march madness

Not the NCAA one, although I've technically filled out a bracket for that. I had no idea what I was doing, even if a friend informed me that he had his money on my being the dark horse NCAA bracket champion. Needless to say, I'm currently ranked DFL.
March has been hectic though. While I was dragging my feet, trying not to think about a bike I own but couldn't ride, hubs and rims arrived, spokes were laced, and a wheelset was complete. The list of things I need to get this bike ride-able was becoming shorter and shorter. The picture of the frameset that's been sitting pretty as my desktop background is no longer recognizable. For some reason, this month has been a whirlwind of activity.

Screams of excitement have gotten louder and less shameful, jumping up and down in happiness in front of normal customers are currently a given at IBC, as is my perpetual expression of surprise whenever I walk in. But there was also the arrival of a pair of Champ grips from Georgia, and yesterday I even found myself in the library, staring at a friend from school...who showed up to my carrel with helmet in hand...and in spandex.
After which I couldn't concentrate and restlessly read the rest of my assignment before flying out of school and down to IBC yet again, but this time with some extra goodies in my bag. I got to watch Erich install the Champs onto the pretty track drops Eric gave me [even though I offered to pay for them!]. The installation made some interesting noises which alternated between squealing and farting. Air was involved. As well as neon green gloves.

Erich, being an anal perfectionist [let's continue the dirty innuendos, shall we?], even turned the grips so that the arrows were perfectly aligned with the curve of the bars. Knowing full well that those grips won't retain their white-ness for very long, I still couldn't keep my hands off of them.

The My bike was hung up on one of the stands as the two Eric[h]s, Dan, Marcus, and Jeremy handled the constant flow of customers that poured in, and I just stood there, admiring it. A few people even asked me whose bike it was, and I got to practice my gloating [I'm working on it, Marcus!].
I even got to ride it. But that's for another day. For now, I'm off to train for this ridiculous idea of a fixed century. On the tractorino, of course.

lucky

There are apparently some things every girl should do. One of those things is to take the most roundabout route to your local bike shop with a bottle of champagne tucked away in your baileyworks. Oh, yeah, and ride fast.
Because when bottles of Veuve Clicquot are involved, good things happen.
Being pressured to at least come out to the "Champagne and 40s" themed pre-party ["because we're classy...and we're not"] for the law prom I refused to go to, I threw a bottle of champagne in my bag with a bottle of water before heading out on a quick ride yesterday. The ride was super short, so I sprinted as fast as I could, whenever I could, trying to make my thighs feel that searing burn.

Disgustingly sweaty and breathless, I stopped by IBC on my way home. I expected to drop in for a quick chat and be less of a wobbly-kneed, steamy mess when I left. Lucky for me, though, I happened to walk in on Erich building one of my wheels.
Despite the initial "Ahhh don't look!!!" I got to watch my Miche hubs being laced to my front Deep V rim with DT Swiss Competition double-butted spokes and black brass nipples. This was, admittedly, the first time I've seen a wheel being built; much less one for me. Naturally, I took enough pictures to make a Japanese tourist proud.

The black nipples were Erich's idea, and I initially didn't think it would make a huge difference, and was expecting silver nipples anyway. How wrong I was! Like [unnecessarily] painted toe nails in the winter, it's the small details that simultaneously pull everything together and turn up the sophistication factor like woah.

"Bike Parts Learning Time with Erich" unfortunately had to end before the whole thing went into the truing stand [and yes the above picture is a sneak peek at the already completed rear wheel]. Mostly because I was already late to the pre-party, and I had champagne to deliver. I tore myself away from that coveted space behind the counter, next to a bike stand that held up something too pretty to articulate with words, to get back on my trusty tractorino.
I'm stopping into IBC again today. It's going to be another good day. I can just tell.

transporter

The past few days, I've been feeling like a smack addict with only visitation rights to her children.
Maybe that's a slight exaggeration.
But with the warmer weather, people talking about the warmer weather, seeing more people on bikes, and velospace...bike shops aren't just therapy - more like methadone clinics. I pedal there, shuffle in, get my fix in the form of bike banter or just hanging out, then pedal home to wait for the next bout of cravings.
I'm beginning to think maybe smack withdrawals would be easier to handle than this anticipation concerning my new baby. It's gotten me doing ridiculous things that, in another life, I would have just not considered doing. Case in point:

I decided that the easiest way to get two deep Vs and a pair of tires to IBC would be to just throw them over one shoulder [I did strap my bag on too, just prematurely took the picture]. Never mind that I could have just taken the T; I figured why not, and once I was out the door with my bike, there's never any turning back.
It worked out well. No crashes, despite the fact that I decided it would be a good idea to go as fast as possible to every single location I hit up yesterday. I blame that decision on this addiction, fueled by my own measure of crazy. And, you know, these darling hubs that were waiting for me:

Yeah I couldn't afford Phils, and to be honest, these are going to outlast my knees equally as well. Besides, they're pretty. And anything with two lockrings on either end will get my attention, stat.
I ended up ogling more pretty things at both Cambridge Bikes and Boston Bikes later where chips and stories of getting people arrested were provided. I even got to touch my very first EAI cog. And while I tried to act pretty nonchalant about the whole thing that nearly black 18-toothed sprocket got me fantasizing. I actually saw it - for 2 whole seconds before the fantasy was interrupted by Dan informing me of its price - pressed against that my Miche hub, cradled by a lockring, and spinning like a good Motown record on a vintage turntable.
The sane part of me made me hand it back, because otherwise I'll be staring at it lovingly until I fail my finals. Still...this addiction really isn't going anywhere, anytime soon [IBC and CB - I can't be back soon enough!].

candy coated

I have a friend who is the quintessential dude.
Not "dude" as in Big-Lebowski-esque dude, but the frat boy kind that hits the gym twice a day and eats protein bars everyday [which even he agrees taste absolutely disgusting]. He openly admits to feeling weird when he doesn't have at least two beers in both hands, and has a very defined concept of what girls should look like.
Given the fact that I'm no delicate flower in heels and short skirts, in my friend's eyes, I conveniently [and fortunately] fall into that gray area between "guy friends" and "girls I'd hit." Probably closer to the "guy friends" though.
Still, I've noticed that he's the only one out of my group of we-survived-studying-together-for-all-of-1L-year friends [who are all male] to actually still treat me like a girl. Just when I was starting to think I'd achieved "guy friend" status.

But despite the sometimes unasked for and unnecessary advice he might give ["if you want to impress a guy, let him watch the game and bring beer"], it's still sort of nice that someone's picking up on the fact that I'm not a total dude [yet]. I was starting to think that that was limited to bike mechanics and polo friends.
It sometimes results in awkwardness though. Like when a bike mechanic/friend excuses his language before swearing. True, people might not be fully aware that I swear like a sailor but I end up at a loss for words. It makes me start to think that maybe people think I am a delicate flower, not the tank dropping f-bombs.

That's exactly what happened when I picked up some new tires [Halo Twin Rail ones] yesterday at Boston Bicycle. Dan excused his language before he used the word "fuck." As usual, I sort of just blinked and spluttered. Awkward. Still, that didn't keep me from unashamedly dancing around my apartment in happiness and excitement after fitting the aforementioned tires to my pink rim. It's so cute. In all its candy-coated glory.
Maybe I'm starting to accept this whole "being a girl" thing more.

bikes are...forever?

Yeah, okay, I can't keep this secret.
I thought about trying, and then one day being like BAM! NEW BIKE! WHAAAAAAATTT! Buuuuut, that's obviously not going to work out. I was probably the last one to see that, probably because I was busy jumping up and down and clapping my hands in glee. Because Erich had a box for me at the shop today.
He had to actually encourage me to pull this out and unwrap it. It's unreal. I can't believe that she's mine.

And yes, it's tiny: a 45cm track bike that takes 700cc wheels. The only one I could find that wouldn't require a custom job [and oodles of money], and that I could comfortably stand over. The decals are coming off [sorry Terry, but I'm not too keen on advertising your website wherever I go], and it's going to go through lots of changes.
And money. And time. When I mentioned how broke this bike was making me, the conversation inevitably turned to how pissed girlfriends might be if certain guys spent more money on their bikes. We unanimously came to the conclusion, however, that those expenses were almost always justified:
Jeremy: But girlfriends come and go...bikes will...
Me: Last you at least five years.
'Nuff said.
Note: the $$$ Trek mountain bike behind my new frame. That thing is more bike than I could ever hope to own.

broke and dreams

I'm broke.
Not dead-fucking-broke [yet], but uncomfortably broke. Extremely uncomfortably broke when all I do in my free time is build up my dream bike piece by loving piece. Chris King headset [the sotto voce one...in pink!, or no...classic silver?...but the pink's so cute...], silver Nitto drops, Champs grips [pink, def...mayyyybe white], pink deep V in the back, white or pink in the front...or maybe those polka dot ones?...
Needless to say, before I became officially broke, I was already calculating how to cut living costs to afford this dream-o-cycle. I mean, there's a certain amount I can sink into this bike but if my calculator is correct [don't trust mental math from this Asian], the wheelset's going to eat up that $$$.

Which consequently means I won't be eating much. I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse: I'll be extremely cranky, but I'll slim down [finally!]. And it's not like my pantry's bare [yet], I have a big-ass bag of rice sitting in my kitchen; and I know a good place to get day old bagels [yes, I'm fully aware of how sad this sounds].
I also understand the irony of a bicycle finally kicking my ass into losing weight, cutting expenses, and being more responsible. All things that even the idea of the approaching warmer weather and more revealing clothing [or even a cute boy on a bike!] couldn't motivate me to do.
In a way, I find that oddly comforting, like affirmation that this obsession of mine is for realz. Now, if I can only find a way to squeeze stem, seatpost, seat, cog, tubes, and tires money from my non-existent funds...