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.

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.

a fuzzy city

On my way back down to NYC again today [for the Bicycle Film Festival Street Fair on Saturday - come say hello at the NYC Velo tent!], I'm simultaneously sort of glad I live in Boston.
And not only because riding downtown with an overstuffed Baileyworks bag and another tote bag half hanging off my handlebars is actually possible [even sans helmet, if I so chose].
It's because the establishments I frequent [other than the bike shops] might remember me once in a while, and not in that creeped out way. Which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and loved inside. Okay, they just might be remembering a girl in crazy outfits, perpetually clutching a helmet, but they still remember.

It's only appropriate that I've recently achieved "regular" status at one of the two sewing/fabric stores I go to in Boston: Winmil Fabrics. Arguably the only fabric store left in Boston proper, it's no Mood, but remains a go-to for my basic lining fabric, thread, needles, etc. And, as an extra bonus, the husband-and-wife team behind the counter are definitely some of the nicer people in this city.
My purchases are usually fairly small - 3 yards of black fabric, a spool of thread - but I'll consistently be chatted up about my bike, where I go out riding, and if I have any more gears yet. On the topic of my lone gear, the owner stated:
"Well, I bet your legs get much stronger."
"Yeah, they're huge," I responded.
His wife laughed.

I love this kind of friendly banter. The kind that's only really possible in a small city if you're working on limited funds like I am. So even if I'm headed to glamorous NYC later this afternoon, I'm trying to keep my head on straight. Not crush on it too much. Not drool over all the places, people, and things to do in NYC while only seeing the limits of Boston.
Because, other than Tokyo, no other city has achieved warm-fuzzy-loved status with me. Yet.

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.

ketch[ing]up

It's Tuesday, I know, but let me tell you about Sunday.
Because there was ketchup involved, pre-5pm, and that is always a good thing.
I think ketchup is a food in and of itself. It's not a mere condiment; labeling it that strips it of its innate glory. It's a pureed, red mess of vinegary deliciousness that makes everything taste better. I'll opt for ketchup with my grilled cheese over tomato soup, and I'll even throw it in a pan with pasta [don't ask].
Did I mention how NYC can make me ridiculously happy? Even after scant hours of sleep and a throat hoarse from chattering and laughing too much the previous day? Well, it did. And ketchup was, of course, involved.

It came in the form of brunch at Cafe Orlin. The brioche french toast sounded incredibly tempting...until I saw the goat cheese, avocado, and tomato omelette. This neat yellow package packed with creamy goodness with a touch of Tabasco and Heinz's? That combination made me forget that the back of my eye sockets were burning from lack of sleep. I woke up a little, even [although that may have been the Americano], and managed to recall some of the ideas M1 and I came up with the previous night.
Needless to say, I stuffed my face. M1 rolled me back downtown and hung out while I waited for the bus with an amazing early birthday present from Lauren: the perfect, pink, vintage suitcase, complete with a "K" monogram.

M1's pile of stuff was the last thing I took a picture of before jumping onto a crowded, cramped bus headed back to Beantown. 4.5 hours later, I was home, pumping up my tires, and throwing a leg over a bicycle. Once back in the saddle, I momentarily forgot how much I already missed the city. And sprinting up the hills, I remembered why I absolutely, frantically, desperately love biking. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I suppose.
And while fighting the temptation to book another ticket to NYC, a ball of pure happy uncoiled in that space between my lungs and the back of my throat as I clipped in and sprinted. Shooting smack couldn't beat this.

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.