February. I know the foraging season really only starts in late March, but somehow I can't help myself. I start looking for signs of spring around mid-february and dream of all of the great foraging, wildcrafting and canning I will do in the coming season. The pagans celebrate Imbolg, which corresponds to the Christian Candlemas; occasions meant to recognize the faint stirrings of spring in the bleak landscape. However, early spring comes earlier to the british isles than to the Eastern United States, and the traditional date of February 2 is simply wishful thinking. Still, in a mild winter, the spring alliums always betray the calendar and send me into a premature spring fever.
Today I forced myself to take a walk. On my lunch hour at work, I opened my eyes again to the growing things around me. Its comforting to know, however, that even in the bleak grey of a mid-winter's day, there are things to see and taste and experience. I found a shrub laden with highbush cranberry. This is the bastard form however, and it's way too bitter to eat. Its been a mild winter so the birds avoid it when choicer options exist. In the cracks and crevices of concrete, chickweed, henbit and pennsylvannia bittercress make their usual appearance. The eastern white pines that flank the eastern side of the lot always seem to shine in the sun and remind me of the sweet and comforting tea that have sustained many a native american in the winter, and provided an antidote to the scurvy suffered by the pilgrims.
The commercial landscaping that surrounds our building is comprised of sad and useless shrubs and trees. Barren cherry trees that produce stunning flowers, but no fruit. The hated bradford pear. The dreaded arbor vitae and a few creeping juniper. With so many starving people, why wouldn't we use the available space to plant edibles that can be both beautiful and funtional? Incedentally, on the edges of the lot are a few uncultivated fruit trees that go underutilized year after year. A decent crabapple tree which I have made liquour from, a fantastically huge cherry tree that made equally fantastic jam, black cherry trees by the score, an apple tree that puts out pitted but delicious apples every September. A mulberry tree that fruits prodigiously in May, and even a raspberry bush. Beautiful, functional, declicious and FREE for the taking. I blame our litigious society. Lord forbid someone slip and fall on an apple. And the mess that mulberries make...
Why do we drive to the grocery store in July to buy imported blueberries from Michigan when New Jersey is the blueberry capital of the east? I know the local food movement is gaining momentum, but it needs to become as local as under your feet and in your backyard.
Not to mention that it is illegal to forage for a single dandelion in a park. Lord help the ranger who comes upon me as I pick garlic mustard and demands I leave the natural flora alone. Should I explain about the damage that garlic mustard is doing to our native wildflowers or just tell him that my pesto wouldn't be the same without it?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Bulk Hand-Laundering the Smart Way
I was surprised when my anthropology teacher told us that the single most liberating invention for women was the washing machine. According to this source, washing clothes went like this:
"In the early days, without running water, gas, or electricity even the most simplified hand-laundry used staggering amounts of time and labor. One wash, one boiling and one rinse used about fifty gallons of water—or four hundred pounds—which had to be moved from pump or well or faucet to stove and tub, in buckets and wash boilers that might weigh as much as forty or fifty pounds. Rubbing, wringing, and lifting water-laden clothes and linens, including large articles like sheets, tablecloths, and men’s heavy work clothes, wearied women’s arms and wrists and exposed them to caustic substances. They lugged weighty tubs and baskets full of wet laundry outside, picked up an article, hung it on the line, and returned to take it all down; they ironed by heating several irons on the stove and alternating them as they cooled, never straying far from the hot stove."
With hot running water at our disposal, hand-washing in bulk is not the horrendous task it once was. Of course, its not nearly as easy as tossing a load in your own private machine. So why would I advocate hand-washing your clothes? For those of us who do not have a washer/dryer at home, using your apartment's overpriced facilities or taking your laundry to a laundromat can be a dreaded experience. For people who are living paycheck to paycheck or on limited budgets, the extra $3.50 per load could very well be a hardship. In these instances, you can quite successfully wash your clothes by hand for free with great results. I find that in my cases, my clothing gets cleaner and suffers less damage with hand-washing than in machine-washing. That being said, not everything needs to be laundered after each use. Jeans are the perennial example. Unless you are gardening or doing manual labor in them, denim jeans can stand to go a few wearings without washing. If you are withdrawing from the the wear once and wash standard of living, air them out after wearing or get a travel steamer and some fabric refreshing spray. Sweaters and other outerwear are also good examples of clothes that don't have to be washed after every wearing provided that you don't sweat a lot or smell bad to begin with. Wear an undershirt and wash that every wearing instead. Towels used to dry off a clean body can go at least a week provided it is hung up promptly after use. Pajamas can be worn several nights in a row. Items that should always be laundered after each use are undergarments and socks. In addition, any clothing that shows visible dirt, sweat, or smells less than clean should be washed.
Next, it is important to pay attention to what your clothes are made of. This will determine, more than color, how you sort your laundry for bathtub washing. Synthetic fabrics such as polyester, nylon, spandex, etc. will dry quickly. Cotton will dry very slowly and can mold without some air flow. I try not to wash too many cotton items all at once or nothing seems to dry fast. Cotton is also very heavy and will increase the weight on whatever system you use to dry the laundry. I would suggest only washing one cotton towel at a time as they are difficult to hang with clothes pins or with hangers, and take a long time to dry. As far as the volume you can wash at once, it depends on how much you want to deal with and how much space you have to dry everything. I would start small until you get a feel for how much you can handle at once.
What you need:
*A bathtub, plastic bin, or even a 5 gallon bucket (for small loads)
*A "laundry stick", a strong rod, like a broom handle (2-4 feet long)
*Detergent
When I first started, I actually got in the tub with my laundry, stomping and agitating the contents like grape stompers make wine. It was tiring and inefficient. Now, I use a 3-foot rod to "stir" my laundry in between periods of soaking. The type of rod used should be strong, long enough for good leverage, and of course, water-resistant. A broom handle is about right.
Ready to begin? First, fill up your bathtub about half-way with warm water. Put in a full capful of detergent. Dump in your selected clothing. Hold your laundry stick with one hand half-way down and the other hand at the top. Use the leverage of the rod to easily swish around your clothes in a figure-eight pattern. After 10 minutes or so, let the laundry sit. Come back in about a half-hour and swish the laundry again. This is not an exact science. You can soak your clothing as long as you wish, repeating the cycles of agitation and soaking until you are satisfied that your clothing is clean. Drain the water and refill the tub half-way with cold water to rinse. Swish around for a few minutes and then drain the tub.
In the beginning, I thought it was necessary to wring out each individual peice of clothing before hanging it. This was the single worst task - involving cold hands and tired arms. Now, I simply let gravity do most of the work. Most apartment complexes do not allow line drying so I have found the best way to dry your clothes is to hang them from hangers over the bathtub. If you already have a spring-loaded shower curtain rod that can hold the weight of your clothes then you are in business. You may need to adust the tension to accommodate the added weight. When you are ready to hang, just slide the rod into the shower so that your clothes will drip over the tub. Don't bother wringing them out, just put them on hangers and hang them. Make sure to space them out enough so that there is air flow. After about an hour, most of the water will be in the bottom half of the clothing. While the clothes are still hanging, simply squeeze the bottom half to rid the material of most of the excess water.
If you don't have a tub or a shower rod that can hold the weight of wet clothing, you can string up a clothes line in the kitchen and use clothes pins. Unfortunately, you'll have to wring out each piece of clothing, or else have a huge mess on your hands. The water that does drip, however, can be used to mop your kitchen floor with and is quite manageable if you've done a good job wringing. You can also buy a hand-wringer to make this job easier but I have so far found it unnecessary. Your mileage may vary.
Your results will be markedly improved if you can set up a fan in the bathroom to circulate air. An open window is a good idea too during fair weather. I find that most pieces of clothing will dry completely in about 12 hours with a fan. Once clothing is dry, simply hang the clothes in your closet . There will be no need to iron the clothes, however, you may have to manually remove lint and/or pet hair with tape or a lint brush.
Special challenges:
Socks: It took me a while to figure out how to dry socks properly. Because they are mostly made of cotton, they are heavy and dry very slowly. They resist hanging on hangers and take up a lot of room on a clothes line. While doornobs make decent sock drying apparati, its not the most attractive option. I found that what works the best for me is to make a sock chain with one hanger and a bunch of clothes pins. Clothes-pin one sock on each side of a hanger so that the two socks balance each other in weight. On the bottom of the sock, clothes-pin another sock by the top so that the bottom of one sock attached to the top of the next sock. You can make two "sock chains" as long as necessary in this fashion on one hanger as long as the weight remains balanced.
Sheets, Blankets, other large items: Don't over do it. Wash one large item at a time. Blankets can be dried in the kitchen suspended over chairs after it has been satisfactorly wrung of excess water. Keep a mop handy to deal with the dripping. A box fan helps to speed things up. Dry it outside in sunny warm weather if possible.
Warning: Do not place any piece of clothing in your microwave or your oven!
Note: This method will clean, but not sanitize your clothing. If you have an infestation like lice or bed bugs, you will need to wash your clothes in a machine with a sanitize option to properly kill the insects. In addition, any sort of clothing that might harbor infection or any plant or chemical based irritant should also be laundered in a machine.
I have been doing my laundry this way for years. I find that it takes less time and energy than hauling it down to the laundromat and hoping for a free washer and dryer and I don't need to spend an extra $40 dollars a month to wash my clothes in an overpriced barely-working washer and dryer at my apartment complex. I can wash my clothes using the swish and soak method while I am attending to other things (such as writing a blog post), and I never have to worry about ironing, folding or hanging when done. Its a time and money saver, and it works like a charm! I feel so liberated!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Is it an Igloo or a Snow Yurt?
The Mid-Atlantic was seriously deluged by a snow storm, ahem, blizzard of magnificent proportions. So what does one who is employed by a school district and thus has the day off do with her time and 15 inches of snow?
I decided to build a snow shelter. I have been fascinated by survivalism for the past half-decade and thought I would have no better chance to test my skills than to try to build an inuit paradise of my own. Having no experience with building a snow shelter other than the snow forts I built as a kid, I did what any self-respecting survivalist would do. I looked it up on youtube and e-how.
The guides tell me that you need to cut blocks out of packed snow. Since the snow wasn't deep enough or packed by that point, I found a rectangular container that I decided to make snow bricks out of. I noticed the kids playing across the way. I imagined how impressed they'd be when they saw my igloo coalesce over the course of the next few hours. I marked out a reasonably-sized circle and proceded to start packing snow into my brick mold. Then I noticed, the kids had already started what appeared to be the beginnings of a snow fort by piling big round snow balls in a circle. Being a good sport, I walked over to their encampment and gently inquired to the young ones as to their intent with their creation. Was it an igloo or a fort? The youngest boy, who must have been no more than 5 or 6 yelled at me, and told me that teenagers weren't allowed. Thank goodness, because I'm 31. When I revealed that underneith the scarf and hat that I was really a creepy adult interested in a kid's snow fort, they immediatly got the "don't talk to strangers" face on and clammed up. I told them that I was going to build an igloo, wished them luck and walked back to base camp. The rivalry was on.
I began laying the bricks in a circular pattern.
The work was really tough. It took a few hours just to get up to the third level. The kids across the way were really working hard too. They even had ranks. The older kids piled up the snow balls and younger kids were "runners" who filled a plastic bowl with snow to mold the snow balls. As my progress continued, the kids had now recruited their parents. As I plugged away at my igloo by myself, 3 adults and 4 kids had turned into a military operation to build this snow ball igloo. Hours and hours went by and neither camp acknowledged the other. It was a race to see who could build the best snow shelter.
With all of that grueling physical activity in a blizzard, it would have been wise for me to take a break, eat lunch, stretch. Nope. I was running on adrenaline. In a survival situation, I wouldn't have the luxury of hot chocolate and a warm apartment. I decided to press on until I was finished. After a while though, I felt like I should be a big person, and I go over and check out the competition. With all of the adults helping, their igloo was nearly finished. Only, it was more like a snow tee-pee. The geometry of stacked snowballs does not lend itself to a conical shape. Regardless, it was a success and I congratulated the kids and adults heartily and sincerely. I walked back to my base camp and continued. After a few minutes, the kids all came over to check out my work and returned the compliments. Having apparently decided that I wasn't as creepy as they thought, they graciously offed to help. Together, they helped me patch up all the holes. By this point, the igloo was around 5 feet tall. By myself, I couldn't get the roof on. My boyfriend came by and I enlisted him to my cause. By this point, I was obsessed with finishing the igloo. The kids had all gone home for dinner except for one 5th grader who stayed behind to see it through. After plying him with hot chocolate, the three of us set to work filling in the roof. As darkness fell, we closed up the top of the 7 foot tall structure. With candles in hand, we sat inside the surprisingly spacious igloo and admired our work. It was comfy and sturdy. I was elated.
After I walked the kid home, I went back outside dragging pillows, blankets and my laptop and surfed the web from inside the igloo for a while. I wasn't actually going to sleep in the igloo, but I realized that *I could have*. It was snowing and windy outside, but inside the igloo, it was peaceful, quiet and while I wouldn't say it was particularly warm, it was warmer than it was outside.
It's not a perfect post-card igloo, it's more like a snow yurt or a snow bee-hive, but if I were stuck in the middle of nowhere, it would be a snow kingdom. I am very proud to have spent the day constructing it. I am even more proud that when I woke up this morning, the kids were playing in it. What a great use of a snow day.
I decided to build a snow shelter. I have been fascinated by survivalism for the past half-decade and thought I would have no better chance to test my skills than to try to build an inuit paradise of my own. Having no experience with building a snow shelter other than the snow forts I built as a kid, I did what any self-respecting survivalist would do. I looked it up on youtube and e-how.
The guides tell me that you need to cut blocks out of packed snow. Since the snow wasn't deep enough or packed by that point, I found a rectangular container that I decided to make snow bricks out of. I noticed the kids playing across the way. I imagined how impressed they'd be when they saw my igloo coalesce over the course of the next few hours. I marked out a reasonably-sized circle and proceded to start packing snow into my brick mold. Then I noticed, the kids had already started what appeared to be the beginnings of a snow fort by piling big round snow balls in a circle. Being a good sport, I walked over to their encampment and gently inquired to the young ones as to their intent with their creation. Was it an igloo or a fort? The youngest boy, who must have been no more than 5 or 6 yelled at me, and told me that teenagers weren't allowed. Thank goodness, because I'm 31. When I revealed that underneith the scarf and hat that I was really a creepy adult interested in a kid's snow fort, they immediatly got the "don't talk to strangers" face on and clammed up. I told them that I was going to build an igloo, wished them luck and walked back to base camp. The rivalry was on.
I began laying the bricks in a circular pattern.
The work was really tough. It took a few hours just to get up to the third level. The kids across the way were really working hard too. They even had ranks. The older kids piled up the snow balls and younger kids were "runners" who filled a plastic bowl with snow to mold the snow balls. As my progress continued, the kids had now recruited their parents. As I plugged away at my igloo by myself, 3 adults and 4 kids had turned into a military operation to build this snow ball igloo. Hours and hours went by and neither camp acknowledged the other. It was a race to see who could build the best snow shelter.
With all of that grueling physical activity in a blizzard, it would have been wise for me to take a break, eat lunch, stretch. Nope. I was running on adrenaline. In a survival situation, I wouldn't have the luxury of hot chocolate and a warm apartment. I decided to press on until I was finished. After a while though, I felt like I should be a big person, and I go over and check out the competition. With all of the adults helping, their igloo was nearly finished. Only, it was more like a snow tee-pee. The geometry of stacked snowballs does not lend itself to a conical shape. Regardless, it was a success and I congratulated the kids and adults heartily and sincerely. I walked back to my base camp and continued. After a few minutes, the kids all came over to check out my work and returned the compliments. Having apparently decided that I wasn't as creepy as they thought, they graciously offed to help. Together, they helped me patch up all the holes. By this point, the igloo was around 5 feet tall. By myself, I couldn't get the roof on. My boyfriend came by and I enlisted him to my cause. By this point, I was obsessed with finishing the igloo. The kids had all gone home for dinner except for one 5th grader who stayed behind to see it through. After plying him with hot chocolate, the three of us set to work filling in the roof. As darkness fell, we closed up the top of the 7 foot tall structure. With candles in hand, we sat inside the surprisingly spacious igloo and admired our work. It was comfy and sturdy. I was elated.
After I walked the kid home, I went back outside dragging pillows, blankets and my laptop and surfed the web from inside the igloo for a while. I wasn't actually going to sleep in the igloo, but I realized that *I could have*. It was snowing and windy outside, but inside the igloo, it was peaceful, quiet and while I wouldn't say it was particularly warm, it was warmer than it was outside.
It's not a perfect post-card igloo, it's more like a snow yurt or a snow bee-hive, but if I were stuck in the middle of nowhere, it would be a snow kingdom. I am very proud to have spent the day constructing it. I am even more proud that when I woke up this morning, the kids were playing in it. What a great use of a snow day.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Transportation Options for $1,000 USD
Invariably, when the conversation I'm having with friends, family and co-workers turns to transportation, I hear the following question, "So, when are you getting a car?" I patiently explain that I have no immediate plans to get a car. This statement is so inconceivable that they usually follow it up by either blankly repeating their question, or telling me that I can't live without a car indefinitely. They may be or may not be right - time will tell. I've so far survived three nor'easters, three snowstorms, fog, weeks of sub-freezing temperatures, flooding, and darkness. I've also survived teasing, peer pressure, animosity, loneliness, fatigue, and boredom. In return, I've lost 15 pounds, have seen over 200 sunrises, increased my health and self-confidance, and mere mortals fear and respect me. I've also gotten out of several candle parties and two baby showers.
Now that tax season is upon us, I have thought long and hard about what to do with my tax return. The car-drivers around me would like me to buy a car. I, of course, would like to treat myself to a shiny new bicycle. Why reward myself for commuting on a bicycle through the winter just to pull up in a car for the nice-weather seasons?
So, here's what a grand can get you in the NJ market of the transportation world.
Used Cars
2001 Honda Civic - "Needs Work" $850 200k miles. This one also advertises a cracked transmission.
1994 Acura Integra LS- $1200 - " motor blown...not really sure tho...it had a tiny knock at a certain rpms...and while driving something made a quick screach and it just started knocking loud and would barely move..."
200 Malibu - CHEAP!!! $600 It runs good, but overheats. I don't know whats wrong with it and i have no place to store it. I just need to get rid of it." 150+ miles
1964 El Camino - $1000. "1964 El Camino. Very ruff shape. May be better suited as a parts car. All sheet metal rusted, engine has not been run in years. Interior is as ugly as the car itself."
Okay, so I'm not making fun of these cars - someone somewhere is into restoring cars and will buy these for parts. I'm jus sayin.... what if I took my thousand dollars and showed up in that '64 El Camino? Is it better to have spent my money on something unreliable like that simply because it's a motor vehicle? How much money would it require to make any of the above pass inspection?
And let's not forget, kids, cars requiring gasoline are like the big, expensive, grown-up version of the drug-store quarter-operated horse-ride - it don't go unless you got the coin.
Rental Cars
Okay.. our next option is rental cars. What kind of transportation options can you get from your friendly car rental dealer?
I checked out the prices for the sub-compact, most fuel efficient vehicles from Budget, Hertz and Avis. The prices per day run about $30 to $50 dollars. But wait. There's more. I don't have supplimental insurance, so you'll have to add an additional 12 bucks per day in case I mow down a cyclist. Plus taxes and surcharges, yadda yadda yadda. The hertz rental, when all said and done, came to 72.56 *per day*. For a 30 minute commute twice a day, and the luxury of being able to jump in the car to get hagan daaz at a moment's notice, 24 hours a day. Oh, and let's not forget that gas is not included. For arguments' sake, 1000 bucks can get you about a week and a half cruising around in the truly decedant designs of the Chevy Cobalt.
"Pay by the Hour" Cars
Surely we could use the ZipCar, if you live in one of 4 ZipCar available cities. Or any of the other "pay by the hour" car outfits which seem to only cater to people who live walkable, bikable cities. It is we marooned in the desert of suburban sprawl who could truly benefit from something like ZipCar - not a place where you can take the bus, subway, cab, train, bike or your own two legs to get everywhere easily! New York City has got to be the easiest place to get around in! Try getting to a doctor's appointment from the middle of a 3 square mile residential subdivision connected only by six lane highways with no sidewalks or businesses.
Public Transportation
This is a great option for many people and I'm a huge fan. The only problem is, in my area, there is a lack of truly usable and affordable options. If you live where public transportation gets you where you need to go for cheap, do it! But in my particular situation, it's not the fastest or the cheapest option by far. Here's the breakdown:
My job is 12 miles away and I need to get there by 8:30. To take the bus, I would need to be standing outside my apartment at 6:20. The bus would take me 7 miles in the wrong direction to the nearest city. I would then wait at a different bus station for 40 minutes to take the 7:50 bus another 7 miles to the mall across from my job. The one-way trip will cost me $4.15 and require 2 hours. This setup would require 4 hours a day waiting for or riding on buses and cost more than 45 dollars a week.
The "Pre-Owned" option
To be absolutely fair, no one is suggesting that I buy the broken down el camino. It has been a suggestion that I put a down payment on a pre-owned good-quality car (a toyota, preferably) that will be fuel-efficient and last a long time with good maintenance. Let's do the math.
The Toyota Corolla. 2006 Kelley Blue Book Retail Value: $11,515.00
Downpayment: $2,000
5 year loan @ 6% = $206.00 per month
Full coverage car insurance: $100 per month
Gasoline: $60.00 per month
Total: $366.00 per month.
Commute to work in time: 35 minutes each way.
70 minutes of drive time per day + 1 hour of running for exercise and 10 minutes to drive to the towpath to run... = 140 minutes.
The Bicycle
For $1,000 dollars you can buy pretty much any bicycle you want, brand new. A touring bike can carry cargo. A road bike can go fast. A mountain bike travels over any terrain. The engine is the super-efficient calorie-burning human body.
Daily Commute: 24 miles = 740 calories. Cost: about 75 cents.
Monthly cost after initial investment: 0.00
Gasoline: 0.00
Insurance: 0.0
Time: 65 minutes each way. No extra exercise needed = 130 minutes.
What if I want to go on trips? Travel long distances? Well, that's where the other options come in. My daily transportation needs can be more than handled by bicycle. If I want to travel to see my mother in North Jersey, I can take the train. I can rent a car to go on vacation. I can rent a van to carry big cargo or to move. I can help defray the cost of gas if I ask my friends to give me a lift somewhere. After 6 months of biking through the harshest weather NJ has to offer, I can honestly say... I don't need a car.
I can buy something brand-spankin' new, with all the coolest accessories and clothes to fit my smokin', in-shape body or I could rock the El Camino... which would you choose?
Monday, December 28, 2009
The "Carfree Lifestyle Movement" (a rant)
Do you espouse the carfree lifestyle movement? Do you have a blog dedicated to whimsical fashions while riding your pashley poppy or trek soho or hipster fixie? Maybe you participate in a tweed ride, or ride your dutch bike in cocktail dresses flitting from pub to pub? Perhaps you live in San Fransisco, Portland, New York City, Copenhagen, or any other cyclist-friendly city where traveling by bicycle is not only practical, inexpensive and fast, but is actually cool. Showing up at a business meeting trailing your personally designed and coordinated brompton folding bike and leather pannier or - even better - your $300 brooks messenger bag is uber cool. The very definition of today's environmentally conscious, fiscally responsible, stylish quarter-lifer. I have no beef with you- I admire and somewhat envy your polish and decorum. It is, however, my duty to remind our readers, or perhaps console them that while we can all aspire to this level of awesome, the realities are that many people must live carfree in less than desirable areas.
The Suburbs. Miles of sprawl with perfect, never-trod upon lawns and an eerie
absence of people interdipersed with nail salons, take-out thai food, and banks. I do not have a shiny japanese bike bell for I encounter no one traveling at less than 30 mph who would hear it. There are few sidewalks where I travel, because no planning board official can envision anyone choosing not to own a car and drive everywhere for everything. Perhaps they think that in the environment of the future, we'll all be too fat and out of shape to walk anyway, so why bother with things like sidewalks, pedestrian crossings and walkable town centers. I live on a highway, and to get to work, I must cross 6 major highways, connected by a labyrinth of cul-de-sacs. Almost all major stores, including the nearest two bicycle shops, are accessable only by a highway, which is, interestingly enough, rather inaccesible by bicycle. My shopping is done almost exclusively at the strip malls relagated to the back roads where, presumably, the rent was cheaper and the traffic (customers) less frequent. The sad irony can be fully realized at the intersections that I encounter which have ground sensors for the lights that can be only tripped by cars. Like a child waiting for a parent to cross the street, I must wait for a car to pull up in order for the light to change or cross at my peril. The other day, I got off of my bike to press the pedestrian cross walk button to find that it was frozen solid. Immovable. To wait for a car to trip the sensor or cross on red was a degrading experience.
I see no transportation cyclists. In the summer I may see some roadies on very expensive bikes who probably drive their bike on SUV racks to places suitable to ride them. I see a plethora of presumed immigrants who ride walmart brand mountain bikes on the wrong side of the road with no lights or reflective gear. They do not choose transportation cycling and have no interest in being better cyclists. They are biding their time until one of their kin gets a car and they can get a ride or buy a car themselves. They are not living the glorious car-free lifestyle or checking the cycle blogs for the latest in helmet covers that look like fedoras. I don't even see kids on bikes anymore. Once in a while, I see a crusty old man with a six pack in a plastic bag swaying from his handlebars, but I assume he simply lost his license. Now that it is winter, I see no one. I am the lone cyclist. And it's lonely. I haven't seen another person on two wheels since mid-October. And I haven't seen a pannier bag or a rear rack on any bicycle since I began commuting years ago. I've talked to lots of people and no one has any friends or relatives who commute by bicycle. How is it so normal in the fabulous and progressive cities of the world, but here in New Jersey, it's a completely foreign concept? People are amazed, mystified, bewildered, and at times, angry at my choice to eschew a motor vehicle. As if I threaten their right to hog the road.
And now.. to cycling clothes. I've seen many pictures of beautiful women who wear lovely dresses on heavy upright city bikes, their hair flowing in the breeze. This is how they get to work or for a day shopping- faster than city traffic, unfettered, getting looks of admiration from the multitude of cyclists and pedestrians. Ok, so there is nothing wrong with this. I wish I could be this way, but the fact of the matter is, I need to wear an ugly bright lime ANSI construction vest just to get the attention of the latte-drinking SUV wielding majority who are absorbed by their own bubble of existence. Besides this, I cannot ride a heavy city bike with skirt guards and upright positioning and have any hope of making the hilly, 12 mile commute with any speed or energy. I assure you I will not look pretty or carefree when I arrive tired and annoyed by lugging a 40 pound baby blue vintage bike over the hills. Besides, there is no one around to see me. There are, as I've stated, no other cyclists, pedestrians or people walking about. There is no main street, only desolate neighborhoods and highways. I must ride a functional bike, not a pretty sit-up and beg with a cute wicker basket. I must ride in cycling clothes that wick away sweat and not get caught in my chain. In the winter, I have to layer until all semblance of womanly shape is gone and is replaced by something resembling the michelin man. Very cycle-chic.
I have to travel fast because everything in suburbia is far away. I have to be agressive because there is no bicycle infrastructure. No bike lanes, sharrows, share the road signs or nicey-nicey bike crap. The car is the undisputed king of the road here and you are lucky to get a shoulder to eek your way through on. It is evident that you are on borrowed space, and only by the grace of the drivers do you have the good fortune not to get run over like road kill. There is nothing sexy about being a transportation cyclist in the suburbs. People distain you, and because of the distances between anything, it takes planning and effort to get anywhere. Public transportation stinks and your scenery is nothing but endless mcMansions and strip malls.
So, if you live in Southern California and ride a beach cruiser to work 3 miles down an ocean-view bike path, do not espouse the sacrifices of car-free life to me or anyone else who lives the reality of the uncharmed life. Being carfree in a civil design built around the motor vehicle is as tough as it gets.
Ghandi says, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Things won't change here unless people get out and demonstrate that it can be done. That other guy who secretly wants to get out on his bike may see me and really consider it, and then perhaps, I will finally have a friend on the road. Riding in the suburbs is nasty and brutish, but someone's gotta take the first step. Someone has to have the courage to light the way for those who fear change. Seth tells us to live according to our dreams and then we can help those who live according to their fears. Well, New Jersey, if you just have the courage to start pedaling, I promise you will have at least one friend to ride with. And you can wear whatever the hell you want too.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
My Daily Commute: Defending Helm's Deep in the Battle for Middle Earth
For those who have a long commute, audio books can be a great friend. I don't mean this just for bicycle commuters, but for motorists as well. I had always thought of audio books as "cheating" in some way; but audio books are a wonderful luxury. They allow you to "read" while multitasking, and in some ways it makes you feel like a kid again - having an adult read at your bedside, leaving you free to construct the imagery in your mind's eye without the distraction of the printed word.
Now, before you jump all over me about the safety of listening to such things while I am biking, know that I am NOT using headphones and do not ever advocate using them. I have done so in the past and in my opinion, they do hamper your ability to focus on your surroundings. I have a small speaker that I have attached to my bicycle frame, and my MP3 player is similary velcro'ed where I can reach it to change tracks. The sound quality is poor, but with audio books it is a non-issue. The volume is such that in heavy traffic when I need to focus on defensive driving, I can't hear it anyway. When I get to the side streets and quiet suburbs, I can keep one ear out for traffic and devote another portion of my brain to following the story.
I am currently listening to "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, and find that the story is a little too perfect for bike commuting in the winter. So much so, that on some occasions, I have had the bewildering experience of the superimposition of Middle Earth upon the real world. As Fodo and the fellowship have taken their journey through the element amidst a growing darkness, I similarly embark on such a journey twice daily through increasing darkness, cold, rain and snow. My commute isn't always that dramatic, of course, but in the gloominess of cold, rainy days I find some comfort in the trudgery of the hardships faced by the fellowship.
Last week, New Jersey was deluged by flooding rain and gale-force winds. I was delighted to have come to the part of the story where the Men of Rohan participate in the battle of Helm's Deep, an intense battle fought in darkness and rain against ten thousand monster-like Orcs. As I fought my way through the wind, and the miserable rain, I put myself in this epic battle. The rain had flooded the streets to the point that I felt as though I was fording rivers in some ancient land instead of in the boring suburbs of NJ. The darkness and extreme wind and cold were miserable to deal with, but I savored the tactile experience. I was at once one of the Rohirrim, following Gandalf back to battle in the wind-driven rain. I felt the soldier's weariness in my legs, felt the cold numbness of war in my fingers, and each car that passed me by was an Orc rushing the wall. When I arrived at work, the rational part of me was relieved to be shedding my rain-soaked clothing and anticipated a cup of hot tea before delving into my work email. The child in me was disappointed to have put the battle on hold. We were so close to defeat, could the forces of men hold out? I would have to wait 8 hours in the ordinary world to find out.
That day, I got a lot of pitiful looks, troubled stares, whispers about my sanity. The raised eyebrows and disbelieving looks when I admitted that not only did I not mind riding, but I enjoyed it. Not one person seemed to believe me. I do enjoy weather of all sorts; this helps. But perhaps it is because I still delight in adventure; the child in me never really grew up. When we were ten, we jumped into cold oceans just for the thrill of swimming, ran outside in the rain for fun of getting wet. We played in the snow all day, warm from the exertion of building snowmen, snow forts, and epic snowball fights. So why at 31 should this thrill of experience wane into the dread of discomfort?
At the end of the day, I resolutely braved cold wind and drizzle to take my place once again in the battle of middle earth. Surely enough, by the time I arrived home, the battle of Helm's Deep was won and the rain ended leaving patches of cold stars in the sky. I was tired, cold, feeling sore, but not beaten.. We were victorious! The Rohirrim were saved, and I made another safe journey through the worst of conditions. It may not have been rational or comfortable in adult terms, but it was, for me, a celebration of raw experience. The kind you cannot get from inside your car, or your living room, or through your television. Some say that I have a death wish - and to them I ask, what is truly living if we liberate ourselves from discomfort, isolate ourselves from experiences, and always take the easy way out? I feel the very essence of life coursing through my veins when I ride, the thrill of rejecting the standard, the easy, the conventional... the lives truly lived, and truly *remembered* are not of the people who follow the rules and play it safe. They fade into obsurity; a different sort of death wish in my opinion. The easiest answer to this question is actually a rational one however; it has been proven that the life-extending health benefits of bicycle commuting outweight the risks by 20 to 1. Death hath no sway over me, quoth Arwen.
Tomorrow I journey across the dead marshes with Frodo and Sam. I can only hope the day is appropriately gray and dreary!
Now, before you jump all over me about the safety of listening to such things while I am biking, know that I am NOT using headphones and do not ever advocate using them. I have done so in the past and in my opinion, they do hamper your ability to focus on your surroundings. I have a small speaker that I have attached to my bicycle frame, and my MP3 player is similary velcro'ed where I can reach it to change tracks. The sound quality is poor, but with audio books it is a non-issue. The volume is such that in heavy traffic when I need to focus on defensive driving, I can't hear it anyway. When I get to the side streets and quiet suburbs, I can keep one ear out for traffic and devote another portion of my brain to following the story.
I am currently listening to "The Lord of the Rings" by J.R.R. Tolkien, and find that the story is a little too perfect for bike commuting in the winter. So much so, that on some occasions, I have had the bewildering experience of the superimposition of Middle Earth upon the real world. As Fodo and the fellowship have taken their journey through the element amidst a growing darkness, I similarly embark on such a journey twice daily through increasing darkness, cold, rain and snow. My commute isn't always that dramatic, of course, but in the gloominess of cold, rainy days I find some comfort in the trudgery of the hardships faced by the fellowship.
Last week, New Jersey was deluged by flooding rain and gale-force winds. I was delighted to have come to the part of the story where the Men of Rohan participate in the battle of Helm's Deep, an intense battle fought in darkness and rain against ten thousand monster-like Orcs. As I fought my way through the wind, and the miserable rain, I put myself in this epic battle. The rain had flooded the streets to the point that I felt as though I was fording rivers in some ancient land instead of in the boring suburbs of NJ. The darkness and extreme wind and cold were miserable to deal with, but I savored the tactile experience. I was at once one of the Rohirrim, following Gandalf back to battle in the wind-driven rain. I felt the soldier's weariness in my legs, felt the cold numbness of war in my fingers, and each car that passed me by was an Orc rushing the wall. When I arrived at work, the rational part of me was relieved to be shedding my rain-soaked clothing and anticipated a cup of hot tea before delving into my work email. The child in me was disappointed to have put the battle on hold. We were so close to defeat, could the forces of men hold out? I would have to wait 8 hours in the ordinary world to find out.
That day, I got a lot of pitiful looks, troubled stares, whispers about my sanity. The raised eyebrows and disbelieving looks when I admitted that not only did I not mind riding, but I enjoyed it. Not one person seemed to believe me. I do enjoy weather of all sorts; this helps. But perhaps it is because I still delight in adventure; the child in me never really grew up. When we were ten, we jumped into cold oceans just for the thrill of swimming, ran outside in the rain for fun of getting wet. We played in the snow all day, warm from the exertion of building snowmen, snow forts, and epic snowball fights. So why at 31 should this thrill of experience wane into the dread of discomfort?
At the end of the day, I resolutely braved cold wind and drizzle to take my place once again in the battle of middle earth. Surely enough, by the time I arrived home, the battle of Helm's Deep was won and the rain ended leaving patches of cold stars in the sky. I was tired, cold, feeling sore, but not beaten.. We were victorious! The Rohirrim were saved, and I made another safe journey through the worst of conditions. It may not have been rational or comfortable in adult terms, but it was, for me, a celebration of raw experience. The kind you cannot get from inside your car, or your living room, or through your television. Some say that I have a death wish - and to them I ask, what is truly living if we liberate ourselves from discomfort, isolate ourselves from experiences, and always take the easy way out? I feel the very essence of life coursing through my veins when I ride, the thrill of rejecting the standard, the easy, the conventional... the lives truly lived, and truly *remembered* are not of the people who follow the rules and play it safe. They fade into obsurity; a different sort of death wish in my opinion. The easiest answer to this question is actually a rational one however; it has been proven that the life-extending health benefits of bicycle commuting outweight the risks by 20 to 1. Death hath no sway over me, quoth Arwen.
Tomorrow I journey across the dead marshes with Frodo and Sam. I can only hope the day is appropriately gray and dreary!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Biking to work: Common questions, statements, arguments, and misconceptions
As I've stated in a previous post, everyone from family, friends, co-workers to total strangers seems to have an opinion on my choice to be a transportation cyclist. Some secretly think that I have lost my license and avoid the subject. Others do not hesitate to lecture me on the merits of something that they have never done and have no experience with. Nevertheless, I understand. I had the same perception of bicycling before I chose to make it my daily form of transportation. I thought it was dangerous, cold, difficult, boring, and in short - impossible to get anywhere respectibly in the suburban sprawl we are surrounded by in New Jersey.
Let me respond to the arguments that I hear most often:
"It's dangerous!"
Traffic accidents are *the* leading cause of death for people ages 4-34 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_causes_of_death_by_rate). Instead of rehashing the whole subject, just read Ken Keifer's pages on the subject (http://www.kenkifer.com/bikepages/health/risks.htm). Incedentally, he was killed on his bicycle by a drunk driver. Before you jump all over me with the "See! See!", remember how many unfortunate drivers and pedestrians are also killed every year by drunk drivers. The issue is not that bicycling is an inherintly dangerous activity, but that cars are 2 ton weapons in the hands of people who drive while talking on the cell phone, eating, reading the newspaper, sleeping, drinking, and goodness knows what else. We've all been guilty of it - I have definitly driven with my knees while searching for the cellphone, but I am wiser now that I have the perspective of being a cyclist around inattentive drivers. I have to pay attention for both of us.
Accidents concerning bicyclists also happen to many people who either are not following the rules of the road, or who are not prepared for riding at night or in low-visibility conditions. I've seen many wrong-way cyclists, in completely dark clothing, with no reflectors or lights, weaving in and out of traffic just begging to be a statistic. Follow the law, practice the principals of vehicular cycling, be visible, drive your bike defensively, and the danger dramatically decreases.
Route selection is equally important. Its amazing how many people automatically assume that I ride on the highway. Even though I would take my car to work on the 6lane highway that connects my home to my job, I would never consider riding my bike on it. The ideal bicycle route is a lightly traveled, well-paved road with few or no hills and a wide shoulder which takes you directly where you need to go. Of course, this is a utopian dream and is rarely the case, but regardless of where you live, there is a more acceptable route than the highway. I happen to cross over 4 major highways on my route, but drive through mostly residential neighborhoods. Routes that would seem slow in a car are ideal routes for bicycles.
The health benefits of cycling also outweight the risks. With cardiovascular illnesses topping the causes of death overall, mostly from poor health resulting from a diet high in saturated fat and a sedentary lifestyle, who can affort to *not* bicycle to work? It forces me to eat right or my transportation times suffer, and I burn the equivalant of running 8 miles a day each and every day.
"Aren't you cold?"
No. Most of the time, I am hot. When you ride a bicycle, you work up a sweat. The key is to layer appropriately so that you are warm enough for the activity you are doing, but cool enough that you sweat minimally. Its always best to start a ride a little cold so you are able to compensate for the rise in your core temperature after the first mile or two. The most important areas to keep warm are your hands, face and feet and thankfully, mittens, balaclavas and boots fit the bill nicely.
"Isn't it dangerous to ride in the dark?"
Only if you are ill-prepared. I have a class 2 ANSI reflective rest, a 1-watt blinking taillight, reflectors on my panniers, bicycle and helmet, and a bright flashing front headlight. I assume that I am more visible at night than in broad daylight, and feel just as safe.
"Do you ride in your work clothes?"
No. I carry my clothing in my panniers (saddle bags) and change when I get to work. My commute is long, so work clothes are not designed for moisture management or comfort on cold or hot rides. Some people who have short commmutes do ride in their work clothes, certain cities see bike commuters in ties and skirts. In the suburbs, it's more difficult due to the distances involved. Some people leave their clothes at work, but I unfortunately would have place to store them.
"Aren't you tired when you get to work/home?"
After I became acclimated to the distance and effort, I feel invigorated when I arrive to work, and stress free by the time I get home. Sure, I have my bad days, but don't we all?
"What about bad weather?"
It's all about gear selection. No one would suggest you drive without headlights and wipers, or walk without an umbrella and raincoat. Bicycling in the rain is the same, there is gear that keeps you warm and dry. Sometimes rain can be a nuisance, but its never a show-stopper.
"Isn't riding in the snow and ice dangerous?"
Yes - it is. I admit, riding on ice is dangerous. However, you can get carbide-studded tires to help with winter cycling. People in snowy places don't stop bicycling for transportation because of snow and ice, they prepare for it. Wide, studded tires make a big difference in that type of terrain. In New Jersey, the road crew is liberal with the salt, so ice is rarely a problem. Snow is infrequent as well, so the majority of days can be ridden with no special equipment. If it's too dangerous to bike or drive, there is always the bus, or to stay home altogether.
Riding over ice takes a special technique just like in a car; you glide over it and don't apply the brakes!
"Doesn't it take a long time?"
Not any longer than it would for me to drive home, get changed, then go to the gym or out for a run. In fact, combining my commute with my exericise saves me an hour a day. I commute an hour each way to and from work. In that hour, I hit no traffic, get fresh air and exercise, get relief from stress, and it costs me nothing. Some of my co-workers drive an hour, pay a fortune to sit in traffic, and arrive home and to work more stressed and exausted from their commute! No wonder they are too tired to exercise!
"Don't you get sweaty and smelly by the time you get to work?"
This is a concern for many people, but not for me. I don't sweat all that much to begin with, and for whatever reason, I don't readily smell after working out. Also, in the summer I shower right before I get on the bike. My wet hair and the wind generated by cycling keep me very cool. The early hour I leave also ensures that I stay cool all the way to work. Once I get there I have a half-hour to cool down. I will wash up in the sink with soap and by the time I get to my desk, you could hardly tell I just biked 12 miles. Deoderant and body spray don't hurt either.
Other people are lucky enough to have showers at work, or a nearby health club that they can shower at.
On the way home, who cares? :)
Let me respond to the arguments that I hear most often:
"It's dangerous!"
Traffic accidents are *the* leading cause of death for people ages 4-34 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_causes_of_death_by_rate). Instead of rehashing the whole subject, just read Ken Keifer's pages on the subject (http://www.kenkifer.com/bikepages/health/risks.htm). Incedentally, he was killed on his bicycle by a drunk driver. Before you jump all over me with the "See! See!", remember how many unfortunate drivers and pedestrians are also killed every year by drunk drivers. The issue is not that bicycling is an inherintly dangerous activity, but that cars are 2 ton weapons in the hands of people who drive while talking on the cell phone, eating, reading the newspaper, sleeping, drinking, and goodness knows what else. We've all been guilty of it - I have definitly driven with my knees while searching for the cellphone, but I am wiser now that I have the perspective of being a cyclist around inattentive drivers. I have to pay attention for both of us.
Accidents concerning bicyclists also happen to many people who either are not following the rules of the road, or who are not prepared for riding at night or in low-visibility conditions. I've seen many wrong-way cyclists, in completely dark clothing, with no reflectors or lights, weaving in and out of traffic just begging to be a statistic. Follow the law, practice the principals of vehicular cycling, be visible, drive your bike defensively, and the danger dramatically decreases.
Route selection is equally important. Its amazing how many people automatically assume that I ride on the highway. Even though I would take my car to work on the 6lane highway that connects my home to my job, I would never consider riding my bike on it. The ideal bicycle route is a lightly traveled, well-paved road with few or no hills and a wide shoulder which takes you directly where you need to go. Of course, this is a utopian dream and is rarely the case, but regardless of where you live, there is a more acceptable route than the highway. I happen to cross over 4 major highways on my route, but drive through mostly residential neighborhoods. Routes that would seem slow in a car are ideal routes for bicycles.
The health benefits of cycling also outweight the risks. With cardiovascular illnesses topping the causes of death overall, mostly from poor health resulting from a diet high in saturated fat and a sedentary lifestyle, who can affort to *not* bicycle to work? It forces me to eat right or my transportation times suffer, and I burn the equivalant of running 8 miles a day each and every day.
"Aren't you cold?"
No. Most of the time, I am hot. When you ride a bicycle, you work up a sweat. The key is to layer appropriately so that you are warm enough for the activity you are doing, but cool enough that you sweat minimally. Its always best to start a ride a little cold so you are able to compensate for the rise in your core temperature after the first mile or two. The most important areas to keep warm are your hands, face and feet and thankfully, mittens, balaclavas and boots fit the bill nicely.
"Isn't it dangerous to ride in the dark?"
Only if you are ill-prepared. I have a class 2 ANSI reflective rest, a 1-watt blinking taillight, reflectors on my panniers, bicycle and helmet, and a bright flashing front headlight. I assume that I am more visible at night than in broad daylight, and feel just as safe.
"Do you ride in your work clothes?"
No. I carry my clothing in my panniers (saddle bags) and change when I get to work. My commute is long, so work clothes are not designed for moisture management or comfort on cold or hot rides. Some people who have short commmutes do ride in their work clothes, certain cities see bike commuters in ties and skirts. In the suburbs, it's more difficult due to the distances involved. Some people leave their clothes at work, but I unfortunately would have place to store them.
"Aren't you tired when you get to work/home?"
After I became acclimated to the distance and effort, I feel invigorated when I arrive to work, and stress free by the time I get home. Sure, I have my bad days, but don't we all?
"What about bad weather?"
It's all about gear selection. No one would suggest you drive without headlights and wipers, or walk without an umbrella and raincoat. Bicycling in the rain is the same, there is gear that keeps you warm and dry. Sometimes rain can be a nuisance, but its never a show-stopper.
"Isn't riding in the snow and ice dangerous?"
Yes - it is. I admit, riding on ice is dangerous. However, you can get carbide-studded tires to help with winter cycling. People in snowy places don't stop bicycling for transportation because of snow and ice, they prepare for it. Wide, studded tires make a big difference in that type of terrain. In New Jersey, the road crew is liberal with the salt, so ice is rarely a problem. Snow is infrequent as well, so the majority of days can be ridden with no special equipment. If it's too dangerous to bike or drive, there is always the bus, or to stay home altogether.
Riding over ice takes a special technique just like in a car; you glide over it and don't apply the brakes!
"Doesn't it take a long time?"
Not any longer than it would for me to drive home, get changed, then go to the gym or out for a run. In fact, combining my commute with my exericise saves me an hour a day. I commute an hour each way to and from work. In that hour, I hit no traffic, get fresh air and exercise, get relief from stress, and it costs me nothing. Some of my co-workers drive an hour, pay a fortune to sit in traffic, and arrive home and to work more stressed and exausted from their commute! No wonder they are too tired to exercise!
"Don't you get sweaty and smelly by the time you get to work?"
This is a concern for many people, but not for me. I don't sweat all that much to begin with, and for whatever reason, I don't readily smell after working out. Also, in the summer I shower right before I get on the bike. My wet hair and the wind generated by cycling keep me very cool. The early hour I leave also ensures that I stay cool all the way to work. Once I get there I have a half-hour to cool down. I will wash up in the sink with soap and by the time I get to my desk, you could hardly tell I just biked 12 miles. Deoderant and body spray don't hurt either.
Other people are lucky enough to have showers at work, or a nearby health club that they can shower at.
On the way home, who cares? :)
Biking to work: 3 Months Later
After six weeks of biking, I had settled into the routine. I was in bed by 10 each night and woke by 6. My clothes had been carefully rolled and packed the night before. My shoes and make-up left at work along with a travel steamer in case of wrinkles. Having showered the night before, I would brush my teeth, drink some tea, and check the temperature from my trusty weather station (Thanks Mom & Paul!) I had a decently good idea of what layers I would need based on the temperature. The key is always to stay warm enough while minimizing sweat. Also, avoiding cotton, especially close the skin was paramount. Cotton gets wet and gets very cold, wicking warmth away from the body. Having little money at the time, I could not go out and buy bike specific clothes. I looked in my closet and pulled out the very expensive merino wool and cashmire sweaters given to me by someone at work. These natural materials are extremely warm, and unlike cotton, they stay warm even while wet. Although they were not intented for this purpose, they immediately became a part of my winter arsenal for mid-weight layers. From what I had read, the best combination of layering goes like this: Wicking synthetic material near the skin, insulating mid-layer, and windproof or waterproof outer layer. I had plenty of summer-time technical fabric shirts that I wore running or cycling, and I used the fancy cashmire and wool sweaters as my mid-layer when needed. I had a good fall windbreaker and later, I would get a nicer waterproof jacket for my birthday which functioned as my wintertime outer layer. For the bottom half, I had some nylon pants and on the really cold days, I wore some fleece pajama bottoms which worked like a charm. I used $7 aqua shoes while it was still warm, then moved on to trail running shoes, and below freezing, snow boots. On my hands, I had a pair of nice leather driving gloves I had recieved for christmas last year, and they worked much better than I expected for warmth. I had another pair of oversized winter gloves but only needed to wear them over the leather gloves as the temperature approached the freezing mark. On my head was the same woolen cap with earflaps that I bought last year, and it fit well under my helmet. I had a neck gaitor for face and neck protection. Most of the time, I found that I overdressed. I needed surprisingly few layers for the ride as I built up a lot of heat moving my body through space. I was an efficient heat-generating machine! I focused more on keeping my face, hands and feet warm and worried little about the rest. There has, to this date, never been a single "cold" day, although as of December 5th, I have left in the morning with below freezing temperatures. I have also ridden through two nor'easters. I haven't perfected the rain yet, but mostly because I don't have waterproof pants or gloves. I'm working on it.
I was a little nervous after halloween when the time changed. I had been accustomed to riding to work in the AM in the dark because there was little traffic on the road at that early time. Riding in rush-hour traffic in the dark was a different story. I admit, it was a little daunting at first, but my skills as a cyclist have really improved over the 53 days of my bicycle commuting adventure. I have a better reflective vest given to me by the transportation department of the public school where I work, and decent lights make me extremely visible. I am more adept at predicting the actions of drivers. I made a few route modifications for safely reasons, and so far, my commutes are rather predictible. So far, I have lost 12 pounds even though I eat whatever and whenever I want. I am in much better shape, and although my hilly commute is always a workout, I have the time and energy to take in my surroundings and appreciate my ride. I have also seen very interesting things and had a few adventures which I will share in subsequent posts.
After three months, I am still new to this but I no longer have the fear of limitation. I've discovered that I can get around just as well without a car, although it takes planning and admittedly, twice as long. Regardless, I will trade some time for the physical and mental health benefits I get by cycling two hours a day. I make all of my important decisions while riding. I sing outloud and talk to myself, sorting through my problems. While I am surrounded by people closed up in their vehicles, I feel completely alone on the bicycle, seeing life at 14 mph while everyone rushes by me just to get home and sit in front of the TV. Sometimes, I do get lonely or tired and the doubts creep in. I am constantly lectured. By my family, by my coworkers, even by total strangers. Everyone seems to have an opinion about my choosing to ride a bike. I believe that some people even whisper that perhaps I lost my license. Most seem to think I have simply lost my mind.
They, like I did last year, see bicycling to work as a serious last resort option for transportation. This is something you do if you are an illegal alien or you are drunk, period. The few cyclists I know strap their bike to their SUV's and drive to a place to cycle recreationally, but look at me stupified when I suggest that a bicycle can be used for transportation. Sure, I have my bad days where the saddle hurts or my muscles ache or I had a nasty encounter with a motorist, but I always think to myself - what could be better than getting the chance to ride your bike every day, feeling the freedom and the wind in your hair. It's like being a kid again on the good days.. and I have been released from the dread of automobile ownership. The cost, the worry, the dependent feeling. I'm free from the guilt of being a polluter. Traffic and road rage is a thing of the past. So is gasoline costs, and maintenance, and fees, and insurance costs, and the fear of being pulled over, and inspection woes, and...
Geez, all I gotta do is get on my bike and ride!
I was a little nervous after halloween when the time changed. I had been accustomed to riding to work in the AM in the dark because there was little traffic on the road at that early time. Riding in rush-hour traffic in the dark was a different story. I admit, it was a little daunting at first, but my skills as a cyclist have really improved over the 53 days of my bicycle commuting adventure. I have a better reflective vest given to me by the transportation department of the public school where I work, and decent lights make me extremely visible. I am more adept at predicting the actions of drivers. I made a few route modifications for safely reasons, and so far, my commutes are rather predictible. So far, I have lost 12 pounds even though I eat whatever and whenever I want. I am in much better shape, and although my hilly commute is always a workout, I have the time and energy to take in my surroundings and appreciate my ride. I have also seen very interesting things and had a few adventures which I will share in subsequent posts.
After three months, I am still new to this but I no longer have the fear of limitation. I've discovered that I can get around just as well without a car, although it takes planning and admittedly, twice as long. Regardless, I will trade some time for the physical and mental health benefits I get by cycling two hours a day. I make all of my important decisions while riding. I sing outloud and talk to myself, sorting through my problems. While I am surrounded by people closed up in their vehicles, I feel completely alone on the bicycle, seeing life at 14 mph while everyone rushes by me just to get home and sit in front of the TV. Sometimes, I do get lonely or tired and the doubts creep in. I am constantly lectured. By my family, by my coworkers, even by total strangers. Everyone seems to have an opinion about my choosing to ride a bike. I believe that some people even whisper that perhaps I lost my license. Most seem to think I have simply lost my mind.
They, like I did last year, see bicycling to work as a serious last resort option for transportation. This is something you do if you are an illegal alien or you are drunk, period. The few cyclists I know strap their bike to their SUV's and drive to a place to cycle recreationally, but look at me stupified when I suggest that a bicycle can be used for transportation. Sure, I have my bad days where the saddle hurts or my muscles ache or I had a nasty encounter with a motorist, but I always think to myself - what could be better than getting the chance to ride your bike every day, feeling the freedom and the wind in your hair. It's like being a kid again on the good days.. and I have been released from the dread of automobile ownership. The cost, the worry, the dependent feeling. I'm free from the guilt of being a polluter. Traffic and road rage is a thing of the past. So is gasoline costs, and maintenance, and fees, and insurance costs, and the fear of being pulled over, and inspection woes, and...
Geez, all I gotta do is get on my bike and ride!
Biking to work: The Beginning
If you read my saga in the last post, then you already know that on September 10th, I scrapped my car, and made the choice to begin biking to work full time. The prospect was daunting; I wasn't in the kind of shape necessary to bike 22-25 miles a day every day. I didn't even know how to do it, or what gear I would need for darkness and winter riding. I barely knew how to change a flat tire and while I am comfortable riding in traffic (vehicular cycling), I had never really tried it in the dark. What if I can't do it? What if I am constantly exhausted? What if I get injured or hit? What are people going to think when they find out that I have no plans to get another car? All of these questions running through my mind as I spent the weekend cleaning and lubing up my trusty steed, the machine that would be my ticket to independence for the foreseable future.
I started to read as much as could the stories and advice given by the wonderful people at www.bikeforums.net. People from all walks of life and ages commuting anywhere from 1 to 30 miles each way to work. Some, like me, were just beginning, and some had been commuting their entire lives by bicycle alone. My 12 mile trip to and from work was a moderate distance, but no longer seemed impossible. My route was already planned, and I pored over it extensively looking for any improvements. Ways to cut out dangerous parts of the trip, or where to avoid a nasty hill. On my first day setting out at 6:15 A.M., I felt liberated. I had the excitement that comes with anything new, a heady feeling of rebellion, and sense of accomplishment as I pulled up to my place of business. My legs ached, unused muscles screamed out, but I looked forward to the ride home. It was a bright and glorious late summer day. I wondered why I hadn't done this sooner.
I had started on a Thursday, and so had the weekend to rest after two days of commuting. The true test would be the first full 5-day week. My routine was as follows: Pack clothing the night before in my pannier bags. Get up at 6 A.M. and get on the bike clothes. Check the tires and brakes and depart. I had my MP3 player, but after the first few days decided it was dangerous to use headphones, so I mounted an external speaker to my bicycle. It sounded awful and was quiet, but I could sing along and still hear traffic. I had a great jacket that I had recieved as a present the year before and it worked great for biking, along with a flourescent yellow reflective vest given to me by my father. The mornings were cool, but I discovered that I was never cold. After the first hill, I was warm and found I usually removed some layers as I went along. Making it through the first week was a great accomplishment, but the fatigue was alarming at first. My body was in no shape for this, and I had not increased my physical activity gradually. One week I was shuttling my lard ass around in a vehicle, the next I was burning 800 calories a day trekking 22 miles back and forth across a county. My commute is very hilly and my quads were screaming. In fact, I was in bed by 9pm every night, everything ached. I dreaded Monday and secretly wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew. I decided to press on.
I fought through saddle pain and saddle sores, tried different clothing combinations and bought a better tailight. At first I had no appetite or energy to eat as sometimes happens when you start a rigerous exercise program, but I forced myself to eat and sleep to avoid the dreaded overtraining syndrome. I had to take care of myself - *I* was the engine. Food was fuel; sleep was repair.
After three weeks, My body became acclimated to the daily slog and I started to get into the rhythm of it. The saddle soreness lessened, my quads strengthened, and my confidence grew. I was no longer a bicylist or a "biker". I was becoming a transportation cyclist. A strange breed, especially in car-centric suburbia. I saw calories in terms of miles and ate whatever I could, and still lost 5 pounds before the leaves changed.
...Continued in the next post...
I started to read as much as could the stories and advice given by the wonderful people at www.bikeforums.net. People from all walks of life and ages commuting anywhere from 1 to 30 miles each way to work. Some, like me, were just beginning, and some had been commuting their entire lives by bicycle alone. My 12 mile trip to and from work was a moderate distance, but no longer seemed impossible. My route was already planned, and I pored over it extensively looking for any improvements. Ways to cut out dangerous parts of the trip, or where to avoid a nasty hill. On my first day setting out at 6:15 A.M., I felt liberated. I had the excitement that comes with anything new, a heady feeling of rebellion, and sense of accomplishment as I pulled up to my place of business. My legs ached, unused muscles screamed out, but I looked forward to the ride home. It was a bright and glorious late summer day. I wondered why I hadn't done this sooner.
I had started on a Thursday, and so had the weekend to rest after two days of commuting. The true test would be the first full 5-day week. My routine was as follows: Pack clothing the night before in my pannier bags. Get up at 6 A.M. and get on the bike clothes. Check the tires and brakes and depart. I had my MP3 player, but after the first few days decided it was dangerous to use headphones, so I mounted an external speaker to my bicycle. It sounded awful and was quiet, but I could sing along and still hear traffic. I had a great jacket that I had recieved as a present the year before and it worked great for biking, along with a flourescent yellow reflective vest given to me by my father. The mornings were cool, but I discovered that I was never cold. After the first hill, I was warm and found I usually removed some layers as I went along. Making it through the first week was a great accomplishment, but the fatigue was alarming at first. My body was in no shape for this, and I had not increased my physical activity gradually. One week I was shuttling my lard ass around in a vehicle, the next I was burning 800 calories a day trekking 22 miles back and forth across a county. My commute is very hilly and my quads were screaming. In fact, I was in bed by 9pm every night, everything ached. I dreaded Monday and secretly wondered if I had bitten off more than I could chew. I decided to press on.
I fought through saddle pain and saddle sores, tried different clothing combinations and bought a better tailight. At first I had no appetite or energy to eat as sometimes happens when you start a rigerous exercise program, but I forced myself to eat and sleep to avoid the dreaded overtraining syndrome. I had to take care of myself - *I* was the engine. Food was fuel; sleep was repair.
After three weeks, My body became acclimated to the daily slog and I started to get into the rhythm of it. The saddle soreness lessened, my quads strengthened, and my confidence grew. I was no longer a bicylist or a "biker". I was becoming a transportation cyclist. A strange breed, especially in car-centric suburbia. I saw calories in terms of miles and ate whatever I could, and still lost 5 pounds before the leaves changed.
...Continued in the next post...
Biking to Work: Did I give up my car, or did my car give up on me?
A little backstory to catch you up till now:
Once upon a time, on thankgiving day of 2008, I was driving my little toyota tercel to my mom's for dinner when my negligience in putting oil in the car resulted in total siezure(Anyone who is familiar with cars will at this point, shudder). Siezure is the death knell to an engine, and thus the car passed into its next incarnation as scrap metal. I was carless, and on the doorstep of winter. I had my boyfriend bring me back and forth to work as much as possible, but didn't like the idea of having to be dependent on anyone to get anywhere. I sent away for the bus route map for my county and planned my descent into the world of public transportation.
I say "descent", not in a reference to a hades-type world, but because the world of suburban transportation is hidden to anyone who is "lucky" enough to have their own pod. The first day I was supposed to take the bus, I decided to try going home from work. I figured that in case of a mishap, I wouldn't worry about having to call in sick. After work was done, I carefully counted my bus fare, took my binder containing every bus schedule in the state and ran across the street to the shopping center where I would depart. Unlike the weary people in the bus shelter, I was filled with nervous energy and anticipation. In fact, living in suburbia where a car is second only to toilet paper in necessity, I had never taken a bus by myself in my life. I had no idea what to do - what kind of culture was this? Were there rules? Did you talk to people or keep to yourself, did you need exact change? How did you get the bus to stop somewhere? I was clueless. When the bus came around, I tried to look bored, like I had done this a million times. I hung back so I could study the routine of the people in front. It seemed as though they put the change into a machine, and took a ticket. Okay. I can do that. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out something like eighteen dollars in change, and breathlessly told the driver the name of my destination. He pointed to the fare listed for two transfer zones. I put my money in and grabbed my ticket. Everyone eyed me dubiously. I was a newcomer. I looked around the bus as it started to pull away. It was filled with Latinos. They all seemed to know each other, and I heard various greetings in spanish. I grabbed a seat near the front by a window so I could keep track of where we were going and when I would need to stop. The bus got quiet and I studied my route. I watched as people pressed a button near the window when their stop was coming up. I prepared myself as we entered the city where I would pick up the next bus to home. As the stop approached, I was disappointed when a man near me pressed the button first. In my disappointment, I pressed the button anyway, having no effect. I thanked the driver and stepped on the streets of the city.
Bus schedules are rather confusing if you've never dealt with public transportation before. I waited at the bus stop by the train station for the next bus. It didn't come. I realized after an hour that I was in serious danger of frostbite. Having a car for so many years, I never learned how to dress for the winter properly. I'd run out in heels with no stockings, short-sleeved shirt or summer dress under a winter coat, no hat or gloves. Who needed these things when one went from warm house to warm car to warm office? As I looked around to see people dressed for the sub-freezing temperatures, I began to realize that I was in real danger of getting frostbite. I was wearing sandals. I wasn't sure where the bus was, but the cold forced me to find shelter until I could figure out what to do. I ran to the train station and inside the doors, I found myself in the company of a homeless person who was there for the same reason. Only he did not dress lightly out of ignorance. And he was eating out of the garbage. I suddenly felt very stupid and realized how much I had taken for granted all these years.
I pulled out my phone and called the bus company. I discovered that the bus stop I was waiting at was for the wrong set of buses, and this bus, a commuter coach bus picked up on the other side of the train station. Sighing, I walked outside and joined a different throng of shivering people. The bus was late. I tried to make conversation with someone, but he only looked away and told me that this bus was always late. 40 minutes later, just as I thought about running back to keep company with the homeless man, the bus pulled up. This was a different sort of bus altogether. This was a commuter bus from New York, and the only one that passed through my area of town to princeton. The have and the have-nots where huddled together unhappily. Thugs next to businessmen, Mexican food service workers sitting next to sullen women in furs clutching their purses. There was very little room, and I had to negotiate a spot near someone who eyed me up, then moved his things for me. No one spoke but the bus was warm. When it got near my stop, somebody signalled the stop, and a few people, myself included shuffled off. In the cold, dark, I crunched through the snow in my summer sandals. Cold, numb, and exhausted, I opened the door to my apartment. In three hours, I had gone 12 miles. It cost $4.15.
In the next few weeks, I got a ride to work in the morning, and continued to take the bus at night. Although I still had to wait 20 minutes for the initial bus and 30 minutes during my transfer, I was able to make it home in two hours. I went to K-Mart and bought a wool cap with ear flaps, some gloves and started bringing warm pants to change into. Socks and boots replaced summer sandals after the very first day. I started to get used to the public transportation thing, and soon I had the same bored, vacant stare as the others who waited for the bus every day. One day I even got to press the "stop" button first.
Still, I felt trapped. I used the stops to walk around the city and do my christmas shopping, and started to really get a feel for bus transportation, but I lamented the time cost for going such a short distance and felt limited by the bus schedule. Miss your bus and you have to wait 30, 60, 90 minutes, or be stranded if you've missed the last one. In suburbia, bus transportation is not a priority and so they don't run as often or go as many places as they would if this were a true urban center. This is when I began to think about my bicycle as a serious form of transportation. I wasn't new to commuting by bike to work, I had actually done it for years during the summer, but it was usually only a few times a week, and I always had the luxury of getting a ride when I was tired, or it was raining. I was, what they call in bicycle commuting circles, a fair-weather commuter. The appeal of the bicycle was easy to see: it would take half the time to bike than to take the bus. It would cost nothing, and I would get my exercise. The daunting prospect was that I was woefully out of shape, had no clue how to ride my bike in the winter or in the dark, and 22 miles a day seemed a hopelessly long commute 5 days a week. Nevertheless, I pulled out the bike the very next weekend, and prepared to give it a try.
It was cold. I didn't have the concept of layering, and so I simply piled on as much crap as I could find and wore my winter coat on top. I could barely move and half-way through I was sweating so much that I got cold. On the way home, luck would have it that it began to snow. After arguing with my co-workers about the sanity of going home in such weather, I stopped at the bike store and bought more lights and reflective gear. I was apprehensive, but determined. Once I got on the darkened roads home, I got a little scared and ended up riding on the sidewalk for the most of the way. For anyone who commutes by bike, it's a big no-no, and a common newbie mistake. It took 2 hours to get home in the slush. My miss-matched thift store gear was ill-preparation for the wet and cold, and by the time I got home, I swore off the winter biking. I didn't think I had it in me. The next day, I was told I was crazy by everyone and I took it personally. I thought they were right. I went back to the bus.
During the winter break, I decided I had to find a car - any car - I was desperate. I sent my boyfriend out to find something. Armed with a pension loan, I needed something cheap and I needed it now. I didn't want to go back to work in January on the bus. I was feeling sorry for myself. He came back triumpantly and soon I was behind the wheel of a yacht-sized station wagon. A 1997 mercury sable. Gunmetal gray. We named it "The Kondos" after the russian man who sold it to us. I was dubious about the choice of this behemoth, but it seemed to run okay, and it was really inexpensive. I reasoned that we could camp in the back and it would be good for hauling. I was also secretly and selfishly thrilled that I would no longer have to join "those" people who took public transportation. The middle-class suburbanite in me took over and I happily guzzled my way to work in January.
Things started to go downhill with the car the very next month. I started to overheat on my way to work, and had to get a tow. I remember the sense of deja vu as I stood shivering in my summer sandals waiting for the tow truck, feeling utterly betrayed by my new battleship. I discovered I had a leak in the coolant tank. I topped it off, vowed to check it, and off I went. A few weeks later, the brakes began to feel funny. I took it in and was told that the brakes were at a point of being dangerous and that they would need to overhaul the entire system. I was devistated to get a 900 dollar bill. Still, I reasoned, I only paid 1600 for the car, so I was still doing okay. In April, I needed to get the car inspected. After running it through with high hopes, I was told that I had two emissions problems
(codes) and something called motor mounts, among other things. I know intimately from other cars how expensive the emissions problems can be, and I only had one month to take care of it! I struggled to pay the 1200 dollars it required to get the car to pass inspection. I was beginning to regret the choice. I was broke. The car positively guzzled gas and every two weeks I was putting more coolant in it. I prayed that it would last a year.
In the late summer, the overheating problem finally got so bad that the car became barely driveable. One fix was applied but didn't help much, and it was determined that the car needed yet another expensive part. To make matters worse, the battery or the alternator was going, and the car wouldn't start without a jump. I had it. The car was a money pit. A failure. I scrapped it, got 200 bucks, and put the money into fixing the brakes on my boyfriend's car. His was the better of the two. So, on September 10th, I again became car-free.
I was aprehensive remembering the disaster of last winter, but it was still technically summer, and the idea to ride my bicycle seemed less threatening. I was so tired of the expense, the worry, the unreliability of having a cheap, used vehicle, that the thought of using a bicycle - something that always starts, is free to operate, and can be fixed by the owner with less than $50 in parts, was extremely appealing. In addition, I had gained 20 pounds, tipping the scale at 150, which is a lot for my 5'4" frame. It seemed like a win-win situation and I decided to revisit the idea of living car-free. I was determined to do this on my own terms - not out of desperation, but as a choice. Millions of people do it every day all over the world, I reasoned. The only problem was - how do I transform myself from a fair-weather summer-ony, part-time bike commuter into a full-time, winter-riding, 125 mile a week transportation cyclist? Read on...
Once upon a time, on thankgiving day of 2008, I was driving my little toyota tercel to my mom's for dinner when my negligience in putting oil in the car resulted in total siezure(Anyone who is familiar with cars will at this point, shudder). Siezure is the death knell to an engine, and thus the car passed into its next incarnation as scrap metal. I was carless, and on the doorstep of winter. I had my boyfriend bring me back and forth to work as much as possible, but didn't like the idea of having to be dependent on anyone to get anywhere. I sent away for the bus route map for my county and planned my descent into the world of public transportation.
I say "descent", not in a reference to a hades-type world, but because the world of suburban transportation is hidden to anyone who is "lucky" enough to have their own pod. The first day I was supposed to take the bus, I decided to try going home from work. I figured that in case of a mishap, I wouldn't worry about having to call in sick. After work was done, I carefully counted my bus fare, took my binder containing every bus schedule in the state and ran across the street to the shopping center where I would depart. Unlike the weary people in the bus shelter, I was filled with nervous energy and anticipation. In fact, living in suburbia where a car is second only to toilet paper in necessity, I had never taken a bus by myself in my life. I had no idea what to do - what kind of culture was this? Were there rules? Did you talk to people or keep to yourself, did you need exact change? How did you get the bus to stop somewhere? I was clueless. When the bus came around, I tried to look bored, like I had done this a million times. I hung back so I could study the routine of the people in front. It seemed as though they put the change into a machine, and took a ticket. Okay. I can do that. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out something like eighteen dollars in change, and breathlessly told the driver the name of my destination. He pointed to the fare listed for two transfer zones. I put my money in and grabbed my ticket. Everyone eyed me dubiously. I was a newcomer. I looked around the bus as it started to pull away. It was filled with Latinos. They all seemed to know each other, and I heard various greetings in spanish. I grabbed a seat near the front by a window so I could keep track of where we were going and when I would need to stop. The bus got quiet and I studied my route. I watched as people pressed a button near the window when their stop was coming up. I prepared myself as we entered the city where I would pick up the next bus to home. As the stop approached, I was disappointed when a man near me pressed the button first. In my disappointment, I pressed the button anyway, having no effect. I thanked the driver and stepped on the streets of the city.
Bus schedules are rather confusing if you've never dealt with public transportation before. I waited at the bus stop by the train station for the next bus. It didn't come. I realized after an hour that I was in serious danger of frostbite. Having a car for so many years, I never learned how to dress for the winter properly. I'd run out in heels with no stockings, short-sleeved shirt or summer dress under a winter coat, no hat or gloves. Who needed these things when one went from warm house to warm car to warm office? As I looked around to see people dressed for the sub-freezing temperatures, I began to realize that I was in real danger of getting frostbite. I was wearing sandals. I wasn't sure where the bus was, but the cold forced me to find shelter until I could figure out what to do. I ran to the train station and inside the doors, I found myself in the company of a homeless person who was there for the same reason. Only he did not dress lightly out of ignorance. And he was eating out of the garbage. I suddenly felt very stupid and realized how much I had taken for granted all these years.
I pulled out my phone and called the bus company. I discovered that the bus stop I was waiting at was for the wrong set of buses, and this bus, a commuter coach bus picked up on the other side of the train station. Sighing, I walked outside and joined a different throng of shivering people. The bus was late. I tried to make conversation with someone, but he only looked away and told me that this bus was always late. 40 minutes later, just as I thought about running back to keep company with the homeless man, the bus pulled up. This was a different sort of bus altogether. This was a commuter bus from New York, and the only one that passed through my area of town to princeton. The have and the have-nots where huddled together unhappily. Thugs next to businessmen, Mexican food service workers sitting next to sullen women in furs clutching their purses. There was very little room, and I had to negotiate a spot near someone who eyed me up, then moved his things for me. No one spoke but the bus was warm. When it got near my stop, somebody signalled the stop, and a few people, myself included shuffled off. In the cold, dark, I crunched through the snow in my summer sandals. Cold, numb, and exhausted, I opened the door to my apartment. In three hours, I had gone 12 miles. It cost $4.15.
In the next few weeks, I got a ride to work in the morning, and continued to take the bus at night. Although I still had to wait 20 minutes for the initial bus and 30 minutes during my transfer, I was able to make it home in two hours. I went to K-Mart and bought a wool cap with ear flaps, some gloves and started bringing warm pants to change into. Socks and boots replaced summer sandals after the very first day. I started to get used to the public transportation thing, and soon I had the same bored, vacant stare as the others who waited for the bus every day. One day I even got to press the "stop" button first.
Still, I felt trapped. I used the stops to walk around the city and do my christmas shopping, and started to really get a feel for bus transportation, but I lamented the time cost for going such a short distance and felt limited by the bus schedule. Miss your bus and you have to wait 30, 60, 90 minutes, or be stranded if you've missed the last one. In suburbia, bus transportation is not a priority and so they don't run as often or go as many places as they would if this were a true urban center. This is when I began to think about my bicycle as a serious form of transportation. I wasn't new to commuting by bike to work, I had actually done it for years during the summer, but it was usually only a few times a week, and I always had the luxury of getting a ride when I was tired, or it was raining. I was, what they call in bicycle commuting circles, a fair-weather commuter. The appeal of the bicycle was easy to see: it would take half the time to bike than to take the bus. It would cost nothing, and I would get my exercise. The daunting prospect was that I was woefully out of shape, had no clue how to ride my bike in the winter or in the dark, and 22 miles a day seemed a hopelessly long commute 5 days a week. Nevertheless, I pulled out the bike the very next weekend, and prepared to give it a try.
It was cold. I didn't have the concept of layering, and so I simply piled on as much crap as I could find and wore my winter coat on top. I could barely move and half-way through I was sweating so much that I got cold. On the way home, luck would have it that it began to snow. After arguing with my co-workers about the sanity of going home in such weather, I stopped at the bike store and bought more lights and reflective gear. I was apprehensive, but determined. Once I got on the darkened roads home, I got a little scared and ended up riding on the sidewalk for the most of the way. For anyone who commutes by bike, it's a big no-no, and a common newbie mistake. It took 2 hours to get home in the slush. My miss-matched thift store gear was ill-preparation for the wet and cold, and by the time I got home, I swore off the winter biking. I didn't think I had it in me. The next day, I was told I was crazy by everyone and I took it personally. I thought they were right. I went back to the bus.
During the winter break, I decided I had to find a car - any car - I was desperate. I sent my boyfriend out to find something. Armed with a pension loan, I needed something cheap and I needed it now. I didn't want to go back to work in January on the bus. I was feeling sorry for myself. He came back triumpantly and soon I was behind the wheel of a yacht-sized station wagon. A 1997 mercury sable. Gunmetal gray. We named it "The Kondos" after the russian man who sold it to us. I was dubious about the choice of this behemoth, but it seemed to run okay, and it was really inexpensive. I reasoned that we could camp in the back and it would be good for hauling. I was also secretly and selfishly thrilled that I would no longer have to join "those" people who took public transportation. The middle-class suburbanite in me took over and I happily guzzled my way to work in January.
Things started to go downhill with the car the very next month. I started to overheat on my way to work, and had to get a tow. I remember the sense of deja vu as I stood shivering in my summer sandals waiting for the tow truck, feeling utterly betrayed by my new battleship. I discovered I had a leak in the coolant tank. I topped it off, vowed to check it, and off I went. A few weeks later, the brakes began to feel funny. I took it in and was told that the brakes were at a point of being dangerous and that they would need to overhaul the entire system. I was devistated to get a 900 dollar bill. Still, I reasoned, I only paid 1600 for the car, so I was still doing okay. In April, I needed to get the car inspected. After running it through with high hopes, I was told that I had two emissions problems
(codes) and something called motor mounts, among other things. I know intimately from other cars how expensive the emissions problems can be, and I only had one month to take care of it! I struggled to pay the 1200 dollars it required to get the car to pass inspection. I was beginning to regret the choice. I was broke. The car positively guzzled gas and every two weeks I was putting more coolant in it. I prayed that it would last a year.
In the late summer, the overheating problem finally got so bad that the car became barely driveable. One fix was applied but didn't help much, and it was determined that the car needed yet another expensive part. To make matters worse, the battery or the alternator was going, and the car wouldn't start without a jump. I had it. The car was a money pit. A failure. I scrapped it, got 200 bucks, and put the money into fixing the brakes on my boyfriend's car. His was the better of the two. So, on September 10th, I again became car-free.
I was aprehensive remembering the disaster of last winter, but it was still technically summer, and the idea to ride my bicycle seemed less threatening. I was so tired of the expense, the worry, the unreliability of having a cheap, used vehicle, that the thought of using a bicycle - something that always starts, is free to operate, and can be fixed by the owner with less than $50 in parts, was extremely appealing. In addition, I had gained 20 pounds, tipping the scale at 150, which is a lot for my 5'4" frame. It seemed like a win-win situation and I decided to revisit the idea of living car-free. I was determined to do this on my own terms - not out of desperation, but as a choice. Millions of people do it every day all over the world, I reasoned. The only problem was - how do I transform myself from a fair-weather summer-ony, part-time bike commuter into a full-time, winter-riding, 125 mile a week transportation cyclist? Read on...
Blog renewed; change in format!
Originally intended to be soley dedicated to foraging, I've decided to expand my horizons and simply turn this blog into a sort of journal. Although much of it will be centered on foraging, preserving and medicinal herbs, I decided that all of my hobbies tend to follow the same theme and are worthy of inclusion. What I consider my hobbies is really a different way of approaching the age-old issues of living: shelter, food, transportation & health. I strive to recapture some of the lost arts of our forebearers but I also look for the pure experience that comes with living independantly from modern convienence and conventions. For example, I ride my bicycle to work and I garbage-pick with glee. I tend to live by the seasons, as did all people who's lives were directed and colored by the harvest, and my spirituality reflects this basic human connection to the natural world. The whole of our lives are not dissimilar from the joy and loss we experience each year as the seasons change, and the hope for renewal is ever at the doorstep of spring. From death and birth, from flower to fruit to seed, all is connected to this great spinning wheel of creation.
Above all, I am a real person who grew up in the computer age, taking all of this stuff for granted. I drank kool-aide, owned a firebird, became a computer geek, smoked cigarettes, didn't give a hoot about the environment. I was a normal young consumer until about 6 years ago when something in me drastically changed. Or perhaps it changed back, as I feel simultaniously more childlike and mature than before. I am a student of this new life, and I am learning as I go through trial and error. I have already experienced much, but as I go along, questioning the "norm", I make mistakes, I have doubts, I get stuck. I'm hoping to find inspiration from others who also question, and perhaps, somewhere, somehow, give a little hope to people looking to be free from the confines of 'convienence' and to recapture the experience of living honestly.
Above all, I am a real person who grew up in the computer age, taking all of this stuff for granted. I drank kool-aide, owned a firebird, became a computer geek, smoked cigarettes, didn't give a hoot about the environment. I was a normal young consumer until about 6 years ago when something in me drastically changed. Or perhaps it changed back, as I feel simultaniously more childlike and mature than before. I am a student of this new life, and I am learning as I go through trial and error. I have already experienced much, but as I go along, questioning the "norm", I make mistakes, I have doubts, I get stuck. I'm hoping to find inspiration from others who also question, and perhaps, somewhere, somehow, give a little hope to people looking to be free from the confines of 'convienence' and to recapture the experience of living honestly.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Chickweed: Early Spring's First Humble Offering
Ah, chickweed. The common name of this plant conjours images of farm fodder, but Stellaria media is a delicious, abundant and versatile plant. It's easy to overlook, growing there in the cracks and crevaces in late winter and early spring, but this lowly plant is worth a second look for its decidedly spring-like green taste, nutritional value, and it's traditional use to sooth skin ailments.Chickweed grows low to the ground in bushy mats, somewhat resembling a Chia Pet. From a distance, the tiny plants seem a lighter green than the surrounding grass. To collect chickweed, I recommend staying in the suburbs, as I've never found satisfactory chickweed in truly
wild places. Make sure where you collect chickweed is free from pollutants, foot traffic, and is well away from roads. Simply put, use your best judgement. If you see chickweed under a pine tree in an out-of-the-way place and you feel comfortable, go for it. I recommend taking scissors, as it is easiest to just trim off the tops of the chickweed into your bag. Chickweed prefers moist, rich, soil and cool weather. The chickweed season ends around the same time that dandelions become proflific, so gather chickweed before May if you in the tri-state area. Chickweed grows almost everywhere in the United States so chances are, there's a patch waiting to be found. Don't worry about over-harvesting chickweed, snipping off the tops helps the plant grow back even bushier. 
Once you find a nice patch of chickweed, gather a lot because it reduces by at least half when you cook with it.You can use chickweed in any way you would use spinach. In soups, lasagna, pesto, pasta dishes, stir-fry, or just plain in a salad. It's a great, free replacement for other greens. While it doesn't have a very complex taste, it isn't bitter like some wild edibles can be. It's very nutrition, high in vitamins A, B and C, and contains iron and calcium.
When you think you've found chickweed the first time, don't gather it. Take a picture and do some research. If you are new to foraging, you cannot afford to take a chance. The poisoning risk while foraging for chickweed is low, but you must be stringent and diligent as a rule with foraging. Get several reputable field guides (such as the peterson guides), and any other books you can to be sure of your identification. Chickweed has very distinct white flowers, but you may or may not be foraging when this plant is in flower. Learn how to identify all parts of the plant, during the entirety of its season. If something doesn't jive, move on. One final word of caution: don't use the internet for identification research. It's a great tool for the curious, but if I had a dollar for the number of times I found mislabeled, misidentified plants on the internet... but I digress.
Okay, so you've gathered your chickweed and want to use it for more than just a delectable nutritious green? Let's try making a skin salve! This is great for rashes, excema, dry skin, dermatitis, etc.
Materials for chickweed salve:
Beeswax (try an arts & crafts store in the candle making isle)
Chickweed
Olive Oil
fine-mesh sieve, or collander with cheesecloth
Stock pot or crockpot
Mason jar or other container for finished salve
You can get the blocked beeswax or the pellets, natural or white. Doesn't matter- get whatever's on sale. You can use any oil you have on hand, but olive oil is the best. It doesn't have to be extra virgin, in fact, use the cheap stuff.
Spread the chickweed out on a screen, or even just on a cloth to dry a bit after harvesting, especially if the chickweed is wet. Make sure you move it around periodically so it doesn't get moldy. I got impatient and used a cool hairdryer to dry off the surface water and shrink it down a bit. If you are using a crockpot, turn it on high. If you are using a regular pot, you'll be using the lowest burner setting you have. Put the chickweed in the pot and pour in enough oil just to cover.
Let this warm up until the greens cook down and the oil is green. You don't want the chickweed to burn at all, so make sure you remove it from the heat when enough of the chickweed essence has been extracted into the oil. Strain the chickweed out through a collander and reserve the oil. Return the oil to the pot, turn up the heat to medium (or high on the crockpot), and start adding the beeswax in one tablespoon at a time. After the first tablespoon melts into the oil, get a plate and drip a bit of the oil on it. The beeswax-oil mixture will thicken as it cools. Add beeswax until the drops solidify to a creamy, but non-liquid texture. If you add too much beeswax, add more oil, but try not to dilute too much.Once you've reached a satisfactory viscosity, let the oil cool a bit. Get out a mason jar, or other container that you've put aside for the finished salve. I've used baby-food jars, washed out sauce
jars, whatever you have on hand, just make sure it's food-safe.Let the mixture cool on the counter and resist the temptation to move it. Let it gel. After a few hours, you can put it in the fridge. Keep it refrigerated and it will last for a very long time.
Viola! You've just learned how to make your own herbal salves. The possibilities are endless...
Ghosts of the Forest: The American Chestnut
What follows is an abridged version of my research paper for my environmental science class. I was particularly struck by the personal stories and pictures that I encountered during my research. I highly recommend visiting the excellent resource links provided to read the first-hand accounts of people who lived through one of the greatest ecological disasters of our time.
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The virgin forests of the Eastern United States prior to the dawn of the 16th century were markedly different from the oak-dominated forests of today. As the Europeans arrived on the new continent, they beheld towering giants; trees that regularly spanned 150 feet and grew to a massive diameter of 10 feet. Innumerable species of animals, insects, and birds coexisted with, and depended on, the annual bounty of nuts from over 3 billion American chestnut trees which stretched from Maine to Georgia (Lutts par. 1). After the turn of the 20th century, in span of only four decades, almost every single living tree was destroyed.
The American chestnut, Castenea dentata, is a deciduous, nut bearing tree in the beech family. Along with oak trees, they comprised the majority of tree species in the eastern United States. In the Appalachians, American chestnut occurred in one out of every four trees. This species competed well with oaks and beech trees, and became numerically dominant through their range. As a “keystone species”, these giants of the forest provided the foundation for the entire forest ecosystem of the Eastern United States (Freinkel par. 4).
Animal species depended greatly on the unfailing deluge of fruits produced each fall and supported large mammal populations including moose, elk, bears, wolves, white-dear, wild hogs, mountain lions, turkeys, and many species that are now extinct, such as the passenger pigeon who visited the trees in massive flocks each autumn. While a mature oak tree produces around 2,000 acorns per year, a similarly sized Chestnut tree could produce over 6,000 calorie-rich nuts each year (http://www.patacf.org/index.htm).
The chestnut tree has a related species in Europe, Castenea sativa, which had been used for thousands of years as a food source, especially for the poorest classes of people. Similarly, settlers in the chestnut-rich Appalachians owed their continued subsistence to the abundance of free chestnuts each year to trade, sell, or fatten their livestock (Lutts, par. 3). Improvements in transportation into the 19th century allowed the chestnut-gatherers in the blue-ridge communities to grow their chestnut trade substantially (Lutts, par 6). Poor families could support themselves by foraging for Chestnuts and trading them through the local general store for eggs, milk, bread and other food staples. Commercial outfits sprang up to take advantage of the free bounty, and a new industry was born. At the height of the chestnut trade, counties could net over $100,000 dollars per season, which was, according to a 1937 economic study, “a greater source of revenue than cattle.” (Lutts par. 11) The trade of chestnuts linked poor rural families in the Appalachians with residents of the big northeastern cities, who bought them for roasting from street vendors (Lutts par. 12).
Americans also quickly discovered the usefulness of this prolific tree for lumber and for extracts of tannic acid, used for tanning leather. At the turn of the century, more than half of all vegetable tanning extracts were obtained from chestnuts, giving rise to a thriving tannic export industry (Freinkel par. 23). The wood of the chestnut is relatively light for its size so it was cheaper to ship than oak, and was straight-grained, and rot-resistant. This made the ideal wood for housing, furniture, rail ties, siding, and fence posts. “By 1909, about 600 million board feet of chestnut were being cut each year and the tree was contributing more than $10 million annually to the economy of the region – profits that went mainly to the large timber companies.”(Freinkel par. 24) While it commanded less per board than cherry or black walnut, the versatility and sheer abundance of the American Chestnut combined to make this tree one of the most vitally important natural resources of 19th century life and trade in the Appalachians.
Early in the 20th century, the chestnuts in New York began to exhibit symptoms of an unknown but lethal disease. The first native chestnut to have been infected was recorded in 1904 in the New York Zoological Park. In the following year, 98% of the chestnut trees in Bronx had been decimated. In 1905, the American mycologist William Murrill identified the cause of the blight was a bark fungus which he named Diaporthe parasitica (later renamed Cryphonectria parasitica) accidentally introduced on exotic trees imported for either ornamental purposes, or on infected lumber from Japan or China. The next four years saw the loss of the tree throughout New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut and Massachusetts despite massive efforts to stop the spread of the fungus. Over 220 million acres, from every field, farm and forest, the trees began to disappear, leaving only towering skeletons where vast chestnut groves once stood and by 1940, 99% of all mature American chestnut trees were eliminated across its range, comprising in total over 3 billion trees (Lutts par. 60).
The fungus originates in Asia, where the shrubby-form of chestnut species evolved with the pathogen and therefore have a degree of resistance which was absent in North American and European trees. The spores of the chestnut blight fungus are transmitted through animal and insect vectors, primarily wood-boring species which can infect the bark of the tree directly. The fungus creates swollen cankers which shatter the bark and girdle the tree within a few years, killing the tree(Hebard, 1). A witness describes his impression of blight-ravaged central Virginia in 1926:
“I passed through a scene impressive in its aspect of desolation and almost a tribute to the destructive power of the chestnut blight. This section must at one time have been entirely a pure chestnut grove. Now every tree was dead. All the trees had been uprooted and lay on the ground. The rains and the snow had washed away the dead bark and bleached the trunks a grayish white. No underbrush of any sort grew there. The area was as free from tree growth as are some of the western plains. These chestnuts were of tremendous size—a foot or two or three feet in diameter. Now it is a graveyard of giant trees. ... The area was easily two square miles.”
(Lutts par. 37)
For rural Americans whose lives and livelihoods were dependant on the chestnuts for food and trade, the loss of the trees was devastating. Without the chestnuts to feed the hogs, farmers could not afford to buy feed and once lively communities faltered. Eventually, an exodus of Appalachian mountain families and farmers ensued as they searched for new sources of income to feed their families during the increasingly difficult economic times of the emerging great depression (Freinkel par. 30). For its part, the chestnut lumber industry resorted to selling “wormy chestnut”, or the rot-resistant remains of fallen trees, eventually declining into obsolescence.
Despite the overwhelming and thoroughly tragic loss of one quarter of the eastern forests, some trees continue to survive as stump sprouts in the under story of the forests they once dominated. While these trees generally weaken and die before flowering, the roots continue to survive to preserve at least some of the genetic diversity of this majestic tree. The legacy of the American Chestnut may have some hope of preservation through organizations such as the American Chestnut Foundation (http://www.acf.org/) which strives to create blight resistant trees through a process known as the backcross method (Hebard, 1). This process uses blight resistant Asian chestnut genes and crosses them with American Chestnut genes. The hybrid resistant offspring is then bred with American chestnut genes until the result is a tree with predominantly American chestnut genes, but with the blight resistance of Asian species.
Because of the exacting relationship that the chestnut had with the bird, insect and mammal species in North America, it is vital that the blight-resistant trees retain as much of the original characteristics of the American chestnut tree, while providing genetic defenses against the introduced fungus. At least 20 different genetically diverse species have been used for the backcross method to avoid inbreeding (http://www.acf.org/r_r.php).
Because of the exacting relationship that the chestnut had with the bird, insect and mammal species in North America, it is vital that the blight-resistant trees retain as much of the original characteristics of the American chestnut tree, while providing genetic defenses against the introduced fungus. At least 20 different genetically diverse species have been used for the backcross method to avoid inbreeding (http://www.acf.org/r_r.php).
The ultimate goal is to produce healthy, mature and genetically diverse American chestnut trees which have no genetic characteristics of the Chinese chestnut other than blight resistance. TACF harvested their first blight-resistant chestnuts in 2005 and continue their efforts through educational programs, tree-spotting initiatives, and associations with scientific foundations and research universities worldwide.
The loss of the American chestnut was an environmental disaster of great magnitude, with profound and persistent ecological, social, and economical impacts. Along with the vast changes in industry, economy, and society that occurred in the 1920’s and 30’s, the loss of the Chestnut unpinned the end of an era; a time of abundant, seemingly unending, natural resources exploited by humans without consequence. It was also the end of our direct connection to foraging for food, and the concept of free land and shared resources.
The chestnut’s tragic demise is a testament to the true vulnerability of our environment, and the terrifying destructive power of human beings through environmental ignorance. People who can remember the taste of sweet chestnuts roasting “on an open fire”, the beauty of flowering chestnuts on the hillsides, or the toil of gathering nuts to trade are passing on, and the hope of the future restoration of the chestnut is now squarely in the hands of those who recognize the responsibility we share in restoring these majestic giants to their place as sentinels of the forest.
Works Cited:
Lutts, Ralph H., Like Manna From God: the American Chestnut Trade in Southwestern Virginia. Environmental History 9.3 (2004): 76 pars. 22 Mar. 2009 http://www.historycooperative.org/journals/eh/9.3/lutts.html.
Freinkel, Susan “Whole World Gone: The Loss of the American Chestnut Tree” APF Reporter Vol.22 #2 (2005) http://www.aliciapatterson.org/APF_Stories/Freinkel/Freinkel01/Freinkel.html
Hebard, Fred V., The Backcross Breeding Program of the American Chestnut Foundation
http://chestnut.cas.psu.edu/Meetings/NPS/proceedings/_2_07hebard%20manuscript%20on%20TACF.pdf
Leopold, Donald J.. Native Plants of the Northeast: A Guide for Gardening and Conservation. Portland, OR: Timber Press, Incorporated, 2005.
A Field Guide to Eastern Forests: North America (Peterson Field Guides(R)). Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998
Carley, Bruce. "New Hope for the American Chestnut." Saving the American Elm. 22 Mar. 2009 http://www.elmpost.org/chestnut.htm.
Carley, Bruce. "New Hope for the American Chestnut." Saving the American Elm. 22 Mar. 2009 http://www.elmpost.org/chestnut.htm.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Welcome spring!
On my first post, on my first blog, and on the first day of spring, let me preface by saying; I am not a country mouse. I live in a densely populated, car-centric, consumerist suburban society. Even if you live in a city, you can find and eat many safe, healthy and delicious wild edible plants. And they are free.
I aim to integrate the use of the diversity of plantlife around us with the sensibilities of modern living. In an effort to get away from expensive, packaged foods and gain the skills necessary to get through hard times or disaster, I learned how to look past the grocery stores and into the forgotten fields. There is a rebellious aspect to experiencing total and primal control over your food. It's empowering to walk through a meadow and see mankind's history hidden in the grass. Most of the plants around us were at one time important to some collection of people, and each plant had names, personality, specific preparations and uses. This common knowledge was handed down from parent to child for millenia. And in a few generations, it was lost. We destroy free, nutritious, organic wild vegetables in the quest for a perfect lawn, and eat expensive, store-bought, imported vegetables in the quest for health. It's time to challenge the basic assumptions of living in modern society.
There are many reasons to enjoy learning about wild edible plants and it fosters an appreciation for conservation and low-impact living. I hope that this blog is helpful for other lifelong learners on a quest to live simply, be happy, and have the skills to be independent regardless of our circumstances.
I aim to integrate the use of the diversity of plantlife around us with the sensibilities of modern living. In an effort to get away from expensive, packaged foods and gain the skills necessary to get through hard times or disaster, I learned how to look past the grocery stores and into the forgotten fields. There is a rebellious aspect to experiencing total and primal control over your food. It's empowering to walk through a meadow and see mankind's history hidden in the grass. Most of the plants around us were at one time important to some collection of people, and each plant had names, personality, specific preparations and uses. This common knowledge was handed down from parent to child for millenia. And in a few generations, it was lost. We destroy free, nutritious, organic wild vegetables in the quest for a perfect lawn, and eat expensive, store-bought, imported vegetables in the quest for health. It's time to challenge the basic assumptions of living in modern society.
There are many reasons to enjoy learning about wild edible plants and it fosters an appreciation for conservation and low-impact living. I hope that this blog is helpful for other lifelong learners on a quest to live simply, be happy, and have the skills to be independent regardless of our circumstances.
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