back in the (bike) saddle along the Anacostia

This past week I got back on my bike—Pearl—for the first time in over a year. I didn’t ride her at all in 2006, only 4 times in 2005, and not at all in 2004. In 2003, I did the Tour de Friends AIDS ride from North Carolina to DC, and rode Pearl all the freaking time. And, I only got her when we moved out here, in May of 2002. Which means that on average I’ve ridden her over 100 miles a year, but really I haven’t ridden her regularly in 4 years. Pearl is a Raleigh c500, a hybrid that I selected because it was light enough for me to carry up and down two flights of stairs in the apartment we were occupying that year. I’ve replaced the seat (with an old school Liberator that I’ve had for a decade now) and added handlebar extenders, but otherwise she’s just as I bought her.

Well, except for being covered with stickers. Pearl goes undercover as a beater bike, something that made me feel better about locking her to signposts in the District when I first bought her. At the time I started training for the AIDS ride, I had stickers from surf camp (the Surf Diva and Yoga for Surfers logos) and a ‘No Plot? No Problem!‘ one that I was dying to put to good use. Onto Pearl they went. Since then, she’s become a bit more political (NOW, Rails to Trails, a ‘Debbie Dick’ sticker from the Haring shop on Lafayette Street, bought just 2 months before it closed) and advertises the places she’s been (Canada, Chincoteague Island).

At any rate, I pumped up her tires, oiled her chain (I really should clean it before I ride her again) and took her out three times this past week. We are much closer to the trail system up here than we were in the District, which is nice; I used to have to ride several miles one way to get to any trail. University Park is located right at the base of the ‘Y’ made by the Northwest and Northeast branches of the Anacostia River, which means easy access to the path system that follows the tributaries. This week, all three of my rides were along these trails.

My first ride, last Wednesday, was up to Lake Artemesia and back, which took me about 45 minutes (it bears saying: I ride slowly). From my house, I was able to stay on neighborhood side streets until the College Park metro, and then ride down Paint Branch Road to the trail access point at Linson Pool. I’d heard from neighbors that the lake itself is a beautiful place to bike or jog, and I wasn’t disappointed. I spotted all kinds of familiar birds, including Tree Swallows using the nesting boxes, but no new ones (I was handicapped by not having my glasses, let alone binoculars or the bird book, so the likelihood of conclusively identifying something new was slim to nil). Nonetheless, I’m sure there are some relatively common ones around that I personally haven’t seen yet (the Wood Duck springs to mind), and I’m looking forward to going back up there for bird-watching purposes. As a ride, it was on the short end, but there are trails that continue past the lake that I can explore in the future. All in all, it was a lovely way to get back on my bike.

On Saturday, I took Pearl over to the new community garden to water my wee pepper plants (more on that later), and then made a loop back to my house on the Northeast and Northwest Branch trails. Riding along the river was lovely, and very different in a wide-open way from what I’m used to when riding the creek trails through woods. I saw barn swallows galore, but not too many other humans. I also violated one of the cardinal rules of biking and hiking when I made the transition onto the Northwest Branch, which is: ‘When greeted by a used condom at the trailhead, turn back!’ All’s well that ends well, I figure. The ride did end well; I ended up at my pond, and then had to face the climb back to higher ground. The steep hills right at the end of the ride are my least favorite thing about riding along rivers, but I can’t complain; cycling on the flats was getting a little boring, not to mention making my legs beg for a nice downhill break. Which I got as I cruised through my neighborhood back to my house (with the exception of the very last block, which is also uphill from the creek at the end of our street).

On yesterday’s ride I went exploring in a different direction, taking the Paint Branch Trail north from Lake Artemesia through College Park. I wasn’t super thrilled with the route and probably won’t ride it again. The trail itself was perfectly well maintained, it just wasn’t that interesting and the surrounds were quite suburban. The winding around to avoid the roads also made it hard to build up speed, so it felt more like a meander than a decent ride. But, I learned a bit more about my local geography, so that’s always good. And, I saw some fresh-out-of-the-egg (still brown and yellow like ducklings) goslings at the Paint Branch Golf Course, so that was a nice surprise. On the way back home, I stopped in at my new local bike shop and discovered that a guy who used to work at my old local bike shop—and fixed up my derailleur after Pearl tumbled off the top of a car—now works there. He recognized me, and once he made the connection I remembered him as well. So that was a pleasant surprise. While there I confirmed that, despite my fixation to the contrary, my front left brake pad does not in fact rub against the wheel (this was the purpose of my stop).

This coming week, I think I’ll ride over to Silver Spring on the Sligo Creek trail, and/or continue further north on the Northwest Branch trail. I’m planning to stick with hour long rides for a while, and build up to making a loop of DC on the trails (something I’ve wanted to do for years). I’ll keep you posted on how that works out.

back in the (bike) saddle along the Anacostia

Caspian Tern

Yesterday I returned to the pond for the first time in a couple of weeks. In a stroke of luck, I timed my arrival to coincide with the presence of a single Caspian Tern, a bird I’d never seen before. Although I don’t always, this time I had my binoculars and Peterson’s with me. The time it took the tern to catch something to eat—about four or five dives, with some circling in between—was just long enough for me to positively identify it. Once it had the fish, it circled to eat it and then left, flying higher until I couldn’t see which direction it was heading.

It had barely gone when I noticed something odd swimming around out in the middle of the pond. At first I thought it was a small duck, but the trusty binoculars revealed it to be the head of a mammal. I was pretty sure that it wasn’t an otter—the head was too large and square for what I remembered of otters from my many early-childhood visits to Shedd. It seemed unlikely that it was a beaver, and peering at photos once I got home led to the conclusion that it was a muskrat. I don’t know if it’ll stick around; I hadn’t seen it before this weekend.

In addition to those two unusual sightings, I saw several regular favorites: red-winged blackbirds (both male and female), ducks, song sparrows, and a downy woodpecker. I also saw the pair of Canada geese that I saw on my most recent prior visit, and it looks like they’re nesting (one was in the same spot on the island as last time; the other was keeping a pretty close eye on the muskrat). I look forward to seeing the goslings later in the year.

Ever since the years when Trumpet of the Swan was one of my favorite books, I’ve hoped to be able to see birds actually hatching. I’ve never wanted to get too close to their nests, though. Maybe this year—with the nest visible, but not accessible—the timing will be right and I’ll get lucky.

Caspian Tern

Lesser Scaup

Earlier this week, I added a bird to my lifelist: the Lesser Scaup. I saw a group of them bobbing in the Tidal Basin, looking knackered (quite frankly). There didn’t seem to be any hens; I had initially thought that the slightly dingier ones were hens, but Peterson’s clarified that they are distinctly brown. According to my Birds of Virginia guide, they are resident year-round throughout the state, so my initial assumption that they were migrating through was likely incorrect (although they still could have been recently returned from their winter vacation).

At any rate, I had seen scaups in Oregon, but I didn’t (at the time) know what to look for to tell the greater from the lesser. On these ones, the slant of the head was clearly noticeable (I knew what to focus on this time around), and they were close enough to the shore that I could estimate their size with greater accuracy.

Lesser Scaup

The Big Year, by Mark Obasmick

The Big Year, by Mark Obasmick, is my favorite book of those I’ve read so far this year. It was wonderful. I had no idea when I picked it up that it was going to be so rich, make me laugh so much, or push all kinds of achievement-anxiety buttons. What writing!

Here’s how much I got hooked on a journalistic account of three driven men chasing rare birds around North America in 1998: I didn’t just miss my stop on the Metro on my way to the bookshop, I got off the train at the wrong stop, transferred to another line on autopilot, and rode it all the way to my usual Tuesday stop, and didn’t realize I had gone to completely the wrong place until I looked at my watch at that stop and said ‘oh no, I’ve missed my bus! Wait…there’s no bus here…this is the wrong stop…I am in the wrong state…how did I get here?…this is not my beautiful wife….’ That’s how much I had to know how the year ended. Not even who won, but what happened: which birds did they finally get to see? Which mountains did they scale, which birds eluded them until the very end? Did they help each other? Did they not? Did one get to wipe that smug smugness off the face of the other?

I knew a few things about myself before picking up this book. Like, I get anxious when engaging publicly in things I’m not good at. Or, that I enjoy the thrill of seeing a new bird for the first time, and am comforted by seeing a favorite bird again. I had no idea, though, that those things would dovetail so neatly while reading this book. Midway through, I had to put the book down to be reassured that (1) I’m not ‘behind’ because I am 32 and only have a lifelist of 100 birds long, (2) I’m not a total failure because I can’t tell most shorebirds, warblers, or seabirds apart without agonizing over my Peterson’s, and (3) things are not going to fall apart if I don’t get on the internets right now and start planning trips to all of the places in the U.S. where you can see a bunch of birds at once that everyone knows about except me. That’s how well Obasmick captures the driven competitiveness — as well as the smug self-assuredness — of the kooky people and kooky challenge they’re undertaking.

Alongside the inferiority-complex-inducing narrative of the bird chasing and identifying — which was laced with so many resultant ludicrous situations and happenings that I nearly fell off my chair laughing at several key points — is a similarly engaging, but less anxiety-producing, narrative of the history of bird watching in the U.S. This side of the book is the balm, the soothing reminder that bird watching is an activity peopled by those who love birds and get a thrill out of seeing them and finding them, of all levels of skill or experience. Obasmick places these three men in their historical context, and in so doing creates a craving to read the other key narratives of bird chasing and Big Years: Kingbird Highway and Wild America.

Mostly, the book made me want to read less and bird more. Thankfully, spring is on its way.

The Big Year, by Mark Obasmick

birds in Oregon

One of my favorite parts of any trip to a new region is seeing birds I’ve never seen before. My trip to Portland last month was no exception, and I was happy to catch sight of even the common regional birds. I’ve updated my lifelist to include the birds I saw out there, bringing my total of birds seen in North America up to a whopping 104! I’m still working on gathering photos of the European birds, but the list itself is complete.

birds in Oregon