officially hardcore

Apparently, when you randomly offer to help a guy without a sewing machine hem his pants, and then go out for beers with said guy and his best friend, you can also end up with a friend that 1) rides bikes [duh], 2) lives about three blocks away from you, and 3) encourages following through on bad questionable ideas like training for a fixed century.
Pete - my new friend/riding partner/coach/ass kicker - and I planned to head out on my very first training ride yesterday...for the past week or so. Since Pete has work from noon [at Cambridge Bikes], we decided on an early morning ride [hence the Diet Coke last night]; there was some rain coming down, but it was more like mist. Weather.com predicted "showers." I was optimistic.

After Pete adjusted his cleats, we headed out. The first few miles were fine, a little wet but I figured I'd be sweating buckets soon anyway. Speeding down Comm Ave, dodging runners training for the marathon, we made an interesting combo: Pete likes to climb hills in his saddle, with his hands on the top of the bars; cool, relaxed, and gentlemanly. I like to get out of the saddle but stay in the drops, like a faux keirin racer if they had to do things like climb hills. We pedaled down toward Newton, then through Watertown and Cambridge, taking the loooooong way.

Too bad it started pouring. By the time we hit Harvard Square about an hour and a half later, both of us were drenched and cold. Stopped at a light, I made a fist with my gloved hand and water gushed out. I wasn't wearing anything close to waterproof ["water resistant" apparently means "drenched within 5 miles of riding"]. Pete couldn't feel his hands. I couldn't feel my feet. So, we made a much-needed stop for coffee.

Sipping deliciously caffeinated beverages, we sort of managed to dry off. Our gloves were beyond hopelessly drenched. My underarmour leggings stuck to me like icy saran wrap [without the water-weight-reducing-sauna-like effects benefits]. Not only was I soaked, I was also covered in bits of dirt. My hair drenched in streaks from my helmet, worn out from battling rain and wind, with no eyeliner on, I was a total mess. Good thing there were no mirrors around - ignorance is bliss in this case.

We wrung out our gloves, even though no matter how hard we twisted them, more water just poured out. And then we actually got back on our bikes and waded through more cold rain and wind towards home, with only the thought of hot showers keeping us going. I could barely get off my bike when we parted ways - my feet being numbly frozen. Our high-five to celebrate a ride successfully completed squishly sprayed water. Not that it mattered; we were so saturated with Boston rain water, we were both verging on prune-y.

It wasn't a fast ride; but it was the first time I've ridden more than an hour on my bike. I know, not impressive, but baby steps, baby steps! And besides, Pete and I both decided - no matter what, riding through that mess definitely makes us officially hardcore.
I irrationally can't wait for next Sunday morning...

not your average birthday

I'm not quite addicted to Facebook, yet. Or, not as addicted as some. I don't need to de-activate my account during finals because I'd be on it otherwise. I guess I'm just lazy; I don't update my status numerous times throughout the day, I don't stalk friends through pictures, and I don't have 2398012984722 pictures of myself up on my profile.
When I finally caved and signed up for an account last year, I was hesitant to even friend people I've never met before but went to school with. There was the pre-requisite of "I have to actually talk to you first" before I confirmed friend requests.
That's been sort of changing. Sort of. Because I've been Facebook friends with a certain Dan Pugatch, whom I didn't get to meet until last night for his birthday party at Charlie's Kitchen. That's not to say my Facebook standards have plummeted; Dan is the incredibly awesome author/blogger behind Not Your Average Bicycle Messenger, and we both read each other's respective blogs. In a way, he knew more about me than some of my Facebook friends that I've actually met.

And because I stupidly forget my SD card for my digital camera at home [total fail!], I was only able to take some crappy cell phone pictures. We finally did meet, though, last night, over a Diet Coke [for me, more on that tomorrow] and a Jameson on the rocks [for him].
It was great seeing some familiar faces, and meeting new ones. My ride partner even came with, which made sure I got home at a decent hour so I could ride, ride, ride today. Even though, as I found out later because I never drink soda, Diet Coke really kills sleep.

Still, hanging out with bike people is always fun, and always a good time. I already can't wait for next weekend; I have polo planned [for once!], hopes of more bike parts coming in, and lots and lots of rides. There's hottt-ness waiting for me at IBC too [I mean, other than the bike]. And of course, there's the new bike.
Ahhhhhh!!! Can't wait!!!!

no competition

Nothing gets me up Heartbreak Hill faster than another cyclist with gears. I once climbed that thing so fast I had to juggle basic life tasks like "trying to breathe" while coughing, gasping, and trying not to fall over.
Nothing, apparently, makes me pedal faster than seeing another cyclist up ahead of me. Yesterday afternoon was filled with random encounters: a Babson student heading to Somerville on a single-speed [we rode through Watertown together...and he was fast], a handful of random cyclists in Cambridge [as usual], and I even ran into Boston's Cutest Polo Player/Courier. Helmetless, brakeless, and clipless, seeing him made me question why I've been attracted to the spandexed-out roadie types these days.

I headed into the library fairly early today, and with the warmer weather, I expected to see packs of roadies flocking towards Dover. Maybe I got up too late, but I didn't see one. Not one cyclist on the road, just a handful of cars and one group of runners. And without that adrenaline rush of unreasonable competition, I was rolling along at a pace that would have been more suitable on a heavy cruiser.
But even so I got to school before the library opened. That meant that few students were around. That meant, too, that I could shamelessly change out of my sweaty t-shirt in front of my locker [yes, we get lockers in lawyer school].

I have a feeling though, that I'm going to see more bike people tonight when I head out. Or, at least I hope so. Because someone's gotta motivate me...and it's certainly not going to be me.
[Also, this is my 100th post! Yayyyy!]

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.