lucky

There are apparently some things every girl should do. One of those things is to take the most roundabout route to your local bike shop with a bottle of champagne tucked away in your baileyworks. Oh, yeah, and ride fast.
Because when bottles of Veuve Clicquot are involved, good things happen.
Being pressured to at least come out to the "Champagne and 40s" themed pre-party ["because we're classy...and we're not"] for the law prom I refused to go to, I threw a bottle of champagne in my bag with a bottle of water before heading out on a quick ride yesterday. The ride was super short, so I sprinted as fast as I could, whenever I could, trying to make my thighs feel that searing burn.

Disgustingly sweaty and breathless, I stopped by IBC on my way home. I expected to drop in for a quick chat and be less of a wobbly-kneed, steamy mess when I left. Lucky for me, though, I happened to walk in on Erich building one of my wheels.
Despite the initial "Ahhh don't look!!!" I got to watch my Miche hubs being laced to my front Deep V rim with DT Swiss Competition double-butted spokes and black brass nipples. This was, admittedly, the first time I've seen a wheel being built; much less one for me. Naturally, I took enough pictures to make a Japanese tourist proud.

The black nipples were Erich's idea, and I initially didn't think it would make a huge difference, and was expecting silver nipples anyway. How wrong I was! Like [unnecessarily] painted toe nails in the winter, it's the small details that simultaneously pull everything together and turn up the sophistication factor like woah.

"Bike Parts Learning Time with Erich" unfortunately had to end before the whole thing went into the truing stand [and yes the above picture is a sneak peek at the already completed rear wheel]. Mostly because I was already late to the pre-party, and I had champagne to deliver. I tore myself away from that coveted space behind the counter, next to a bike stand that held up something too pretty to articulate with words, to get back on my trusty tractorino.
I'm stopping into IBC again today. It's going to be another good day. I can just tell.

trying to chew

I hit the snooze button this morning. Almost twice.
That's a pretty big deal for someone who can't manage to sleep past 8am, even if I end up going to sleep at 3am. To sweeten the whole deal, I've even managed to sleep like the dead these past couple of days, not getting up restlessly in the middle of the night/early morning. This morning, I woke up and was positively giddy...and I had no idea why.
But as I hopped out of bed and inspected my gigantor thighs [and coming to the conclusion that they can use much more definition], I remembered exactly why. I passed out last night thinking of 100-milers, kits, and training sessions with friends...all on a fixed gear. And I was close to convincing myself that it could actually happen.

Blame Facebook on this one. When I put up "100 miles + fixed gear. Discuss" as a status message, I expected people to discourage me from even attempting it. Too bad friends were all too willing to help me meet this goal. And because I hate to disappoint, well...looks like I'm training for a century.
Assuming my knees don't completely crap out, this means a lot of serious riding and probably a good measure of cross-training, too. This idea scares me; I'd actually consider facing the embarrassment of falling on my face in front of [insert name of hot messenger/cyclist/biker boy] as I try to clip out over the blood, sweat, and tears that's going to be involved in this endeavor.

Yeah, I totally bit off more than I can chew on this one. I did consider backpedaling my way out of it, but couldn't justify it without trying. And as I started contemplating how exactly to start chewing, I remembered an incident last year involving an insensitively inappropriate joke and my best friend. It had us both in fits of laughter in front of our respective computers [as always, it was over gchat]:
Me: I almost snorted out coffee all over my screen!
Lauren: I'm eating a cookie, and I'm laughing so hard I can't taste it.
As embarrassing and terribly painful as this training thing might turn out to be, here's hoping that even if I did manage to bite off more than I can chew, maybe I'll be laughing so hard that it won't even matter.

perfectly dreary

Spring might have finally arrived in Boston; and I, always fashionably late, am just trying to start this whole "training" thing.
It's probably sort of misguided, having only 1.5 bikes, both being fixed. There's really no way I'm going to be able to keep up with anything with gears. But, I figure, I might as well try.
So I'm adding a few miles here and there, sprinting as hard as I can for as long as I can [or until cars and potholes force me to slow down], and trying to perfect the Lance Armstrong method of climbing mountains/owning everyone around me. All mostly because the thought of seeing two friends from school all kitted out is way too good to pass up. And if I'm going to get any pictures of them while they ride, I better be able to keep up.

Of course this means that I've been forgetting to take decent/good/interesting pictures these days. I'm blaming the weather for today - it's dreary out with light rain showers sprinkled throughout the day. That's not conducive to picture-taking.
Still, any window these days is distracting enough that I'm choosing to study in the dank darkness of the library basement. It might be dreary out, but it's perfect weather for riding. Warm enough to make me feel guilty about not riding enough, and just the right amount of cool wind to keep me from being a sloppy, sweaty mess by the end of my ride.
Man, I can't wait to get back on the bike today...!

me, myself, and i

A few weeks ago someone asked me what the patch on my bag was about.
"What's 'pedal strike'? Like a band or something?"
Due to the fact that I keep my blog/hats/personal life details far farrrrrrr away from law school, I managed to mutter something about what pedal strike is, fixed gears, bicycles, and something about a nickname.
...Yeah...um...what? Nickname? No one calls me "pedal strike," even though it's way easier to pronounce than my real name. Okay, granted, if I was actually okay with letting people at school know about my life, it might have been easier to explain. But I still find myself stumbling over words when people ask me about the "pedal strike" thing, even though I'll smack it on hats, websites, and even bikes.

I'd hate to call it a "brand," mostly because it sounds so pretentious. "Logo" is only marginally better; it still seems to smack of commercialized bullshit and the implication that I should be handing out [figurative] blowjobs to get people to like my stuff. And I don't like to, because I'm selfish and lazy and deluded enough to think that I'm better than that.
Although that's completely not true, because my ego totally blew up when I saw "pedal strike" on the Freddy vs. Jason alleycat flier. Staring at it was almost better than that post-coital smugness you feel before you pass out in bliss. And while relationships based solely on how well you get along with the other person [or, activity in this case] between the sheets are never a great idea, no one said they weren't fun. At least for a little while.

Not that my relationship with my hats, sewing machine, "creative side" has devolved to that point yet. My fling with "marketing," "brands," and "labels" was always just that though. So I might be sticking "pedal strike" everywhere these days, but I'm going to justify that by saying that it's more personal than just a "brand," it's about me. Me, myself, and I.
Masturbation? Maybe. But hey, at least I'm not handing out blowjobs.

bend over

My finals are going to kill me.
There, I said it. No more deluded denial. It's now published and therefore a reality I'm going to have to face. Never mind that they're in May, but 4 law exams nearly back to back...that's sort of like having your brain put through a blender while you simultaneously get raped by an elephant.
When we got on the topic of finals, and it finally started to sink in how much my finals were going to fuck with my life, a friend gave me a sage bit of advice:
"Bend over."

At this point, that's pretty much all I can do. And I have been...just not at the library [yet]. With spring finally making its way to Boston, I've been bent over my bike, chin nearly touching my handlebars, and pumping my legs like my life depends on it, while my inner Rahm Emanuel screams in my ear [the infamous], "Don't fuck this up!!!"

Yeah I should be applying this mentality to my classes, books, outlines, briefs, whatever. Yeah I should just start sleeping in the library. Yeah I should work more efficiently.
But honestly, who gives a shit when it's this nice out?
[Happy St. Patty's Day to everyone!]

transporter

The past few days, I've been feeling like a smack addict with only visitation rights to her children.
Maybe that's a slight exaggeration.
But with the warmer weather, people talking about the warmer weather, seeing more people on bikes, and velospace...bike shops aren't just therapy - more like methadone clinics. I pedal there, shuffle in, get my fix in the form of bike banter or just hanging out, then pedal home to wait for the next bout of cravings.
I'm beginning to think maybe smack withdrawals would be easier to handle than this anticipation concerning my new baby. It's gotten me doing ridiculous things that, in another life, I would have just not considered doing. Case in point:

I decided that the easiest way to get two deep Vs and a pair of tires to IBC would be to just throw them over one shoulder [I did strap my bag on too, just prematurely took the picture]. Never mind that I could have just taken the T; I figured why not, and once I was out the door with my bike, there's never any turning back.
It worked out well. No crashes, despite the fact that I decided it would be a good idea to go as fast as possible to every single location I hit up yesterday. I blame that decision on this addiction, fueled by my own measure of crazy. And, you know, these darling hubs that were waiting for me:

Yeah I couldn't afford Phils, and to be honest, these are going to outlast my knees equally as well. Besides, they're pretty. And anything with two lockrings on either end will get my attention, stat.
I ended up ogling more pretty things at both Cambridge Bikes and Boston Bikes later where chips and stories of getting people arrested were provided. I even got to touch my very first EAI cog. And while I tried to act pretty nonchalant about the whole thing that nearly black 18-toothed sprocket got me fantasizing. I actually saw it - for 2 whole seconds before the fantasy was interrupted by Dan informing me of its price - pressed against that my Miche hub, cradled by a lockring, and spinning like a good Motown record on a vintage turntable.
The sane part of me made me hand it back, because otherwise I'll be staring at it lovingly until I fail my finals. Still...this addiction really isn't going anywhere, anytime soon [IBC and CB - I can't be back soon enough!].