Old Town to Roosevelt Island

I love the Mount Vernon Trail.

One mile and the thighs stiffen. Two miles and the endorphins kick in. And I understand the lure of the journey. The call to sailors and hitchhikers and hobos.

I ride north from Old Town. Slipping past soulless office buildings and wrought iron fences flanking the railroad siding. I skirt the power plant on a wooden bridge above the river through a steel cage and sail silently into the trees on the edge of Alexandria.

A flotilla of boats flash white sails in the bright afternoon sun through the veil of spring leaves. The whisper of bicycle tire on asphalt turns to a rude, clumsy rattle as I clatter across another bridge through swampland. Still water and old trees keep the trail cool and quiet around my rowdy interruption. Sweetness fills the air and I wonder if it's too early for honeysuckle to be in bloom.

I leave nature and the coolness for sun and traffic and concrete. I leave the Potomac at high tide for the George Washington Parkway at rush hour. Past National Airport and through Gravelly Point, where the jets swoop low on their approach bringing tourists and lobbyists to the center of the world.

Then back to the Potomac. Cruising alongside the river that hauled tobacco to England and soldiers to the wilderness when this was a small town or empty farmland.

Under the bridges, over the Humpback where I walk my bike so I don't force some poor rider headed south off the trail and into oncoming traffic.

Here are the monuments. The skyline of a city that has few buildings taller than 14 stories. Domes and spires and trees and the obelisk at its heart. Past the Memorial Bridge, built just to let Presidents get to Arlington National Cemetery and back home quickly after laying a hasty wreath for men who paid the last full measure of devotion.

Past dogwoods and dandelions, a north wind presses against me like an unseen hand, holding me back. Every stroke of the pedals seems pointless. I curse the headwind. I see a handful of wild geese leave the Potomac into the same wind, praising it. It gives them effortless altitude. They leave the water and are gone.

I race alongside a rowing crew from Georgetown. They against the current, me against the wind. We both press on to Roosevelt Island -- a wilderness in the center of the city.

It is my halfway mark.

Pretty coeds from Georgetown run along the trail, long pony-tails bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. The ones running toward me smile. Sometimes they wink. I wonder if they would have when this bike carried 50 pounds more in the winter. Now, I smile and enjoy it. I get flirted with more on these 10 miles of trail than in a year of happy hours.

I reach the island, turn and head back 12 miles to make it 20 even.

The wind is at my back. The sun is at my back. The day and its worries are behind me. What more could any sailor or hitchhiker or hobo want?

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Today's Stats:

Temp: 75 Degrees - Sunny

Winds Calm

1.5 hrs/20 miles

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