under the knife ride

A few years ago, my father came gimping back from chasing my dog around outside in his sandals. He had slipped, broken his fall, and ripped off most of his big toenail in the process. It was still attached to his toe when he showed me, his foot propped up over the sink. He pushed the nail, making the blood caught between toe and nail pulse a little.
“See, I ripped it off.”
I mentally shrieked. My entire body was covered in goosebumps. I almost felt like puking and pooping my pants at the same time. Yet another reason I could never go into medicine.
I felt the same way - and possibly queasier - last night when I helped Mike change the blood-soaked gauze that was patched around his sutures. And by “helped,” I mean “watched in morbid curiosity.” Because I obviously don’t deal well with blood.

Not that I didn’t expect at least some of this. Mike had surgery scheduled to patch up his hernia for a few weeks now, and with little time and sunshine left before he went under the knife, Andy suggested we do a few laps in Prospect Park on Sunday morning. A 44cm Bianchi Valle was offered on loan but it came with flat bars, so I stuck with the Cyfac, but managed to nab a used Specialized BG Toupe saddle. I was told that it would be better than the leopard print stripe number I was currently using but I had my doubts.

Yeah, I was wrong. Again. The Toupe is flat, hard, and feels like you’re sitting on the hood of a giant Cadillac. No shifting around or constantly getting out of the saddle. Extremely comfy, it helped me concentrate on not being able to really breathe while trying to hang on with guys who were dumbing it down for me but keeping it at a steady 19-20mph. The flats weren’t so bad; but you guys know me: anything with over a 2% grade is a pretty big challenge. Gears make it hurt less, but also just remind me of how much aerobic strength I don’t have.
After a few laps, with me trying to hold the yogurt I had for breakfast down, Andy was craving coffee so we made our way to Cafe Grumpy. A few minutes after pulling up, I was sipping a delicious Americano and got nibbles of chocolate chip banana bread, a pumpkin apple spice muffin, and a zucchini muffin. All of which hit the spot after trying to keep up with two steel frames that went way faster than the aluminum one I was riding. Coach DS was definitely right about how it doesn’t matter what your bike’s made of.

Fifteen minutes later, we were back on our bikes, headed to do more bike-related things. No more puking sensations this time, or goosebumps caused by bloody bandages, just good times. And enough fun for Mike to hopefully alleviate the pain of not being able to ride for the next few weeks.
Lucky for him, the rain’s been helping out. Hopefully my domestic skills are, too.

back to...work?

Yo yoooooooo, I’m back from my 72 hour benderrrrrrrrrrrr.
Just kidding. Although there might have been a mini bender in between finishing up finals, packing up to move into a new apartment, packing more stuff into a small suitcase, and catching a bus down to NYC. Okay said bender might have only consisted of drinking less than 2 inches of beer and getting wasted as a result BUT THAT’S KIND OF CALLED A BENDER IN MY BOOK.
So that’s what I’ve been up to, mostly for lack of a better thing to do with all this “free time” I’m suddenly finding myself with. Because somehow “free time” doesn’t translate to more cycling, just budding alcoholism. And somehow, more work.

Because after 48 hours of attempting to pack everything I own into a bunch of boxes, I needed a break and decided that working in a bike shop would totally hit the spot. And you know, I kind of really wanted to show off one of my new outfits.
So Saturday morning I was back behind a bike shop counter - at the front of the shop this time - and pretending to know what I was doing or what exactly was going on. Chad and Kyle gave me the scoop on rentals and before I knew it, I was hauling Kona Humus from the basement, gushing about how much I love my Baileyworks, and buying pretzels for Jared. All in a really sick vintage Sportful jersey that I’ve been hiding since I snagged it off Ebay a while back. I mean, yeah, sure I risked getting dirt and chain lube and grease all over it but whatever placates my vanity, you know?

The weather being pretty frickin’ gorgeous, the shop was packed. Waves of people would stream in, meaning that burritos, salads, and breakfast sandwiches had to be eaten in stealthy bites behind the counter. Running back and forth, bringing things down to the basement or up from the back of the shop meant that there was hardly any time to notice hunger. Until, of course, Ish and Chad’s lunch appeared from S’macNYC. Soft macaroni elbows blanketed in gooey cheese with a delicately burnt cover of casein. I was drooling. Actively.
“Good thing I’m lactose intolerant,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I even prefer my pizza without cheese.”
“...That’s like preferring your men without penises,” Ish informed me.
Touche.

Hunger finally stoked, I grabbed my apple but with people still coming through the door, it got eaten in about 5 different sittings. The rest of lunch was a Chocolate Peanut Butter Luna Protein Bar that I managed to get to around 3pm. Those 12 grams of yummy chocolate-covered, Breast Cancer Fund supporting protein tided me over for another hour and a half of scurrying around and powered my nonexistent biceps through carrying more bikes up and down the stairs. And with a good dose of Iron and B vitamins from that Luna bar, I think I even did it with a smile on my face.
My 2/3 of a day complete, I sauntered back home around 4.30, ate some yogurt and passed the fuck out. A few hours later, I was back in the shop and a few hours after that, back on the bike. The last which proved to be possibly more painful than the last exam I took.
Well...almost.

at your service

“Water safe for consumption,” the subject line of the email read. So Boston’s back to being a normal city in an otherwise developed country, and I can finally wash my hands with unboiled water. Which is nice, because my hands have felt like they did on Sunday when I spent most of my morning behind the service counter at a bike shop in NYC.
Yeah, you read that right. A girl who doesn’t know which way is up when it comes to derailleurs and cassettes was keeping busy in a service area. With tools, even.
With the 5 Borough Bike Ride last weekend [I have plans to do it next year on a mtb tandem in full Lycra with a teardrop helmet], NYC Velo needed some help so I figured it would be interesting to pretend to work at a bike shop for realz. For some reason, instead of manning the cash register - a more appropriate activity that I could probably pull off fairly competently - I ended up talking to Coach DS while he worked a wrench, which then meant I was behind the counter when a girl showed up with newly purchased shoes and Speedplay cleats.

Okay, cleats, I can do. Never mind that I’ve never installed Speedplays before. And the skirt and white tank top that I was wearing which are both completely inappropriate for a bike shop is no thang. So I end up installing one of the plates and cleats with some [read: a lot of] help from Andy, and while I’m struggling with screwdrivers, another girl shows up with a pair of spinning shoes and weird spinning cleats that need to get tightened, too.
A touch of locktite and a few new screws later [the ones on her shoes were mostly useless...and by that I mean they were a pain in the ass to get out], and my hands had a thin film of grease on them. Not visible, but enough to give me that oily tacky feeling that gets my OCD going.
“Can I put gloves on so I can feel like a real but fake mechanic?”
“If you want to feel like a real mechanic, you won’t put gloves on,” came the ever witty reply courtesy of DS.

I went to grab a pair anyway, then dropped them when a bike came wheeling in for a bottle cage and pedal install. Things even I am capable of doing. By that time it was close to 2pm; the last time I had eaten was over 5 hours ago, but I was hardly hungry. There was really no time to be; even if I can’t tell a brake cable from one that keeps things shifting, sunny, beautiful weekend days mean busy times at bike shops.

Mike sold another bike, I helped DS out a little more, then we both snuck out an hour later for lunch. Ish had come by so we weren’t really needed, and there was a Sunday afternoon to enjoy. There was a stop at a bookstore, followed by Stumptown at the Ace Hotel, then later that night, a chance encounter with the best chicken taco I have ever had. I’m still dreaming of you, Pinche.
And while I’m back in Boston to finish up those pesky final exams, if you missed me standing awkwardly behind a service counter in a bike shop last weekend, I’ll be back there in a few weeks. Maybe by the cash register next time, though.

less miles, more gears

So you know how sometimes you’re sitting around with a bunch of your best friends and just because you’re all totally comfortable with each other you start playing “Never Have I Ever...” [or whatever the male equivalent is] and then you find out that you’re the only one that hasn’t done this one thing? And then all your friends are like you gotta try it, it’s going to change your life? And then you do and you’re like eh...meh...not life changing so then you’re totally not into it after that first experience? And then someone persuades you to try it again and you figure out that you were doing it all wrong the first time and it’s actually sort of life changing?
Yeah, that’s me and gears, lately.
Having felt like I’ve hit a wall with the single speed rides, and tired of the sheer exhaustion at the end of each ride, I spent most of the weekend away from my bikes. The weather providing a good enough excuse, both the Dolan and the Bianchi stayed parked in their respective spots in my apartment as I headed to NYC on Sunday morning. I was ready to spend most of my extended weekend [Marathon Monday + a cancelled class on Tuesday] bike-free.

It didn’t work...and why would it when you bring your shoes and helmet “just in case”? I looked at the sunny weather and weighed it against my discomfort riding anything with gears, especially a bike that’s a bit too big for me. Then I thought about how it wasn’t going to change my life and that I really should have brought my own bike and dealt with my inability to climb anything more than a 2% grade. Then I figured, I gotta start somewhere, and got dressed.
And surprise, surprise...it did sort of change my life. This time around, instead of riding Mike’s Cyfac like a single speed [keeping it in the big ring and mashing], I did as I was told and started out in the small ring. I spun.

Up the West Side Highway, back into the city and around the Cloisters, it was a short 25 miler with some fun sprints and big ring action on the way back. Less miles than I usually do, but it was so easy I knew I’d have a hard time getting back on my own bike[s]. I could climb hills - real ones - at a decent clip without that inevitable slowing down. My legs never hurt like they do when I drag myself through Dover. And strangely enough, I didn’t feel like I wanted to crumple up into a ball of sleep within 2 hours of getting home.
A part of me missed that fall over feeling of exhaustion, but a lot of me really loved that unpainful rides really do exist. And if 25 miles felt that easy, with the right bike, I’m pretty sure 50 wouldn’t be a problem. And if 50 isn’t a problem...well...100 doesn’t seem like such a pipe dream.
Okay so everyone was right that a road bike would solve more of my problems than add to them. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and say "I told you so"...BECAUSE THAT'S NOT GOING TO HELP ME LATER TODAY WHEN I HAVE TO DO THAT DOVER RIDE ON ONE GEAR AGAIN. I'm working on that geared thing though. For real this time. Trust.

coffee and the city

I had it all planned out. A day off Friday, an easy ride Saturday, another rest day Sunday while I traveled back to Boston, and then back on the bike for real on Monday.
Funny how things never turn out like you plan ‘em.
Saturday was bordering on cold but sunny enough and Mike suggested a quick 25 miler to Cloisters. I’ve never been so I happily agreed...that is, until my uterus was like oh, hello, it’s that time of month! Which wouldn’t have been much of an issue if it hadn’t driven home that point by making my lower back so stiff it felt uncomfortable to even sit.

Yes, I am fully aware that I will probably end up being the bitchiest pregnant person alive if or when that happens.
Anyway, so I spent the morning arguing with my lower back and my reproductive organs while Mike did the ride. After a handful or so of chocolate chips, I was feeling a little better [funny how chocolate has that effect, huh?], so we meandered through the city on a lazy afternoon mission.
But of course, first there had to be coffee. We stopped by the first NYC location of Cafe La Colombe. A simple yet open space with clean decor and bike-friendly baristas, Mike got his Ira Ryan hat photographed while we waited for our Americanos. The atmosphere is hip and cool without being overly pretentious, and while the espresso lacked the punch of Cafe Fixe’s Americanos, it was the perfect accompaniment to a lazier, more laid back afternoon jaunt.

A few blocks further into Tribeca and we were at our destination: Adeline Adeline. A few weeks ago, I had heard a rumor or two about this shop; a specialty bike store that caters to the urban leisure cyclist. On the floor were bikes by Pashley, Abici, Linus, and a Batavus with Sram on it. Wicker baskets of varying sizes, pannier bags catered with the more stylish cyclist in mind, and the obligatory Brooks saddles were smartly displayed in a bike shop that managed to set itself apart.

It’s a cool space, and one that I would patronize for a smart, sturdy city bike with all the bells and whistles. The accessories alone are worth a visit, especially if you have a thing for baskets and pretty bells.
Only time will tell if I’ll ever be able to afford a city bike in New York City, but when I’m ready to get one, it’s good to know where I’d go.

rain = vicarious retail therapy

Ughhhhhhhhhhh soooooooooo windy out. UGHHHHHHHHHHH.
Yeah, I am currently a whine-fest, but I really love how the week after I meet with my faux-ch, it rains for most of the week. I mean, nevermind that I’m swamped with work and I couldn’t get out to ride anyway...how am I supposed to hit my 100+ miles/week goal at this rainy rate?
Well, in other news, my leg is starting to feel okay. When I told DS that my hamstring’s been killing me for the past two weeks, he informed me that my body was just adjusting to the bike. As in, HTFU. Hilarious.
With the weather being like it is, I honestly didn’t have much to post about...until, flipping through pictures taken this weekend, I found a picture of these:

Women’s Sidi MTB Dominator 5. Red. Hot. Incredibly hot.
The one on display was my size [I think God’s trying to tell me and/or my credit card something], so I couldn’t resist trying them on. They’re the first MTB shoes I’ve tried and holy shit can you say comfortable?! My toes weren’t pointing up like they do with my road shoes and I could sort of walk normally. PLUS THEY’RE RED. I'm still regretting not spending the money I don't have on these! [FYI, Sidi, I wouldn't mind if you sent me a pair of these, you know, just because.]
With my luck, some luckier girl is going to walk out with that same pair next week. But that’s okay; I’m telling myself that despite how incredibly sexy they are, they won’t match either of my bikes, nor would I be able to do longer rides with SPD pedals, anyway. Still...don’t they look good on me?!
And if shoes don’t excite you on this otherwise dreary day, how’s a sick Geekhouse ‘cross bike for you? This baby is now sitting pretty in NYC Velo; Marty himself even brought it from Boston. Which is a good thing, because it’s something like a 56cm [don’t quote me on that], and Andy actually asked me if I could bring it down with me this past weekend. I’m not sure if he wanted me to strap it to my back or actually try to ride it, but both would have resulted in a destroyed Geekhouse by yours truly.

Granted, it would have been funny to watch, but I’m pretty sure both Marty and Andy would have killed me.
Okay that’s all I got for you on this seriously shitty hump day. Vicarious retail therapy. Speaking of which...anyone have any short-sleeve jersey recommendations?