it hurts

So apparently going from sitting in a chair in the library for 12 hours a day for three weeks to riding over 100 miles in two days makes for an unhappy knee. Not to mention my ass.
I have knee tracking problems that make my knees sound like velcro when I get up from any kind of squatting position. And now my IT band is all "okay calm the fuck down and cut me a break." Lack of any bike-appropriate gear save for a wind-proof soft shell and a pair of Sidis have me/my butt almost sighing in relief when I see a hill around mile 32, even if my knee's freaking out. And sheer laziness had me sneezing and coughing when I got home yesterday because, despite the wind and rain, I didn't want to stop and put on the jacket in my bag [yes, I go on 40 mile rides with a Baileyworks strapped to my back...don't judge].

It was probably for the best though. I have a whole pile of stuff to be cut, sewn, screened, and assembled. Activities that don't involve putting [too much] pressure on my knee. Although, I admit, I did get a little zealous last night with the sewing machine making it go full-throttle Chinese-sweatshop-style with my foot squeezing the pedal [yes, there is one] against the floor.
And I got more done than I thought I would. Nothing's complete, yet, but I'll have an inventory soon. Or at least Cambridge will. And that list of hats already promised will start to get shorter. Even if my rides get longer. And slightly more painful. Because as long as my knee feels like it's going to snap, crackle, or pop, I'll find time to stay up too late working on cycling caps.

I have lots of new ideas too, and custom jobs that have been shelved for months. They're going to be pretty awesome. Even my knee thinks so.
Get excited.

west siiiiide!

I've never been to California, or the West Coast. Even with the beautiful weather and equally beautiful people, I was always convinced that the dreary, cold, bitterly sarcastic East Coast [or, at least the New England area] suited my personality much better.
These days, though, I'm flirting with the idea of checking out the other coast. Seattle, in particular. Yeah, I know, it rains a lot. Yeah, I heard it can kind of suck to train there. Yeah, it's probably not the cyclist's paradise that I'm convincing myself it is. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
It'll never be associated with law school, though, which is part of the appeal. That's not to say that the decision over whether I should even try exploring my options west doesn't fluctuate as wildly and as often as Britney's weight. I'll make a decision, and then scrap it within the next 30 minutes, think about it while zoning out on bike rides and nearly run myself into parked cars.

Because Boston's got its charms. It comes in the form of bike shops and polo, and awesome people who give great hugs. Standing alone in a crowd at the ESPI finals - having wedged my way by the door of the court which now lacked the usual chainlink fencing for better viewing - someone squeezed my shoulder and I turned to find Tom...then saw Croth, Matt, Clark, Cole, Reuben...Boston represent!

So when Seattle played against Boston yesterday in the finals, I shamelessly cheered for Boston, despite the fact that I was literally surrounded by strangers. Toby and his friend turned to me, telling me that they were conflicted as to who to cheer for because Seattle played so well. For me, for that one game, the choice was blatantly clear.
Constitutional law [and the fear that accompanies final exams] had me jetting off before the final game. East Vancouver took 1st place though, with Milwaukee taking 2nd and New York City taking 3rd. All points west.

And Seattle did win over Boston in that game. I was sorely disappointed but hey, it happens. And even with the magnetic pull that Seattle's had over me recently...well, maybe we [and I mean Boston] can win that trophy next year...
Congrats to the winners and everyone who played!!! It was amazing to watch!
[To get your official ESPI 4 fix, head on over to Legit Bike Polo.]
[Pictures here...and some by Croth here and here.]

polo madness

Did I really write a half-sentimental, verging on fuzzy-wuzzy post on bike polo yesterday?
Yeah, yeah I did.
Wow. That's kind of embarrassing. I mean, sure everyone who plays in Boston is incredibly laid-back, but the reality of playing polo is more "Fight Club" than "Sister Act." More "Kill Bill" than "Snow White."
It involves squeaky skidding, the loud thud of the ball bouncing off wheel covers and the clatter of the door hatch as players tap out. The occasional heckle and the cheers when bikes tangle and crash, players get shoved aside, or make kamikaze-like sacrifices.

Because when the best from around the country [plus Canada!] get together in possibly the biggest polo event, ever [35 teams showed!], things get fast, bloody, and broken. I arrived at the Allston court in the early afternoon and got to watch some of the best players in the country unleashed upon each other for the 4th East Side Polo Invitational.

I knew it was going to a complete sausage party [aren't all bike events?] but I was unprepared for the frothing-at-the-mouth-testosterone-fueled competitiveness. With Boston locals clearly in the minority, it was like stepping into a different world. I actually stood in the middle of the crowd for about a full minute, searching for familiar faces, rummaging in my bag like I would somehow find my friends in there.

Not that these strangers didn't look interesting. There were enough mallets, tats, tight jeans, and bikes to make me swoon. Fortunately, being dressed in spandex and knee highs and arriving on my vanity track bike made the situation sufficiently awkward so that swooning would have been out of the question. Fortunately, I shoved aside the awkwardness for a few hours to watch some amazing games. And, fortunately, the players I did end up meeting didn't seem nearly as crazy off the court.

Although, once mounted on bikes with mallets ready, all the teams were fueled by something more than just the desire to win those Volume frames. Pride is on the line, and apparently that makes for some spectacular games. I snapped pictures furiously, leaning over the door, watching the game through the small screen of my digital camera.
Impending final exams [and the need to study for them] forced me to leave early. But ESPI finals are today. You know where to find me.
[Pictures from yesterday here.]
[Edit: and more pictures by Croth from Saturday and Sunday.]

bike shop christmas

As per the usual morning routine, I grabbed my eyeliner pencil yesterday morning, unsheathing the magic black wand that helps accentuate the eyes that I don't have. One eye squeezed shut with the accompanying eyebrow raised, hand poised, leaning in towards the mirror...
I stopped. Who was I going to need this for? The exam proctor???
The pencil got capped and tossed back into my make up bag. Besides, I figured that looking absolutely haggard would keep me from hanging out anywhere on the way home.
I should have known better. I mean, I do know better...but despite my age, I'm still recovering from junior-high-nerd-status and can't resist the opportunity to hang out with the cooler kids. Bags under my eyes, skull still freshly throbbing from the effects of a tax law exam, sweaty from being overdressed for the warmer afternoon weather, and with no eyeliner on, I bounced into Cambridge regardless.

And found that not only were all the cool kids working there yesterday, so was the infamous [and slightly intimidating] Mr. Croth. I got to bask in his vicarious cool for a grand total of five minutes before he jetted off in those rocking red gloves and the giant Ortlieb bag that was made to smuggle small children into the country. Meanwhile, customers came and went, Jason had his nose buried in paperwork and I started to feel bad skipping around and just being in the way.

Until, of course, Dan came in from the service door, announcing a shipment of bike goodies that Pete described was "as big as a Christmas tree." And indeed it was. There were countless boxes of...everything. Taped and tied together, then wrapped in a plastic cocoon, all it was missing was a big red ribbon. It was like Christmas morning; for once, the bags under my eyes and general haggard appearance seemed appropriate for the occasion. And with the energy born out of unexpected surprises, I pitched in a hand, carrying and ripping open the plethora of boxes.

It was awesomely fun...the best part being that I didn't even have to clean up or organize the huge pile of everything. I left two hours later, secure in the knowledge that Cambridge is currently fully loaded with pretty much everything I happen to currently need. Tubes in every size imaginable? Check. Wicker baskets? Check. Freewheels? [Yes, freewheels.] Check. Cookies? Probably.
Well, okay, maybe they're not stocking any mini road bikes with my name written all over it. But I'm working on that. Maybe, hopefully, for Christmas.

marco...!

Cruising home last Sunday on the new track bike, a tall, lanky boy caught my eye.
Brown tussled hair, dressed in black, and features that can curl up into a super cute smile. Added plus? He was loaded with polo mallets.
I shouted out his name and gave a wave before turning onto Harvard Ave. Carefully rolling through the uneven patches of pavement, I heard a bell ring and turned to see none other than Jav, The Responsible Mature One of Boston Bike Polo's main regulars [and of course, one of the best Boston's got]. With increased gearing on my track bike, I felt like I was running through water on the slight incline while Jav's ridiculously low gear ratio had his knees bobbing faster than Jennifer Beals' in Flashdance. We rode through Harvard together, catching up, before parting ways all too soon on Beacon.

Then, last night, as boredom and cabin fever from being trapped in the library for too long crept up on me, making me more than a little bit homesick, my favorite polo player IMed me. I unfortunately missed their Sunday Polo/BBQ event last weekend, but was told lots of people showed up, even a fair share of girls [my cougar bait - a long-running joke - is apparently still single, though...phew!]. Jamie, one of the sweetest boys I've met in Boston, also demanded to know where I've been before leaving me with some sage advice [re: cougaring]:
"You need a man, not a bitch."

I had to cough to stifle my giggles and cover my mouth so no one would see me laughing at my computer screen. Jamie somehow always knows the right thing to say, and he's totally right about my inexcusable absence from polo. All signs are pointing to the fact that I need to go back to see the people that didn't tell me to gtfo after crashing into walls, other bikes, and generally being completely useless on the court.
Don't be surprised if, come this summer, at least half my posts are about...
1-2-3 POLO!!! [8 more days until ESPI 4!]
[Yes, these are old pictures...another sign I need to go back to play polo.]

beer.cupcake.mustache [the party]

I got up this morning and made a beeline for the bathroom. Nearly tripping over the rollers in the hallway, I wondered why 1. I had to pee so badly, and 2. why there were clothes strewn all over my floor.
Oh, yeah. Beer. Cupcake. Mustache.
Well, the party, I mean. The book itself, created by Natasha of Pedal Power Photography, is a collection of beautiful photographs which, standing alone, would be more than sufficient for coffee table book status. But it's even better. It's a true "who's who" of New England cyclocross with interviews and questions concerning favorite beers, cupcakes, and 'cross races...and who can really resist that kind of combination?

I almost feel nervous flipping through its pages, anticipating that grungy streak down the side of the book from too much thumbing through. And there will be [much] thumbing through [and reading!]. Like Facebook but better - because you can stalk without fear of discovery and be able to show up to birthday parties with a 6-pack of a cyclist's favorite beer - it had me ogling its pages after I managed to stumble home last night.
As for the party itself [held at Washington Square Tavern], the title of the book was only too fitting. Vegan cupcakes were demolished, free Chimay was had, and ample mustaches were in attendance. Needless to say, I got completely smashed [something that happens rarely these days] and ended up dizzily guzzling water [with lime!] before skipping home in the rain.

Flipping through its pages again, I had to force myself to put it down this morning, to stretch and head to school. The misty rain and lack of a front fender meant that bits of grime and dirty water got splattered on my bars and jacket, my face only spared [most of] the grossness thanks to a cycling cap [which, ironically, I never tend to wear]. It gave me a taste of New England falls though, and the possible hope that I'll be able to at least watch some 'cross races later this year.
The ride home is going to be wet and dark. But I'm already looking forward to the post-shower zoning out with beer, cupcakes, and mustaches.