best of boston

Attempting to organize the hundreds of pictures I've apparently taken in the past year of all things bike, I realized that this time last year, I hardly knew anything about bikes.
It's weird...has it really only been a year? The tractorino's official [Boston] birthday is January 7, 2008. Before that, the last bike I rode was [according to my sister, because I don't remember] a Giant mountain bike and I was probably 12. I barely knew how to lube my chain, much less tension a chain or fix a flat last year. I can't believe I just admitted that.
So forgive me if I didn't know the who's who of bike mechanics and shop employees until this year. Luck decided to stop backstabbing me and leaving me when I needed her most when I became a regular at IBC and met Erich and the rest of my IBC peeps. I learned a little more about bikes, started making hats, and got lucky again with Kip, Jason, Zack, Pete, Tom and everyone at Cambridge.
I still don't know the official who's who of Boston cyclists, but I do know a few mechanics who are known around town as some of the best.

Maybe I'm hitting a lucky streak, but when I dropped in to buy something blatantly hang out, one of Boston's reputed best tweaked a few things on my bike. It progressed from the usual: I walk in during a lapse in the busy day, prop my bike up somewhere, and while I'm talking to a friend, someone much taller than me decides to hop on my mini bike and ride it around the shop.
This time it was Tom. Tom, who does no handed skids in the shop while wearing one of my hats. Tom, whose beater bike is a stickered Bareknuckle with cruiser bars and a basket in the front [I wanted to kill him out of pure jealousy when I saw it, even if I'll never fit on one of those frames]. Tom, who, like Erich, is known as one of the best mechanics in Boston.

Almost instantly, my bike was put in a stand. My impossible front brake [which was being a little sticky] got adjusted ever so slightly, and my baggy chain tensioned. Meanwhile, I went into paparazzi mode.
I got so excited I started taking pictures of everyone, including Zack and his hair.

And if the hairstyles of the CB staff aren't enough incentive to stop by the shop, my front brake came out working, and I can now ride confident that my chain won't hop off my chainring and try to kill me. Sure, those aren't terribly complex tasks, but it's in doing the simpler things where you see the difference between "good" and "okay." Or, at least in my case, the difference between "good" and "total suck/fail."
I heart you guys. For serious.

faking it

Fake til you make it. That's what some reliable news sources [read: Cosmo] have taught me.
That might be why I only wear spandex and Sidis nowadays and will at least try to look the part of serious cyclist. Let's try to forget that I'm currently - and probably will continue to be - incredibly slow. Those are small details that aren't really relevant to this discussion.
Given my recent acquisition of Sidis [seriously one of the most comfortable, efficient things I've ever had attached to my feet], it probably doesn't come as a surprise that I'm turning the "faking it" up a notch. I even have a jersey now [okay, that was almost a joke purchase but I love to rock it]. Now if only my Bianchi looked less like a commuter beater bike and more...racy.
Of course - this being me - I mean that in both senses of the word. The Bianchi being my official training bike [I am currently shamelessly loving that freewheel], I need it to be fast and, you know, as sexy as possible. And while the pink + dark green theme was cool in that super fixster look-I'm-so-hipster-I-can-look-good-in-colors-that-don't-really-match kind of way, watermelons don't really move quickly. They sort of just roll sluggishly.

So it was time for a change. Chris had been pointing out how faded out and gross my formerly pink bartape was for about the past month [yeah, I have amazing friends]. I tested the waters with the purchase and application of a pair of Vittoria Randonneurs. They looked fast. I plunged into the "racy" pool with Pro white bartape last night.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Me? Fast? It's more than a vain hope. It's more like a delusion. Still, I've heard, from reliable sources, that while training endlessly will make you fast, white bartape makes you go even faster. Okay, yeah, that presumes you enjoy training for hours on a trainer, Powercranks, and that inexplicable pain of drinking protein shakes. I'm obviously not there yet...but I'm working on it.

In the meantime, the goal is to at least look like I enjoy all of the above. I'm already practicing chugging protein shakes with a smile. Now if only my legs can keep up...
[Oh, and I'm expecting full reports on Battenkill!]

pedal, interrupted

Not enough sleep. Not enough motivation. My two persistent problems this week.
Last night I blocked off time slots for studying. 8am to noon on Saturday is for Con Law, Tax, and Evidence. 12.30 to 5pm for outlining, reviewing, etc., etc., etc. It felt organized and good; at least it looked good on Google calendar. The unorganized mess is actually executing said plan.
And said plan is already being derailed. I woke up this morning and couldn't wait until 4.30pm - because when it's this warm out, I'm definitely leaving the library early, taking the long way home, and stopping at a few bike shops along the way.

I even had a post planned - well, half planned - about how gorgeous it is outside today and the fact that my gigantor thighs are no longer wrapped in Underarmour. I was then going to go on and say boring and mundane things about spring and how everyone should go out there and ride their bikes. Yeah, notice how I said "half planned." I am emphasizing the "half" here.
So with this weakly formulated post, I figured I'll try to boost interesting-ness with good pictures. Something nature-y, so people see that Boston actually has seasons other than "bitterly cold winters." Something that doesn't consist of the shots of Comm Ave that I love to take. Somethi-

W. T. F.
I screeched to a halt, just managing to wrench a foot out of my clips as I fumbled for the camera conveniently nestled in my pocket. With one foot still clipped in, I hopped/dragged my bike closer, zooming in on the turkey that decided to show up in the bougie streets of Newton. Seriously? I mean, I know this happens, but it's 8.30am and this is Comm Ave...! I almost reached out to tug the sleeve of an invisible friend and finding none, was left to sort of look around in amazement.
So, yes, I saw a wild turkey this morning. That means that, at the very least, it's going to be a good day [but with bike shops involved, how could it not be?]. It also means that everyone racing Battenkill tomorrow is going to have an awesomely good time.
Good luck, guys - I'll be there in spirit, eating a turkey drumstick!

sweet and salty

Until about a week ago, my friends [other than my IBC crew, obviously] who got to see progress pictures of my bike would constantly ask me when it was going to be done. It was more out of politeness on my friends' part though, as most of them don't ride bikes; and it's a too-easy topic of discussion that'll make me blatantly happy. A friend put it bluntly:
"Your face just lights up when you talk about that bike. Like what normal girls do when they talk about shoes."
I was sort of glad, though, that my lack of funds and thus, parts, was slowing down the whole process. It was still legitimately cold out when I bought the frame [in mid-February], and the days of alternating snow and icy rain kept me from wanting to jump on that bike ASAP.

Late nights in the library and a lack of lights for the Dolan are keeping me from riding it to school this week. But as I chased down a guy on a fixed gear this morning - white bike, spandex, some awesome kicks, and thighs that looked like tree trunks - I noticed something that made me smile.
Gasping for air as I attempted to keep pace with the fixed guy, I wasn't tasting salt anymore. That's become my barometer for full-on-New-England-okay-I've-had-enough-can-we-have-some-warmer-weather-now? winters. When my tires stop kicking up an invisible layer of salt dust grime, it's officially spring. No more snow or ice. No more getting stuck behind those salt trucks just as they start scattering the stuff [which resulted in an inadvertent facial exfoliation via rock salt]. No more white flakes of dried saltwater peeling off my bike.

I understand it's fairly disgusting to actually know that the aforementioned salt dust grime is going into my mouth. That's not to say that getting a taste of cycling is always salty, though. Because bike shops will always feed you, and when it's finally spring, Easter M&M cookies become not only muscle fuel, but also sweet promises of summer.
I'm already getting hungry [again].
[Thank you Bud and Mrs. Barry for the delicious cookies!!!]

[k]nightrider

I'm not gonna lie, I used to love that show.
Long after I stopped watching it, and after learning how to fully appreciate alcohol, I'd sometimes wishfully long for my own KITT as I stumbled into that infamous McDonald's in downtown Tokyo at 4am to wait until the trains started to run again. A car that would not only talk to you and advise you against bad ideas, but also come to your rescue? The idea of KITT still makes me wish I knew how to drive.
As the days turn warmer and longer, I ironically find myself wishing I had a car and the requisite knowledge to operate it. For the next few weeks I'm looking at very little riding, and a lot more late nights in the library. Until now, I had managed to escape the library in time for dinner at home; I left last night well after it was dark.

The good part is that there are fewer anxious drivers eager to get home and drive you over in the process. The bad part is that after 10+ hours in front of a computer, I can barely see, much less see in the dark. Add to that my simple desire to just zone out and I tended to forget that my feet were attached to my pedals. Despite my fears that the freewheel I'm on is going to make me both lazy and weak, I was grateful for the ability to sit on my bike and do nothing for once.

I'm already missing the sweat-drenched long rides home and the burning exhaustion in my thighs when I manage to finally limp through my door. The bright sun shining through classroom windows are an absolute tease and the warmer weather has me daydreaming of the all the riding I'll be able to do once finals are over.
Until then, I suppose I should learn how to use those rollers.

rolling uncontrollably

I'm a great fan of "to do" lists. I installed Post-it software on my computer specifically for this purpose. Well, specifically so I can type out my to do lists days in advance, and then put the extremely satisfying "DONE" next to each task.
I checked off my last "to do" task - outlining my tax law course - with shaky, sweaty hands last night. I think my feet were drenched in steamy sweat too. My right forearm was twitchy from overexertion. I am really full of terrible ideas.
All because of a simple entry on my "to do" list: "rollers." I escaped the library early yesterday to meet a friend who was selling his rollers on the cheap. With only two single-speeds, I was advised that trainers wouldn't be nearly as effective, so when the rollers went up for sale, I immediately called dibs. The first person claiming them dropped out - lucky[?] for me.
As I planted "DONE" next to tasks already completed late last night, I saw the "rollers" entry. For me, that originally meant "get cash, be at home to pick them up." That somehow turned into "well, let's try them out!"

This is sort of the time I kind of wish I had roommates to stop me from indulging my insanity. Against my better judgment, I set up the rollers in my hallway and propped my bike on top of it. And then I climbed on. That was the easy part. Now I had to actually get on my bike that was supported by this thing called air, and try to balance. I was half bracing myself against the wall, my hands flooding with nervous sweat as I attempted to push the pedals. Hunched over, clinging to my bars for dear life, I tried not to think about Mark's roommate, who managed to fly off his trainer into his TV, or Jones's friend who flew into his dorm room closet at 35mph.

I'll admit, my courage lasted me a scant 10 minutes on the rollers, and that includes trying to get on. I left it in the hallway though, right in front of my door. I'm hoping the guilt of seeing it when I walk into my apartment will serve as extra motivation. And hopefully it'll also stop my hands from constantly sweating every time I think about them. Because unless I can master those rollers, my fantasy of watching movies with bike friends who are all on rollers/trainers is going to stay just that...and that's just unacceptable.