sweaty carnage

Is the week over yet?
I've been a complete mess this week. The week I decide to take an hour out of my day to bike bike bike, I end up with 10 million things to do. Which means that even though when I get home, all I want to do is limp to my shower and then crawl into bed, I'm struggling through piles of papers and a legal note that's going to get ripped to shreds by my editor later today. I don't even have the time to rock back and forth in a fetal position and weep about my week.
And I was hoping to get published...but with a note about the problems of current European Community laws protecting cheese, that's not likely. And I have a "cite and substance" session today; this is a mind-numbingly boring process in which I get to sit down with a third year editor on my journal and go through my note, line for line. Every sentence is footnoted, and every footnote gets checked to make sure 1) it actually supports the sentence that I wrote, and 2) it's in perfect Bluebook form.

That also means I have to "prepare" by finding every single cited source, tabbing and numbering the page with the footnote number, and then resisting the temptation to stab my eyes out with a fork. I learned that long sentences slightly ease the pain of this process. I only had 172 footnotes.
Whatever my editor and I don't finish in three hours tonight is scheduled for Sunday evening or Monday. I'm so tempted, already, to take the short way home. I'm so tempted to just drop off the face of the earth. I'm so tempted to just give up.

Still, I'll probably take the long way home. I'm just hoping that between the ride, shower, the work for the weekend, hat making, and bed, that I can squeeze in some time to weep. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to find [and put on] my smile game face while I'm at it.
And if it wasn't obvious already, applications for domestique/cheerleader/wife positions are now being accepted.

embrocated guilt

I've been taking the long way home these days. From Newton up through Watertown, through Cambridge, Allston, then back to Brighton.
The route manages to pass by all my favorite bike shops too. When I dropped by Cambridge Bikes the other day - my future riding/training partner had promised to be there but had called in sick - Kip told me how he liked that I posted pictures of scenery and the outdoors.
Despite all the added mileage I've been doing, though, this week has been severely lacking in any pictures of the outdoors. It's a poor excuse, but going as fast as I can while dodging potholes and cars is making the whole "picture taking" thing sort of difficult. Add to that a hectic week at school and I've mostly been blogging off the weekend...for a week.
But never fear, I have my readers' best interests in mind! Because it would be downright criminal not to share this:

That's right. It's a Rapha-Indy Fab bike. Chris King headset and hubs. Pure deliciousness in bike form, it walked in with some choice members of the Embrocation Cycling Team this past weekend as I shamelessly stuffed my face full of cookies at IBC. As soon as the team parked their bikes, we gathered around them shamelessly, pointing, taking pictures, and ooh-ing and ahh-ing like a bunch of pimple-faced Star Wars nerds around the newest Princess Leia figurine.
Okay, we were a little more suave than that. I actually managed to form words when I spoke to the team, not that red faced googly-eyed stuttering I usually do...okay, there may have been some stuttering. But seriously, can you blame me? Do you have eyes? Can you see these bikes???
Jeremy of Embrocation Cycling Journal seemed to understand what I had to stutter out, and even gave me a tip to save the Embrocation poster hanging up at IBC. Using the ever-useful Facebook, I called dibs on the poster and asked friends who are real employees there to save it for me. And because they are all kinds of awesome, they obliged:

I'm still kicking myself for not making it out to the party [I'm really sorry, Jeremy!]. I blame my Constitutional Law reading: after two cases on partial birth abortions, my uterus decided to scream in terror and started spitting out chewed up placenta in protest. Yes, that's right, I just put that out on the Internet. I even bolded it. And yes, that is my lame excuse for not going to the Embrocation party.
But think of it this way. I'm confident that there will be many, many more Embrocation parties. And even if I can't keep my stuttering under control, I definitely plan on being there.

oi oi oi!

I once had the worst crush on a boy who was into ska. We're talking one of those I-can't-even-look-him-in-the-eye crushes. He never knew my name. Probably for the best, as my creepy was definitely reaching "old pedophile" levels.
My best friend tolerated my drooling, and when the crush finally disappeared one day, she proceeded to mercilessly make fun of me. I totally deserve it.
I did have a thing for checkerboard patterns, a good brass section, and the sugary sounds of pop-princess-disguised-as-rebel-punk ska before the crush though [seriously, who can resist the Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra?]. And I still love the aesthetics; studded belts are still a must, checkerboard slip on Vans are key, and I love love love my black Chucks.
I understand how Avril-esque that might make me sound; and at 25, I'm way too old to be fronting like I belong in any kind of music scene. But old ID pictures of me with pink/red/orange/purple hair will bring an embarrassed grin to my face as I shake my head at how ridiculous I used to look.

Those same old nostalgic memories of my punkier days flooded back to me last weekend when I saw the spacers on my new bike. Given the sheer amount of pink on the bike, I was almost afraid that it would be too cute; an adjective that I don't tend to identify with. But the alternating silver and black spacers - Erich's signature touch, apparently - looks, well, amazing...and balanced...and though subtle, makes the bike just so much more me.

The spacers also balanced out the cranks and the chainring that got installed the other day as well. Having been tucked away under my bed, fueling dreams of new bike days and matching rims, I finally had a bike frame to put them on. The fruits of my sweatshop labor [Thanks Jason!] finally have a home. And a pretty gorgeous one at that...!

As for the crush, I coincidentally ran into him last weekend as well. Still on my new bike high, I was giddy with excitement and smiling everywhere. He actually said something to me, and looked me in the eye and smiled. My bike-fueled happiness smiled back at him, effortlessly, before I turned and bounced out the door.
That better absolve me of at least some of the old pedophile creepiness.

biek friendz!

Last night, I went home with a guy I had just met.
Actually we parted ways about 200ft after getting on our respective bikes, but I'd been eyeing his bike for a while. A red 'cross Alan; it used to be locked up at the bike rack near the parking lot. I recently switched to the one in front of the law library [mostly because someone seems to own my very same bike except in size "very very tall"], and the Alan's been locking up there too. I took this as a sign that I was meant to be friends with this person. I just had to find him.
Okay, granted, it ended up that I had met him before [at my other home, i.e., IBC], where he was getting his other other other other bike fixed. Still, being sort of bike-friend-deficient until recently, it was fun to jump onto bikes together and roll away from the stress-fueled depths of the library.

Because despite the fact that I can now legitimately say I have [bike] friends who are growing into this big, lovable family [like one I actually am comfortable giving hugs to...and that's big, coming from me], as well as a growing network of internet friends [my Facebook friends count has significantly increased], I've barely gone on rides with any of them. I rode more than 100ft for the first time with Eric last Sunday, my first 10ft with Chris, and now 200ft with a new bike friend from school. The irony is that I've never gone on rides with friends I've known the longest; Jones is in Iowa, and my 1L study group friends are just starting to get back on their respective bikes.

I know, I should start taking my own advice and stop whining hanging out so much and start riding. Because I've been parking my bike next to friends recently. I just don't find myself on the road with them so much.
But with emails from fellow cyclists with gorgeous pictures stunning enough to make me want to go out and train, that's going to change. Just you wait.

cookie monster mascot

Believe it or not, I've sort of been trying to avoid cookies. Or, eating cookies, rather.
I haven't gone so far as to give them up for Lent, but a desire to lose the winter weight has me sort of watching what I eat. Sort of. Because after my first hour-long ride [perhaps ever, because I can't really remember the last time I've done that], I'll drop by IBC partially for some promised cookies.
And not just any cookies, but the hotly discussed [at least at IBC] Newman O's. Oreo's cousin if it was organic and actually tasted like real food. I ate four. Yeah, four. Because when delicious cookies come in a huge ziplock bag and are tucked away at a bike mechanic's work station, well, they become that much more irresistible.

The strategic placement of those cookies meant that I was standing behind the counter, in biker gear and almost looking like I knew what I was doing. When customers came in, and all the actual employees were busy, I consequently looked like the lazy douchebag employee who refused to ask the obligatory "How can I help you today?"
Chris later came up with the idea that [given the fact that I can't work at IBC even though he insists on telling me I should every single time I see him] I should just tell people I'm the IBC mascot. Thus, I'm required to hang out and represent IBC, but am completely unable to actually help out any customers.

I like that idea. That means I can hang out endlessly and watch my friends work/ride my bike around the store/fix stuff [note that Chris looks like he's on a mini bike because he's about a foot taller than me]. Just when I was getting a little sad that soon [after the completion of my new bike], I may not have an excuse to drop by IBC "to see my new bike/take a look at the new part that came in/pay Erich," I now have a reason to perpetually hang out. Behind the counter, even!
But only if cookies are supplied. Oh, and don't forget the [good] energy bars!
[If you're in the Boston area, come out to the Middlesex tonight to celebrate the publication of Volume 3 of Embrocation Cycling Journal!]

march madness

Not the NCAA one, although I've technically filled out a bracket for that. I had no idea what I was doing, even if a friend informed me that he had his money on my being the dark horse NCAA bracket champion. Needless to say, I'm currently ranked DFL.
March has been hectic though. While I was dragging my feet, trying not to think about a bike I own but couldn't ride, hubs and rims arrived, spokes were laced, and a wheelset was complete. The list of things I need to get this bike ride-able was becoming shorter and shorter. The picture of the frameset that's been sitting pretty as my desktop background is no longer recognizable. For some reason, this month has been a whirlwind of activity.

Screams of excitement have gotten louder and less shameful, jumping up and down in happiness in front of normal customers are currently a given at IBC, as is my perpetual expression of surprise whenever I walk in. But there was also the arrival of a pair of Champ grips from Georgia, and yesterday I even found myself in the library, staring at a friend from school...who showed up to my carrel with helmet in hand...and in spandex.
After which I couldn't concentrate and restlessly read the rest of my assignment before flying out of school and down to IBC yet again, but this time with some extra goodies in my bag. I got to watch Erich install the Champs onto the pretty track drops Eric gave me [even though I offered to pay for them!]. The installation made some interesting noises which alternated between squealing and farting. Air was involved. As well as neon green gloves.

Erich, being an anal perfectionist [let's continue the dirty innuendos, shall we?], even turned the grips so that the arrows were perfectly aligned with the curve of the bars. Knowing full well that those grips won't retain their white-ness for very long, I still couldn't keep my hands off of them.

The My bike was hung up on one of the stands as the two Eric[h]s, Dan, Marcus, and Jeremy handled the constant flow of customers that poured in, and I just stood there, admiring it. A few people even asked me whose bike it was, and I got to practice my gloating [I'm working on it, Marcus!].
I even got to ride it. But that's for another day. For now, I'm off to train for this ridiculous idea of a fixed century. On the tractorino, of course.