repeater

Not a Fugazi reference, although I like that album too. I tend to fall on the side of depressingly pessimistic in regards to most aspects of life...but when good/fun things happen, I sometimes retrace my steps, do all the same things, consciously reliving moments, in hopes of repeating the fun.
That almost makes me sound like an optimist. Scary.
It did make me wind my way over to Cambridge Bikes again yesterday, on the way home. Okay, I had a few excuses - I was buying something off JT and wanted to make sure that he got my cash money and that said items were still available. I also finally turned in my legal note; my official excuse to socialize and hang out for half an hour.
But while the ride there - minus throwing my chain this time - was the same, I walked into a shop that looked very different:

It was apparently Zack's idea, and I love how it opens up the shop. When you stand by the cash register, the track specific section in the back is clearly visible. This means that its magnetic pull on those obsessed with pretty anodized track components [read: me] is even stronger. I think I dumped my bike by the cash register, turned, saw the track section, and [probably rudely ignoring "what's up?"s and "hey how are you?"s] made a beeline for it.

A sparkling new 44cm Bianchi San Jose sitting pretty in front of the display also snatched up my attention. This is what my bike used to look like! Freewheel, flat plastic pedals, black bar tape...it makes me happy that someone [equally short] in Boston might buy this beauty. Seriously, she's worth every penny you'll sink into her - and so shiny too!
A pink Bareknuckle frame hanging from the ceiling had me craning my neck with my mouth hanging open in envy [before the Dolan, I desperately wanted a Bareknuckle...until I found out that unless I wanted to be riding on the top tube, there would be no way I could fit on one]. While my head was stuck in that slightly uncomfortable position, I managed to check out things displayed at higher altitudes. And found the hottest pair of arm warmers:

Like a kid in a candy store, I was so overwhelmed by everything bike that I totally forgot about how exhausted I was. I shot up the hills on the ride home, buried in my drops, curled up and mashing to keep pace with Pete [yup, another repeat ride home]. I didn't feel tired until I ate dinner; a full tummy and juiced out muscles meant no work got done. Gchat [read: my best friend] kept me awake until I couldn't resist sleep. And like most days since I started racking up the miles, I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I can't wait to do it again. Stop. Rewind. Repeat!

this isn't working

It's funny how on some of the most beautiful days, you end up in the foulest mood.
The ride in yesterday was fine, the day at school was fine, the ride home [the long way] was fine...
...until, getting reckless because I wasn't willing to accept that a guy bombing down Mass Ave was, in fact, faster than me, I threw my chain chasing him. There was an ugly snappy crackling sound and then I found myself pedaling...but nothing was working. My back wheel didn't lock up which meant that I was pedaling air for about 5 whole seconds until I figured out, oh, I have brakes [and now might be a good time to use them]!
I flipped my bike over, pulled out the wrench and started untangling the mess. I was planning on stopping into Cambridge Bikes anyway, so after getting my bike operational, I slowly gimped my way there.

I arrived with a stunningly attractive mix of dirt, brake dust, and chain lube covering half of my face. Of course, I didn't know this until I walked into the uber cool, hip shop that is CB. But, as regular readers may know, I've pretty much lost all sense of dignity by this point, so I almost didn't care that I looked like I had just made out with my filthy chain.
The only thing keeping me from throwing my bike into the river on the way home was trying to keep pace with Pete [I managed to scoot into CB right before closing, so we headed home together]. Dragging a 20lbs+ fixed 'cross bike, plus an overstuffed bag, plus all my extra weight...I was hating life.
Seriously, my bike's a tank. Utilitarian, but a tank. I made up my mind today to sell her when the new bike's done. My friends are sort of right...I should be looking into road bikes so I can do decent rides. And while the tractorino's been good to me so far, I just don't see the point of having two fixed gears. And come on...am I really going to ride the tractorino once the dapper Brit's up and running?
So...anyone want her?
[Just kidding. I wouldn't sell her for the world...but it is April Fool's Day :D]

poseurcross

A friend once asked me why I didn't just switch my squealing, impossible to adjust cantilever brakes - the front refuses to STFU, so in retaliation, I refuse to use it - to center pull caliper ones.
"It's not like you're ever going to race 'cross," he said.
I stubbornly refused to switch them out though; and for once, I distinctly remember that decision being motivated by something other than my automatic reaction to being told that I can't do something ["Oh yeah? Watch me"]. Because even though I had no idea what cyclocross was when I bought my tractorino, once I found out, I've been secretly crushing on it since.
I mean, who can resist a cycling event that looks so hardcore. Not only does it involve biking through grass and mud, you have to run [up hills, even!], and then jump over stuff. It looks like pure masochism. It totally turns me on.
Unfortunately, I currently lack the balls to actually do it. But laziness and the need to go to the BC main campus sometimes fires up the cyclocrosser poseurcrosser in me. Because when the options are biking up a hill or taking the stairs with a bike over your shoulder, well, I made the obvious choice.

Okay, I admit, I didn't run up them. More like plodded at a steady pace while the undergrads snickered about the psycho girl hauling her bike up too many stairs. And those stairs were killer. But they still fuel daydreams of running up them in cycling shoes with friends, bikes over our shoulders, in preparation for an up-coming cross race. Only to descend them to do it all over again, thighs burning, heart and lungs about to burst, but still laughing.

It hasn't happened yet, but those agonizing cantilever brakes are a constant reminder. Through all its screaming - when I absolutely need to use it - my front brake keeps that dream alive. I'm definitely keeping my fingers crossed on this one.
No pun intended.
[My favorite underage bike mechanic is turning 21 today, too -- Happy Birthday Chris!!!]

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!]