What's the Connection Between Cherry Pie and Biking?

This blog has nothing to do with bike riding, unless you count the fact that I whacked out my back yesterday and, consequently, would do no biking today (no great loss, given the 90+ degree heat and humidity). But I also did not feel up to teaching my usual Sunday morning yoga classes, which was a great loss, especially since it was the first week of the summer session, and I hate to miss the first week. But I’m leaving for vacation on Wednesday, and wanted to give my back another day to recuperate so that I’d be in good shape for vacation.

The result was that I decided to treat myself to the Sunday papers – NY Times AND Washington Post, since my Sunday morning teaching schedule ordinarily leaves me no time for what once was a cherished ritual: Sunday papers in bed with coffee and (if I was lucky) a love interest. Going out early for the papers meant walking past the Westover Farmer’s Market and, wouldn’t you know – it happened to be that tiny window during which sour cherries are in season.

Even though I’ve been totally off sugar for over a month, making fresh cherry pie once a year is a must. Maybe it’s the memories of climbing the sour cherry trees in my grandmother’s back yard, picking the tart fruit for her to make pie. Besides, the fellow I’ve recently started dating made the most extraordinary statement after we’d watched the fireworks together on the 4th. He said he’d observed that women our age (early 60s) who are too thin look bony and haggard – not sexy. No one would accuse me of being too skinny, and his statement made me feel very good about my well-toned, NORMAL-sized body. And, therefore, I will eat a piece of cherry pie this evening without a shred of guilt!

So, here follows my cherry pie making technique, honed over years of experience and experiment. I hope there are some pie-lovin’ bike enthusiasts out there who won’t mind hearing about pie instead of bikes for a change.

My generous quart of cherries numbered 156 and took about 14 minutes to pit, which, using my great computational skills, I figured comes to about 11 cherries per minute…or just over 5 seconds each. After years of overly runny filling, despite trying every technique in several books, Internet sites, and word-of-mouth, I now prepare a baked pie shell and cook the filling on the stove.

And, after years of failure, I have mastered the baked pie shell. After forming my all-butter crust in the pie pan, I prick it all over with a fork and freeze it for at least a couple hours. Indeed, it makes a difference to bake it on the top shelf of the oven (at 450 degrees), and I check it every 3-5 minutes (more frequently at the beginning) to make sure it isn’t puffing up and threatening to slide down the edges of the pie plate…giving it extra fork-pricks if needed. For this morning’s pie, I decided to make a top crust by using cookie cutters to make shapes for the top.

 The filling is simple. The cherries and their juice go into an enameled, cast-iron pot with a cup of sugar and ¼ cup of cornstarch. A dash of salt and the juice from half a lime give a little extra zing. The filling thickens up in less than 10 minutes, and I add a few drops of almond extract. After it cools a bit, into the shell it goes, to be decorated with the top crust.

I had enough crust to make a mini-shell, so I cooked up a couple peaches for the baby pie, grating in a bit of fresh ginger. Peaches and ginger are so lovely together.

I went for a nice swim this afternoon, loosening up the back, and now look forward to this evening’s pie delight, and with luck, at least one good bike ride before I head north to Minnesota for my vacation.

More of a Writerly-Yoga Blog

Today I rode my bike to Missionhurst, a hidden retreat in the midst of Arlington, hauling yoga supplies on my Burly trailer. Up and down the hills of 26^th Street I arrived sweaty for my first-ever silent meditation retreat…about time!! The day was structured with periods of sitting in guided meditation, sessions of very slow gentle yoga, and walking the verdant grounds to contemplate as each of us desired.

Thanks to my dear teacher goddess friends Jackie and aLex for providing exactly the respite I needed. And here are a few of my observations and reflections:

Birdsong and insect twitter, the lullaby shusssshhhshshshsh of leaves in the breeze, and maybe a crunch underfoot. And then the surprise of wind chimes hung from a tree, their lovely tones in the air current.

           

            Amazing – it is so easy to slow down and find this restful space. No hurry. No stress. Just thoughts and observations, and feelings in my body and in my heart and on my skin.

            The shady outdoors is perfect – not too hot, or humid: nature’s palette of greens and browns. The green tones are so similar, but the diversity of leaf shape and pattern are astonishing. Things to see only when I’m slowed down enough to look. Doing Natalie Goldberg’s “slow walking” – so nice – not impatient with it. There is nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. But feel, and let the thoughts filter through. Not drilling into them, just letting them float up, be considered, float away.

            Thick tufts of grasses – in clumps, sprouting up from the soil. A hosta – leaves broadening out to a pointed tip, lines along their length as though, while moist and unformed, someone drew a comb through each. Rounded heart-shaped leaves of violets. Clumps of bamboo-like grasses.  A weaving of English ivy – contrasting vein running to each pointed tip of the leaf, miniscule stars of spreading moss, and interspersed a more spiky moss – looking soft and cool. Bright shamrock leaves poke out. All peacefully coexist. And the splendid ferns, each thread extending, so fragile, yet somehow strong enough to support a spray of delicate leaves. And some other fern, with larger, sculpted leaves, smooth and broad. There is plenty of brown earth, and little rocks and pebbles, tree roots bulging up, fallen twigs and dead leaves.

            I don’t know what trees I’m seeing – cedar? Black walnut? As I walk along the path I come to groves of bamboo – and it’s cooler – instantly, and quiet. I grab the shafts of two bamboo poles – so green and smooth – one in each of my hands, small flies dot their segmented length, unmoving, even as I undulate the bamboo stalks, whose tops are stuck on the adjacent deciduous tree. And there, near the ground, one lone sprout of a holly bush, its waxy leaves shiny, each one ringed with a delicate pattern of sharp barbs, shouting DON’T TOUCH. 

            I see the sun shining through the leaves, the one leaf casting a shadow on another. There’s a moment of illusion, as though I’m looking through a green window. I see delicate maples, and ancient oaks, and a monstrous silver maple with it burly rough bark. And the towering giant of a tulip poplar that would dwarf dinosaurs, leaves the size of dinner plates fallen on the path. I caress the leaves of the cedar (if that’s what it is) and a small tough berry lands in my hand. I carry it as I walk, rolling it between my thumbs, strangely comforting. I grasp a wet drooping hydrangea flower – magnificent in its blue contrast to the quieter surroundings, and rub the damp residue onto my face and arms, leaving little specks of its pollen on my skin.

            Some troubling thoughts emerge, but I let them drift away and return to simple observation of tree branches shifting and bobbing – leaves quivering and bouncing, sun brightening patches of green, shadow darkening others. I’m looking now at the patterns of tree bark – the vertical lines up the cedar trunks, horizontal patches on some other tree that I can’t identify. And another trunk – rough all over, looking whitish and grayish, and another tree whose lower branches have all been cut off, leaving bumpy, painful-looking stumps. Does it still hurt? Did it hurt? There are three crumbling cement steps off the path, leading nowhere. A tiny white insect lands on my arm, content to rest there, but when I examine it, it flies off.

            A small black insect trundles along the ground, its back sleek and smooth, shiny and straight. I’m surprised I don’t see more – insects – but grateful that they are not buzzing around me biting and ruining my enjoyment of the outdoors.

            I see two white moths chasing each other and some insect flying…could it be a precious bee? What will we do if we lose our bees? The lunch I just enjoyed with such sweet strawberries and watermelon – their shades of red – the strawberries shiny and pocked everywhere by seeds; the watermelon, like a full sponge, and the small yellowgreen slice of avocado whose creamy smoothness I sliced from its bark-like skin with my teeth. And bright orange carrot soup – so sweet – it must have had brown sugar, but also a hint of spicy, and the crunch of some almonds…such a lovely lunch – filled out by warm cheese, on French bread (yes, ok, white bread) with the contrasting sharpness of Dijon mustard.

            During our final meditation, Jackie suggests we consider all that we know and all that we don’t know, and helps us realize that, of course, all we don’t know is so much vaster than what we do know. And she encourages us in our meditation to resist the pull of what we know – the recurring thoughts and patterns and daily concerns – and instead, allow ourselves to open to the unknown, an invitation I eagerly accept,

            I have absorbed the green energy of the day, and find myself relaxing into the present – whatever it is, whatever it is, whatever it is. 

ISO - Bicycle Sherpa

Sometimes riding a bike feels like climbing Mount Everest: not because of the steep climb, but because navigating the route is complex and unpredictable. When you get lost in a car, you might drive in frustrating circles and waste gas, but when you lose your way on a bike, you pay in muscle, breath, and sweat. But it’s all part of the journey, and often the only way to learn a new route is by trial and error.

For months, this weekend has been marked on my calendar as the high point of my summer writing: a two-full-day workshop with the extremely likeable Kathleen Flinn, food writer extraordinaire. Okay, I haven’t actually read her books, but they’re now on my list.

Traveling from my home in Arlington, Virginia to the Writer’sCenter in Bethesda, Maryland (the workshop’s location) is inconvenient by any mode of transport. Driving entails either going around the dreaded Washington beltway or through the traffic-clogged streets of D.C. It could take anywhere from 20 minutes to over an hour, depending on traffic. Taking the Metro entails two trains and two walks, and on a weekend one must expect it to take well over an hour, and possibly much longer due to frequent weekend track work. The best option (as usual) is to bike – a 10-mile ride – the same distance I regularly ride to work.

But there’s a difference. When I ride to work, I know where I’m going. At any point in my ride I know exactly how much farther I have to go, where the hills are, where the traffic is bad, and so forth. But I’ve only biked to Bethesda occasionally, so it still feels like uncharted territory.

My plan was to take Arlington streets to Chain Bridge. From there, the Capital Crescent trail runs to within four blocks of the Writer’s Center. This route entails riding up some of Arlington’s biggest hills, but they would come early, while the temperature was still cool. And at 7:15 on a Saturday morning I wouldn’t need to worry about getting whizzed by cars approaching Chain Bridge on the narrow, shoulderless road.

The biggest hazard is the required stretch of the C&OCanal Towpath. This route was not designed for bicycle convenience. After crossing Chain Bridge, a ramp descends to the Towpath – a rough and rocky unpaved trail that I find hazardous with my skinny tires. One must ride about a mile the wrong direction down the Towpath, which, for me, is slow and nervous-making, leaving my wrists and arms aching from their death-grip on the handlebars.

But it’s worth it, because the lovely Capital Crescent is a summer delight – the most thoroughly shaded path I get to ride in this area. While it looks flat, the path is, in fact, completely uphill from D.C. to Bethesda. Still, the grade is low enough that it doesn’t feel challenging.

The workshop was engaging, but the day was long, with too much sitting. So I eagerly anticipated my bonus ride home, knowing I’d get that rare treat of an eight-mile slide down the gently sloping trail. And what a treat it was. Shady, gliding effortlessly, I rode to Georgetown, over Key Bridge, and took the bus home the final uphill stretch.

This was a completely new route for me, which is why I ended up thinking a bicycle Sherpa would have come in handy. As I approached Georgetown, there was a set of cement steps, with wide curbs, presumably for pushing up a bike. It was a steep push, but I made it to the top, disappointed to see that it took me back to the rough Towpath. But I could see Key Bridge in the near distance, and didn’t have to ride it nearly as long as I had on the segment from Chain Bridge. Again, I saw a cement stairway – this one with no way to get a bike up but to carry it. I don’t have a problem carrying my bike up stairs, but this ascent was unusually steep, with a sharp turn halfway up. Luckily, it took me just a few feet from the entrance to Key Bridge – success!

The colorful view from Key Bridge

So while it ended up being a personal navigation victory, it saddened me that there was nary a trail marking. Surely this is a heavily traveled route, and perhaps there’s a better way that I have yet to discover. Would it really be that difficult to have a sign here or there, pointing the way to each trail or to the bridges?

Many boats on the Potomac

If there’s an enterprising and intrepid bicycle Sherpa out there, give me a holler. I’ll be your next customer.

Biking in Moosconsin

When my daughter was young, she called the state of my origins “Moosconsin.” One need not travel far in America’s Dairyland to encounter bucolic pastures populated by Holstein cows and, to this day, I continue to hear her little voice saying “Moosconsin” when I go for a visit, as I did over Memorial Day weekend.

I was worried the trip was off to an inauspicious start when I discovered that Paul Ryan was sharing my flight from D.C. to Milwaukee. This photo shows him insisting that they move him OUT of 1st class and into a coach class seat. I'm sure someone on the packed flight was happy to switch. I was just relieved that we weren't seatmates, as it might have gotten me thrown off the plane (in mid air).

I was too close for comfort

I arrived in Milwaukee for my sister-in-law’s art show and book signing at the Grand Avenue Club – a community that provides support for people with mental illness. Located downtown, I booked a room at the Metro – a beautifully renovated art deco hotel that I chose online because it offers its guests FREE BICYCLES to use during their stay! As I was arriving just before the show and leaving early the following morning, I didn’t actually get to use a bike – but I let them know that the availability of bikes was the determining factor in my choice of their hotel (and it also was walking distance from everywhere I needed to go). I wouldn’t say Milwaukee’s streets were clogged with cyclists, but I did see plenty of folks riding the city streets, despite the absence of much in the way of biking infrastructure (at least that I noticed).

See the Milwaukee cyclist obeying the red light signal, despite nearly no traffic

The next morning I walked to the transit station to catch a bus to Baraboo (home of Circus World Museum and proximate to Devil’s Lake StatePark) where my mom and stepdad live. My 86-year-old mother planned in advance, and had borrowed a bike from one of her younger (~ 65-year-old) friends. It looked like it had NEVER been ridden, so I felt I was doing the bike a favor to take it out for a spin each morning. It came complete with detachable basket, rearview mirror, lock, and helmet.

The "granny bike" by the Baraboo River path

The weather was cool and drizzly, but I was able to make a pleasant 5-mile round-trip ride each morning, taking Baraboo’s very own multi-use path that runs along the Baraboo River. I heard more birds than I saw, but did manage to catch sight of a lovely pair of goldfinches and a majestic great blue heron. I had aspirations of biking to the state park, but the weather was iffy and the hills a bit daunting (especially on the “granny bike” I was using). So a bike trip to Devil’s Lake will have to wait for another visit.

Look at the edge of the river between the 2 trees to see the heron

No matter how old I get, there’s a certain regression that overtakes me whenever I visit my mom. Upon entering the house, I check the contents of the refrigerator and the kitchen cabinets. She always has favorite snacks, homemade cookies, and Wisconsin’s signature product: cheese curds. I take afternoon naps and pretty much just laze around. We went to the Saturday morning farmer’s market, where they had rhubarb that my mom used to make strawberry-rhubarb pie and blueberry-rhubarb sauce (which I sampled over both plain yogurt and vanilla ice cream…delicious with both).

I love rhubarb!!

After four days in Baraboo, my folks drove me to Madison, where I caught a flight to Las Vegas for a short business trip. The Madison airport featured an ample cooler filled with cheese products and the bathrooms offered free tampons and sanitary pads. Go Madison! Even though I’m well beyond the age of needing these products (the tampons, not the cheese), I still appreciate places that give them away free of charge.

Cheese choices galore

And free tampons

Las Vegas is not exactly a bike-friendly city and thankfully I was there for just one day of work. I was put up in the fancy Aria casino/resort and, because of the time difference, was up early to enjoy a lovely 2 hours in the fitness center/spa before my meeting. The workout with a full array of weight machines convinced me to join a gym on my return to D.C. as a way to get my final bit of shoulder rehab accomplished. The Aria also had a “meditation” room on which you could lie on heated granite slabs while serenaded by soft music and another room with walls built of salt blocks. In the salt room, large leather divans vibrated to the rhythm of the gentle music. I don’t know whether there’s any science behind breathing salt air or lying on heated granite, but I felt quite blissed out by the time I left. My favorite treat, however, was using the large eucalyptus-scented steam room, which I could alternate with a plunge in a cold soaking tub. Heaven!

Dancing fountain at Bellagio in its final orgasmic splendor

 After my workday was over, I decided – well – Vegas – might as well take a brief foray into the casino. In four rounds of roulette I came away $150 richer, winning money by placing chips on my daughter’s and my birth months. Fortunately I know how to walk away while I’m ahead, figuring I’d done well for my 10 minutes of gambling. After a long, cramped plane ride home the next day (thanks United – NOT) I went for my first post-surgical swim – delighted that I can still do a mile and the shoulder felt great!

#BTWD13

This month marks the one year anniversary of my bike blog and, although I haven’t managed to write as frequently lately, I am biking with no less enthusiasm. Today’s bike to work day provided a chance to share the bike love with thousands of other cycling enthusiasts in the metro area. According to the Washington Area Bicyclists Association (WABA), there were over 14,000 registered riders this year.

I decided to take a small detour to make my first pit stop at Fresh Bikes in the Ballston area of Arlington – and was glad I did, as I filled my little backpack with high-quality tchotchkes: a pair of Bike Arlington cycling socks (my choice of black or white), a reflective vest, clip on blinky lights for both front and back (the nice kind with a stretchy strap so they won’t fall off), small container of sunscreen, a Cliff bar (I only noticed after I’d eaten half of it – with caffeine), and a banana. I thanked the nice folks from Java Shack for sponsoring BTWD13. I passed on the bagel, thinking I could get one when I hit DC.


Wow!!

I was entertained by a unicyclist and talked to the folks at Phoenix Bikes about donating a bike. They are a nonprofit organization that fixes up and provides affordable bikes to young people in Arlington, as well as teaching them bicycle maintenance skills and the opportunity to “earn a bike” by working in their shop, which is conveniently located along the W&OD Trail.

I thought the Custis Trail might be crowded today, so I took advantage of my pit stop detour to take the “city” route through Arlington. While there are bike lanes nearly the whole way, it requires navigating the bike rider’s hell known as Rosslyn. I’ve lived in Arlington since 1986, but Rosslyn continues to defeat my weak sense of direction. The traffic-clogged streets with drivers headed to the Key, Roosevelt, and Memorial bridges into DC are an incomprehensible maze. However, there was a huge gathering at the Rosslyn pit stop – probably five times the number of people I found at Fresh Bikes. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to cruise for goodies, because – the nerve – someone had scheduled a 9 a.m. meeting at work and I still wanted to stop at Freedom Plaza to pick up my T-shirt.

Passing by the Rosslyn Pit Stop

While it was clogged getting through Rosslyn and onto the Mt Vernon Trail, the commute felt much like any other nice bike riding day. There didn't appear to be many additional riders. Perhaps most of the cyclists were clustered at the pit stops: sipping coffee, or picking up power bars, water bottles, stickers, maps, and other fun bike stuff. Freedom Plaza, my registered pit stop in DC, close to the office, was packed with pedal-powered commuters. I remembered that last year this stop was relocated – perhaps because a few remaining vestiges of the occupy DC movement were still camped in Freedom Plaza. That feels like a long time ago.



Lots of people and bikes at Freedom Plaza

  Compared to Arlington, there was less swag, but perhaps more spirit, at my DC stop. Unlike last year: no bagels – so I made do with another power bar and piece of fruit, a bright blue Bike to Work Day 2013 T-shirt and extra-large water bottle. As I often feel riding to work, the time in the saddle – the best part of my day – went by too quickly.


Waiting for BTWD13 T-Shirts



You could get your bike worked on at all the pit stops!

 

 

A Bike Blog About Driving

Five months ago, I gave my car to my daughter, thinking I’d have a short experiment in car-free living. Because I was embarking on shoulder surgery, I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive for up to two months anyway. I figured that, by the time I was recovered, she would have registered the car, sent back my coveted YOGINI vanity plates, and I’d shop for a new Prius. It didn’t work out that way.

For a plethora of reasons, daughter is still wandering the country, too rootless to establish a residence, and I’m still paying the insurance. But I’ve adapted to my car-free life. As I watch my friends and family growing older (and, of course, as I watch myself doing the same), I’m more convinced than ever that remaining physically active is the key to successful aging. Not having a car forces me to be active, even when I don’t feel like it. And it’s easier now than it was during the long winter. The nice weather and the April “30 days of biking” challenge (27 down…3 to go) have given me plenty of motivation to ride.

But the time had come when I had to borrow a car. My dogs were in desperate need of grooming, and the mobile dog groomer who comes to your home charges almost twice what I’ve been paying. Borrowing a car seemed like a better option.

So I drove today for the first time in five months. If I’m going to drive, even occasionally, I shouldn’t wait so long. It was a bit terrifying and I felt like a novice driver. I got used to it fairly quickly, but having the car took me back to how I used to often spend a Saturday: driving around through congested areas to shop at crowded stores, and carry heavy packages. And – ugh – how unpleasant…especially on one a lovely Spring day.

But I wanted to take advantage of the car to pick up some heavy things at Costco [3-liter olive oil, gigantic white vinegar (my cleaning product of choice), canned tomatoes, multi-pack of tissues]. Since I was at the Costco mall, I stopped in to Marshalls for a new dog bed and cushions for my screened porch furniture. I then drove to Trader Joe’s and stocked up on dog food and to Ayers – the local hardware store – for potting soil. It took the better part of the day, and then I spent what felt like an hour hauling all the big bags into the house. Wouldn’t you know: the ONE day I had a car, my neighbors were having a party and I had to park way down the street.

After I picked up the dogs, I was half way to Great Falls and thought I’d drive them out there for a nice walk. The line of cars waiting to get into the park was so long I gave up and just came home – a total waste of about 40 minutes.

The dogs do look cute, and my new cushions (and fresh paint job) make the screened porch especially inviting.

So here’s what I learned. I can buy one bag of dog food at a time, and get my olive oil by the single liter at TJ’s. When I use my bike, I shop closer to home, in areas that aren’t horribly congested. I might not bike as far as Great Falls, but – if I had – I could have zipped right past the line of idling cars. Who knows, maybe I’ll invest in a dog trailer for the bike!

I don’t always like being without a car but, as I rediscovered today, I don’t always like being with one either.

My Bike Doesn't Like Having Big Boobs

After removing my rear rack last month to accommodate my new Burley Travoy trailer, I decided to get a front basket for those days when I have just a few things to carry and don’t want to use a backpack. I was in the neighborhood of Revolution Bikes and they had a black wire basket that I thought would look good on my (also black) Trek. Ah, but I hadn’t done my homework. If I had, I would have realized that a somewhat heavy basket that attached to the handlebars would create problems.

But, as I said, I hadn’t done my homework. Before I even left the shop with the cute basket attached, I discovered that its weight pulled the front wheel over to the side, making it impossible to park the bike with the kickstand. Once I hopped on and started riding, the steering became so cumbersome that I quickly developed tension in my arms and wrists, just from trying to keep the bike steady.

I made it to my destination, and thought there was a good chance I would never use the basket again. It felt like my bike had grown a set of big boobs that pulled its lovely balance all out of alignment. I hadn’t appreciated just how sleek the bike was without the basket. I had taken for granted how seamlessly I could steer the light bike, woman and cycle feeling like one continuous being. Never having had big boobs myself, I felt a moment of compassion for all those women who have to trudge around with a big heavy front rack, giving them backaches.

So, the basket spent a few weeks in the closet. Last week I decided to give it another try. I still don’t like how it feels, but I was able to manage my ride without the arm and wrist tension. However, I learned that a front basket should attach to the bike post, not the handlebars and, at some point, I will probably get a replacement. At least the basket I got is a quick-release model, so I can attach it only when I really want to use it.

Since I’m on the topic of boobs, I’ll say this: everyone has been talking cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms. So yesterday I decided to swing by the Tidal Basin on my way to other errands. The blossoms were a bust! It was way too early. Only a few trees were really blooming, but the tourists were swarming everywhere. There was a large area set up for bike parking. Of course, I was delighted to see that. 

But when I went to lock up my bike it became clear that the bike parking was not composed of real bike racks. After looking more closely, I saw that they were in fact “barricades,” presumably of the type used for crowd control. As my photos show, they were poorly suited for actually locking up one’s bike. Sigh…we take what we can get.

Leaving the mob scene, however, I couldn’t have been happier to be on a bike. Car traffic was at a tangled standstill, with the accompanying horn honking and looks of frustration on the faces of the passengers. I did have a nice interaction with a taxi driver, who asked if I’d give him a ride. I joked back, sure, hitch your car up to the back of my bike and I’ll pull you! But, of course, I left him in the dust. There were lots of pedicabs working and it was a lovely sunny day for sharing smiles with fellow cyclists.

A young man and I were both loading our bikes onto the Metro elevator at Dupont Circle and, surprise, we both got off at Friendship Heights, again sharing the elevator. We chatted about what we were off to and he said, “Maybe I’ll see you on the way back.” This is one of the things I love about being part of the bike culture of my city. Here I am, a 60-year-old woman, and I get smiles and knowing head bobs from cute young men, athletic young women, as well as other “mature” cyclists like myself. We’re all in it together. We share that glorious sensation of moving unencumbered, on your own power, feeling free and alive.

Today the weather was even lovelier, and I used my Travoy to take advantage of the trip chaining for which it is so perfectly designed. I rode to yoga, and taught my two Sunday morning classes - the beginning of a new session. From there, I took the Travoy to Safeway (a block away) and picked up a few things I like there. Then I rode to India A-1 grocery, stocking up on ginger, veggies, roti, and some super-spicy channa (roasted chick peas). A few blocks later, I made it to the Heidelberg Bakery, just before they closed, getting their last loaf of multi-grain bread. With my trailer bag full and heavy, I appreciated that the rest of the trip home was mostly downhill.

Last note of the day – I received my errandonnee patch in yesterday’s mail, and ironed it onto the Travoy’s tote bag. Since the bag is made for doing errands, I thought it most worthy of displaying the gold star.