rim friction

Inexplicably, I get less sleep on the weekends than during the week.
Well, "inexplicably" to the ordinary person. Usually asleep by 1am, up by 6am the following morning, I try to be out the door and on the bike by 7. Anyone who goes out on training rides knows the deal. Besides, riding early means less traffic and having the planned route all to yourself. And riding alone means I can sometimes sleep in until 7, without worrying about scrambling to meet a friend.
Even on 5 hours of sleep, the freedom of flying down wherever on a bicycle is totally worth it.
After a long week, I was aching to go on a ride Saturday. I got up and did the usual routine of not stretching enough and forcing myself to eat before jumping on my newly-freewheeled bike. I had a shorter ride planned and my bag stuffed with gym clothes and running shoes to force myself to head directly to the gym afterwards. And coasting down Beacon, I was on the fringes of zoning out. Finally.

Still searching for that happily numb flat-lining my brain does when I'm out on a ride, I pulled on the brakes at a red light. And as I attempted to hop back on, I felt resistance.
Confused, I looked back at my rear wheel and saw something I am [unfortunately] all too familiar with. A misaligned wheel [from when the hub was flipped over on Friday] was rubbing up against one of the brake pads. I was only about 7 miles in.
My slowly forming bubble of happiness popped. In fact, it shattered into a million sharp pieces which then dug into a rapidly reviving stress monster. My adjustable wrench was lying on the floor of my apartment. I was somewhere in Waltham. Total suck fail.

I refused to turn back and just pulled at the brake pad to loosen it whenever I stopped. Each tug was coupled with a sigh that was also fueling an exploding sense of bitchery. This was the worst day for this to happen.
Ironically, I was only able to zone out much later as I ran on a treadmill. The wheel got realigned after my scheduled time in purgatory [read: the gym] and the promise of a better ride the next day alleviated the panicked sense of bike hypochondria.
Yeah, I know, another [preferably geared] bike I can use for training rides would be [more than] useful. I'm working on it. Really.
[I know, I didn't post this weekend...but if you're really curious about what I'm up to, I just may be on twitter...]

bike stupid

My parents are both typically Japanese...and not.
They're typically rarely [overtly, at least] proud of their daughters' accomplishments. But they managed to skip the "parent stupid" phase where everything their children did was endearing and adorable. Maybe our faults were pretty blatant from the beginning. Maybe they didn't want to be "those parents." Maybe they just kept their excitement to themselves. Who knows.
And while I inherited most of their stoicism, when it comes to the things I love, I inevitably cave into the stupid.
Because despite the dings all over my top tube, the dirt caked on parts of my bike, and my rear white tire that's turning into a dark gray from all the brake dust, I still think my bike is hot shit. And despite the fair number of douchebags on high end bicycles, I still love bike people.
Which is why I'll get up early on Saturday morning - earlier than I get up for work during the week - to go on a quick ride before the rest of life wakes up to start the day. And happily, I wasn't alone; I ran into my fair share of cyclists, legit and kitted out, riding things much more expensive than the tractorino between my legs.

And I even got my fair share of the cyclist nod. That coveted acknowledgement of belonging in an exclusively special group of cyclists-bordering-on-insanity-because-no-one-should-be-riding-this-early-on-a-weekend-morning. I mean, let's ignore the fact that it was sometimes coupled with a quizzical look of confusion ["wtf is this girl doing?"]; we're not going to sweat the details here. The important point being that it happened [right?].
The best part being the pack of roadies I passed on the way home, obviously mid-training ride, and the sunglassed glances pointed in my direction. Baileyworks on my back, fender on my back tire, an earlier version of myself would have blushed in embarrassment. But being bike stupid, I smiled instead, half tempted to blow them a kiss.

Later on in the day, shuffling through pictures taken earlier in the week, I came across one taken of my bike locked up in front of the grocery store. The front wheel turned towards the rack, it looked almost coquettish in the early evening light. I thought it was the cutest thing, ever.
Yeah, I know, I might need treatment for this.

a cyclist's dilemma

I got rained on yesterday - for the first time this summer.
It wasn't even heavy rain, and lasted a mere 5 minutes. But lacking a front fender, my legs were instantly covered in beads of water, raising goosebumps on my unevenly tanned appendages.
It was the first time, in a while, that I was sort of uncomfortable on my bike. And between dodging puddles and eyeing the overcast sky, I was actually thankful that I had a run scheduled yesterday afternoon, and no ride.
As much as I'd love to move to Seattle, sometimes I wonder how much riding I'd get in if I actually did.

The nicer weather's definitely been spoiling me. Rain shouldn't even be a problem, just sort of messy. There's no ice or snow involved, no layers and layers of clothing to stay warm, no feeling as if I'm pedaling with all my might but not moving. But I'm still trying to dodge the outdoors, and using gyming, errands, and overdue hat orders as excuses to stay inside.
Lame, I know. I mean, I know. The worst part is that gymming is just...so much easier. Running indoors on a treadmill at a gym conveniently located on my way home from work takes no psychological effort. On the other hand, planning a route, making sure I have everything I need [tubes, pump, energy bar, water, etc.] for a ride, then actually throwing down even a so-so number of miles is much more mentally straining. And when it's wet, humid, and rainy out, motivation conveniently slips away and is nowhere to be found.

I'm running again today [the guilt!]. But only because tomorrow morning looks like it's going to be clear. And that means a real bike ride.
Faux-roadie-proseur weekend, here I come!

stretched thin

Wow.
I haven't seen you in months. And while I never thought it would work out between you and me...well, I'm having doubts.
Because these days, we've been seeing so much more of each other. I've been resisting it, though, and I always tell myself how it might not be a good idea to pay yet another visit. But I do anyway - it's becoming part of a routine by now - convinced that I'm going to leave in tears.
Is it me or have you changed? I'm actually starting to enjoy our time together. You're so different from everything else I'm used to...and I'm starting to feel like that that isn't so bad. And after our sessions together, I come home, lie on the floor and just think about you. Staring up at my ceiling, slightly dazed, trying to absorb what just happened.

That's not to say you don't leave me in some pain. You do. Oh, you do. Some days more than others. Which is why I've avoided you for so long. I couldn't keep up with you physically, so I just gave up and didn't bother trying.
I guess it's better to fail than to never try at all. Or, at least that's what I've been thinking these days. See, you've even gotten me being kind of optimistic! Seriously, sometimes I really question what's been going on. And I'm always questioning "us".
You know I'm careful with that kind of thing, though. And with everything on my plate, I can hardly manage a relationship.

I don't want to scare you away...but...I don't know...I might, just might, be kinda falling for you.
Oh, gym, do you think we can make it work?

kind of special

It's official.
It takes a special kind of person to leave the office at 5pm, change, get on a bike, and throw down some training miles. The obsessed kind of special where groups of friends heading to bars on beautiful Tuesday evenings can simply be ignored, exhaustion from a busy day at work is pushed aside, and sitting in front of the TV after work is just not an option.
Not that I have a TV, but I really do not want to belong to this special group of people.

I headed out to do my first longer ride after work yesterday. I'm totally okay with heading to the gym and sweating out a few miles on a treadmill after work, but back on the bike, it took a monumental effort to even do a mere 30 miles. The day at the office was spent immersed in one massive case, which meant that I was counting down the minutes until 5pm. And when that magic number appeared on the clock, it was time to squeeze the last drops of physical energy out of my legs.
It seemed like a bad idea from the start. I got home to refill my water bottle and jersey-fy and found that I was out of energy bars. Screw it, I thought, and headed out anyway. And while the route was relatively flat [compared to the 40 mile route I usually do], it made it sort of more boring. I was already tired, getting hungry, and starting to mentally kick myself for conjuring up this idea when I have to run tomorrow.

Because it takes a special kind of neurotic, too, to do rides after work. And it's not just a competitive kind of neurotic. You really have to love bicycles and everything about them to do it. Passionate neurosis, I guess. The key ingredient for anyone carving out a couple hours out of their day to pedal away. Social obligations get delayed, as does dinner, and of course, just life in general.

But then again, if I wasn't out there yesterday evening, sweating, hurting, and fighting that voice that told me I could turn back after 12 miles, I would never have seen a toilet plunked down on the side of the road. Something that, while you could appreciate from the driver's seat of a car, you can really only fully experience when you hop off your bike next to it, to snap a picture.
It's sort of gross, but it made me smile. I'm going back later this week to make sure it's still there.

[imaginary] friends

One reason I tend to ride alone is the blissful ignorance of how fast I am not going. No fancy cycloputer on my handlebars, no stop watch, just a cell phone and a mental note of when I roll out.
Of course, when you ride with friends with gears, everything sort of changes.
Not in a bad way, though. You just start to see things differently. And while I dread using the word, in a way you start to compare.
Heading out this morning on a ride, alone, I almost wondered why I wasn't with a friend or two. It's gorgeous out. Just cool enough to keep the sweat from flowing down your face in rivets, and the sun shining just enough to head out in shorts and a jersey. Not even a strong wind to discourage the ride; and thank God for that, because I was definitely dragging my cleats.

Those are sort of the times I wish I had a friend who didn't have social obligations on Saturdays, and would drag me out on rides. Maybe someone on a single-speed. Because remembering the constant dropping and catching up of a few days ago, my ego wanted to be coddled a bit, not shattered into a million pieces.
I was still pretending, though, that Matt was churning those cranks ahead of me, almost hearing that wet sound of a chain being funneled through a derailleur, and the clickety-click of shifting gears. I mashed harder on the hills, imagining him ahead of me in that bright white kit, and flat terrain meant I had to go even faster to catch up to an imaginary friend.
And I did it fast. As fast as Matt and I did it last time, even. And descending those hills, I remembered how Matt flew down them. Finally catching up to him, I said:
"You don't like to use your brakes, do you?"

He smirked in response as he shook his head. Ah, the irony of learning that brakes are unnecessary from a roadie. Or, maybe it's not so ironic at all.
Home at last, I stretched while struggling out of a sweaty jersey, shorts, and cycling cap. And oddly enough, I finally realized that while my friends may be working while I ride, I'm sort of carrying them with me wherever I go. The jersey from IBC, the spoke bracelet from Chris [plus the two bracelets from my best friend], the cycling cap from CB.
Then, of course, there's the bike. But that a whole nother story involving more friends, sub-stories, and a few broken parts. Suffice it to say that it's the product of a lot of love, and of course, very real friends.