mullets and gmc [bikes]

I’ve been on a purging spree for the past two weeks. I stuffed a huge garbage bag full of clothes and donated it to Goodwill. I am going through piles of notes, recycling everything I can, throwing away stuff I can’t, packing everything else into boxes, bags, and suitcases. Purge, rinse, repeat.
And in the middle of throwing out beauty products that probably shouldn’t be used anymore, I looked in the mirror at the bob that had achieved “soccer mom” frumpiness. Thick and gross, I called a salon, found out that my usual stylist was out for the week, and made an appointment with another one anyway. How bad could it be?
“I’m just going to add some layers on top and thin it out a little but keep the length,” my new stylist informed me. I’ve learned, however, that this is what every stylist - possibly with the exception of the one I would trust my life with in Japan, who has taken me from awkward tween to bouge-y punk to brand-name whore to some semblance of working professional without really uttering a word - is taught to say. And when you’re fortunate enough to have friends and family that wouldn’t refer you to someone that is just so-so, you end up being just a little too trusting when left on your own. You trust Yelp reviews and forgive a few botched cuts. You go to a new stylist employed by the same salon because really, come on. How bad could it be?

Well, I’m sad to admit: it can get pretty bad. Like mullet bad. Like wtf-I’m-actually-going-to-pay-another-stylist-to-fix-this-because-I-never-want-you-near-my-hair-again bad. Like I-briefly totally-considered-suing bad. [Although it doesn't look as terrible tied back...oh and do you love my Little Mermaid bath towel? I DO!]
Post-mullet-imposition, feeling sort of terrible for myself and acting right in line with predictable contradiction, I picked up the search for things to acquire. Even in spite of all the discarding and donating, I’m a packrat at heart. So reminding myself that that new one bedroom won’t fill itself, I went hunting for a new bicycle.
You know, the one with gears that I still haven’t managed to get my hands on [total lack of finances having something to do with it]. Ebay and Craigslist hasn’t turned up much, and I’ve pretty much given up hope that the Internet was going to deliver something awesome to my impatiently clicking mouse. Until, bitching and moaning to SkullKrusher about anything in my size that was decent, he showed me...

...THIS.
Possibly the shittiest bike I’ve ever seen, a close examination of the description of this stellar thoroughbred on two wheels will tell you that shifting can only be done on the top of the bars, like a mountain bike. But to brake, you need to use the hoods. I actually don’t really understand how this works, except that somehow, someone took grip shifters and forced them onto some road bars. And then expected people to buy it.
But fascinated in a disgusted sort of way, I couldn’t stop looking. And Googling. Amazon.com provided even more entertainment with some amazing reviews of this zippy 21-speed bike, and trying to figure out wtf is going on with the shifting, the ghetto quill-like stem, and who at Shimano was on drugs when they agreed to supply parts for this monstrosity, I found a picture. One that is almost as amazing as the existence of this bike.

At first, unable to admit that this could possibly happen, I convinced myself that I was seeing it wrong. I stared for a while longer, closing in on my computer screen, squinting some, tilting my head. But, no. What you’re thinking...dreading...is right. That’s a GPS, mounted on a sub $250 bike, with the hoods on backwards. Oh, yeah, and with those grip shifters. Awesome.
And if that hasn’t made your Monday, here’s another shot where you can see the grip shifters in all their glory, plus this guy’s impressive wrap job.

I could feel mechanics around the world cringe in unison, and my lunch almost came up through my nose when I saw the second picture. I clicked through the rest of the pictures provided by Amazon and considered buying one for about 30 seconds, mostly to embarrass friends that I would make ride with me. Oh the fun times it could provide...until the whole thing fell apart 20 miles from home, of course.
Sadly, I decided against it [I can be persuaded otherwise, though], for now. Which means no new bike for me, yet, but after discovering this little gem, I can’t say that the search hasn’t been anything short of entertaining. Even with a mullet.

impatient voyages

Remember the "ipod nod"? Back when only a select few had ipods and they were far from touch screen? And those white earbuds would qualify you for that so-geeky-it's-chic, sage nod from another ipod owner? That secret, shared understanding of owning something...superior?
I like how that died within a year as ipods and Apple just continued to take over the world. Now everyone has one, it's just another gadget attesting to your status [or lack thereof]. There's nothing special about owning one anymore. No more of that exclusiveness. No more of that excitement that comes with belonging in a special group of the select few who really, truly understand.
Bikes are different though. Proof? I saw two pairs of excited eyes yesterday that seemed to hum with elation. I nearly nodded.
After a [miserable] run and then a bike ride downtown, I showered then hopped back on the bike to get drenched in my own sweat all over again. Because Marcus was putting the finishing touches on his new 'cross bike, and invited me on its maiden voyage. Like I could ever miss this. I skipped into IBC, dumped my bike next to Wes's Merckx [hottt!] and clopped my cleated feet over to 2nd Cup for some coffee.

Picking my way back to the shop, I saw a guy who had just purchased a Trek. And just before he pushed off onto the street, I asked him if it was New Bike Day. He happily answered in the affirmative and, with bright, happy eyes, jumped onto his new steed. It never gets old, that feeling. Even when it's not your own bike...because you know. You understand.
Back at IBC, I climbed the stairs with caffeine in one hand and a camera in the other, and paparazzi-ed Marcus as he put the finishing touches on his new baby. I seemed to be the most impatient person there; I couldn't wait until it was ready to be ridden, and I literally jumped up and down with excitement when I first saw it, it was so so so close to being complete.

Bars wrapped perfectly [by Chris], cables adjusted, chain measured out, and pedals finally installed, we headed out for a quick ride down Comm Ave. And wow, is that bike hot. In the light of the setting sun, the silver frame looks almost white, and seemed to shift like butter. My knee was being stupid but with vicarious excitement coursing through my muscles and fueled by adrenaline, I was springing up the hills, alternating between following Marcus and leading.
We parted ways after babbling about practicing dismounts, jogging, and how good his frame is going to look with mud splattered all over it. Plans are in the works for practicing and falling over our bikes in dark fields when no one else is around. It's going to hurt and probably be slightly miserable.
As usual, I can't wait.

work + play

There seem to be two kinds of law students here: those that share their personal lives with each other and make normal friends, and those that keep work and play distinct. I clearly fall within the latter. In the past two years, I've perfected the art of putting off social events until it starts to verge on rude, and then only showing up to put in the requisite face time before jumping back on my bike.
It probably comes as no surprise, then, that only a few key friends at school know about my small corner of the internet. Drawn together by insensitively sarcastic humor, they're the choice people with whom I've managed to form comfortable bonds of trust. And in an environment as ruthless as law school, that's saying a lot.
Outside this tiny group of real friends, people just know that I'm obsessed with bicycles, not that I blog about them or make cycling caps. Which works out well for me; besides, if someone is going to put in the effort to look over my shoulder, google me, or otherwise stalk me and find this blog, well, congratulations, you've found me out...and earned some major creepy points in the process.

Maybe I keep my guard up a little too much, but with the gossip that flies around the library and locker room, I like my wallflower-melt-into-the-walls status. That's not to say I don't take risks...or that I'm not prone to new-bike-mom-narcissism. Because when the weather's this nice, and a lunch has been organized with my law peeps, I'll bring the Dolan to school.
I carried her up three flights of stairs because there was really no way i was going to lock her up outside. And, okay, I had class with Mark, whose ear I've been chattering off about this bike, and Ethan, the owner of an absolutely beautiful Cannondale CAAD 8. Both had listened patiently while I gushed about hubs and danced in circles while describing custom decals and pink cranksets. Both, along with a few others, got the see the bike build progress through emails and pictures. I wanted them to be the first future lawyers to meet her in person.

Despite shaking their heads at the impracticality of a single, fixed gear, they humored me by telling me that it looked awesome. I gloated. It may not be a time trial thoroughbred, but I love my little pony. Especially when she sits through my last ever Constitutional Law II class with me.
Yeah, that exam's going to be a complete clusterfuck. Mostly because I'm woefully unprepared. But hey, at least there will be something waiting for me at home when this is all over and done with.

velo love

I remember the first time I rode something I knew I couldn't control.
A black, half-trained filly - back in the days when I was obsessed with real ponies/horses - everything had to be done in reverse. Pulling on the reins made her tuck her head in resolutely and take off. The natural human reaction of leaning forward and squeezing your legs around her in response to the unexpected acceleration just egged her on. She was prone to sprinting out of control and rendering riders into frustrated tears. No one really wanted to ride her.
I was terrified as I was handed the reins. But even with the unhelpful "don't pull on the reins to stop her," it turned out to be a match - for one brief summer - made in heaven. There was a way to slow her down [pull, release, pull, release, give, take, give take], and I learned how to manage to stay on something that clearly had its own agenda [stay calm, lean back, don't freak out]. We got each other...or at least to the point where I wasn't galloping out of control while my classmates watched in horror and pity.

Years later, I found myself test riding a half-built customized bike on hand-built wheels, the thick steerer tube still uncut, brakeless, and on flat pedals. Finally understanding the meaning of the words "stiff," and "responsive," that taste of fear, excitement, and acknowledgment of a lack of an adequate sense of control came flooding back to me. I knew this bike wanted to accelerate, and never stop, and that sort of terrified me.
She's made to go fast, as Erich accurately pointed out. And he would know, as this is almost more his baby than mine. I felt a little strange rolling it out of the shop, back on the street where a few people gave me interested glances. The weirdest thing was that none of those people knew that it was New Bike Day for me, or that I was popping my track bike cherry, or that I felt more than a little guilty walking that bike away from its surrogate home for the past two months.

But most importantly, they don't know how much love has been poured into this bike. And I'm not talking about how much I've been petting the frame. It's the too many late hours Erich's put in, the collective excitement [feigned or otherwise] at IBC when I brought in parts for the bike, Chris's adamant desire to play a part in the build, and Eric constantly telling me how pretty it is. And maybe that's the best reward; building something with a group of people who I consider solid, real friends [and yes, I feel that my "watching" constitutes participation]. I can't thank you guys enough, and I'm going to love her to absolute pieces. It's good to know, too, that she'll always be welcome at 89 Brighton Ave.
And yeah, this is definitely a match made in heaven.
[More pics - like of the drive side - coming soon...]
For the bike nerds:
Frame: Dolan Pre Cursa -- 45cm [on 700cc wheels!] -- customized by Erich at IBC Wheels: Velocity Deep V's laced with DT Swiss Competition double-butted spokes to Miche Primato hubs [double-fixed] -- built by Erich at IBC Bars: Nitto B123 with Champ grips Crankset: Sugino messenger Brake: Dia-Compe "deluxe pearl" Saddle and seatpost: Soma Ensho [glitter white] and Alpina seatpost Pedals: MKS Sylvan [from my old bike; switching to clipless soon] Gearing: 46/17 [because I have hills to climb]

sleepless anticipation

I've never been an endurance athlete, so I knew I was going to putter out of steam sooner or later. Even with blogging; my fingers are actually tired from typing. Because - did you notice? - I blogged every day in March.
It was a personal goal that had me sprinting to bike events, parties, and shops across town. Spinning, snapping pictures, typing, publishing...phew! It's no Battenkill, but it sort of took its own toll; I was shaving off sleep, yawning on my ride into school, and drinking too much coffee. And just when I get a long weekend, I'm looking at endless hours of outlining in preparation for that final emotional and physical wreck that is "finals."
I've already had a meltdown or two; only ameliorated by staring furiously at pictures of a bike that's thisclose to being complete and ridable. In times of extreme stress and self-doubt, though, it's not the prettiness of the bike itself [although, I'm definitely not complaining about that] that tells me to keep my chin up. I remember something Jeremy mentioned a few weeks ago:
"That steerer tube is so burly, it's emasculating."

And it is. Despite how light [and fast] she feels, there's something tough and burly hiding under stem cap, stem, spacers, and integrated headset. And that sort of gives me a lot of hope. Because even if I'm falling into bed too late, tossing and turning trying to schedule my tomorrows, and waking up too early, I'd like to think that deep down inside, I'm made of something equally tough [although maybe not as emasculating?].
I'm taking the long way home tonight, with a slight detour at a UPS pick-up center planned. That's right, tonight. I guarantee...tomorrow is going to be a very Good Friday.