only if...

Yesterday morning was a disaster. Zero coffee until 11am, a dentist appointment I was late to, frustration at not really having a bike I can do anything with, the empty sense of not really belonging anywhere, and mood swings like woah.
Funny, how, a little past noon, I was standing in a place I would have never expected to be a year ago, surrounded by friends who work in a bike shop in NYC, comfortably snapping too many pictures. And then having lunch with the incredibly awesome people behind Independent Fabrication.

Yup, that's right. I went to IF. I'm still not quite sure how it happened. But when NYC Velo became an IF dealer a few weeks ago, a trip to Boston was planned, and a casual "you should come" turned into a full day of adventure.
It started, of course, in Somerville, at the infamous IF factory. A place I couldn't have dreamed of entering without some tangible pretext [most likely in the form of a credit card and an order form for a custom frame], I entered empty-handed and left with an SD disk full of pictures, a few new friends, and some capacity to dream of racing bicycles again.

Mostly broke and with a knee that's slowly giving out, but simultaenously terrified of the obligation to race that would come with having a fully-functioning geared bike, I'm currently having a classic love/hate relationship with the Bianchi. Yesterday it was mostly hate/hate to the point where I was hating all bicycles. Yet somehow I dragged the tractorino to Somerville to a place full of too pretty bicycles and a spray-painted wooden sign that demanded those within those factory walls to "Live the Dream."

An audacious command, the desire to do exactly that seems to permeate the people of IF. But in a way that doesn't reek of douchebaggery or condescension. The somewhat intimidatingly large logo on the factory door leads into a bike nerd's paradise, but one that's full of friendly, incredibly laid-back people. Serious people who have managed to retain the fun in their work and craft. And that is impressive.
IF's passion for bicycles cleared the doubting depression over my ability to do anything of value on a bicycle. Team jerseys became coveted items again, as did derailleurs. Over lunch at the Tavern At the End of the World, I even jokingly recalled a casual suggestion that, to me, seemed completely absurd: that I should get an IF and race for NYC Velo in Boston. Too bad it was snatched up as "brilliant" and "great" with Andy and Joe [of IF] informing me that I could "totally pull off a Factory Lightweight" but I'd have to wait on a NYC Velo kit that would actually fit.

I blinked before backpedaling in panicked fear, the thought of an IF Factory Lightweight a little too much for my awkward legs to handle. And while talk of racing seemed centered around the kind that involves two derailleurs, NYC Velo managed to leave with the infamous pursuit IF track bike in the back of their car. I even got to touch it.

With a Dolan in my kitchen, racing track seems much more feasible. But when I do decide on something with multiple gears and the ability to shift between them...well, that Factory Lightweight is looking really sexy...

espresso d'italia

I can be such a bitch in the morning without coffee.
This isn't news. Especially not to me. So I try to do the right thing and inject myself with caffeine before I really speak to anyone at work. That obviously doesn't keep me from being a ranting maniac on the morning commute, but I figure that'll keep me on my toes and somehow prevent me from getting run over. It makes a weird sort of convoluted sense [to me, at least].
So when I showed up at NYC Velo in the late afternoon last weekend and claimed I hadn't had a sip of coffee all day, the bug-eyed suspicious look of incredulous amazement was to be expected. But oddly enough, I wasn't on my typical caffeine withdrawal rampage. Because Andy had just offered to pull a shot of espresso from a chrome box sitting pretty on the counter.

Ah, finally. Finally we meet. Glittering invitingly in a space formerly occupied by a Brooks saddle display was the very limited edition Giotto Giro d'Italia espresso machine [number 62 of the 100 made]. On one of my very first visits to NYC Velo, the idea of purchasing one had been thrown around, gently pushed, and cleverly researched and pitched. With the names of every Giro winner engraved in the side, polished like a bright mirror, and the crowning touch of the pink dial, it belonged in a bike shop. It was just my luck that that bike shop was NYC Velo.

Sitting in my usual spot on the couch, I sipped a delicious shot of pure, thick espresso. Just strong enough to remind my blood to turn it up a notch, within seconds my caffeine-starved brain started to hum into a happy high. I instantly forgot about my cramped shoulder and that uncontrollable, animalistic need to bite someone's - anyone's - head off with some snarky i-totally-have-a-tree-up-my-ass comment.
Fully aware of this neatly averted disaster, it was the least I could do, the following day, to deliver half a dozen cupcakes from Pinisi to a bike shop that I'm starting to call my New York home. They were devoured in the typical style of starving bike mechanics, with Jared - the first Cat 1 racer I've ever met - even posing for pictures.

And this afternoon, the deal gets even sweeter. Because these guys are coming up to Boston, and I've been invited on their little excursion. Good [free] espresso might still be a few weekends away, but running around my city with new friends will probably be enough to keep the bitchery at bay.
...Probably.

superbly hot

I'm really good at making faces.
You might not think it if you just met me. Or maybe you would. In any case, my Mom hates it. Which makes me just do it more, until, finally unable to hold in her laughter, she'll watch me contort my face with a mixture of disgust and amazement and say:
"You keep doing that and your face is permanently going to stay that way."
She might be right. At least about crinkling my nose too much.

But I have friends who are looking out for me, clearly. Because while I never tend to wear my own cycling caps, I'm building up an interesting collection via friends. And they're shielding my face and eyes from sun, wind, and crows feet. And for someone who habitually forgets to slather on the sunscreen, that's love.
So when yesterday turned out to be one of the sunniest in weeks [Jason apparently schemed with the weather for months to make that happen - thanks!], I was grateful that I was wearing one. Well, I've been wearing this one for a few days now, and for good reason.
It's the new Superb cycling cap.

Designed by both Jason and Croth, this hat is all about the details. The wallpaper background, when viewed from a few feet back, looks like innocent damask. But when you get close enough [to check out the person wearing it], you notice the bicycles and the subtle curves and flicks in the logo.
And then you get a little bit closer [because, please, anyone wearing this is guaranteed to be hot], and you see the underside of the brim. Teal or purple, it's a hidden sort of hip; the kind you don't need to flaunt for people to know you have it. But if you're the one doing the attracting, well, it wouldn't hurt to turn it up a notch and flip up that brim.

But no analysis of a potential mate is ever complete without a view from the back. And that's when this hat really works to your advantage. With "Boston" emblazoned on the back, you'll know where to find this hottie [or at least where to hang out to find such hotties]. And if you're the one wearing it, even better. You can still give the sexy look over your shoulder and saunter away into the crowd; because, come on, anyone with decent game can take a hint and at least try to break the ice with banter about the Bosox.
Lucky for you, this hat dropped yesterday. Check it - and the rest of Superb - out.

axle agony

Newly single after my first ever break-up, discussing boys and dating, my best friend asked a seemingly rhetorical question:
“Don’t you like to be taken care of?”
I remember giving some ambivalent answer. Never having been comfortable batting my eyelashes, I still find it hard to expect to be taken care of. It’s too lady-like. Too La Dama Bianca. And with a passion for drop bars and mostly horizontal top tubes, I’d like to think I look better in a kit than a white dress.
Besides, white is so not slimming.
And when you’re handling bikes - or even just one - nothing stays white for long. Which is why you won’t find a Dama Bianca dress in my closet, much less anything very lady-like; things like tensioning my chain, wiping down my bike, and scrubbing my rims bring me too much joy.

Well, when I can actually do them.
Skipping home last night with a newly purchased pedal wrench [yes, I didn’t own one until now], I gleefully flipped over my Bianchi to switch back to single-speed-ness. With the ghetto lack-of-bike-stand set-up, I fitted the equally ghetto 6” adjustable wrench on the axle nut. And pushed. And pulled. And leveraged. And gritted my teeth. And seethed. And threw a temper tantrum.
The thing wouldn’t move. I know the adjustable is probably at least half the problem, but nothing feels more lonely than helplessness. The worst part being that when I do bring it in to IBC today, the guys are going to loosen it with a quick flick of their wrist, oblivious to the sheer misery and pain it brought me hours earlier.

I love those guys, but today, I hate the idea of going back to the shop. I don’t ever want to be seen as “the girl that uses her lack of a package to get bike mechanics to do things and consequently doesn’t know how to work on her bike.” Because I’m not. I wanted to flip that wheel and switch out my pedals, by myself. I wanted to know that I could still do it, even if it was the most simple of bike maintenance tasks.
Maybe that’s why it was so disappointingly frustrating. I’m going to buy a new wrench today though, and insisting on tightening those axel nuts by myself.
But just for the record, I’m not breaking up with IBC. I just need some independence...and room to wrench.

monsoon in mass

I firmly believe there are three kinds of sweat: the hot, dry kind of casual summer rides around town, the squeamishly humid kind that won't ever seem to abate, and last but not least [and possibly the best], the drenching, dripping, addicting kind that can only be a product of a decent training ride.
I've been experiencing too much of the second kind these days.

And even if I've spent the past few days running around NYC, then Boston, with someone who's already seen me sweaty and eyeliner-less, it's still bothering me. The sweat, that is. Or, more accurately, the sweat/rainwater mix that necessitates cycling in a soft shell jacket which can never ventilate fast enough and instead wraps me up in its suffocating, sauna-like grip. By the time I get to work, I'm almost dizzy with dehydration.
Okay, it's not that bad. But when you have a friend visiting, the rain tends to really kill your plans. Thank God, though, that M1 loves good coffee, because other than my favorite bike shops [IBC and CB], I'm only capable of hanging out at places where I can cradle a good Americano.

So after a [too early] Sunday morning bus ride back to Boston, that's exactly what I was doing at Cafe Fixe, savoring an intensely dark Americano in small sips until I felt my heart pumping that rich brown liquid through my veins. Caffeine buzzing in my brain, I wondered what I would do without promises of coffee waiting for me before, after, and in between rides [the answer being "be more of a complete raging psycho-bitch"].

Especially when the weather outside makes you simultaneously shiver and sweat; the rain sticking to your skin and mixing with that humid steam that won't stop pouring out of your pores. And especially when, in typical New England style, you finally jump back onto your bike after taking shelter under some scaffolding because you think the rain's let up, only to be caught in a mini hurricane on your way across the Mass Ave bridge.
At least there were more friends and a piping hot Americano waiting for me on the other side.
If I keep this up, stock prices for espresso beans is going to skyrocket.

rainy optimism

Blame the NYC Bicycle Film Festival and the weather for keeping me from blogging regularly lately. Ironic, I know.
A busy weekend full of bicycles and hats can do that to you, though. Saturday morning started with brunch before heading to NYC Velo [yet again] in the increasingly persistent rain. We hurried to the shop with heads down, attempting to shield our faces from droplets of water, to pick up a tent, a banner, and a box of goodies. An Ortlieb bag was packed with Gage & Desoto gear, my own Baileyworks stuffed with hats, some optimistic hopes crammed into our pockets, before the whole operation was carried to the street fair.

Despite the flash flood warnings, even Jason K. [check out his pimp profile here] showed up with another Ortlieb's worth of t-shirts and flyers advertising the silk-screening classes he's offering. And with good company and plenty of bicycles, there wasn't much to complain about...well, other than the damp weather, of course.

Wrapped up in a borrowed raincoat, I mentally cursed the weather as I watched the sky. I seemed to be the only one, though, as BMXers happily did tricks up and down the street, slipping on the wet pavement. A crowd of people gathered to watch, and as the rain finally let up, the cluster of people eventually grew to a slightly surprising size.
Or, maybe, it was only surprising to me. This is the BFF after all, and even in the rain people were showing up on bicycles, dripping wet but eager to have fun. And this being NYC, there were cruisers, hybrids, track bikes, BMXs and all manner of bicycles. Sales weren't great, but the people watching was well worth the time spent under the blindingly orange tent.

We folded up the operation a few hours later, caffeine withdrawal calling us back to NYC Velo, then Abraco [yes, I'm an addict]. Later, fish were gutted, dinner cooked, more ideas bounced around before face-planting on my sister's couch, exhausted and braindead.
But not before the weather forecast for Boston was checked. It says rain. All week.
I'm trying to stay optimistic, though.