candy coated

I have a friend who is the quintessential dude.
Not "dude" as in Big-Lebowski-esque dude, but the frat boy kind that hits the gym twice a day and eats protein bars everyday [which even he agrees taste absolutely disgusting]. He openly admits to feeling weird when he doesn't have at least two beers in both hands, and has a very defined concept of what girls should look like.
Given the fact that I'm no delicate flower in heels and short skirts, in my friend's eyes, I conveniently [and fortunately] fall into that gray area between "guy friends" and "girls I'd hit." Probably closer to the "guy friends" though.
Still, I've noticed that he's the only one out of my group of we-survived-studying-together-for-all-of-1L-year friends [who are all male] to actually still treat me like a girl. Just when I was starting to think I'd achieved "guy friend" status.

But despite the sometimes unasked for and unnecessary advice he might give ["if you want to impress a guy, let him watch the game and bring beer"], it's still sort of nice that someone's picking up on the fact that I'm not a total dude [yet]. I was starting to think that that was limited to bike mechanics and polo friends.
It sometimes results in awkwardness though. Like when a bike mechanic/friend excuses his language before swearing. True, people might not be fully aware that I swear like a sailor but I end up at a loss for words. It makes me start to think that maybe people think I am a delicate flower, not the tank dropping f-bombs.

That's exactly what happened when I picked up some new tires [Halo Twin Rail ones] yesterday at Boston Bicycle. Dan excused his language before he used the word "fuck." As usual, I sort of just blinked and spluttered. Awkward. Still, that didn't keep me from unashamedly dancing around my apartment in happiness and excitement after fitting the aforementioned tires to my pink rim. It's so cute. In all its candy-coated glory.
Maybe I'm starting to accept this whole "being a girl" thing more.

guilty panic

I'm currently on spring break...and there just aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done.
I have more than a few deadlines coming up, along with the list of things I should be doing [but am not], the things I have to do [which I'm scrambling to get done] and the things that I'm forcefully making time for [which I don't have to do per se but I need it to stay sane].
And I'm still feeling guilty. I woke up today with this to welcome me. More guilt. It's not finished yet [clearly].

Those four letters took a few good solid hours of straight work. I love the challenge, and anyone that can come up with an interesting, really complicated idea will always get my attention. The whole design for this hat - being made as a prize for the Freddy v. Jason alleycat sponsored by Cambridge Bikes next week - is going to be suh-weeeet.
I just need to get it done. Neurotic worry and guilt are fueling the too-late-night sessions that only end when I realize it's well past midnight and I need to be up and functioning in less than six hours. What can I say, I like to keep my promises. Or, more accurately, I abhor the idea of being considered flaky.
It's too early to worry about this already [hat work starts after dinner]. Still, I'm terrified that the rest of the hat's not going to work out, or I'm somehow going to fuck things up.
And then I sometimes worry [when I'm stressed, moody, and tired...like right now] that no one really gives a shit. Yup, that's right; all you're hearing from me today is "wah wah wah." Which means it's time I got off the Internet [at least for a little bit] and go on a bike ride.

tractorino

Meaning "little tractor" in Italian, it's also a label you stick on a certain type of girl [according to a friend's Italian boyfriend]. You know, the kind that probably can lift as much as the guys and likes to play rugby. The kind that's usually really nice and down to earth but you'd sort of think twice before inviting her out to anything that might require her to wear a dress.
Ever since I learned about the term, I've applied it to others, and avoided the obvious.
And then someone pointed in my general direction and said "tank."
I laughed, awkwardly [while thinking "thanks, now please stfu"]. Okay, granted it wasn't directed at me, per se, but more at the [coincidental] Italian I ride. The tractorino. I mean, it's true, she is a tank/tractor, but she's always been straight, clean lines and sexy curves in my eyes. Being able to ride her over babies, mounds of snow, and most of Boston's potholes without feeling a thing doesn't categorize her as a tank; at least not for me.

But in weather and snow like this, I'm almost glad to be riding a tractorino, rather than the foppishly dandy Brit I'm working on building up. She's tough and reliable, with the added plus of balancing me out. And as the sheer number of fat people with those tiny network laptops at my school has taught me, balance is an important thing.
I think most people passing Cambridge Bikes would also agree. A few weeks ago, Natalya of Pedal Power Photography approached me in the shop and asked if she could take pictures of me "commuting." This involved me pedaling on ice-covered snow [hence why one foot isn't in the toe clip], slowly. I actually stumbled off my bike about 3 seconds after the picture was taken, although Natalya's photo skills make me look a lot more competent than I really am.

I still look ridiculous in my knee high wool socks and shants, but that tractorino's working overtime dealing with ice, snow, and my winter pudge, while simultaneously not looking that ridiculous underneath me.
I call that an impressive feat.

lounging regularly

I spent far too much time this weekend leaning over a particular counter in Allston. I'm working on wearing an indent into that space.
It's, of course, the IBC counter. And it didn't involve anything dirtier than bike grease and some of Herrell's heath bar brownie crumbs. Oh yeah, and chips. Chips are crucial.
Well, so are cookies. At least for the IBC Regular's Lounge that should be installed [mostly for my benefit]. Chris has already promised to fund the eternal cookies-and-chips supply for said lounge. I plan on warming the seats for other regulars. Eric, Erich, Jeremy et al. will be providing endless entertainment [possibly involving blood, even!]. It'll be one of the most coveted lounges in Boston.

To make things even better sweeter, I'd even consider busting out these cups [pictured above, not the other ones] for the really hardcore regulars. I got them in the mail as a late Christmas present from my best friend; they're a mid-West vintage find and seriously one of the coolest gifts I've ever gotten.
We agreed that they almost look like confetti cupcakes. Small and just the right size for really good hot chocolate or hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick poking out of it, I'm almost glad it's still winter. And with five in the set, it's the perfect number for a solid group of good [bike] friends.
Can someone start a petition for the Regular's Lounge? A big cup of Irish coffee wouldn't hurt either, especially after a ride in this snow...

<3 + bike...a contest winner!

It's officially March, which means someone's winning the "heart breaker" hat.
And that special someone is RMM of Euphoria Before Total Implosion whose story is:

I was stumped about what to get my love for V Day. Obviously, I went to Burdicks and got fancy chocolates, but that didn't even come close to conveying the deep and lasting love that I have for my Natasha. Confused and in a panic, I stopped into Cambridge Bicycle, thinking that perhaps someone in there could help me in my quest. Immediately I saw it: A red PedalStrike hat with white polka dots. Perfect. Within seconds, I went from an inadequate sh++heel of a gift giver to perfect loving husband who always knows what to get for a special occasion.

After I got home from my 4 hour Valentine's morning training ride we exchanged gifts. I was so proud pulling out my gifts, knowing that I had done well. Natasha was thrilled with my present. She squealed with delight and immediately put the cap on her head and we indulged in her chocolates. She informed me that my present was under my pillow. It was the last brass bicycle ding ding bell that Broadway Bicycle School had in stock. I have been lusting after this bell for months. It has a deep and lasting ring. I could not justify the extravagant purchase, as my current bell is working just fine and money is tight in the household right now.

It was a nice Valentine's day, especially since we both know each other so well that we are able get each other such perfect presents. Natasha will be wearing her new cycling cap under her helmet on her ride tomorrow and I will be installing my coveted ding ding on my bike tomorrow.

Okay, granted I'm giving RMM this hat on the condition that he wear it ironically. I mean, did you read his story? He's clearly living the dream in terms of <3 + bike, and it reads like a "how to" on the perfect Valentine's Day if your other significant other [not the bike] likes bikes too.

Thanks to all who submitted stories/experiences, etc!!! I got a surprising number of submissions for being a relatively obscure website, and it's great to hear that some people were really interested in the hat! More contests will be held in the future so stay tuned!
Now pull on some layers and go ride your bike.

lack of tired-ness

It's funny how you realize how neurotic your whole entire family is when you spend some time away. It's also, ironically, what makes going home so great: you fit right in, and you don't have to worry about acting "normal" anymore.
I'm not at home, but I take comfort in the fact that my Mom is probably working non-stop on her lacquer-ware [she's an artist]. She doesn't question how I'll stay up into the wee hours of the morning slouched over, embroidering a piece of cloth. Neurotic devotion loves company, I guess.
But I think anyone, even people outside my family, will agree that it's hard to get tired when you're doing something you really love. Well, until much later. Like right now. My legs are finally feeling juiced out, after doing laps from Allston to downtown, to Cambridge and back to Brighton. I don't usually ride this much, but having been introduced to this concept of "freedom," [well, until the library opens again on Monday] I was at a loss as to what to do, other than pedal, pedal, pedal. And though I'm not at home, talking with nearly all my bike friends today came close enough. Because neurotic devotion for the same exact thing is always a guaranteed good time.

First stop was at polo; I hadn't been to the court in months. And with a warmer weather, it seemed like everyone showed up. Boston's Cutest Polo Player was in attendance [I failed to get a pic], as was Boston's Hottest Polo Player [seen below].
And you know how the East Side Polo Invitational is being held here in Beantown in May? The teams coming up are going to face some stiff competition from our home teams. We're just not happy with the whole "one mallet" concept, so we figure double-fisting couldn't hurt. I mean, not as applied to polo at least.

Neurotic devotion? Probably. Are we going to own all the teams that come up for ESPI? Most definitely. Will we be the hottest players there? Yes, yes, and yes.
As I challenged the bald guy in the blue sedan who patronizingly tried to tell me to move over as I flipped him the bird on Comm Ave [which rendered him into some sputtering rage, in response to which I laughed]:
Bring it.