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This ride was actually proposed in early June, well before our recent Critical Mass tangle with the law. The recent write-up in the AJC of the police crackdown — I hesitate to add “perhaps assisted, in part, by my 123,000 view-getting video of the affair,” lest I deeply offend someone’s journalistic professionalism — will hopefully add meaning and numbers to the experiment. The vast majority of the comments on the CNN iReport and the AJC article are from raving lunatics who apparently lust after moving down bicyclists for any minor infraction, but the bike-haters who weren’t quite foaming at the mouth (and the cyclists who disagree with Critical Mass’s tactics) all demand that even a 400-bicyclist group should obey all traffic laws and keep to the right.

Well, I doubt we’ll even get over 100, but we’ll see how much better traffic goes (or not) when we split up at every red light and become a large number of mini-masses. I’ll be there with cameras blazing, and if you pay attention to Twitter, I’m probably going to try to live-stream video from the road as well — provided I can find an appropriate duct-tape solution to mount the phone.

Courteous Mass Bicycle Ride

Friday, July 11
Meet @ 6:00 PM
Woodruff Park
Leave @ 6:30 PM

This ride is different from Critical Mass in that it will follow a planned route and follow state traffic laws. It is intended to demonstrate support for better bike facilities and safer traffic conditions. It is also a great opportunity for less-experienced cyclists to try riding on the streets, as well as being a fun social event. We urge everyone who believes in a balanced transportation policy to join us.

Courteous Mass Tips:

• Ride no more than two abreast on 4-5 lane roads, taking up only the right lane.
• Ride single file on 2-3 lane roads so as not to interfere with traffic flow.
• Please allow faster cyclists ahead of you so they are not stuck behind slower cyclists during single-file stretches.
• Do not pass stopped cars on the right (unless there is a bike lane).
• And as always, be courteous!

But just because we’re being “courteous” doesn’t mean I’m not going to be as armed as legally possible in case some of you carpsychopaths get uppity. ;-)

I came up to North Carolina to visit the ‘rents for Father’s Day and, theoretically, get a good chunk of dissertation writing done. I wasn’t quite ready for my writing sabbatical, but on the day I was about to start my last experiments ever, my POS machine blew a piston seal and dumped oil all over the lab. It’s down for repair for, oh, you know, a couple of months, and I figured I’d better get out of town for some TLC before I went completely postal.

The problem with Mom’s TLC is the food, which comes at me from all directions at all times. And on weekend visits, that includes the nuclear assault of Sunday brunch at the clubhouse. Nothing like having all the time in the world to lollygag at your table with periodic trips to four buffet tables.

So I guess it’s a good thing I brought my bike up with me. And what better excuse than miles of quiet country roads and golf course cart paths to give the bike and the GPS-enabled application Sports Tracker a good workout.

And what better excuse than wanting to barf up a lung than to stop right there. Enough is enough!

Sports Tracker and the GPS in my phone did alright, although with the handset in the closed position (and tucked away in a sweat- and rain-proof plastic bag in my pocket), the resolution wasn’t as good as it can be when you’ve got it out in your hand. Variations of up to 50 meters from the true track in places raise some questions about its accuracy for total workout distance, but in less contorted routes, it should be pretty good.

And of course, the other bonus of GPS-enabled handsets: had I actually barfed up a lung and died out on the ride, since I had Fring updating my position in real time, my mother would have known where to look for me when I didn’t come home. You know, so she could bring more food.

Saturday morning I did my first ride with the Atlanta Intown Touring Club. We meandered around about a 13 mile route (after Anna and I biked the 5 miles over to downtown Decatur) and hit 5 or 6 cemeteries — some “historic,” some just plain “old” — over a couple hours. My favorite had to be Sylvester Cemetery, where a bunch of us puzzled quite a while over the terribly unfortunate Dickerson family, who had a lousy time keeping their many children alive past their third birthday.

The final stop, naturally, was Oakland Cemetery, where the staff was getting ready for its second night of Halloween tours, followed by restocking our carbohydrates in the form of beer at the Standard (hint: avoid the quesadillas; they’re just lame, in an overpriced and uncreative way), and then more liquid carbs at the Brewhouse. After about 25 miles of riding that day, it wasn’t the bucket of PBR that was making me walk all wobbly.

If you’ve got two wheels and fancy local culture, you should definitely check out the touring club.

Several times over the last two weeks, I’ve gotten a phone call from a familiar exchange: 574-631-XXXX. Though the change in area code fooled me once a couple years ago, I’ve since learned to be careful when answering those calls, as it’s undoubtedly a bright-eyed undergrad working in the Development Office at the University of Notre Dame calling to ask me for more money. So, two weeks ago when I got the first call, I ignored it; I’m currently unemployed and wasn’t making all that much when I got a research stipend, so I didn’t need the guilt trip or the eligibility to buy football tickets. (That’s the prime motivator for donating at all: the education was nice and everything, and I want to help out in the future, but when it comes down to brass tacks, we all give money so we can buy football tickets.)

The first week, Notre Dame football was 0-1, falling to my current tormentor, Georgia Tech. That might’ve resulted in some saucy banter with whatever kid called to get my $100.

The second week, after an ugly road loss to Joe Pa and Penn State, would have seen a conversation with the college telemarketer akin to a theological debate about the end of the world, in hushed, foreboding whispers.

The third week, after a thorough, prison-rape 38-0 loss to Michigan…the phone stopped ringing. Four business days into it, I haven’t gotten a single call from 574-631-XXXX, after five previous attempts. Is five the magic number when they give up on a donor? Or did the development office just realize that this wasn’t going to be their best season, either, and wisely close its phone bank until the football team manages to put one in the ‘W’ column?

It’s a strange time to quit asking for money, considering how much they’re going to have to spend to buy that fat bastard Charlie Weis out of his totally undeserved 10-year contract.