My break is officially over, and I'm trying to start the year out right. That means returning to posting [more] regularly via Embrocation Cycling Journal Monday...
bike 'stache
There's nothing like being in one of the world's largest cities, back near friends and the only family that lives stateside...and being confined to a bed because you're burning up with a fever.
Exciting, right?
Actually, even for a domestic homebody like myself, it really wasn't. Multitasking was out of the question; as was getting out of bed. But, it gave me the perfect excuse to clean up some unfinished business. And I don't just mean watching Half-Ton Dad, Half-Ton Teen, and Half-Ton Teen, Part 2: Survival of the Half-Ton Teen.
I mean the unfinished business that had me leaving the bike at home, and toting a suitcase down to NYC instead. The unfinished business that I finally got around to after my fever subsided [after I got that whole "sleep" thing out of the way] yesterday, stuffed in a bag, and delivered to some awesome friends. Late handmade Christmas presents crafted from my little fingers and transported across the globe from Tokyo to NYC.
The popularity of collars and merino items might have had something to do with my choice of what knitted gift to give to my cyclist friends this season, as well as the popularity of facial hair this time of year. Inspired by the Incognito pattern available on Knitty, I chose merino wool yarn instead of alpaca [I couldn't get the yarn listed on the pattern in Tokyo], and changed the gauge accordingly [for the knitters, the more complicated "tangy" version of this pattern is well worth the extra little effort]. The mustaches also got modified [how could I not design a crazy long, curly 'stache for Brett?], and Andy's got the royal "NYC Velo" customization.
Too bad when I managed to make it outside and to the shop yesterday, bag full of cookies, rice crackers, and mustached collars, half the recipients of the collars were already wearing their own homegrown 'staches. It was still cold enough to have them excited about the gifts, though, and tomorrow looks freezing enough to force them to wear it [muahahahaha!].
Unfortunately, I'll be leaving this fair city tomorrow, and with two days eaten away by a fever, I feel a little cheated. Still, I have a full 24 hours left here with my favorite people. And that's a good thing, too, because...well...I haven't quite finished all my unfinished business. There's a collar still on deck [needles?] for Mike, and with a promise of a picture of Andy, Brett, Justin, and Mike with their fake 'staches, there's motivation to get that thing done by the time I board a bus tomorrow afternoon.
Besides, with no bike around, recorded episodes of Law & Order, Intervention, and Hoarders, plus expectations of snow later today, what else I should be doing than sitting on a couch sipping coffee, and looping that yarn around two needles?
back for a bit
"Remind me to invent time travel," was the first thought that popped into my head when I finally landed in Newark last night. It consequently got tweeted a few hours later when I got back to Boston, greasy, hungry, exhausted, and reeking of airplane.
I'm a fairly seasoned traveler, but suffice it to say that flying over 12 hours in one sitting will always pretty much suck. Some things I've learned, though: don't fly out of Logan, Houston has a nice airport, be prepared to get your bag searched twice and patted down before you board, and getting to the airport over two hours before my flight will still have me nearly running to the gate, shoes untied, laptop in one hand, coat, bag, and passport in the other.
All things that help ensure that I am perfectly willing to beat the living shit out of any wannabe terrorist.
But back to bikes. And Boston.
Anyone who has crossed the international date line a few times can tell you that it’s more than a little surreal to find yourself in another country after 12 or so hours of being crammed in a seat that was made to accommodate children or those without hips. When foreign languages are also involved, things get a little more awkward. Sleep-derived, with patches of dry skin all over my face courtesy of the complete lack of humidity in any airplane cabin, arrival also means stuttering my way into the appropriate language. The total lack of interest in any productive sort of communication means that I have learned how to smile and giggle my way through both immigration and customs. The shame. But hey, it works.
The irony being that that’s one thing I consciously missed while in Tokyo: the ability to verbally masturbate over everything related to bicycles. Mention of Lance Armstrong resulted in blank looks from my parents [“...Lance...who?”], and attempted conversation usually ended in “just be careful on your bicycle.” And who can blame them? My mother - suspicious of my virtual harem of male friends and the possibility that I may be dating one of them - believes “poor” and “cyclist” are synonyms. I imagine that this must terrify her; that believing me to be generally useless, her youngest daughter probably shouldn’t be considering marrying poor. My father has more pressing things to worry about, like the economy. Neither know about cassette, much less this blog.
So after two weeks in Tokyo that first felt like an eternity, then turned into a whirlwind that ended too soon, I poked my head into my dark apartment last night to catch a glimpse of a gray-black tire that used to be white. I left my suitcase in my alcove and turned on the light to check on the track bike. Things were just as I left them, just as they should be.
I wasn’t talking to anyone yet, and I’m not crazy enough to consider my bikes to have human characteristics. It was comforting, though, to be back. Even if it’s freezing out. Even if I sort of wish I was still back in Tokyo.
Jetlagged but stateside, I’ve unpacked and have a full day ahead of me. Presents to be delivered, a note to be edited, books to be bought [already! ugh!]. As for that verbal masturbation, I’m headed down to yet another city, loaded with goodies for a few friends I haven’t seen in too long. NYC Velo, get excited!
tokyo time out
I am slightly embarrassed to say, that three years in, I have yet to find the perfect cure to a semester plus of law school. A day, a week, a few months, I can do. Any time on the rollers - from fifteen minutes to forever - can usually keep the insanity at bay. But a semester plus two years? It takes a lot of cycling to erase that kind of pain.
Take bikes away from the equation and I’m not sure what the normal law student is left with in terms of options as to how to resocialize. I have a feeling that it might involve a lot of sex. Or whatever the gastronomic equivalent is. On the other hand, that might just be my way of explaining the unnervingly large number of fat creepers which populate your typical law school. I like to think that it’s the inevitable result of too many hours scouring too many cases. You eventually end up fat and desperate.
In any case, left without my bicycles for the duration of 13 days, in another country no less, I’ve been at a complete loss. Roller-less, recovery is slow, and unsurprisingly involves staying far away from anything with a keyboard and a screen. And yes, that involves the internet.
I understand how that might sound. Like I’ve too easily turned my back on a best friend. Taken the proverbial shit on the guy who has always been there by my side. Kicked a fiance to the curb right as the limo to the wedding pulled up, so to speak. And the worst part? I’m sort of getting used to this.
Despite my mother’s fussing, I can get used to rolling out of bed and not really having much to do. Nothing about not putting on a bra until 3pm bothers me. It’s okay that the farthest I might travel in a day might be the distance from the kitchen to the bathroom, because it’s twice as far as the bathroom is from my desk back in Boston. And the fact that I’m riding shotgun in my mom’s car? Please. Since when was I an eco-freak that rode my bike around for environmental reasons?
So other than the invisible, ever-changing itinerary of “preparing for stuff we’re going to do just because tradition dictates that we should do it” which I’m told about approximately 5 minutes before we’re all supposed to leave the house, I’m flexing my lazy like The Situation tightens his abs in a club full of guidette hoochies. But like how nights at the same clubs [even on the Jersey Shore] can get old, I would be lying if I said that a part of me wasn’t itching to get back to my bicycles. Stuffing myself full of decidedly non-vegan goodies is pretty awesome, but I miss the messy, sweaty sessions on the track bike, or the freezing cold commutes on the Bianchi.
I’ve been missing the empty staring at blank Word documents as well. Who knew that laziness could be so...boring. But without bicycles, it seems a little silly to write about my life sans velos. Even if - and I’m being honest when I say this - the guilt of my silence is hovering over my shoulder like the stranger drafting behind you that you just can’t seem to shake off.
But just like that drafting stranger, there’s a new year [too] quickly approaching, and I’ll be back to bikes, Boston, blogs, and my boys before I know it. So let me savor this “doing nothing” thing for just a little bit longer. Because, come on, you know you’re doing the exact same thing, too.
Happy New Year, guys!
holiday nothings
It wasn't New York, it wasn't Christmas eve, and it didn't end in the drunk tank. But it was as carefree as a "Fairytale of New York."
You know the Pogues song. With those charming lyrics ["you're a bum, you're a punk/you're an old slut on junk"], it's the song that'll run laps around my head during this season. It flittered through my head a few weeks ago, just as it got cold, then vanished as final exams hit and cabin fever settled in. But after the corporate tax exam that was akin to Chernobyl, I was free to live like a normal person. To sleep in when I didn't have class, to ride my rollers endlessly, and even to do nothing at all.
I almost freaked out. I have no idea how to do nothing. It scares me.
But I had a whole day to myself, before flying off back home to Tokyo for two weeks - where, admittedly, posts might again be sparse as I intend to perfect this whole "doing nothing" thing - and with exams and school done for the semester, I no longer had the "sorry, I'm busy" excuse. To be honest, I probably would have stayed in my apartment, alternating between my bed and my rollers if it hadn't been for Mike and an email telling me about the Downtown Crossing Holiday Market. With clear skies and not-so-unforgiving temperatures, it was worth getting out of my apartment for.
Okay, so I didn't ride down there; Mike didn't bring his bike and we figured having him ride on my bars probably wasn't a good idea. The T actually proved to be relatively painless and crazy-people-free, and warm - something of a novelty when you ride around in Boston winters. Back out on Park Street, anywhere that wasn't soaked in sunlight was bordering on freezing, but the Holiday Market was enclosed in a tent. We slipped inside to find jewelry, baked goods, and even a small farmer's market section. And then we stumbled on perhaps one of the coolest things ever: dessert hummus.
Coming in different flavors like pumpkin pie, toasted almond, chocolate mousse, maple walnut, caramel apple, and peanut butter, it's made with chickpeas but flavored and sweetened, and completely vegan. We tested a few flavors, then both shelled out for a container of the stuff [Mike got the almond, I wavered between pumpkin pie and peanut butter, then ended up with the latter]. And to fuel our trek through town to Newbury Street and the Pru, Mike grabbed a Berliner/beignet covered in cinnamon-y sugar from Swiss Bakers.
Then we walked. Yes, walked. Through the Public Garden [across the frozen pond], down Newbury and Boylston. It could have been done faster by bike, I know, and it's insanity that I'll choose to spend the last day I'll be within 10 feet of a bicycle [for the next two weeks] on my feet and not the pedals. There might be something to be said for slowing down though, for trying to spend the day like a normal person might. To stop striving - if it can really be called that - to achieve some elusive cycling goal.
But like the oxymoron that is the recovery ride, I couldn't stay away. Symptoms of bike withdrawal emerged here and there as I pointed at displays and suggested ideas ["Hey, [NYC] Velo should do that..."], between stories of what the guys were up to while I was chained to a desk. I was even already planning my next trip to see my crew after I get back from Tokyo.
Plans which didn't involve taking the bike along; I will be loaded down with presents, after all. But, a long, narrow box came my way, wrapped adorably, and from the kind of present giver you almost don't want presents from because they pick such good ones and then you're like oh shit, now what do I buy them? I peeked inside, my eye bulged, and then I tried to be genuinely exasperated even though it's something I honestly wanted. It's made for women, it's wider than most, and yeah, it's going to look sick on the track bike.
So it wasn't Christmas eve. And it wasn't New York. But I still got a feeling...this year's for me and [my friends, bikes, all the awesome people who read this, and, of course,] you.
Happy holidays!
layered denial
A few years ago, my "spring break" coincided with Valentine's Day. Finally taking the time to head down to NYC to visit a sister and a best friend I hadn't seen in a small eternity, I walked into an apartment full of...cupcakes. There were about 10 or so cupcakes, all from various donors privy to the fact that my sister's girlfriend has something of a cupcake obsession. The situation escalated into the absurd when my best friend came over for dinner, bringing with her a half dozen, softball-sized Crumbs cupcakes.
After gorging ourselves, we felt obligated to put a dent into the cupcake surplus. But given how large Crumbs cupcakes can be, we modestly cut them into fourths. But 10 minutes into dessert, with all of us dipping back into the tray for "just another piece," my best friend made the following observation:
"We don't we all stop lying to ourselves...we're all going to eat the equivalent of one cupcake."
It was true. We were in denial, nonetheless, and only assented to that observation after we each demolished at least 3/4 of a cupcake. And this time of year, I'm back to cutting my cupcakes, so to speak. Because in full denial of the current onslaught of winter, instead of perhaps wearing a proper jacket, I'm leaving the house in layers: long-sleeved Underamour, leggings, jeans, knee high socks, fleece jacket, soft shell jacket, and a down vest. Add to that a giant Ortlieb bag, helmet, and Pearl Izumi AmFIBs, and I look like a colorblind Ninja Turtle [my jacket and hat are red...the down vest dark green]. But hey, it keeps me on the bike, and that's the important part.
Because fully in finals mode, too little time is spent in the saddle. Countless hours are clocked in in front of a desk, and the Bianchi only gets ridden when I manage to find an excuse to venture outside. But when I do, whether I'm bundled up to the gills or relishing the absurdly warm weather we had earlier this week, I'm savoring.
And not only because I've been filling up on some awesomely good vegan yumminess [read: curried split pea soup from "Vegan With A Vengeance"]. Sure, it could be my body finally getting some Vitamin D, but the motion of pedals and the feel of the frosty wind that's preventing me from actually moving forward are oddly appreciated this time of year. Even short rides to the grocery store to pick up something I didn't really need - but convinced myself I should get to alleviate the cabin fever - are fun, despite their simplicity and lack of length. With windows wide open at night, I'm doing too much time on the rollers, too. So as the hours and days dwindle down to that Corporate Tax exam that I'm so not prepared for, I'm clinging to both of my bikes as if they were security blankets of tax law knowledge.
And somehow, there's a complete lack of that feeling I usually get around exam time, where I panic and productively spend my time wishing I could hit a magic "Pause" button and buy myself some time and comprehension. None of that feeling of my bowels going through a blender when I see the days disappearing on my calendar, either. Even if studying is getting done at the pace I ride the rollers [i.e., slowly].
But then again, I just might be waist-deep in denial. Attempting to take a power nap a few days ago resulted in dreams plagued by conflicting tax provisions. But...ignorance is bliss [until I get my grades back], right?