Monday, April 13, 2009

Meet the ABF team

I feel as though I have neglected to mention the amazing friends and relatives that have provided the much-needed help and encouragement along this agricultural/culinary journey thus far. Forgive me. It is time that I take a moment to acknowledge a few of the key folks on the Bikeable Feast team (MVPs, if you will):

Tech Support

Rudy






Tysen






Bike Gurus

Mike





Ben






Moral Support

Mom and dad





Becky






Felicity






Meghan





There are many, many others of you who have brightened up my days (especially on those grumpy ones that involved flat tires -- grrr) and offered all manner of ideas and support along the way. Keep it coming: it's a long road ahead.

If you're not listed here, it just means you're among the lucky ones who won't be getting calls from me at whatever ungodly hour as I pant, frantically, breathlessly, "For the love of humanity, how the [insert mild expletive here] do you replace a spoke on the rear wheel??" or "Friggin' GPS is out again, can you tell me how to get to the nearest gas station so I can get some emergency granola bars?"

So: thank you!

Saturday, April 11, 2009

A tentative plan

I've been in a pretty intense research mode these days. So when Friday night rolled around this week, my friend Mike and I decided I could take a little break and we headed out for a beer at Wonderland (pretty sweet happy hour, btw). Mike had been kind enough to bring over a few of his extra tents for me to test out, so after a pint we headed back to my place to set things up. Or, rather, Mike mostly set things up and I cooked and called out sarcastic comments. I did manage to make it into a few pictures, in any case....



As you may notice, the pictures became progressively sillier as the night wore on. I blame the Amarula. You know, speaking of silly, I never went camping as a kid. Was I deprived?

You must think I have horrific parents -- didn't teach me how to ride a bike, never took me camping, tricked me into liking brussels sprouts -- but that is far from the truth. However, the fact remains that as a child whenever I would ask my dad to take me camping, his response was always, "I would, but your mother hates camping"; and of course when I would ask my mom, she would respond in kind, "I would, but you know your father, he doesn't like camping." As such, I never went. Not until after college, when my first AmeriCorps team project landed us in the Florida Keys doing beach clean-up. Put up a tent? Er, yeah. I would just kind of dawdle around the campfire and tend to the cooking end of things. Cooking, I can do that.

So anyway, camping. I'm hoping to not have to do too much of it. But when I do, I have acquired a pretty snazzy tent. (Mike suggested that I try sleeping in it to test it out. I think I will sleep in my bed for as long as I possibly can. Or at least lay awake in my bed comfortably as I worry about my impending date with clipless pedals....)

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Pedal me this

Disclaimer: mom, dad, you probably shouldn't read this one....

Do you know what keeps me up at night lately? Clipless pedals. Those suckers scare the bejesus out of me. Tori, you know what I'm talking about. Every single cyclist I have asked recommends them and then follows up with a knowing nod and a tale of their own experience crashing in them. (Is this supposed to comfort me, people??) Now, the benefits of using these pedals in theory should outweigh the potential disaster of me careening under a bus while desperately trying to unclip myself... right?

So once I get past the "why the heck would anyone put on those death traps" part of the conversation, there is the question of what kind of clips to use: traditional, eggbeater, with or without platforms. And then there are different kinds of cleats to clip in with. And I've gotten all kinds of advice on how to try them out, from clipping in and out 20 times while on one of those stationary bike things to standing in a doorway to balance as I practice clipping in and out. For my part, I am prepared to break out the rollerblading knee pads (which, curiously, turned up in my closet a few weeks ago, in spite of some vague memory of leaving them at one of the Halloween parties I had gone to in my roller derby girl costume... must be the elves, again). Sure, I might look like a dork, but, well, I kind of already do. At least I won't crack my kneecap while I'm learning.

And then there is the question of shoes. Up until about two weeks ago, back when I was blissfully ignorant (instead of semi-informedly anxious), I had no idea how many styles there are out there. And I, lifelong loather of shoe shopping, am overwhelmed. Somebody just tell me what to get. (Not you, Chris: the cute $300 pair is out. OMG, did I just say they were cute? Maybe they won't revoke my girl card after all.)

Anyway, in case there are folks out there with tips on choosing shoes and/or clips, don't hesitate to write in. Or call. Any time. I suspect there are going to be a few more sleepless nights between now and when the next shipment of clipless pedals come into the shop, when I must finally face the pedal monster.

Monday, April 6, 2009

T minus 3 weeks....

So I stopped by my friend Sheffy's place the other day to drop off some Amish Friendship Bread and pick up some maps and books on the C&O Canal. Good stuff. I've been cooking up a storm in the kitchen these days: breads, quiches, cakes (including a fabulous chocolate zucchini cake, if I do say so myself), curries, and whatever-is-in-the-fridge concoctions that remain uncategorized but pretty tasty. I think as stress relief activities go, at least ones you can do solo, cooking is at the top of my list. What? I'm not procrastinating. At least I don't think I am. Everyone else is too busy munching to suggest as much, either. This is practice for when I am on the road.

No, but seriously, my departure date is drawing near. I'm a little nervous, to be honest -- hence the culinary whirlwind -- but really, really excited. I'm amazingly lucky to have such supportive friends and family. (BTW, speaking of support, Becky, don't think you slipped that little paypal donation under the radar -- thank you!) There is still a lot to work out, but I'm getting there....

Oh! And this just in: If you're in the DC area, come join Ollie and I for the official beginning of the Bikeable Feast. Here are the details (also posted on Facebook):

Mile Zero: The Bikeable Feast begins!
Come be a part of this semi-historic event at a legitimately historic place. We'll be setting off on the first few miles of A Bikeable Feast together, biking the first 15 miles along the historic C&O Canal before stopping at Great Falls for lunch.

Date: Sunday, April 26, 2009
Time: 9:00am - 2:00pm
Location: C&O Canal: Milemarker Zero (Georgetown)

Bring your own bikeable feast: a picnic, sunscreen, and lots of water. (I'd also throw in a few tire patches and a pump, just in case our luck rubs off on you.) I suspect the rest of the group will be heading back together after lunch as I continue toward Cumberland....

Come on, it'll be fun. (And dad, put in a request to the Big Guy for some sunshine, will you?)

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Name that tube

I wrote about Ollie's flat front tire on Wednesday (cause unknown). Then she had another flat on Thursday that was perhaps the worst yet (I pulled a hunk of glass out of her rear tire). I was so wound up by the time I got into work that I ranted about that one on the CHB blog. It made me feel slightly better, but I was still in a bit of a funk for the rest of the day. I mean, come ON.

Well, yesterday I rode my bike all over town with no problems, running errands, cruising around downtown for a spell to enjoy the gorgeous afternoon, and eventually ending up at the shop -- I had gone in to work for a few hours to run through some things with Denise. I wrapped up the work I was doing, called my pal Heather to let her know I was heading over for dinner, and walked out back to pull Ollie off the rack. I really thought the guys were playing a prank on me at the shop yesterday. Another flat. Front tire. Twisted shard of metal this time (I had to pry it out with pliers). But no, it was not a prank. God hates me. Or maybe my dad has set up some kind of arrangement with the Big Guy to keep me from leaving on my trip at the end of the month. Hmmm....

This makes seven flats between the two bikes in less than a month. SEVEN. To the credit of my friends and colleagues at the shop, they insisted that I get tougher tires. Can I just get tires made of kevlar? Or convert my tires to those metal rolling things that tanks use to get around? (Sure, maybe the added weight would be a bit excessive, but I was a little exasperated.) Ben and Chris talked me through a few options and I walked out with a new front tire (and I'll be ordering a new set next week).

My advice to you, dear readers, is this: buy stock in tire tubes. Now. Specifically, 26 x 1.50 presta valve tubes. (I think I may be able to single-handedly reverse our country's recent economic downturn. Or, rather, Ollie will.)

My friend Rudy suggested that I stop writing about each flat tire and simply post a picture of each one. For my part, I'm thinking of maybe naming each flat. You know, like they name hurricanes and tropical storms on the news. So far we've had: Aloisius, Beelzebub, Charlemagne, Dorian, Eloise, Frankenstein, and Gertrude. I wonder if I can get disaster relief funding from the federal government to cover the cost of all of the tubes I've been burning through. Hey, want a flat tire named after you? All the cool kids are doing it. Send in $10: it's yours.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Critical mass

These days everybody seems to be talking about buying -- even growing -- food locally and sustainably. For awhile I thought this might be just because of the people I tend to hang out with, but I'm not so sure any more. I got into a fairly detailed discussion at the bank the other day with one of the account managers who was telling me about the vermiculture his family has been practicing for decades on their farm in Cali, his home town in Colombia. (Way more interesting than discussing my checking account, to be sure.) This chat simply would not have happened a year ago.

I was just this morning catching up on a backlog of articles and blog postings I have been meaning to read. (The fact that there is such a plethora of writing out there on sustainable food is exciting in itself.) There was a long piece in the New York Times Business section that lauded the progress that the organic food movement has made in recent years, but implied an impending Congressional smackdown of the progressive food consciousness generated by the Obamas and Agricultural Secretary Tom Vilsack. (I'm intrigued that the 3-page article appeared in the Business section rather than, say, the weekend magazine. Telling, I think.) An article reprinted on the Irresistible Fleet of Bicycles site (one of my favorites these days) posits that change is coming, but slowly. The key seems to be making this a more broadly supported social movement, rather than a foodie fad. And it needs politically savvy leaders. In a critique of the NYT piece, Tom Laskawy, a Grist guest blogger, seemed to concur. He offered cautious hope. My [albeit ham handed] summary of his argument: Things are moving in the right direction. The great failing of the NYT article was the way it seemed to minimize the growing collaboration between the sustainable ag, fair trade, international development, climate change, public health, nutrition, and food safety folks. People are beginning to buy into the idea that all of these things are related and that they need to be addressed. Food is the linchpin. We're moving toward a tipping point. Soon, policymakers will have to start listening in earnest.

Agribusiness is a tough nut to crack. What can we do? Grow things. Cook things. Support responsible producers of our food. Talk to people about it. (Am I sounding like a broken record here?)

One of the more inventive variations on eating local, in my humble opinion, comes out of San Francisco: a Community Supported Forage (CSF) box. It riffs off of the idea of the Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) arrangement -- a chunk of cash up front for a supply of whatever is locally harvested over a number of weeks. They're playing my song. Wild mushrooms? Really?? I've been too nervous to try mushroom foraging on my own, due to my fear of inadvertent self-poisoning. (I had some crazy Danish friends back when I lived in Mexico who used to go all the time. They admitted to having 2 designated mushroom taste testers -- human canaries, if you will -- with them on each fungus hunt. I wonder if I was being recruited as one of these.) Ah, but if someone who knew what they were doing would supply me with seasonal fiddleheads, morels, and wild blueberries -- or even let me tag along -- well, that sounds divine.

Finally, I've been in conversation in recent weeks with Zeke of Washington's Green Grocer, who has always marketed an organic produce box, and now is offering artisanal breads and cheeses (yum!). With all of the interest in local produce these days -- if the tripling of crowds at the Dupont farmers market on Sundays is any indication -- I've been pestering him to offer a "local produce" box, a subset of the weekly organic box along the lines of the $29 "dogma box" now available in the Boston area. (Ah, my people.) This may mean some weeks of stockpiled potatoes, apples, and rutabaga, but you can always do the "will call" rather than the "weekly" box. Or get creative with your recipes. Is the interest out there? I think it is.

Oh, for the love of.... Again??

Ollie, apparently, is a fan of April Fools Day. I woke up this morning to... another flat tire.

She's smirking right now. Look at the faux innocent curve of those brake lines.



And I think Sheldon is trying to stifle a grin. I may have to separate those two.



This time I think I got the tire off, hole found, tube patched, tire refitted and pumped up (to the right pressure this time), and everything back on the bike in record time. Under 10 minutes. Woo hoo! I'm getting pretty good at this. How's that for making lemonade? Bring on the lemons. (It has occurred to me that I would rather not have so much experience with tire fixing that I become good at it.)

Now I'm wondering if I should have a mini pool for those interested in betting on the number of flats I get before I leave on my trip. If you count both Sheldon and Ollie, I'm up to 5 so far....