gage & desoto

I love "Zoolander."
Maybe that's why designers scare me.
Okay, not really. Designers have always been sort of intimidating. I have this image of them as being self-absorbed and a little crazy. A slightly socially awkward drama queen whose erratic behavior is only forgiven due to the ability to create, cut, and sew beautiful things together. And one that loves to judge.
My limited closet is enough reason to avoid this species of human. But with the hat making thing, it's getting harder. And yesterday, at NYC Velo, I met one. In person.
An email popped into my inbox last week, a hello from the Big Apple from a designer who loves bicycles. One who wanted to trade. With a trip down to the city planned in two days, packing to be done, and hats for Cambridge in the works, I wasn't sure I could finish one in time. But it was a request for a "Boston" hat. For a designer in NYC? This was going to be interesting...and worth a late night or two.

Meet Mike Spriggs. The man behind Gage & Desoto [and those infamous "I *cog* NY" t-shirts], he's a Boston transplant that picked up and moved 4 hours south for legitimately insane traffic and a city that necessitates biking 10 miles [out of the city] to get to good training routes. And after hearing that he still wears Bosox gear in NYC, maybe this crazy city suits him better than cutesy New England [come on, even Southie has a measure of quaint...Irish...drunken...charm].
A bus ride and a handful of emails later, I met him yesterday to listen to stories about being a courier in Boston, Cambridge Bikes when it was in Harvard Square, the intensity of NYC, and his trip to Beijing, Osaka, and Tokyo. There was no pretension, and I was the sole provider of the socially awkward factor [as per the usual]. And despite my wide-eyed terror at biking a few short blocks, I even got to see the new Gage & Desoto t-shirt design:

After talking labels and with a promise for a screened t-shirt [of course, it'll be blogged about, but I'm not telling which one I want...yet], I headed home, with a new friend in the city.
Too bad this isn't Boston. But I'll be back down here again.
And it won't only be for coffee and fabric.

nyc...on velo

Admittedly, NYC feels a little unfamiliar on bike.
Being lazy, I've always been a big fan of the swelteringly hot, muggy subway, whose stations always smell like a public restroom that's been attempted to be cleaned - unsuccessfully - with some industrial strength bleach. On previous visits, I learned how to appreciate that blast of sticky air that clutches you in its uncomfortably warm embrace as you slide your Metrocard through the ticket gate. The NYC subway might not smell like roses, but it was convenient. Especially compared to Boston.
But on bike, I'm almost longing for Boston. NYC looks almost unrecognizable above the underground subway. And clutching onto my brakes, trying to stay constantly alert for a door, a pedestrian, a taxi intent on cutting me off, I'm desperately trying not to get lost. Armed only with a cellphone and pieces of paper with scribbled street names [my sister doesn't have a printer], I started to understand the disadvantages of always flying solo.
Sucking down liquid courage in the form of one of NYC's best lattes from Jack's Stir Brewed Coffee, I made my way uptown after a morning of intense fabric shopping to perfect a skill I've been honing for the past year or so, but in a new city. And in a new shop.

NYC Velo to be exact. I'd heard it was an awesome shop, from both my sister [who bought her bike here], and a few other reliable sources. I had to check it out. Besides, this was the perfect opportunity to sharpen my "hanging out at bike shops for unnecessarily long periods of time and refusing to leave" skills.
For the record, I wasn't expecting to achieve IBC levels of loitering. This is an unfamiliar shop, in a kind-of unfamiliar city. I didn't even have a wingman to aid in eating up the shop's minutes, much less one to hold my hand and guide me through the city. NYC might be a grid, but the people definitely make this city unpredictable.
Adrenaline still pumping from the ride there, I was sweaty and frazzled when I walked into the shop. But once I did, I finally managed to exhale. And inhale. Bicycles. Ahhhhh.

Not just bicycles, but bike parts, shoes, and most impressively, lots and lots of bike clothes. There were baskets of gloves, hangers full of kits, and shelves of t-shirts. It's like a concept store but with legitimate substance behind it; it's not a fixster shop where it's only about what everything looks like. NYC Velo's the serious yet stylish cyclist; one who knows bicycles and likes to shower regularly. But one that's far from pretentious.
I went into the shop fairly confident that this shop was going to live up to its reputation. And it did. I didn't expect to leave, though, feeling comfortable. And in a way, not so lost.
On the way home, scrolling through my recent call history on my phone, IBC showed up on my screen [yeah, I almost have that shop on speed dial]. If I lived here, though, I'm pretty sure that NYC Velo will definitely have that special place in my phonebook.

city slicker

I fell asleep in my Sidis today.
With my bike under me.
No, I wasn't on some insane 24 hour bike race [unfortunately]. I was on a bus, heading down to a once more familiar city, but one I've never biked in. Groggy from a four hour bus ride punctuated with fits of sleep, I climbed onto my bike for the first time in New York, NY.

In Chinatown, to be exact. Which was, predictably, crawling with pedestrians. Clipped in on a freewheel, I just managed to dodge some old ladies dragging groceries and middle aged men who have to be involved in less than legal business.
This is like Boston...on meth. Or pure PCP. While Boston may be sleepy and nearly deserted at 7am, I can't imagine biking in NYC can ever be as lethargic as my morning ride into South Station this morning. Even navigating the few short blocks from Chinatown to my sister's apartment was more fast-paced than anything in Boston.

My sister told me that I would probably feel stifled if I ever lived in NYC after seeing pictures of Lexington. An NYC bike virgin, I had agreed.
Stifled? Here? That would definitely take a few years.

kiki's delivery service

This movie is a must see.
Though less spectacular than "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind" or "Castle in the Sky," "Kiki's Delivery Service" [the original Japanese title is "The Witch's Delivery Service"] has always been a secret favorite. A story about a witch that leaves her home to discover independence and make it on her own [with the most adorable black cat], she befriends a boy who rides a fixed gear and dreams of flying.
Small wonder I love the movie. But it gets even better. Kiki starts working as a courier [on her broom, of course] for a bakery, delivering cakes, bread, and all manner of baked goodies. She ends up losing her ability to fly at one point, though, due to her own self-doubt and insecurity.
I was definitely channeling Kiki yesterday. All I was missing, really, was a big, red bow in my hair [I even have her bangs now!]. Getting up way too early to find a still-sore knee, I still trotted out the show pony for the Bay State Bike Week ride to City Hall. And then, having gotten up at the asscrack of dawn, I stopped by 2nd Cup Cafe to guzzle an espresso.

Which meant the prospect of a nap then was out of the question. So I sat around restlessly, encountering writer's block here and there, until, spotting a particular poster in my room, I remembered a promise for blueberry muffins.
Erich had put aside the Embrocation Cycling Journal poster taped up at IBC for me, way back in March. It's May. This was one promise I could bust out in a few hours.

I got mixing and measuring. Ran out of sugar but made do [they didn't come out super sweet, but Dan M. described them as "delicious"]. Did laps between my computer and the oven as they baked; and after they cooled, they went into a box, which was then tucked into my bag. I forgot the red bow in my hair, but I delivered [to IBC].
There was a new chainring waiting for me too. And a new chain. And thus, a straight chain line [for once!]. There was even talk of training for 'cross season and jogging. On the way home, I contemplated how I would handle coming in DFL on my first 'cross race. Uncharacteristically, I think in a way I wouldn't care [as long as I didn't break anything in the process].
I figure, as long as I'm fast enough to deliver baked goods, that's good enough for me.
Kiki's Blueberry Muffins Adapted from this recipe.
For the streusel topping:
1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter 1/3 cup brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/2 cup finely chopped walnuts
1. In a bowl, combine all of the streusel topping ingredients. 2. With your fingers, mix until you have a crumbly mixture. 3. Set aside if using immediately or store in the refrigerator.
For the muffins:
1/2 cup vegetable oil [or 1/4 cup oil and 1/4 cup applesauce] 1-1/3 cup packed brown sugar [I only used 1 cup] 1 tablespoon grated lemon zest 1 egg 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract 1 cup low fat plain yogurt 2-1/4 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon salt 2-1/2 teaspoons baking powder 1/2 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1-1/2 cups blueberries [fresh or frozen]
1. Preheat the oven to 400F and line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners. If you don’t have paper liners butter and flour the muffin tin. 2. In a bowl, mix together the flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and cinnamon. 3. In another bowl, combine the oil, brown sugar, zest and egg. Once combined, stir in the buttermilk and vanilla extract. 4. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and mix well. Gently mix in the fruit. If the batter seems to liquidy, add a tiny bit more flour. The batter should be fairly stiff. 5. Spoon the batter into the muffin cups filling them right to the top. Divide the streusel topping equally among the muffins. 6. Bake for 15 minutes and then lower the temperature to 350 F and bake for an additional 12 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. 7. Cool the muffins in the pan for 10 minutes, then remove the muffins and let cool on a wire rack. 8. Package securely and deliver [to your local bike shop].

it hurts

So apparently going from sitting in a chair in the library for 12 hours a day for three weeks to riding over 100 miles in two days makes for an unhappy knee. Not to mention my ass.
I have knee tracking problems that make my knees sound like velcro when I get up from any kind of squatting position. And now my IT band is all "okay calm the fuck down and cut me a break." Lack of any bike-appropriate gear save for a wind-proof soft shell and a pair of Sidis have me/my butt almost sighing in relief when I see a hill around mile 32, even if my knee's freaking out. And sheer laziness had me sneezing and coughing when I got home yesterday because, despite the wind and rain, I didn't want to stop and put on the jacket in my bag [yes, I go on 40 mile rides with a Baileyworks strapped to my back...don't judge].

It was probably for the best though. I have a whole pile of stuff to be cut, sewn, screened, and assembled. Activities that don't involve putting [too much] pressure on my knee. Although, I admit, I did get a little zealous last night with the sewing machine making it go full-throttle Chinese-sweatshop-style with my foot squeezing the pedal [yes, there is one] against the floor.
And I got more done than I thought I would. Nothing's complete, yet, but I'll have an inventory soon. Or at least Cambridge will. And that list of hats already promised will start to get shorter. Even if my rides get longer. And slightly more painful. Because as long as my knee feels like it's going to snap, crackle, or pop, I'll find time to stay up too late working on cycling caps.

I have lots of new ideas too, and custom jobs that have been shelved for months. They're going to be pretty awesome. Even my knee thinks so.
Get excited.

gratin d'endives

"Hey, wanna race 'cross?"
Marcus asked me this as he, Eric, and I lingered on Harvard Ave last night after an IBC sushi fest. He just got a new cross bike that he's building up today so maybe I should have expected the question. And even with a belly full of sushi, I nearly pounced at that question.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.
That question lingered in my head and greeted me this morning, bright and somewhat early. My legs were a little worn out from the psycho 40-miler-plus-running workout combo of yesterday, and I was tempted to do an easy 30 mile loop instead. The hills I'll have to tackle on my decided route...the fact that I'm on a single-speed...my leg being a little achy...

All those got shoved aside as I swung a leg over my bike and didn't stop until I hit Arlington, again. And on the way, I remembered something that made me detour into the heart of Lexington. My aunt used to live here. Between Brussels and Tokyo, my aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in this quaint, little New England town. It was only for a few years, and because I associate my aunt with Belgium instead, it's a fact that I tend to forget.
And sometimes, I wonder if my aunt has as many memories of Lexington as she does of Brussels. I remember one Christmas [yes, my family celebrates it even though we're complete heathens], she brought a small casserole dish that smelled deliciously of cream and cheese. Hiding between those gooey layers were endives, pale with a browned corner here and there, their distinctive bitterness tempered by butter, cream, and Gruyere. My first mouth-watering encounter with the vegetable, I gulped and gobbled it down. That gratin d'endives still has me yearning for Belgium.

As I took pictures of Lexington, I was tempted to call my aunt and cousins. Endives and waffles are amazing, but why did they never get into cycling? Why did they keep secret this sport called cyclocross?
"Wait, oh, you'll have to get another bike," Marcus said, last night.
"That's a 'cross bike. I can race it single-speed," I said as I pointed to my Bianchi.
"Dude, that would be so awesome!"
Or it could just be incredibly embarrassing. Maybe it'll get me to Belgium, though. And even if that takes a few years, I'd endure an hour or so of incredible pain to sink my teeth into a sugary waffle.
Alright, a cupcake might do, too, in a pinch.