Paper Maps

Reflecting on paper maps.  Used to be, securing a paper map was a requisite part of trip planning.  One of the joys of leaving for a place I'd been before was digging through my store of maps for the relevant sheets.  Going somewhere new?  On arrival, find a shop and buy a map.

On the trips I've taken where I planned to travel by bike, I've made a point of securing the relevant bike map for the area: the ADC map for the Washington D. C. area and the Chicago municipal bike map allowed me to take work trips to those places and commute reliably by bike.

But lately I've been lax about getting paper maps.  I can look up where I'm going online, and have taken to travelling with lists of turn-by-turn directions for the places I need to get to, rather than with full maps of the places where I am.

This strategy is inferior for both practical and philosophical reasons.  Practical, because sometimes the point-to-point directions are inadequate.  Streets often close, my transcription is often imperfect, and Google has the unfortunate habit of, say, claiming that streets go through where they don't.  Plus, there is always the possibility of catastrophic user error, as was the case in Tacoma, where we searched for directions to Union Station rather than the Tacoma Amtrak Station, not realizing that the former was a historic building now used as a courthouse, and more than a mile from the station with, you know, trains.

Without a map, finding work-arounds is clumsy, slow, and more dangerous than it needs to be, leading us to choose obvious and clearly-signed auto-centric arterials over what are probably more bike-friendly streets just a few blocks away.

But there is a loss beyond the practical, a whole realm of experience that disappears with the paper map. When I get a new paper map, I spread it out on a bed or table, taking it all in at once.  I see what sorts of networks are available: are there off-street paths, bike lanes, traffic-calmed streets?  Is the biking infrastructure designed for someone moving fast or slow, more like a car or more like a pedestrian?  It allows me to contemplate not only where I have to go, but also where I might like to go.  It allows me to note landmarks and geography, as well as get a sense of how frequently I can expect to find a bike shop if I need one.

I am glad that there are online resources like the various online municipal bike maps, the excellent bycycle.org, the user-generated routes at mapmyride.com and bikely.com, and, bugs aside, the new bicycling directions at maps.google.com.  But I need to return to the habit of doing what I can to secure proper paper maps.  They make travel safer, more efficient, and fundamentally more rich.  And I miss them.

Tacoma!

Just a couple of weeks before Jasper entered our lives, my childhood best friend Alana announced her engagement. When we met, her dad was the new Rabbi at Temple Beth El in Salinas, where we grew up. Just before my wedding, her folks made the exciting move from Salinas to Tacoma, where her dad became the new rabbi (also at Temple Beth El). This past weekend, her family invited us along with some other family and friends to celebrate their engagement, and the beginning of Passover, at their home.

Because we like bikes, and like adventure, and like making things complicated, we decided to do the trip as car-free as possible. We booked spots for ourselves and our bikes on Amtrak.  Learning from Totcycle's recent misadventures we decided not to attempt to bring the Yuba, and instead got in touch with Matt from the Tacoma Bike Ranch to borrow the bike trailer that he had previously used to transport his youngest, Tula, when she was still carseat-bound.

The biggest challenges of the trip, it turns out, were the logistics of getting ourselves together and to the stations.  After quite a lot of deliberation, we concluded that the best way to get the two of us, all of our bags, two non-kid-enabled bikes, a carseat, and the baby to the train station was by bus.  But a series of mishaps and catastrophes preceded our Friday departure, and eventually we were standing in the living room, crying mom, crying baby, too many bags, and the last bus that could even reasonably promise getting to the train had left.

Unwilling to give up, we threw our Hail Mary pass: Dave secured the carseat to his porteur rack with an NRS strap, put the large pack containing most of our clothes on his back, and rode off as fast as he could to pick up our tickets and discuss baggage arrangements at the train station.  I took the baby in a wrap, three other bags draped around me, and walked my bike to the nearest bus stop to catch the next bus that would get me somewhere near the train station.

I got off about five blocks from the station, the driver kindly took my bike down from the front rack (having watched the ridiculous mess of me getting it up there in the first place), and I ran.  It was drizzling.  Downtown's homeless folks called supportive, pitying things after me as I made my way.  As I got to the station, Dave was at the doors waving me onward.  They had just announced the last call for boarding.  Dave ran the bikes down to the baggage car, while I got a ride with our bags on the baggage cart.  I was still wearing Jasper, who'd fallen asleep on the bus ride.  We checked bags and bikes and carseat train-side and collapsed into our seats, incredulous that we'd somehow made it.  After a bit, we headed to the cafe car, sat down with our first real food of the day and a couple of beers, and chatted with a musician bound for his home in Seattle.

Upon reaching Tacoma, we met Matt, who helped us with bikes and bags and carseat.  We strapped our seat into his trailer, facing forward, and loaded all but our most crucial bags onto his Xtracycled Karate Monkey to deliver to our B&B, by coincidence conveniently located a few blocks from his house.

And then we found the hill.  We'd been warned about the hill, and shrugged it off.  "Bah!  The Yuba weighs a hundred pounds, and the trailer will be lighter than that!  I've climbed Mt. Tabor!  No hill can defeat me!"  So, the Tacoma Amtrak station is at sea level, and the part of town we needed to get to is at about 400'.  You gain that elevation in about a mile.  It's just straight up.  We walked most of it.  On the sidewalk.  Oy.

Conclusion 1: Matt, and his family, are hardcore.  Conclusion 2: If I lived here, I'd ride a bike with some sort of electric assist.

Due to a series of unexpected changes, and some overly optimistic planning at the outset, we were running late.  The hill made us more late.  Matt took us to Tacoma's only dedicated bike path, which would get us nearly all the way to the synagogue, about five miles.  I was exhausted.  The baby needed changing, then feeding.  The path felt safe and was pretty smooth, but still ran along a freeway and so was loud and exhaust-filled.  It was getting dark, and cold, and it was Jasper's bedtime, and as we pulled in along a sound wall to sit on a bench, nurse Jasper and regroup, I was feeling pretty burnt out.

"I'm so glad we're here, doing this," says Dave.  I look up at him.  He's smiling at me.  And I realize I feel the same.  It's hard, and silly and stressful and scary and overcomplicated.  And still, a good place to be.  We discuss our options, and decide that we'll get to the synagogue and then our friends' house for dinner by bike, and then beg a ride back to the B&B in somebody's car.  Which, after some more riding and a little bit of getting lost, ended up being what we did.  And it was fine.

The next day, we hitched a ride back to our friends' by car, and returned to the B&B by bike.  It was a Saturday afternoon, there was very little traffic in the city, and while some of the bike facilities we encountered were a bit scary (hello, door-zone bike lane!) others were just downright pleasant (N 11th Ave is one of the nicest bike boulevards I've ever ridden on).

We stopped on the way at a Walgreens for some necessities we'd forgotten, and finding no bike parking decided that I'd hang out in the parking lot with the bikes, trailer, and baby, and Dave would run in.  Waiting there, I got the whole gamut of responses to our rig: everything from the angry woman muttering under her breath about irresponsible parenting to the minivan full of kids who jumped out shouting "Cool!"  Mostly, it was notable to *be* notable, where in Portland this setup would hardly draw a second glance.

Sunday we were meeting Matt and his wife Sara to ride over for some beers and food at The Hub, an adorable bike-themed restaurant affiliated with the Harmon Brewery.  The ride there was lovely, but while we were inside it turned quickly and radically wet, and we rode home in the sort of thunderstorm downpour that is virtually unheard of here in the PNW.

First it was cold and gross, and then, as the rain escalated and the thunder roared, it became amazing.  We could barely see.  There were almost no cars on the roads.  The water was pouring down the hills in sheets.  My shoes were filled with water.  Dave was roaring with laughter.  Jasper was shouting, I suspect not in distress but just to join all the noise around him.  The ride passed in a flash, so absorbing was the effort of moving through the overwhelming wet.  And then they were gone, and our clothes were in the dryer, and Jasper was napping, and we were so, so glad to have come.  Met new friends.  Decided to go by bike.

That evening, we walked over to the Tacoma Bike Ranch (i. e. Matt's Place) to see the stable in person.  We got to meet the kids and dogs of the household, and see their delightful Madsen rain cover.  It was good to be with our family biking brethren, and to get a small preview of what our tiniest cyclist has to look forward to.  The kids of the Bike Ranch were funny and articulate and whip-smart, all traits attributable to good parenting and, I think we can all agree, lots of fresh air and time on two wheels.

Monday, the bikes sat idle in anticipation of a long day's seder preparation and a late night of celebration and wine.  We had a wonderful day, and not riding was without question the right call.

Tuesday, we had more logistical wrangling.  Matt's schedule wouldn't let him join us to get to the station, so we dropped the trailer off at his house and then met Alana at the B&B to load her car with the carseat, the baby, and the luggage, and then planned to meet her at the station.  We had the wrong directions, and then, it turned out we'd mis-remembered the time of our train (and had therefore already missed it by several hours.)  But you know what?  It was all fine.  We got re-booked.  We made it work.  We were rained on getting to the bus to take us home, and people were mean to me about having the baby out in the wrap in the rain, and we were all ok in the end.

Would this trip have been easier if we hadn't taken the bikes?  Probably.  Would it have been as stressful?  Probably not.  But it wouldn't have been as interesting, either.  We know more now: about travelling with bikes, and with the kiddo, and about what it's like to bike in Tacoma, and about carrying the baby in a trailer (the subject of another post).  And while I may not make the same choices again, I'm glad we did it this way, this time.

When the Bike Makes it Harder

One of my academic conferences, the American Society for Environmental History, has been in town this week. As it's just across the river, I'm attending with Jasper in tow, stepping out of talks when he fusses and otherwise just standing in the back, bouncing the baby and enjoying the feeling of being an academic, rather than just a mommy, for a little while. And learning some cool stuff, too.

Yesterday, we rode the Yuba over. We left about Jasper's naptime and he was asleep after just a few minutes of fuss. There was no good place to park, so I left the bike on the sidewalk locked to a parking meter. It poured all day, and the rain cover on the kid seat was wholly unworthy of the task. Although I had pulled out the snuzzler insert to make sure Jaz had something dry to sit on for the way home, the cold seat, soaked harness straps, and drippy roof really set him off. To make it worse, my friend and colleague Daegan and I tried to join some folks at a bar at the end of the day, rather than going home. Jasper cried the whole mile to the bar, and when we got there, didn't settle. It was getting dark. My light had shorted out, and the bike we had loaned Daegan had had its lights 'borrowed' for a different bike the week before and not returned. We had to suck it up and go home.

The trip to the bar had been in the opposite direction from home, so we now had nearly three miles to go. It was rush hour. It was pouring. Jasper cried his most miserable, shrieking cry the whole way home, but there was nothing to do but go, as it was only getting darker.

We arrived home soaked to the skin. Frightened. Cold. And most of all, emotionally battered by Jasper's unadulterated misery.

After a change of clothes and a few minutes of nursing, Jasper was grinning at me again. But I'm still not recovered from the experience. And today, we took the bus.

It's supposed to stop raining Sunday. I think we'll take a nice long ride (it will be nearly 60F!) to remind ourselves why this is fun. Because yesterday, in the cold, wet, dark, lungs searing as I climbed the hills as fast as I could, eyes searching into the darkness for unseen hazards, imagination creating doom around each bend, I found myself wanting to never, ever do that again.

Sometimes, getting around by bike makes life harder.

Napping Trouble

So, I've been on the bike less lately, and napping is the reason. Apparently, around three months is when babies start sorting out their sleep rhythms, and it became obvious fairly quickly that protecting Jasper's nap times was a crucial part of having easy bed times and a generally un-cranky child.

Two weeks ago, I strapped Jasper into the bike and took off for yoga like I do every week. He was just off a nap and so cheerful and chatty on the ride. He was pretty happy through yoga, but ready for his next nap by the time we were done. No problem, I thought. I need to get home, and he always sleeps on the bike. So I took off for home, but when I got to my neighborhood he was still awake, and still cranky. I did a few extra laps of the rose garden. No dice. Still cranky. I turned up a big hill and climbed it, just to go somewhere. A stranger pulled in behind me and I asked him if the kiddo was sleeping yet.

Kindly stranger: Nope. Eyes wide open.

Me: Damn. I'm trying to get him a nap.

Kindly stranger: Oh. What's his name?

Me: Jasper.

Kindly stranger: What's your favorite band, Jasper?

Me: He's a big Pink Martini fan.

Kindly stranger: Hm. [long pause] [singing] When I was just a little girl/ I asked my mother/ what will I be?/ Will I be pretty/ Will I be rich/ Here's what she said to me...

[I laugh]

Kindly stranger: A yawn! Eyes closing... nope, open again... [singing] Que sera, sera/ Whatever will be, will be/ The future's not ours to see/ Que sera, sera. [spoken] It's not working.

Me: Thanks for trying!

Kindly stranger: Any time! And I wanted to tell you, nice ride!

We were at the top of the hill. I was a bit winded, and beginning to feel the lunch I hadn't eaten. I wooshed down the hill. Baby still awake. We went to a park. I nursed. We played. I rocked him. He fussed. I put him back on the bike and rode home. I put on the baby wrap and put him in it. He immediately fell asleep without a peep. Oh.

So, for the rest of that week, and most of the next, we stayed off the bike and returned to walking everywhere. He naps well while I walk, and the naps are too crucial to his general mood to risk skipping.

But on Friday he needed to go to the doctor for a vaccination, and I needed to mail a package. So we hopped on the bike. I gave the trip an hour for five miles, because shit happens and I didn't want to be late for our 15-minute "vaccination only" slot. I hopped on the Springwater trail and apparently flew southward, because by the time I locked up and checked the time, only 20 minutes had passed. As I turned off the trail, a passing roadie had slowed to tell me that my passenger was wide awake. But by the time I pulled up to the doctor's, he was fast asleep. And it was nap time, so that was good. But I had 40 minutes to kill before the appointment, and man, did I not want to wake this baby by moving him.

My next decision? Not my greatest parenting moment so far. Let's blame the cloudy judgment on sleep deprivation. But I decided that I should fill the time by mailing my package at the UPS store that was (I thought) right across the street. And I decided that I was going to leave the bike locked, and the baby in it, while I did so.

But I couldn't just leave him on the curb. That would be pretty clearly negligent. Instead, I moved the bike (carefully, slowly) half a block to the staple in front of Bike Commuter. Then, I stuck my head in and asked Eric, the shop owner and mechanic, if he could keep an eye on my kiddo while I walked across the street to mail a package.

Eric: Do you want a loaner bike to get there?

Me: Isn't it just across the street?

Eric: Nope. It's on Tacoma, two blocks up and a block east.

Me: Oh. Then yes, a loaner would be great.

He brought me a bike. I kissed the kiddo and hopped on, enjoying the zippiness of a bike that didn't weigh one hundred pounds. It was a minute, maybe, to get to the store. Where I got the trainee. Who took five minutes to process the mailing of an already-addressed priority mail shipment.

As the minutes crept by, images of fear, panic, and doom crept into my head. What if the baby started crying and Eric had stepped away? My poor miserable baby! Alone and abandoned! And what if someone called the cops? Hell, what if Eric decided that near-stranger cyclists shouldn't be trusting him with their babies and he called the cops? To be honest, I couldn't conjure an image of anything harmful happening to Jasper: worst case, he wakes up, inconveniences Eric by making him pick him up, refuses to be soothed, and I come back to a pissed-off mechanic and a hysterical baby. But Eric's a dad, has little kids, and knows how to take care of babies. So even that scenario only ended in tears, not pain and suffering. Nonetheless, the five minutes in the UPS store made me utterly nuts, and my heart was racing when I got back to the bike shop.

Where Jasper was still napping.

And Eric was standing nearby.

And everything was fine.

And I was very grateful, and Eric went back to his wrenching, and the sun shone, and the birds sang. But I probably won't do that again.

I slipped Jaz out of the bike and into his wrap, where he woke up with tears and general baby despair. I got him settled down, went to the doctor, got the shot, nursed our way through more baby despair, said goodbye and more thanks to Eric, and zipped off for home.

And Jasper slept most of the way.

So we seem to have gotten over whatever caused the bike nap strike, and I look forward to going back to riding from here to there. But I'm still not sure what to do when he falls asleep on a 20-minute ride, and what he needs is a 60-minute nap. Wake him? Leave him? Keep riding? Sit on the sidewalk until he wakes? Slip him into the wrap and hope he falls back asleep? Practically, I'm sure we'll mostly do that last one, because days must be gotten on with. But I wish there were better options.