eat drink bike sleep

Oh, and study.
That's pretty much all I did yesterday. I fell into bed early on Saturday in anticipation for the Sunday morning ride, even though there was no route planned. And possibly no ride partner, Pete having texted me late Saturday night that he was up for the ride but was an "anarchist party." I figured he'll be a no show.
I woke up bright and early to a comment on my blog from Pete. Written well past 1am. Yeah, right, he's going to be ready by 8.30am, I thought. Screw it, I was going to do two 15 mile loops without stopping anyway [my first 30 miler - sad but true], Pete or no Pete. But a small chat box popped up in gmail around 7.45 - Mr. Pete Shelby himself, awake and willing to go on a ride after about 5 hours of sleep, even with work from noon to 6pm at CB. He picked up a Red Bull at the Store24 and we headed right into gusty winds towards hills and, for me, 30 miles of fixed [anticipated] agony.

We didn't stop [minus the few red lights we didn't blow through] until we had thrown down 14 or so miles, and we pedaled past an apparent fire in Brookline. There were about seven fire trucks, the road was blocked off by police cars, and ambulances also lined the street. I used it as an excuse to snap a few pictures, eat some offered gummi bears, hydrate, then slide my feet back into the clips to do 15+ more miles.

My toes numb by mile 20, I was seriously jealous of Pete's Sidis [I haven't set mine up yet]. My legs were sort of on autopilot halfway through the second loop, and only familiar landmarks and the desire not to be seen/labeled a lame quitter kept me pushing on the pedals. Well, that and good jokes - seemingly perfectly timed - which had me laughing to the point of not realizing that I was already halfway up a hill and that I just had to push a little more to crest the mofo.
My knees seemed to think 28 miles was quite enough as the last stretch home got slightly uncomfortable. That could be due to my sprint through the intersection in Washington Square, though; we never seem to make the light, except on Sundays. Sighting a green as we came down Beacon Street, I yelled ["It's Sunnnddayyyyy!!!"] and whooped as we burst through the light as it turned yellow. Gritting my teeth, sniffling while trying to breathe/pant, head down, slouched into my drops, we finished the ride in two hours and change. Less than 15mph; yeah, slow. Still, don't hate.
I proceeded to stretch, shower, stuff my face, and fall asleep on my books [missing polo!], but dreaming of pretty bikes, summer rides, and all things Rapha [Pete unzipped his jacket just enough as we said goodbye to reveal a baby blue Rapha jersey...yeah that whole "starving artist" front is totally just to get chicks].
Next time, we'll do it faster.
[Today's also my older sister's birthday - the only person who is capable of making me cry in sheer envy of her artistic talent, call me on all my bullshit, and the first person who taught me that what doesn't kill me will only make me stronger. Thanks, Kanako. Happy Birthday!]

translating shoes

Whenever my Mom tries to admonish me about not being [insert any adjective of your choosing, popular ones include: smart, stylish, intelligent, prepared] enough, I pull out a handy Japanese proverb:
"A frog's child is a frog, Mom, I'm only going to be as good as you and Dad."*
To which she will either sigh, disappointed, and claim I inherited most of my genes from my father, or furrow her brow and say:
"You aren't the hawk the kite gave birth to?"**
I am no hawk. This is clearly evidenced by my inherited [from my Mom] love of shoes. Back in the Time Before Bike [TBB], I had at least 20 pairs of shoes - boots, heels, stilettos, kitten heels, ballet flats, etc. - that I actually wore; several more pairs had to stay at home in Japan. This complicates things when I'm at home, because all three shoe closets are taken up by my Mom's shoes. Thank God we don't wear the same shoe size, or the bickering [and borrowing] would be neverending.

The obsession [also applicable to handbags], sort of faded after the purchase of my bike. I'm currently running three pairs of sneakers into the ground, and I haven't bought a pair of shoes in over a year [to my best friend's absolute horror]. Well, until about a week ago.
Because when the going gets tough, the tough naturally go shopping. And retail therapy is never sweeter when it's presented as a huge sale. And there's no better deal when you can get a pair of shoes you've been fantasizing about at less than half the retail price.

Yeah, I'm officially rocking a pair of Sidi's. The footwear of champions and everyone who likes to clip clop in public. I understand black shoes are only for domestiques, but due to the fact that I'm trying to work my way up to that status, I think it's only appropriate. I picked up the shoes last night [after deciding against SPD pedals, and going with straight road ones], and clopped around in them in my apartment, gleefully. It even motivated me to shave my legs, which I hadn't done in about...oh...three weeks [okay, bumping into Croth and his perfectly hairless legs the other day probably motivated that decision, too].

I have to admit, I'm sort of scared of trying them out. Friends at IBC assured me that getting out of clipless pedals is actually easier than toe clips:
Jeremy: Because when you're about to fall, you'll sort of naturally twist your foot.
Me: So I'll just land on my top tube instead of crashing and burning with the bike attached to me?
Marcus: At least you're not a guy.
Indeed.
* "Kaeru no ko wa kaeru" - Meaning that a child takes after her parents, and will grow up to be pretty much just like them. ** "Tombi ga taka wo unda" - Used in the rare situation where a child out-accomplishes her parents.

[briefly] living the dream

Despite both of my classes having been canceled today, I rolled out of bed at the usual time.
Granted, I can't sleep past 8am on any day, anyway, but I was sort of excited to get up and pick my way across a floor littered with fabric, tailor's chalk, and some random pins [ouch!]. I scooted my chair in front of my sewing machine - not the laptop - and settled in for a morning of pins, seam rippers, and bias tape.

The need to stop in at school before taking the long way to CB meant I was working on a deadline. I slightly kicked myself for spending the majority of last night sitting at my desk, my chin resting on the top of my machine, while I read and clicked through the amazing photographs on Velodramatic. It's such a great blog! Clean, professional, and very well executed; it's where I get my Rapha fix because my current bank account balance won't let me actually do that in real life.

My foot like a lead weight on the sewing machine pedal, I didn't mind the pressure or undoing a seam or two. Mostly because this kind of near-sweatshop-labor is my definition of fun; I almost wished that I could hand embroider the "Boston" or somehow personalize each a little bit more. But with limited time and a pretty saddle waiting for me, the screened versions had to do for now.

Then I crawled into a pair of rain pants [yes, dorky] and jumped on the bike first to school, then to CB. The saddle's hanging from a bag on the bars of my Dolan, on the secret 3rd floor of IBC. UPS is currently killing the possibility of a finished bike this weekend, but by this time next week, I plan to have something incredible between my legs.

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!!!]