puff, puff, [or] pass

Section 280E of the Federal Income Tax Code says that drug dealers can't deduct any expenses related to the drug trade from their tax returns. Well, that doesn't apply to the cost of the drugs though, you get to sort of make back that investment.
It was almost painful reading that on Monday. Monday. Marathon Monday. 4/20 Monday.
I should have expected it, too, the inevitable IM from a college friend. Something along the lines of "can't wait to get out of work...sad for you if you're not celebrating." I sighed, wishing that sigh was an exhalation of sweet, powdery, swirls of smoke, snaking out of my lungs and throat, ending with the rattled cough and the declaration, "wow...wow..."

I haven't done that in too long, and that may be for the best. Even if only for financial reasons, I couldn't afford such a habit. That's not to say I'm not fighting an internal battle against carcinogens these days. It happens the last few weeks of every semester when too many hours in the library, not enough riding, and guilt for not working hard enough combine and my brain tells me that something's gotta give.
And when that happens, I make up some excuse to get outside, get grabbed by a good friend I haven't spoken to in weeks, and find a cigarette in my hand, smoke between my lips. Inhale. Exhale. I'll feel like shit later, and that's when I'll crave another.

I thought about it last night as I passed the Store24. I had a few bucks in my pocket, a lighter at home. Add coffee to that and it would be my college breakfast all over again. I sighed, thinking, "maybe, maybe."
Instead I stretched, laid out on my floor, and looked up at a bike built to go fast. It looked like it wanted to pounce and break out of my bare apartment under a pair of strong legs and a set of reasonably workable lungs.
"Okay," I said, defeated, feeling even more guilty, "I won't. Not tonight."
And hopefully, not tonight either.

beer.cupcake.mustache [the party]

I got up this morning and made a beeline for the bathroom. Nearly tripping over the rollers in the hallway, I wondered why 1. I had to pee so badly, and 2. why there were clothes strewn all over my floor.
Oh, yeah. Beer. Cupcake. Mustache.
Well, the party, I mean. The book itself, created by Natasha of Pedal Power Photography, is a collection of beautiful photographs which, standing alone, would be more than sufficient for coffee table book status. But it's even better. It's a true "who's who" of New England cyclocross with interviews and questions concerning favorite beers, cupcakes, and 'cross races...and who can really resist that kind of combination?

I almost feel nervous flipping through its pages, anticipating that grungy streak down the side of the book from too much thumbing through. And there will be [much] thumbing through [and reading!]. Like Facebook but better - because you can stalk without fear of discovery and be able to show up to birthday parties with a 6-pack of a cyclist's favorite beer - it had me ogling its pages after I managed to stumble home last night.
As for the party itself [held at Washington Square Tavern], the title of the book was only too fitting. Vegan cupcakes were demolished, free Chimay was had, and ample mustaches were in attendance. Needless to say, I got completely smashed [something that happens rarely these days] and ended up dizzily guzzling water [with lime!] before skipping home in the rain.

Flipping through its pages again, I had to force myself to put it down this morning, to stretch and head to school. The misty rain and lack of a front fender meant that bits of grime and dirty water got splattered on my bars and jacket, my face only spared [most of] the grossness thanks to a cycling cap [which, ironically, I never tend to wear]. It gave me a taste of New England falls though, and the possible hope that I'll be able to at least watch some 'cross races later this year.
The ride home is going to be wet and dark. But I'm already looking forward to the post-shower zoning out with beer, cupcakes, and mustaches.

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!!!]