falling into chicken

On River Road last Saturday, coasting along in arm warmers and an awesome Castelli vest, layered over my thickest jersey layered over a baselayer, I noticed that despite the spectacular sight of trees going from blonde to fire-hydrant red, and the not-freezing-yet temperatures, there just weren't that many people out. No one seemed to pass us from behind, hammering towards hills as they usually do, and the small handful of people sighted were the kind with flatbars with big mirrors on each side, khaki pants with a safety ankle strap for a quick, relaxing ride by the river. It was October, still warm enough, and the climbs were devoid of triathletes. What was going on?
Okay, maybe the climbs are always devoid of triathletes, but the emptiness of the road was still a little creepy. Not creepy in the way being stuck in a mountain cottage in New Hampshire with no cell signal is creepy [because let's face it, if you get attacked by zombies in the middle of the night where it's so dark out you can't see your own hand in front of your face, AND you can't use your cell phone, you're pretty much fucked], but more like the kind of creepy that partners up with dread and desperation when you finally figure out that there really is something wrong with your mental health. Worse, once that possibility is entertained, even for a second or two, if not dismissed outright, the manifestations of symptoms of a psyche gone bad become all too clear. Denial ["40F and rainy? Perfect riding weather!"], anger ["Too cold?! What do you MEAN it's too cold?"], resentment ["why did I have to choose cycling as a hobby again? This is stupid. This is so. Fucking. Stupid."]. The previously inexplicable hatred of sweaters, as well as those cravings for pumpkin pie, cinnamon, and sweet potatoes suddenly seem to make more sense. It's fall, people, and I have no idea what to do with it.

24 hours after this ugly realization that perhaps I might still be living in "summer" when it's very clearly "fall," I was perched on a stool in my underwear [because that's how I roll], watching Mike braise three pounds of meat. Yup, three pounds. Three pounds of stuff I never used to eat. Bacon oozed oil into which chunks of beef and pork butt sizzled in a huge dutch oven. Diced onion, garlic, spices and tomatoes went in and simmered slowly for two hours, the smell making me kow-tow in front of the giant black pot in hunger. All of which culminated in a chili that I ended up wanting to make love to. To kiss, and marry, and hold forever. And staring at my empty bowl, I secretly admitted it. Even with the tropical fruit in the fridge, the Cyfac set up so I can at least reach the pedals, the fairly recent discovery of a quick 45 mile route that will kick my ass every time - all vestiges of summer - I kind of like this part of the year, too.
Back home in Boston, where it's always noticeably colder than the city, that hunger for crisp, fall air, apples, and dense, dark meat - the kind you can't imagine eating after a hard, hot ride in July - had me sauteing chicken thighs in a big black pot. Balsalmic vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, and butter simmered in the pan juices before getting drizzled over the chicken and some mixed greens. Halved grape tomatoes gave the plate a nice splash of color, although the season's pretty much over for them, too.

Yeah, it's totally fall, now. But hey, don't forget, there's still a lot of riding and cooking left to do.
Balsalmic Chicken Adapted from a Japanese recipe from who knows where.
[I obviously only made three pieces, and forgot the water cresson this time around. I strongly recommend the water cresson, though, as it really pairs well with the resulting sauce. The original recipe called for thighs with the skin on, and if you use that, you'll get this crispy, crusty chicken which is awesome, too. I could only find skinned thighs, so that's what I used here, and it's just as good. I know it doesn't look like much, and it's deceptively easy, but trust me...you'll want to lick the plate once you taste this.]
Ingredients:
4 skinned chicken thighs (about 4oz each) 1/2 tablespoon olive oil salt and pepper 1 handful mixed greens 1 bunch water cresson 10 cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced in half 1 clove garlic, minced 1 tablespoon balsalmic vinegar 1 tablespoon sherry wine or sake/rice cooking wine 1 tablespoon low sodium soy sauce 1 tablespoon butter
Directions: 1. Knead olive oil, salt, and pepper into chicken thighs 2. Heat a [non-stick] frying pan over high heat and place flat side down [there's no need to use any extra oil, but the grease will fly up a bit. I used a pot instead of a frying pan for that reason]. Do not move until the underside is a golden brown. Flip over the meat, reduce to low heat, and cover. Cook for another 8 or so minutes, until juices run clear when poked. 3. Remove the chicken from the pan and keep warm on a plate. 4. Add the garlic, vinegar, wine/sake, soy sauce, butter, and pepper [to taste] to the pan juices. Simmer until reduced and slightly thickened. 5. Arrange water cresson, mixed greens, and tomatoes onto a plate. Pour pan juices over both veggies and chicken. Or, slice the chicken and serve it on a bed of greens.
Serves 4.

lobsters and hogs

At family gatherings, I usually sat at the “kids’ table.” This usually consisted of me and my sister, plus the few cousins that could still relate to us. Given that my mom - the youngest in her family - pushed me out when she was 37, this meant that aforementioned cousins were at least 11 years older than I was. The kids’ table [or “the young people’s table” as it was later called] was fun for my sister and I, but looking back, I’m impressed that my cousins were able to even carry on a conversation with us. With the exception of cyclists, I find it difficult to talk to anyone who is over 3 years younger than I am. Toddlers and babies just make me awkward. I’ll point and pull sleeves of friends and say how cute they are, but when people give them to me to hold, I tense up. I’m deathly afraid of dropping the child or not holding him/her right or doing something wrong which will enrage the parent and result in them slapping me.
Which is why when Mike told me I could sit at the “kids’ table” at his family’s annual Lobsterfest, I muttered something like “um, nevermind” and found something busy to do. I imagined the scenario that unfolds before me when my mother has threatened the same thing: me sitting at a separate small table with my cousin’s 6 year old tyrant of a son, getting abused by a toy train or verbal abuse that’s meant to be funny but is just annoying, until I snap and then he cries to his mother who probably wouldn’t really care but everyone else will remember it forever and judge me by it, including my own mother. But hey, Mike’s American. That means he has loving, accepting, nonjudgmental parents [this is true]. The kind that dispenses hugs and stuff. And the hugs are of the cute, warm variety, not the stiff, awkward ones I’m forced into when my sister tries it.
So I agreed to go. Even with the threat of being dumped at a separate table with small children whom I wouldn’t know how to talk to [what are they even into these days?]. But again, these are American children, which means they are adorable. And have blue eyes. I even got to hold one. And no, I wasn’t there as the Asian nanny.

I didn't even drop the baby! A few minutes after I relinquished him to his mother, as more family members and their respective children filtered in, Mike offered to walk his mother’s new Specialized Ruby Elite [with 105] out to the garage. She said I could try it out, and I got to ride my first ever women’s specific CF bike.
It’s a 48cm, but easily fits my towering height of 5’2.5 [Mike’s mother is about 5’1]. Despite what everyone says about CF, this bike felt solid, like there was something there. It accelerates well [even in my Vans on clipless pedals], and although I only took it out on a quick spin, I bet it’s an awesome bike to take out on longer rides. Pedaling up the driveway, Mike appeared beside me on his father’s new Specialized Roubaix, another CF bike. With a fairly minimal paint job, the raw carbon of the Roubaix makes the bike look like the equivalent of a muscle car: fast and strong. The two bikes together make for an impressive pair and Specialized moved up on my list of wish bikes. I’d totally get one if Velo carried them [ahem!].
But then I rode this, and my life changed.

JUST KIDDING. And yes, that’s a Harley.
Then, as we were finishing up playing outside, food started coming out. Cheese, crackers, and fruit in the kitchen, steamers on the stove top and after we swung by the fish market in Mike’s father’s truck [I got to ride in a truck! Oh man, I love trucks!], lobsters. A big boxful of lobsters. We attacked them after we stuffed our faces full of steamers and after I ripped that crustacean apart, I was just about ready for a mid-feast nap. Mike and I just sat there for a while, feeling full and/or pregnant with food babies, staring at our swollen stomachs, until the entire family got together for the annual photo meticulously staged and taken by Mike’s father, Gene.

Then there was dessert. Oh yes the Spriggs like their dessert. I saw the cake on the table and silently thanked Mike and Cassidy for making me ride as much as I did last week. Then I grabbed a fork and ate a big chunk of that thing. I mean, it said “Mike/Rapha” and “Kaiko, JD.” WHY ARE AMERICANS SO CUTE AND NICE???

So after that, I went into a diabetic coma and had to be carried to the car and rolled home. But not before we flipped through the Winning magazines that Mike's uncle, Andy, brought for him [he had saved all but the first three issues]. We laughed at the awesomely 80s ads, and kept pointing things out to each other. It's a treasure trove of design ideas and just good cycling stuff in general. At least half of the issues featured some kind of pro female cyclist, too, which was definitely cool and appreciated.

Before I got into the car, I think I said something about how I have to ride and all that but that coma lasted well into Monday. But that’s okay, there’s always tonight, and tomorrow, rollers in my room, and from what the Internet tells me, Thursday Trick Nights at Superb...! So that whole fitness thing might win out over the whole flabbiness thing. Might.

sweating changes

I am a creature of habit. Or at least, I strive to be. I like to unconsciously stumble to the bathroom and reach for my toothbrush with most of my brain still asleep. Have my feet lead me to my computer to turn it on while I boil water for coffee. Grab a mug from the cupboard on the right side of the sink, my hand knowing exactly how high to reach without a visual guide, much less conscious thought.
All of which meant that I was slightly afraid to wake up this morning. Because after three years, I’ve moved.

Not to a different, exciting city, not even to a different zip code. I schlepped my stuff [with the help of a few movers] a staggering ten blocks, two bikes in tow and more clothes than one girl should ever really own. After unpacking 80% of my things, pacing in an unfamiliar room, it finally hit me that things are changing - like really fast - and the anxiety crept up like that super commuter that hangs onto your wheel in all of his glorious neon. The one you can’t really seem to shake, making you be all like shit, is this really happening?
Unfortunately, [for me,] it is. My bar review course has started [before graduation!] which means 8-10 hours of studying a day, six days a week. Which wouldn’t be such a huge deal if I wasn’t so used to being so goddamn lazy, rolling out on 2 hour rides whenever I wasn’t expected to be in class. And trying to figure out how I was going to get those precious minutes and miles in, between studying and unpacking, I’ve been staring at my rollers with a mixture of relief and exasperation. Thank God I have those things so whenever I have time, I can jump on the bike and really savor indoor riding in the summertime!
It doesn’t help that I’m on a fourth floor apartment now, currently with no AC. Because it is fucking hot outside, people. A few days ago, I did a sweaty 2 hours in the saddle, inhaled lunch, went to meet my law school bestie for coffee, got nearly knocked out by an iced Americano [my first this year], and then almost passed out later. As in like fainted, not like spontaneously fell asleep as I'm prone to do. I forgot how much I suck at dealing with heat, even if I spent at least half my life in swelteringly humid Tokyo summers.

All of which led me to purchase a neon colored drink yesterday in an attempt to restore the electrolytes I was losing. Wait, don’t [mis]judge. I am not one of those people who insist on keeping protein powder in their library carrel because studying really flexes that big muscle in your head and obviously you need 100 grams of protein every other hour to keep that engine running. I just sweat. Like a lot. More than can be deemed normal or sexy; once temps hit 23C/73F+, I start not only feeling, but actively looking like turkey jerky.
So electrolyte supplements are sort of making a delayed entrance into my life. Mike’s a big fan of Nuun, and I love how you can carry it with you and only use it when you need it. I have two packs of Japan’s infamous Pocari Sweat and curiosity finally getting the better of me, I bought a sample pack of Vega Sport. But after my recent discovery that anything sugary quickly translates into acne [gross, I know], I’m a little hesitant to rely on any powders or shakes or what have you. Yeah, yeah, I know you can mix up a little ghetto fabulous electrolyte drink by mixing salt in a glass of water but I’m just not that into drinking straight up salt water on my rides [yet].

It did occur to me that the Master Cleanse formula of lemon juice, water, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper might do the trick as well. Might even make my rides a little more caliente. And then I realized I would probably end up on my hands and knees on the side of the road, gripping the grass or gravel with my hands while I tried to hack ground pepper out of the back of my throat. That is not caliente, even if I was in full Capo.
But like my incompetent fumbling with the hot water in the shower yesterday, which I’m confident will soon turn into an unconscious flick of the knob to get it just the way I like it, I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Hopefully harden up in the process, too. Because I have a date in a few weekends that’s going to involve a few good hours sweating. And passing out is probably the last thing I want to do.

velo bento -- april 22, 2010

It was almost picnic weather yesterday...so in the spirit of spring [and the new logo courtesy of Gage & Desoto], here is a long overdue Velo Bento:

A Whole Foods whole wheat pita stuffed with spinach, oven-roasted turkey, and a dollop of cranberry sauce. Orange and some organic string cheese on the side. All in an OXO TOP container.
I first saw the new TOP containers on the OXO site on my hunt for something leakproof. As a big fan of OXO, I couldn't wait to get my hands on a few. Good thing my sister works there, which means none of that ordering through Amazon, paying for shipping, or trying to hunt them down in person. Just an email, some cash, and a good excuse to hang out the next time I went down to NYC for a visit.

I haven’t tested their full capacity yet, but I love how substantial these feel in comparison to my other tupperware containers. They’re BPA free, too, so I don’t have to worry about not being able to have babies because too much plastic is leaching into my food. Plus they’re freezer, microwave, and dishwasher safe. I swear, OXO thinks of everything.

Okay, I admit, I wrapped up those pita ‘wiches in some saran wrap before I tossed the entire thing in my bag because overflow-age seemed inevitable. I can’t wait to try these containers out for real though.
These will def be making more of a regular appearance...much like [bike] picnics should.

getting in the zone

So obviously warmer weather = more riding.
The thing is, like I’ve mentioned earlier, I’m not ready for all this sun. The riding’s whipping my legs into shape, but there’s the other half of the equation: what I’m eating.
That cyclists are constantly famished is old news. But caught in a power-to-weight ratio sport, we’re still clearly obsessed with food, nutrition, health, and how that all translates to speed [or not]. So even if you’re bored of hearing about it, if Bicycling can do a full feature on food, well, SO CAN I.

Okay so we all know that calories in < calories out = weight loss. The thing is, when you don’t really qualify as an endurance athlete but do more with your body than lie on the couch and eat chips all day, what the hell are you supposed to eat? A good ride might make you want to inhale your refrigerator once you get home, but the simple truth is that you can’t out-exercise a bad diet. On the other hand, if you’re constantly hungry, you’re not going to want to ride or ride well.
I’ve been watching what I eat [I’ve mostly succeeded in banning processed food from my kitchen], but a lot of the time, I’m famished an hour or two after meals. I would predictably lurk near my kitchen, nibbling on this and that; small wonder I haven’t lost a pound since I got my wisdom teeth pulled in, oh....2007.

Enter Mike’s mom, who is a legitimately awesome lady, as well as an unrivaled resource when it comes to health and nutrition. She suggested trying the Zone to get rid of the crazy cravings.
I was skeptical. Just like Atkins, it seemed like there were too many celebrities involved for it to actually work for real people. But Mike’s mom swears by it, so out of curiosity, I checked out their website. The basic premise is that depending on your gender, height, and weight, you’re allocated a certain number of “protein blocks.” For each block of protein, you’re supposed to eat a block each of fat and carbs. This is supposed to balance out your meals and keep you from getting hungry within 3-4 hours after a meal. Oh, and you’re not limited to one block of protein, carbs, and fat per meal; it depends on what you’re allocated [for me, it’s 11 blocks], but you’re supposed to divide the blocks up into 3 meals and 2 snacks [that would be 3 blocks per meal for me and 1 block each for my snacks]. A chart converting measurements of proteins, carbs, and fats into block is available here.

Okay so this is where it gets slightly complicated. 1 block of protein is about 1oz. But the serving size for 1 block of carbs or fat depends; 1 block of carbs can be either ½ a slice of bread or 4 cups of raw spinach. See where this is going? It essentially encourages you to eat more vegetables and fruits with your protein, as opposed to bread or super simple carbs that will send your blood sugar crashing. For example, in the above picture, for lunch I had a giant bed of lettuce, half a tomato [carbs], plus 2oz of sardines [2 blocks of protein], ¼ of an avocado [fat], and ½ a grapefruit [more carbs].
Still with me? No?
I didn’t think so. Which is why I’ve been playing guinea pig for you all since Sunday. Okay, not really, but I’m giving it a shot. It’s an interesting way to combine and eat food; and it’s a change that you can actually stick to for the rest of your life. I don’t have to eat massive quantities of meat all the time [3oz is about the size of your palm or a deck of cards] and lots of vegetables are involved. I am changing it up a bit, like eating 6 smaller meals a day as opposed to 5 [I like to eat, okay?], and I'm not following it to a T. But, I am documenting it all on flickr. No guarantees that there won’t be repetition [there already is abundant repetition], but if you’re interested, at the very least it’ll give you an idea on how to eat/GET IN THE ZOONNNEEEE.
And the best part? It’s keeping me full. As in not starving by 10am, even when I’m riding.
Now here’s to hoping I can shed some pounds while I’m at this...

wind allergies

I admit it, I looked [read?] like a total idiot yesterday when several hours after my dramatic whine-fest, the weather turned out to be pretty frickin’ gorgeous.
Other than that whole giant gusts of wind that made it feel like I was running through water thing.
Yesterday was actually the first time I did that Dover ride in winds that strong. That’s saying a lot, given my wind allergy. But after more than two days off the bike, I was getting impatient, and worse, feeling really lazy and lethargic. Vitamin D was calling my name late yesterday morning, between a 8.30 class, a small pile of art law reading, and a blitzkrieg of cite checking. I also really wanted to start putting the DS plan into action. Never mind that the wind kept trying to tear the bike out from under me on the way to and from school. Headwind ain’t a thanggggg.

Or so I thought. Until my thighs started burning within the first 30 minutes into my ride and it really didn’t seem like I was moving forward. At all.
You know how when you’re riding with other people and you’re fighting a decent headwind and someone says, “well, at least we’ll get a good tailwind on the way back!”? I always want to slap those people. Mostly because that headwind consistently turns into another headwind as soon as I turn around. Wind and I do not have an amicable relationship.
And that’s exactly what happened. I felt like I was cheating a little bit, trying for a negative split on the way back, almost believing that the wind would be on my side. Not true. I mean, I did get a negative split [yay!], but I had to book it; and at a certain point, I’m pretty sure I was going about 8mph. I was trying really hard to maintain that speed, too.
One perk, though: I had nothing on my back this time, proper shoes, gloves, and a slightly windproof jacket. I felt so weightless...until, of course, that wind tried to push my bike over, smother me, make me actually pedal down the hills, and otherwise make me cry my ride slightly miserable.

The short ride done, I rewarded my legs with a new snack combo: Fig Newmans broken up into Fage nonfat greek yogurt. Sounds gross but was actually really delicious. It even kept me conscious through cite checking 214 footnotes later that night [okay, that Americano might have had something to do with it, too]. As usual, I was unjustifiably proud of myself. Happily exhausted, I came home late last night to find an email from the faux-ch with about 10 million links to possibly affordable frame sets [isn’t he nice?]. That made me even happier, even if most wouldn’t really fit.
And it’s made me more motivated, too, in a weird way. So I’m off again to make the faux-ch proud [or try]. Because it’s gorgeous out, again.
Go get you on a bicycle!
[Thanks for the jersey recommendations, guys! Keep them coming!]