centerfold champions

When significant others fail become less significant, I do what [I'd like to think] most others do: stuff all objects/memories/gifts/pictures associated with said person into some kind of receptacle [not the trash, though, apparently newly broken hearts like to cling not purge] and place it somewhere it can be easily forgotten.
Months later, I'll come upon it [I'm really good at forgetting where I put things], and heart fully healed and going strong, that receptacle of stuff is consistently greeted with a feeling of mild annoyance. What the hell am I supposed to do with this now?
That's the feeling that greeted me this past weekend. Fresh out of the MPRE [and somewhat grateful that I didn't go on the IF ride that was done at the "leisurely" pace of 29mph] and finally managing to do my laundry, the state of my dresser drawers was shameful to say the least. What am I doing with all these t-shirts? Where did they come from? When did this drawer become overstuffed with so much stuff?

So it was time for the annual spring/summer to fall/winter switch. More New England-appropriate clothing was pulled out and [folded neatly, I might add] replaced the gazillion t-shirts I own. But I'm a sucker for soft, short-sleeved things so while winter is right around the corner, I have to admit, a few key shirts will linger in my dresser until next spring. Right next to the Underarmour that I've been wearing religiously.
Of course, much like that feeling of "oh shit, did I throw away that awesome mix CD that hottie-cyclist gave me in that ex-boyfriend-schwag-bag by mistake?!" I started having doubts about so many long-sleeved items taking up valuable dresser drawer real estate. Because upon opening the December issue of Bicycling Magazine, even if snow wouldn't be out of the question in a few weeks, t-shirts are still very, very in.

Okay, fine, I admit, I'm completely biased. BECAUSE CASSETTE IS IN BICYCLING MAGAZINE!!!!!!!!!!1111111111!!!1111!111!!! Featured prominently in teal is none other than our "I heart Cassette" shirt. The first cassette shirt I claimed as soon as printing was complete, the original drawing of the derailleur [and the Campy-esque Cassette logo] is tacked up on my wall [along with the original drawing for the "Breakfast of Champions" shirt]. It was actually the first ever cassette design as well; and one that turned out to be an unexpected favorite. I initially feared that its simplicity would work against it; then it showed up...in print.
Ahem. I mean, not just any print publication, but BICYCLING MAGAZINE. One word of advice, though: don't be fooled by the model's rendition of "Blue Steel." This t-shirt is not only made for the super-hip, beautiful people in cycling. I mean, the people wearing cassette shirts right now are super-hip and beautiful, but it's not an exclusive group. Well, you know, as long as you can ride a bicycle.

The December issue of Bicycling isn't just worth checking out BECAUSE CASSETTE IS IN IT. The "I heart Cassette" shirt is paired with none other than Outlier's Climber pants [and that's a huge compliment in itself]. There's the NYC Velo espresso machine shirt on the facing page [you can go see that beauty in person at the shop], and a few pages later, on the page facing the male model with more eyeliner than all the band members of My Chemical Romance combined, is the infamous Greg Lemond shirt by Gage & Desoto. There's even a multi-page ad by Rapha - beautifully done with that distinctive finesse as per the usual - and a mention by Editor-in-Chief Loren Mooney about "bike lusting at NYC Velo."
I'm excited. Stoked, actually. I might even be proud of myself. And while the weather here in Boston gets increasingly suckier, I mentally patted myself on the back for keeping my cassette shirts in my dresser. Because unlike memories contained in ex-boyfriend-schwag bags, this summer and all the things that came with it, are worth remembering - and keeping - for a lifetime.

an outlier problem

You know you're at Interbike when the day starts with a stop by a suite at the Venetian, and the elevator next to you spits out a guy in a full kit on his bike, who clips in and rides his way to his hotel room.
But you know the day's going to be really good when it involves a cell phone sound system, Bouchon Bakery, and independent cycling apparel designers in the form of Outlier and Swrve.

A month and a little bit ago, M1 and I met Tyler and Abe of Outlier. Over lattes and iced coffees, we chatted about printing shirts, fondled their new Merino T-shirt [which feels like a soft black cloud of air], and when Interbike came up, they let us in on a plan for a trunk show. After saying our goodbyes, M1 and I babbled excitedly about it. And before we knew it, we were sitting in a suite at the Venetian with Tyler, Abe, Matt, and Miriam [of Swrve].

The trunk show - and all the running back and forth it involved - was possibly the most fun I had in Vegas. Because while both Outlier and Swrve obviously take their craft seriously, they not only deliver quality products, but are some of the friendliest people in the industry. Getting excited over how good ak-mak crackers are [they are addictive] wasn't stupid, but awesome. And feeling lazily comfortable after a morning and then some spent on my feet, I even managed to pop my cherry on one of the couches.

My Bouchon Bakery cherry, that is. We scarfed down sandwiches with a coffee so dark it tasted like an Americano [except...almost better, if that's even possible], and an Americano with crema so thick it almost looked like a latte. One bite of the huge oatmeal-raisin cookie and I fully, completely, and totally understood Abe's admission when he said had a "Bouchon problem."
Tummies full and re-energized, we headed down to the Momentum fashion show...And I ended up in an elevator with Jason and his Walmart Huffy [which he later did a barspin with]. It sat in the suite along with Affinity's new road frame [with complete Sram Red] as Outlier's Workwear pants and 4 Season OG pants flew into eager hands [they are hottt]. People marveled at their Merino T-shirt and the soft texture of their Merino hoodie as Tyler danced to the Major Lazer streaming out of his cell phone. M1 tried on a pair of the Workwear pants and had paid for them before I asked if he was getting them. I couldn't resist and bought a cap. Can I say I can't wait for their womens' pants?

It was over almost too quickly, although my legs felt dead. People drifted off to the Crit as we wrapped up our things and sat for a few minutes in the quiet aftermath of a good event. I left the next morning without seeing Outlier or Swrve but emailed thanks and mentioned indulging our respective "Bouchon problems" again.
"Bouchon, anytime..." came the reply. Yup, these are definitely my kind of people.

attention please, part two

When a met a tall, lanky, long-haired boy with "Everybody Poops" tattooed on the inside of his wrist, I never thought that he would be my first ever customer. Back then, this blog was still mysteriously anonymous, and I only had two jobs - hat making and blogging - in addition to school instead of about five. So when Gregory emailed me about purchasing a hat I offered to the Internet, I surprised him outside of the Otherside Cafe and delivered the hat in person.
A year later, he offered to write a post about the hat. And when I read it for the first time after a long, shitty day at school, it made me feel all fuzzy and cuddly inside. So here it is:

I am a fan of birthdays and anniversaries. Not presents or cake or anything, but I think of them as benchmarks. They are a fantastic way to asses how far you have come in one year, and deciding on where you would like to put yourself a year from the day. One year ago today I purchased a hat, and unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the first one pedalstrike ever sold.
I want to write something to honor the passage of time while respecting the timeless nature of it all. I want to laudate the brain, fingers, and sewing machine behind it all. But mostly, I am here to appreciate the hat.

Trying to describe the hat: The ultimate in comfort cool style is what first popped into my head but then I realized what a painfully queer combination of words that is; so I think I will just whittle it down to cool. This hat is cool. From every angle and in every interpretation or disambiguation of the word- this hat is fucking cool; and I knew it right away.
Where did I get it? –people asked.. A friend made it, a friend hand-made it, it’s the only one like it and the only one the premiere the baby the guinea pig the only ever; there can only be one first and this is it.
Unlike other mass production hats- all of pedalstrikes hats have this amazing brim. Soft and malleable- they remind me of my childhood basketball hoop in NH. It has the perfect amount of give; and a year to the day this hat has never stopped giving. Those who own one know exactly what I mean.

When I lived in a camper in New Hampshire I wasn’t feeling very Rapha. Riding a conversion I never feel very Columbus speciale. I ride, now, with some sweptback Wald bars and I don’t feel Eddy Merckx in the least.
But when I was uncomfortably getting into wearing a helmet, my pedalstrike hat was there. When I gave my first bike hat to a girlfriend traveling halfway around the globe; at least I had my pedalstrike. It’s corny, I know, but I’m not that outgoing. I don’t carry an ID because I hate the bars. My friends have to literally drag me to parties and the likes.
But when someone realizes my hat was made by Kaiko and ask me about it- I get a surge of confidence, a spring in my step, daresay a little swagger. I say “Yeah, it’s the first one she ever sold.” It’s my one bike-geek way of saying “Attention, Please.”

Gregory, you're awesome. I'm glad you were my first. Customer, that is.
[Here's anotherRapha Scarf Friday.]

the search for speculoos

I never thought that chasing a wafel would end with me falling in love with a cookie.
And for once, that's no euphemism.
A few months ago, on a rainy July day, I chased down the Wafels & Dinges truck for the first time. Catching up with it in midtown, eagerly eying the menu, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. But something caught my eye; a mysterious topped called "speculoos" and marked as the Wafels & Dinges favorite. A simple query led to the presentation of a small, cinnamon-y cookie; and while M1 and I ended up opting for Nutella on our wafel, the enigmatic cookie lingered on both tongue and mind.

A little research led to more information on the spiced cookie; known in the Netherlands as "speculaas" and in Belgium as "speculoos." A cookie associated with St. Nick's Eve (December 5th in the Netherlands and December 6th in Belgium), they are easily identified by the bas-relief image usually pressed into the dough. Seemingly ubiquitous in Belgium, I had never seen the infamous Lotus brand of speculoos anywhere in the US.
But God bless Google. Because a little rummaging led me to none other than Walgreens where Lotus brand speculoos have been rebranded as Biscoff. Yum.

Still, the growing Belgophile in me wanted authentic speculoos. But a reliable source assured me that artisanal speculoos was impossible to get in this country. So in an attempt to achieve the culinary equivalent of the next best thing, I rolled up my sleeves, printed out a recipe, and got to work with the aid of a trusty partner.

Crisp and sturdy, these cookies aren't delicate things that you might carefully pack in a box to prevent them from shattering. They're hard enough to surprise the unsuspecting but absolutely delicious with coffee. Thrown in a ziplock bag, they'll easily fit into a jersey pocket for a mid-ride snack, and with this recipe making so many cookies, there's even enough to pass around at your favorite bike shop.
I'm not done experimenting with this recipe, but here's one for starters...
Speculoos Adapted from this recipe. [We accidentally added too much flour and managed to pull together the dough with the addition of yogurt and water. No negative consequences seemed to result but feel free to opt out of using the yogurt and just watch how much flour you're adding.]
Ingredients: 500g or 4 cups all-purpose flour 150g or 2/3 cup unsalted butter at room temperature 1 egg 300g or 1 1/2 cups of dark brown sugar 2 teaspoons cinnamon 1 teaspoon ground ginger 1/2 teaspoon cloves Pinch of salt 1 1/2 tablespoons Greek style yogurt 3 tablespoons water
[Makes about 50 cookies]
1. Preheat the oven to 180C/360F 2. In a food processor or stand mixer, mix the butter, sugar, salt, spices, and egg until it comes together. Transfer into a bowl if you are using a food processor. 3. Mix in the flour in batches by hand and knead the dough until it comes together. Use the Greek yogurt thinned with water if you add too much flour and it doesn't seem to be coming together. 4. Divide the dough into two and place one portion onto a piece of parchment paper. Roll it out to a 5mm or 1/4 inch thickness. If you aren't using speculoos molds [we weren't], cut out the cookies into narrow rectangles. 5. Use a knife or spatula to transfer the cookies onto a lined cookie sheet. Bake for 12-15 minutes [the center will still be slightly soft when done]. 6. Cool on a rack on the parchment paper. Repeat. Eat.

cassette.

You know that feeling when you wake up at some absurd hour from passing out somewhere that is not in your own bed after a kind of long night and you realize it's probably a good idea to leave wherever you are even if you don't really want because, hey, there's always tomorrow?
That sort of defines the weekends I've been spending in NYC with M1.
But that's how it goes, right? One thing sort of leads to another and before you know it, it's 3am and you're like fuck, maybe I should go home, but this is really good, but I really should go home, so hold that thought and I'll see you tomorrow, oh brunch? sure, and...plans tomorrow night?
Wait, wait, back up. It's not what you're thinking. Really.

Because even if the late-night scheming, trips to the city, and hours-long daily phone conversations got me to paint my nails [something I haven't done in ages], it's really not like that. Sure we've both made huge commitments - emotionally and physically - but it's not like we're getting married. Still, we did sort of have a baby together.
Her name? Cassette.

A product of six weeks of nonstop work - three of which were entirely devoted to thinking up of a name [and no, I can't even imagine what it's like to have real children] - it's finally finished. There was the proposal, a few days after we initially met, of designing a single t-shirt together, which then sort of blew up into something organic with a will of its own. Then the honeymoon period of thinking that everything was going to just fall into place. Then the little fights, frustrated rampages, tempter tantrums, and tearful anxiety attacks [yup, that was all me]. Then finally, finally, a functioning site, and the possibility of a decent night's sleep.

And so, despite the panicked terror I secretly felt as I hugged M1 a little past midnight last night in celebratory congrats, here it is. Our baby. And while we sort of pulled out the main parts of this thing out of thin air, apparently having kids isn't just between two people. Because without supportive friends who posed, critiqued, pulled shots of espresso and told the obligatory "that's what she said"s, this project would have been as productive as...well, protected sex.
Of course, I'm not condoning unprotected sex. Or having children. Because if cassette felt like a mini dry run of pregnancy and [immaculate] conception, having real kids must be a complete fucking trip.
I have to admit, though, that I'm sort of hoping cassette will last for a while. I actually wouldn't really mind 18 more years of this. Of course, that all depends on how cassette grows up. Still, as a proud mother, I'm going to let myself gloat. At least a tiny little bit.
[Oh, and I almost forgot. It's Rapha Scarf Friday.]

rainy optimism

Blame the NYC Bicycle Film Festival and the weather for keeping me from blogging regularly lately. Ironic, I know.
A busy weekend full of bicycles and hats can do that to you, though. Saturday morning started with brunch before heading to NYC Velo [yet again] in the increasingly persistent rain. We hurried to the shop with heads down, attempting to shield our faces from droplets of water, to pick up a tent, a banner, and a box of goodies. An Ortlieb bag was packed with Gage & Desoto gear, my own Baileyworks stuffed with hats, some optimistic hopes crammed into our pockets, before the whole operation was carried to the street fair.

Despite the flash flood warnings, even Jason K. [check out his pimp profile here] showed up with another Ortlieb's worth of t-shirts and flyers advertising the silk-screening classes he's offering. And with good company and plenty of bicycles, there wasn't much to complain about...well, other than the damp weather, of course.

Wrapped up in a borrowed raincoat, I mentally cursed the weather as I watched the sky. I seemed to be the only one, though, as BMXers happily did tricks up and down the street, slipping on the wet pavement. A crowd of people gathered to watch, and as the rain finally let up, the cluster of people eventually grew to a slightly surprising size.
Or, maybe, it was only surprising to me. This is the BFF after all, and even in the rain people were showing up on bicycles, dripping wet but eager to have fun. And this being NYC, there were cruisers, hybrids, track bikes, BMXs and all manner of bicycles. Sales weren't great, but the people watching was well worth the time spent under the blindingly orange tent.

We folded up the operation a few hours later, caffeine withdrawal calling us back to NYC Velo, then Abraco [yes, I'm an addict]. Later, fish were gutted, dinner cooked, more ideas bounced around before face-planting on my sister's couch, exhausted and braindead.
But not before the weather forecast for Boston was checked. It says rain. All week.
I'm trying to stay optimistic, though.