has “come home” and has to “put bike away.”

Did I also mention he tilts his toy bikes at a sharp angle when he gets on and off? And grunts audibly during the mounts and dismounts? He’s imitating the noises an old man with a tall bike makes when getting on or off—noises he has heard many times. His impression is hilarious partly because it’s pretty good.

Anyway, off we rode using my bike with the front child seat. We headed to the Cedar Valley Nature Trail and went north to Tower Terrace Road. It was about a 90 minute round trip—a bit longer than it would take me riding alone, but I go more slowly when I have Tristan, and not just due to extra weight, but extra care, too.

It was a fun ride. Mr. T is a great bike companion, partly because he just obviously enjoys it so much, and partly due to his almost constant narration of the biking experience.

Finally, as a bonus, an early Easter bouquet of flowers shot this Good Friday as Tristan played outside this afternoon. I shot these with the "regular" lens of my Nikon, at about 50 mm, so I was right on top of the subjects and pretty happy with the focus at this short distance: