inferiority complex

So I'm still feeding off the trackosaurus-rex-posting-plus-garrett-chow-facebook-friending extravaganza of Monday. I'm not going to lie, that totally made my week life.
Sure, my 15 minutes of fame might already be over, but I was having a hard time thinking up new [blogging] goals. Think Lance after winning the Tour seven times, minus the dating hot models and celebrities [unfortunately]. I sat there, watching the hit count on this blog skyrocket, and patted myself on the back. Go me.
Of course, within 24 hours of that, blowing myself got kind of old. And, like Lance, there's not much that can really get me to give up...well...anything. Besides, there's a bike to be built up, more hats to be made, and I'm convinced that some people out there will continue to be interested in the trials and tribulations of a girl who can barely stay on her first fixed gear.

Which brings me to the actual bike-riding part of my life. I mean, sure Lance and I could probably make some legit hill-climbing babies...but what about owning those time trials? I'm not saying he's not fast - just that I wouldn't ever want him to slow down [that much] for me. After, you know, [he realizes we were totally meant to be and] we get married.
Actually, I wouldn't want any boy on a bike slowing down for me. Even though I don't so much ride my bike as crawl around on it in traffic. So, like Lance [do you see how we're made for each other?], my competitive side/inferiority complex has gotten me sprinting on my commute.
I may have achieved my personal dream blog goal, but here's to new ones: not running into cars, getting faster, and a larger thigh to arm ratio!

tailwind

A friend asked me a few days ago what exactly would prevent my biking to school - snow? sleet? driving rain?
Embarrassed at admitting the truth, I just shrugged.
Ever since, my weather arch-nemesis - strong, gusty wind - has been making a recurring appearance.
Yesterday morning I felt like I was on a wind resistance trainer, except that there were cars passing by, I was outside, and I had the added pleasure of trying not to sprain my neck while the wind tried to rip my helmet off my head. Oh yeah, and it involved some gasping-fish-out-of-water faces whenever the wind got so bad that I couldn't breathe.

My thighs, by the time I limped my way to school, felt like someone had put them in a vice and then injected them with battery acid. The worst part was knowing that on the way home, the wind will probably have reversed direction.
But then something unbelievable happened. Something I've sort of fantasized about, but then would immediately try to forget because I figure it'll never happen. But it did. I got featured on trackosaurus rex!!!
My eyes almost popped out of my face when I saw the post. My mind exploded when hit counts on this blog exceeded 400. 600+ and I almost swooned in excitement.
And then Garrett Chow of MASH SF fame accepted my friend request on Facebook.
Headwind be damned, I can now officially die a happy girl [okay, pending building up that Dolan and riding it around first].

bikes are...forever?

Yeah, okay, I can't keep this secret.
I thought about trying, and then one day being like BAM! NEW BIKE! WHAAAAAAATTT! Buuuuut, that's obviously not going to work out. I was probably the last one to see that, probably because I was busy jumping up and down and clapping my hands in glee. Because Erich had a box for me at the shop today.
He had to actually encourage me to pull this out and unwrap it. It's unreal. I can't believe that she's mine.

And yes, it's tiny: a 45cm track bike that takes 700cc wheels. The only one I could find that wouldn't require a custom job [and oodles of money], and that I could comfortably stand over. The decals are coming off [sorry Terry, but I'm not too keen on advertising your website wherever I go], and it's going to go through lots of changes.
And money. And time. When I mentioned how broke this bike was making me, the conversation inevitably turned to how pissed girlfriends might be if certain guys spent more money on their bikes. We unanimously came to the conclusion, however, that those expenses were almost always justified:
Jeremy: But girlfriends come and go...bikes will...
Me: Last you at least five years.
'Nuff said.
Note: the $$$ Trek mountain bike behind my new frame. That thing is more bike than I could ever hope to own.

tessie

Every Bostonian that reads this blog will probably understand the title reference. Or they should, if they consider themselves true Bostonians. Especially when it's coupled with this:

Yeah I know, I said I wouldn't make another one. But I owe Jeremy this kind of maddening, eye-straining, muffled-scream inducing embroidery work, mostly because my bike almost bit off his finger a few weeks ago.
Okay, so it didn't cut it off [it resulted in a puncture-wound-plus-laceration combo, according to Jeremy], but it still weighed on my conscience. I mean, he could have lost his finger over my bike. A bike that, despite how much I love it, really isn't worthy of fingers!

As I blinked and gaped in shock, Jeremy actually smiled and wished me a good afternoon if he didn't see me before I left as he stepped outside for a few minutes. Everyone else just went about their business. I felt like I was taking crazy pills...!
When he came back:
Chris: How deep did it go in?
Jeremy: Only a few millimeters.
Chris: That's what she said.
...Boys [especially in bike shops] will be boys.
Note: The Heartbreaker contest is still going on until the end of the week!

broke and dreams

I'm broke.
Not dead-fucking-broke [yet], but uncomfortably broke. Extremely uncomfortably broke when all I do in my free time is build up my dream bike piece by loving piece. Chris King headset [the sotto voce one...in pink!, or no...classic silver?...but the pink's so cute...], silver Nitto drops, Champs grips [pink, def...mayyyybe white], pink deep V in the back, white or pink in the front...or maybe those polka dot ones?...
Needless to say, before I became officially broke, I was already calculating how to cut living costs to afford this dream-o-cycle. I mean, there's a certain amount I can sink into this bike but if my calculator is correct [don't trust mental math from this Asian], the wheelset's going to eat up that $$$.

Which consequently means I won't be eating much. I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse: I'll be extremely cranky, but I'll slim down [finally!]. And it's not like my pantry's bare [yet], I have a big-ass bag of rice sitting in my kitchen; and I know a good place to get day old bagels [yes, I'm fully aware of how sad this sounds].
I also understand the irony of a bicycle finally kicking my ass into losing weight, cutting expenses, and being more responsible. All things that even the idea of the approaching warmer weather and more revealing clothing [or even a cute boy on a bike!] couldn't motivate me to do.
In a way, I find that oddly comforting, like affirmation that this obsession of mine is for realz. Now, if I can only find a way to squeeze stem, seatpost, seat, cog, tubes, and tires money from my non-existent funds...

the birds and the v's

As pathetic as it sounds, if you had asked me last year if about Deep V rims, I probably would have assumed that you were talking about either a) some new sex move I hadn't heard of, or b) a porno.
I still sort of weird myself out every time I think "wow, I want a pair of Deep V's." It's only slightly better than my absolute dread at saying the word "lockring" in public because I know something else is bound to come out and I'm going to look like a total freak.
That hasn't kept me from wanting them though. It's sort of made me want them even more, in a perverse kind of way. I mean, how awesome would it be to get people to say "woah, look at her Deep V's"?
Okay I take that back, that sounds kind of gross.
But guess what came in the mail a few days ago?

Pretty in pink, it's sitting out in my tiny hallway, waiting for hubs, spokes, and yes, nipples. It's strategically placed so it's the first thing I see when I open my front door. It's better than the cat I wanted a few months ago to alleviate the sheer depression of coming home to an empty apartment, or the tv I've been wanting for over a year.
So when a friend asked me last Friday what I was up to after class, I naturally told him the truth:
"I'm going home to lick my new rim."