spinning out

Excuse the late evening posting recently, but it's been warm out.
Which means I haven't been getting enough work done, but it's not like the balmy weather's going to last much longer. Which also means I've been spending the day [since getting out of class] pedaling as hard as I can [to places where I can drink coffee]. The freezing cold almost made me forget how much fun it is to go so fast you're spinning out [although, yeah, I'm geared low]. Almost.

My excuse for blowing off the day? I'm officially on spring break, although it's not really spring, nor much of a break.
Still, I'm not complaining. The past few days have been akin to rubbing my face on cheese graters. It's not even the work, which can be sort of mind-numbing and prone to dammit-did-I-just-drool-everywhere-? naps, but the whole song and dance I tend to do at school. Smile, be sociable, pretend I don't have a secret life. Repeat.

Not that this secret life of mine is very exciting, mind you, but it does a lot to retain my sanity. And when things like "the economy" and "the world" start spinning out of control, well, it's nice to be able to hang onto something [even if it's just a fixed cyclocross bike].
Wait, scratch that. Especially when it's a fixed cyclocross bike...and coupled with coffee.

rose sky

It's in the 40s today, which means that the cyclists are out in full force. I saw my morning older-bearded-dude-on-road-bike-with-bright-yellow-wind-jacket and the girl-on-hybrid-who-always-looks-really-really-happy-to-be-coasting-down-the-hill-I'm-trying-to-struggle-up. Those are the only cyclists I usually see. Older-bearded-dude usually does either the slight hand raise or nod of what I like to imagine is a seasoned cyclist salute of mutual respect for commuting through the winter. The girl just ignores me in her happiness.
Using the warmer weather as an excuse, I flew out of school after class to drop by therapy IBC [yes, I am quickly becoming the persistent, eternal customer that just stops by to "hang out," i.e. annoy the too-nice employees into listening to my banter when they have real customers to actually pay attention to who probably have more money than me]. I ended up pedaling from Brighton to Allston behind two kids on fixed gears, and was actually able to keep up! And by "keep up" I mean I wasn't trying to act cool with one hand off the bars while my nostrils flared in my attempts to suck in enough air to keep me from passing out. Like, I was really able to keep up.

On my way home under a rose tinted sky, I saw at least four other cyclists - roadies, hybrids, and last but not least, a black cruiser with full fenders and a pretty wicker basket in the front, full of groceries. It was pretty enough to make me sort of want one - despite my slight aversion to step-through frames.
The image sort of slowly died this sad, cringe-inducing death as I watched [and eventually flew past] the woman on said cruiser attempt to crest a slight incline in heels with no helmet.
Maybe I'll file that cruiser for when I move to a European city.

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!