reconning

The last time I reconned a ride, it took me 4 hours and at least 5 miles out of my way. It was fun, in hindsight, but slightly mentally taxing. No ride buddy, no iphone, no extensive map, I was at the mercy of whoever happened to be passing by.
But yesterday I did manage to recon a ride; and recon a small part of a city as well. And with a good friend leading the way, all I had to do with pedal and follow.

And pedal I did. Too lazy to flip over my wheel, I did the 25 mile ride fixed - the first time I've done anything longer than 10 miles fixed in months. And with a light-as-a-feather Cyfac leading the way, I was struggling to keep up. But not mentally. So even though I complained liberally about my fixed gear status, I got to see a good part of the city from the saddle of my Bianchi, without the terrifying sense of getting very, very lost.

After a loop around Central Park [my first, ever, by bike], we headed back downtown to showers and food. And finally, at Habib's Place, I was able to keep up on the nom-nom-noming front, inhaling a falafel sandwich that was so good, I can't really remember what we talked about while I ate. Then, fat and happy, we strolled to Abraco for iced coffee and ricotta-filled pain perdu.

Time was taken to loiter/digest on the couch at NYC Velo, before more hanging out and coffee was consumed. More bike-related sites were reconned for future projects before I was led to dinner at Brick Lane. And giggling over my food [the way to my heart obviously being through my stomach], another late night in the city commenced. Ideas were bounced back and forth, slightly disturbing TV shows watched ["Intervention" and "Obsessed"], a rooftop visited, and a few hats finished before plans were made for the reason I'm here - the Bicycle Film Festival Street Fair this afternoon.

It looks like possibly bad weather, but I'll be at the NYC Velo table. Come get rained on with me, say hello, and recon a few bike films. It'll be fun, I promise.

a fuzzy city

On my way back down to NYC again today [for the Bicycle Film Festival Street Fair on Saturday - come say hello at the NYC Velo tent!], I'm simultaneously sort of glad I live in Boston.
And not only because riding downtown with an overstuffed Baileyworks bag and another tote bag half hanging off my handlebars is actually possible [even sans helmet, if I so chose].
It's because the establishments I frequent [other than the bike shops] might remember me once in a while, and not in that creeped out way. Which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and loved inside. Okay, they just might be remembering a girl in crazy outfits, perpetually clutching a helmet, but they still remember.

It's only appropriate that I've recently achieved "regular" status at one of the two sewing/fabric stores I go to in Boston: Winmil Fabrics. Arguably the only fabric store left in Boston proper, it's no Mood, but remains a go-to for my basic lining fabric, thread, needles, etc. And, as an extra bonus, the husband-and-wife team behind the counter are definitely some of the nicer people in this city.
My purchases are usually fairly small - 3 yards of black fabric, a spool of thread - but I'll consistently be chatted up about my bike, where I go out riding, and if I have any more gears yet. On the topic of my lone gear, the owner stated:
"Well, I bet your legs get much stronger."
"Yeah, they're huge," I responded.
His wife laughed.

I love this kind of friendly banter. The kind that's only really possible in a small city if you're working on limited funds like I am. So even if I'm headed to glamorous NYC later this afternoon, I'm trying to keep my head on straight. Not crush on it too much. Not drool over all the places, people, and things to do in NYC while only seeing the limits of Boston.
Because, other than Tokyo, no other city has achieved warm-fuzzy-loved status with me. Yet.

choo choo train

So it ends up that I did have a reason to go to IBC this weekend. I needed to purchase and get new pedals installed because - gasp! - I'm flipping that wheel over and going fixed.
Not that I haven't been riding fixed on the track bike. But the Bianchi and the Dolan are such different rides that switching ponies was never a problem. I could rock the freewheel for a longer ride in the morning, then skitter around town later fixed. True, I almost tore my leg off once or twice, but the Dolan's stiff, twitchiness was a constant reminder to keep the cranks turning [or else momentum would].
The Bianchi's relaxed geometry and natural propensity to roll over everything in its path pairs perfectly with a freewheel. Which is why I almost expected to have both legs lurching around yesterday, propelled forward by my rear wheel when I attempted to coast.

It wasn't so bad. In fact, my legs stayed attached to my body. Mostly because my drivetrain sounds like...a train.
Dan M. took a look and jumped on my bike to make sure it was just the shark-finned cog. And as his 6ft+ frame weaved around the store on a 44cm bike, he jokingly squeezed the squealing front brake like a train whistle. It screamed, as usual, like a puppy being run over. It also sounded exactly like a train.

Assured that it wouldn't do anything except sound like I don't actually take care of my bike, I left debating changing my gearing or just purchasing another cog. For now, it's actually a nice reminder that I'm not on that wondrous freewheel anymore. I miss it already; especially being able to clip in and climb hills without that built in assist that fixed gears give you. And coasting. Oh, coasting.
Pedaling [the whole entire way] home, my feet naturally pushed back on the pedals, slowing down, creeping between cars, and allowing for a much greater amount of control - the kind that requires a level of skill that I haven't yet achieved on a freewheel. I remembered how fun it was to maneuver around piles of snow on a fixed gear, even if my knees weren't so happy later on in the day. This might be temporary, but it's definitely still fun.

Grinding to a slightly screechy halt in front of my apartment, I winced a little at the noise. And then remembered Dan's goodbye to me a few hours ago:
"See ya, K Train."
At least I'm still faster than the Green Line.

mechanical gastronomy

Summers in bike shops are, obviously, as busy as the winters are slow.
Any weekend day with relatively clear weather means that all the shops in the area are flooded with customers and their respective bikes. Mechanical issues, flat repairs, sales of bikes, tune-ups...and within the resulting deluge of regular customers, I barely get to talk to the people I love.
It's selfish, I know, to pout over lack of attention. I'll have the shop nearly all to myself come winter. And I usually only stop by to hang out and say hello, and sneak behind the counter to watch a repair or two, or get a closer look at a pretty [expensive] bike. Meanwhile, my friends are on their feet for nearly 12 hours a day, battling dirty bikes, bending derailleur hangers back into shape, or running around to satisfy a customer's every whim. "Lunch" is consumed around 5pm, if they're lucky, and if you've noticed, there's a conspicuous lack of chairs in every bike shop.

And if you look closely, you'll notice, too, that every bike shop has some food behind the counter. Placed within easy reach of the mechanic's bike stand, or in a tool box drawer, are cups of coffee, bags of chips, and this past weekend, even fried chicken. But it's not every day that a customer owns a Popeye's franchise and delivers about three tons of deep fried golden deliciousness to the shop as a gesture of thanks...which is why I brought some [of Chris's] favorite cookies along when I poked my head through the door of IBC this past weekend.
Because, you know, I like to take care of my own. Never mind that I need those guys to stay healthy and on their feet from a purely self-interested perspective...I mean, I'm doing this for the good of everyone involved. Ever tried to fix something when you were starving? Ever tried to politely reason with someone around 4pm when the last time you ate solid food was about 7 hours ago?

Yeah, it sucks. And when summers mean more riding, more broken down everythings, and more customers demanding attention, well, the least I can do is make sure there's something being digested in certain stomachs. Granted, my charity was a bit ill-timed and arrived in the aftermath of battered chicken, but apparently was still appreciated.
You are what you eat, I suppose. Or, I hope. Because then I can at least try to keep my mechanics sweet, despite the summer workload.

bike stupid

My parents are both typically Japanese...and not.
They're typically rarely [overtly, at least] proud of their daughters' accomplishments. But they managed to skip the "parent stupid" phase where everything their children did was endearing and adorable. Maybe our faults were pretty blatant from the beginning. Maybe they didn't want to be "those parents." Maybe they just kept their excitement to themselves. Who knows.
And while I inherited most of their stoicism, when it comes to the things I love, I inevitably cave into the stupid.
Because despite the dings all over my top tube, the dirt caked on parts of my bike, and my rear white tire that's turning into a dark gray from all the brake dust, I still think my bike is hot shit. And despite the fair number of douchebags on high end bicycles, I still love bike people.
Which is why I'll get up early on Saturday morning - earlier than I get up for work during the week - to go on a quick ride before the rest of life wakes up to start the day. And happily, I wasn't alone; I ran into my fair share of cyclists, legit and kitted out, riding things much more expensive than the tractorino between my legs.

And I even got my fair share of the cyclist nod. That coveted acknowledgement of belonging in an exclusively special group of cyclists-bordering-on-insanity-because-no-one-should-be-riding-this-early-on-a-weekend-morning. I mean, let's ignore the fact that it was sometimes coupled with a quizzical look of confusion ["wtf is this girl doing?"]; we're not going to sweat the details here. The important point being that it happened [right?].
The best part being the pack of roadies I passed on the way home, obviously mid-training ride, and the sunglassed glances pointed in my direction. Baileyworks on my back, fender on my back tire, an earlier version of myself would have blushed in embarrassment. But being bike stupid, I smiled instead, half tempted to blow them a kiss.

Later on in the day, shuffling through pictures taken earlier in the week, I came across one taken of my bike locked up in front of the grocery store. The front wheel turned towards the rack, it looked almost coquettish in the early evening light. I thought it was the cutest thing, ever.
Yeah, I know, I might need treatment for this.

a cyclist's dilemma

I got rained on yesterday - for the first time this summer.
It wasn't even heavy rain, and lasted a mere 5 minutes. But lacking a front fender, my legs were instantly covered in beads of water, raising goosebumps on my unevenly tanned appendages.
It was the first time, in a while, that I was sort of uncomfortable on my bike. And between dodging puddles and eyeing the overcast sky, I was actually thankful that I had a run scheduled yesterday afternoon, and no ride.
As much as I'd love to move to Seattle, sometimes I wonder how much riding I'd get in if I actually did.

The nicer weather's definitely been spoiling me. Rain shouldn't even be a problem, just sort of messy. There's no ice or snow involved, no layers and layers of clothing to stay warm, no feeling as if I'm pedaling with all my might but not moving. But I'm still trying to dodge the outdoors, and using gyming, errands, and overdue hat orders as excuses to stay inside.
Lame, I know. I mean, I know. The worst part is that gymming is just...so much easier. Running indoors on a treadmill at a gym conveniently located on my way home from work takes no psychological effort. On the other hand, planning a route, making sure I have everything I need [tubes, pump, energy bar, water, etc.] for a ride, then actually throwing down even a so-so number of miles is much more mentally straining. And when it's wet, humid, and rainy out, motivation conveniently slips away and is nowhere to be found.

I'm running again today [the guilt!]. But only because tomorrow morning looks like it's going to be clear. And that means a real bike ride.
Faux-roadie-proseur weekend, here I come!