reconning

The last time I reconned a ride, it took me 4 hours and at least 5 miles out of my way. It was fun, in hindsight, but slightly mentally taxing. No ride buddy, no iphone, no extensive map, I was at the mercy of whoever happened to be passing by.
But yesterday I did manage to recon a ride; and recon a small part of a city as well. And with a good friend leading the way, all I had to do with pedal and follow.

And pedal I did. Too lazy to flip over my wheel, I did the 25 mile ride fixed - the first time I've done anything longer than 10 miles fixed in months. And with a light-as-a-feather Cyfac leading the way, I was struggling to keep up. But not mentally. So even though I complained liberally about my fixed gear status, I got to see a good part of the city from the saddle of my Bianchi, without the terrifying sense of getting very, very lost.

After a loop around Central Park [my first, ever, by bike], we headed back downtown to showers and food. And finally, at Habib's Place, I was able to keep up on the nom-nom-noming front, inhaling a falafel sandwich that was so good, I can't really remember what we talked about while I ate. Then, fat and happy, we strolled to Abraco for iced coffee and ricotta-filled pain perdu.

Time was taken to loiter/digest on the couch at NYC Velo, before more hanging out and coffee was consumed. More bike-related sites were reconned for future projects before I was led to dinner at Brick Lane. And giggling over my food [the way to my heart obviously being through my stomach], another late night in the city commenced. Ideas were bounced back and forth, slightly disturbing TV shows watched ["Intervention" and "Obsessed"], a rooftop visited, and a few hats finished before plans were made for the reason I'm here - the Bicycle Film Festival Street Fair this afternoon.

It looks like possibly bad weather, but I'll be at the NYC Velo table. Come get rained on with me, say hello, and recon a few bike films. It'll be fun, I promise.

choo choo train

So it ends up that I did have a reason to go to IBC this weekend. I needed to purchase and get new pedals installed because - gasp! - I'm flipping that wheel over and going fixed.
Not that I haven't been riding fixed on the track bike. But the Bianchi and the Dolan are such different rides that switching ponies was never a problem. I could rock the freewheel for a longer ride in the morning, then skitter around town later fixed. True, I almost tore my leg off once or twice, but the Dolan's stiff, twitchiness was a constant reminder to keep the cranks turning [or else momentum would].
The Bianchi's relaxed geometry and natural propensity to roll over everything in its path pairs perfectly with a freewheel. Which is why I almost expected to have both legs lurching around yesterday, propelled forward by my rear wheel when I attempted to coast.

It wasn't so bad. In fact, my legs stayed attached to my body. Mostly because my drivetrain sounds like...a train.
Dan M. took a look and jumped on my bike to make sure it was just the shark-finned cog. And as his 6ft+ frame weaved around the store on a 44cm bike, he jokingly squeezed the squealing front brake like a train whistle. It screamed, as usual, like a puppy being run over. It also sounded exactly like a train.

Assured that it wouldn't do anything except sound like I don't actually take care of my bike, I left debating changing my gearing or just purchasing another cog. For now, it's actually a nice reminder that I'm not on that wondrous freewheel anymore. I miss it already; especially being able to clip in and climb hills without that built in assist that fixed gears give you. And coasting. Oh, coasting.
Pedaling [the whole entire way] home, my feet naturally pushed back on the pedals, slowing down, creeping between cars, and allowing for a much greater amount of control - the kind that requires a level of skill that I haven't yet achieved on a freewheel. I remembered how fun it was to maneuver around piles of snow on a fixed gear, even if my knees weren't so happy later on in the day. This might be temporary, but it's definitely still fun.

Grinding to a slightly screechy halt in front of my apartment, I winced a little at the noise. And then remembered Dan's goodbye to me a few hours ago:
"See ya, K Train."
At least I'm still faster than the Green Line.

mechanical gastronomy

Summers in bike shops are, obviously, as busy as the winters are slow.
Any weekend day with relatively clear weather means that all the shops in the area are flooded with customers and their respective bikes. Mechanical issues, flat repairs, sales of bikes, tune-ups...and within the resulting deluge of regular customers, I barely get to talk to the people I love.
It's selfish, I know, to pout over lack of attention. I'll have the shop nearly all to myself come winter. And I usually only stop by to hang out and say hello, and sneak behind the counter to watch a repair or two, or get a closer look at a pretty [expensive] bike. Meanwhile, my friends are on their feet for nearly 12 hours a day, battling dirty bikes, bending derailleur hangers back into shape, or running around to satisfy a customer's every whim. "Lunch" is consumed around 5pm, if they're lucky, and if you've noticed, there's a conspicuous lack of chairs in every bike shop.

And if you look closely, you'll notice, too, that every bike shop has some food behind the counter. Placed within easy reach of the mechanic's bike stand, or in a tool box drawer, are cups of coffee, bags of chips, and this past weekend, even fried chicken. But it's not every day that a customer owns a Popeye's franchise and delivers about three tons of deep fried golden deliciousness to the shop as a gesture of thanks...which is why I brought some [of Chris's] favorite cookies along when I poked my head through the door of IBC this past weekend.
Because, you know, I like to take care of my own. Never mind that I need those guys to stay healthy and on their feet from a purely self-interested perspective...I mean, I'm doing this for the good of everyone involved. Ever tried to fix something when you were starving? Ever tried to politely reason with someone around 4pm when the last time you ate solid food was about 7 hours ago?

Yeah, it sucks. And when summers mean more riding, more broken down everythings, and more customers demanding attention, well, the least I can do is make sure there's something being digested in certain stomachs. Granted, my charity was a bit ill-timed and arrived in the aftermath of battered chicken, but apparently was still appreciated.
You are what you eat, I suppose. Or, I hope. Because then I can at least try to keep my mechanics sweet, despite the summer workload.

disorder & [cookie] anarchy

Somehow, miraculously, in the two days I was in NYC, I only watched one episode of Law & Order.
Yeah, one.
And for a girl that seemingly makes the four-hour bus ride down there expressly to watch TV, that's a huge deal, folks. But there were cookies and pizza to be consumed, and cups of really, deliciously refreshing coffee to be gulped down, and even work to be done. And I'm not just talking about researching great burger joints.
Saturday started with, of course, a bike shop: NYC Velo. Dropping off hats would usually take a grand total of 5 minutes; instead I hung out for almost a solid hour, checking out the new shirts and the mix of people who rolled in and out of the door. New shop employee friends were made and loitering accomplished before I made the trek to Mood once again...but this time with a companion [Mike Spriggs, a.k.a. M1] in tow.

Thread and fabric were purchased and then wandering ensued. Strolling around the garment district, our ability to detect all things Rapha led us to the new Ace Hotel, where some of the Continental team had had drinks just over a week ago. Sinking into the plush, red couches, we rested our feet, sucked in the lobby with all of our senses [okay, we didn't lick the couches, though], and took goofy pictures of each other [the picture of me will not be posted here].

Our stomachs growling loudly, we demolished burgers - veggie for me, meat for him - at the Old Town Bar & Restaurant. A two-floor bar established in 1892, it's what you would expect from an old pub. But the high ceilings are peeling paint, the booths are solid wood, and the tables bear the marks of decades of use. Impressively authentic, I munched on fries as skinny and delicate as the women strolling around outside while snapping even more pictures.

Bloated, fat, and happy, our feet automatically led the way down to the bike shop. M1, though, with other things in mind, cleverly directed me down a few streets, and with one casual remark, had me drooling.
"Oh, this is Momofuku Milk Bar...wanna check it out?"
Before he finished his sentence, I was assaulted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. I nearly swooned. We grabbed two cookies - blueberry cream and cornflake - to go, before I was ushered out onto the street, following the brown paper bag in M1's hand.
And it didn't end there. My pulse started racing yet again less than 10 minutes later as my lips touched the rim of a cool glass of cold brewed iced coffee at Abraco. Served with cream and sugar [unless you request otherwise; I opted for milk instead of cream], this iced coffee will change your life. This is to iced coffee what DiFara's is to pizza; genuinely delicious, it almost makes you wish you had never tasted it because now, you can't stomach handing over money to drink normal iced coffee. And when coupled with cookies, it's enough to rekindle my love affair with New York, NY.

Back at the shop, Mike and I sprawled out on the couch until another famous face, Ethan Laek of Laek House came through the door. And before I knew it, I was in NYC Velo after closing, feeling just a little bit exclusive.
Of course, Saturday nights in NYC never stop at 7pm. Pizza from Lil Frankie's was demolished along with a pear, arugula, and gorgonzola salad while ideas were bounced around for upcoming projects. As I masticated cheese, bread, and tomato sauce happily, M1 grabbed the TV remote:
"Hey, wanna watch an episode of Law & Order?"
Ah, New York City...you know the way to a girl's heart.

surprisingly exclusive

I'm not going to lie, I secretly love owning exclusive things.
The earrings I got in a small store in a stylish Tokyo neighborhood, the bracelets I never take off, and the tiny track frameset I now proudly own. Sure, other short people own the same Dolan, but none in Boston, and none have doused that frame in so much pink.
Small surprise, then, that I like to make exclusive things too.
But, it is sort of surprising that I'm currently [back] in New York City, with a bagful of new hats, for a new shop. The concept is the same, but the everything else seems completely different. Which sort of resulted in something like two weeks of crazed hand painted hats inspired by bright sneakers and my personal love of the 80s.

And it also resulted in panicked fits of nervousness and apprehension and the conviction that these are not going to move. I almost backed out of a weekend down in the city, despite a promise for Americanos and french fries on someone else's tab. I spent the morning sipping coffee, stalling and balking at leaving my sister's apartment to head to the shop, the bag full of new hats still burning a hole into my confidence and self-esteem.
I'm finally getting off the couch, off the Internet, and out of the apartment to head to the East Village though. Because I hold myself to keeping my word, and a promise was made to NYC Velo for an order of 10 hats [okay, I did one better, literally, and am delivering 11]. It took some late nights, some stress-fueled tears, and some coaxing by friends to get them done. They're finished though, and seemingly just in time; I'm so anxious right now that I almost need them out of my life.

And with the added weight of being an exclusive run for a very reputable shop [evidence of their awesomeness here, if you scroll down a bit], I'm going to worry about them. Obsessively.
One more reason, why, if you're in the city, you should stop by. I mean, even if only to let a worried mother hen know how her babies are doing in a strange new city.

farmer's tans

"Nice tan you got going on there," Chris said as I casually walked into the mechanic's floor of IBC.
I knew the tank top was a mistake. You can clearly see how pale my shoulders are in comparison to my arms, and then that arm tan gets cut off into the glove tan around my wrists. As if the thigh-calf tri-tan wasn't enough. Now I'm starting to just look splotchy.
I was trying to nip the problem in the bud by going downtown in a sleeveless top that day. And sporting a clear farmer's tan, I obviously had to stop by the Copley Square Farmer's Market. From May to October, on Tuesdays and Fridays, vendors pitch tents and sell yummy, fresh produce, baked goods, and jams, meats, and cheese. Fridays last summer meant hopping on my bike to stuff my bag full of zucchini, corn, juicy tomatoes, and crisp bell peppers.

And it's not just the produce. I remembered a loaf of just-sweet-enough banana bread purchased last summer. It was huge, and took days to polish off; but it never dried out. I almost expected it to be too sweet, something that i'll eat in skinny slivers with several glasses of water. Instead, I nom nom nom-ed away at it in thick slices, consciously resisting its pleading to be eaten before, after, and in between meals.
Spotting that same banana bread, I remembered some people who would be on their feet all day, fixing bikes. People who will undoubtedly appreciate banana bread. Propping my bike up with a hip, I squeezed myself into Breadsong booth, I grabbed two - yes, two - loaves, and nestled them on top of all the other junk in my bag before I biked back out west. Biked towards my homes. All three.

The smaller loaf went to Pete and JT at Boston Bikes, then I made a brief stop at home [as in the place where I sleep] before heading to IBC. The nice weather meant that everyone there was working and swamped with customers. The bread was slipped on a side counter; nutrition for when busy friends can sneak in a mouthful of food between customers.

I almost regret not cutting a piece off for myself, but those loaves will be on display every Friday. And this year I'm rocking a Baileyworks that's way bigger than the small Chrome bag I was using last summer. Take that to its logical conclusion and you'll know where to find me on Friday evenings, between 5pm and 6pm.