I never realised there was a bike inner tube vending machine outside the Radspannerei workshop until I stood at the door in the pandemic queue and it was right in front of me for quite a few minutes.
It’s been an age since I was last doing laps on Tempelhofer Feld. I haven’t done any training rides since my back went from “lol fuck ya” to “nah really, howdya like not being able to stand?” mid-November. Give it up for floppy joints!
I had to go out to the Bürgeramt in Lichtenrade, way out near my fave stretches of cobble, and kinda wanted to not spend a heap on taxis, and I miss the full-on aggro of Berlin drivers. One day I need to have a convo with myself around the life choices of punching up when up is a LKW.
Anyway, I missed the turn that would have eventually put me on Hermannstr. and I meant to do that put me at the south-west gate of Tempelhofer Feld. Floppy back had been asking for a break and how often do I actually get to walk at the old airport, so I got my hips swinging the length of the southern stretch of pavé and said hi to the crows. Cold permafrost wind coming from Siberia bringing snow.
Yes, I ate all that. In retrospect, slightly heavy on the greens.
Our Women on the Ground would likely be my Book of the Year if I was still doing that.
Ramadan’s been frankly brutal this year. I do it because I want to and I enjoy being reminded of part of my family and history I know almost nothing about, but with the pandemic and all the accompanying stress (thanks white supremacists in all your forms) I just wanna sleep through the next two weeks.
Sometimes trans femme queer immigrant multiethnic neurodiverse self-love is a real hard one to do alone.
I didn’t mean to get soaked. 10/10 had a good time tho. Bike wasn’t so happy during but got a wash and clean out of it at the end.
Last year it was walking Sonnenallee the evening before that made me realise I’d have to, as always, at least show up for the first day. Last year it was Eid getting pounded in a rain storm, later hanging with Vass, and a couple of days after that flying to Marbella for a very expensive not-holiday. This year. The will I won’t I conversation still happened, though it seems less believable this time around. It’s not the middle of summer for a start, though the days are still long. It’s still, “Just do the first day, at least that. Just that for your babaanne, your granny, your karani, your tūpuna wahine. Just do this one thing as best you can.” Every year, trying to make sense of missing history and if nothing else, Ramadan is, in the words of my stanch bro Onyx, a big offering to all that. Here’s the birds in the courtyard park out back of my place going fully pre-dawn hectic at 5am. Ramadan Mubarak fam, and Ramadan Kareem especially to my trans and non-binary and queer and bi sisters and siblings.
Berlin getting in on the emergency bike lane trip. I had to go up to P’berg to pick up my laptop and found all of Kottbusser Damm on both sides hastily converted from double-parked cars to orange stripes of bike lane awaiting a quick once-over with the street sweeper. Dead cruisy to ride and realistically, like other cities in Europe using the pandemic as a chance to permanently improve things, this needs to stay. Personally, I’d have made it as wide as two lanes and consigned the centre one only to cars, ’cos we all know how much people love to double-park and as much as I love hoonage, private vehicle ownership has gotta go.
I’ve ridden over that bridge many times, the last in the damp grey drizzle on Tag der Deutschen Einheit when I totally over-extended myself (seems to be a theme?). This is the first time I’ve seen it from this direction, coming along the very sandy, loose, dusty and full of exposed roots single track from Schleuse Kleinmachnow. One of my favourite parts of the Mauerweg and in general to ride and eventually I’ll stitch together a whole — multiple whole routes from those glorious cobbles up Rudower Straße all the way to those cobbles up Wannseestraße. Simple pleasures involve getting thrashed on cobbles and slithering around on single track.
It was way more bright yellow and intense blue. And that’s not a small house on the prairie, that’s a very large apartment block over the horizon.
Another Sunday another practicing of Physical Distancing.
After the last weeks’ fun, I wanted to find some lanes and tracks like the ones around Groß- and Kleinziethen and Friederikenhof. Failed spectacularly. Apparently Großbeeren is the drain I circulate around and end up in fun places like Neubeeren or on the drag through Ruhlsdorf to Teltow.
The first third was a joy, hitting cobbles at 30+km/h obviously, and there’s so many new cobbles to be found (Keplerstr and around thank you very much), and new lanes and single track and generally incredibly pretty and very empty of people, and for some reason the people around there are reliably friendly. The second third was mostly a mess riding on 70km/h roads through industrial parks and joyless towns like Teltow. But! I knew the canal was nearby and kept veering right into the forest when it finally appeared and I knew I was more or less back on track and found the most glorious, incredibly sandy single track running from Scheus Kleinmachnow all the way to the Ehemalige Autobahnbrücke Dreilinden, putting me back for a moment on the Berliner Mauerweg. As one old German woman out for a stroll with her husband said, “Ha ha it’s like a sea! A sea of sand!” as I skidded and slid in all directions on tires and tire pressure very much not for sand.
More cobbles and the truly brutal short climb up Wannseestraße, then more (non-cobble) suffering up and down Nikolskoer Weg and Pfauenininselchausee the roads getting busier all the time with very distinctly not ‘social distancing’ and finally onto the most boring part of the ride, which road cyclists love, which proves they are a boring and unimaginative bunch, the blandness of Königstraße followed by the monotonous straightness through Grünewald. There was an utter mob on Spanische Allee outside AVUS-Treff Spinner-Brücke, hundreds of all-white bros in black leather on their garbage wagon Harleys doing the same white trash shit as their brethren in the US, strutting their ‘right’ to gather and super-spread while the cops looked on doing nothing in the way they always do when it’s right wing white people they’re being ordered to police.
And the ride back into the city, hitting every red light because the lights are timed for cars moving at fifty and not bikes moving at any speed less. I over-extended myself a bit and defo was feeling it when I got home, even with all the liquid and rice cakes I took. And this might be my last long ride for a while because here comes Ramadan which, like always, I never know if I’ll do until it’s done.
Practicing Physical Distancing again, Part 2. On the sandy old road of Ziethener Straße that becomes a very sandy, frictionless slide of singletrack running parallel to the S-Bahn on the way back to my happy place, those 1200 metres of cobbles along Mozart and Petkusser Straßen. I was having a very good time here, and my only other thought was, “One bidon of electrolyte and a banana is slightly on the thin side for three hours.”