velo bento -- april 22, 2010

It was almost picnic weather yesterday...so in the spirit of spring [and the new logo courtesy of Gage & Desoto], here is a long overdue Velo Bento:

A Whole Foods whole wheat pita stuffed with spinach, oven-roasted turkey, and a dollop of cranberry sauce. Orange and some organic string cheese on the side. All in an OXO TOP container.
I first saw the new TOP containers on the OXO site on my hunt for something leakproof. As a big fan of OXO, I couldn't wait to get my hands on a few. Good thing my sister works there, which means none of that ordering through Amazon, paying for shipping, or trying to hunt them down in person. Just an email, some cash, and a good excuse to hang out the next time I went down to NYC for a visit.

I haven’t tested their full capacity yet, but I love how substantial these feel in comparison to my other tupperware containers. They’re BPA free, too, so I don’t have to worry about not being able to have babies because too much plastic is leaching into my food. Plus they’re freezer, microwave, and dishwasher safe. I swear, OXO thinks of everything.

Okay, I admit, I wrapped up those pita ‘wiches in some saran wrap before I tossed the entire thing in my bag because overflow-age seemed inevitable. I can’t wait to try these containers out for real though.
These will def be making more of a regular appearance...much like [bike] picnics should.

less miles, more gears

So you know how sometimes you’re sitting around with a bunch of your best friends and just because you’re all totally comfortable with each other you start playing “Never Have I Ever...” [or whatever the male equivalent is] and then you find out that you’re the only one that hasn’t done this one thing? And then all your friends are like you gotta try it, it’s going to change your life? And then you do and you’re like eh...meh...not life changing so then you’re totally not into it after that first experience? And then someone persuades you to try it again and you figure out that you were doing it all wrong the first time and it’s actually sort of life changing?
Yeah, that’s me and gears, lately.
Having felt like I’ve hit a wall with the single speed rides, and tired of the sheer exhaustion at the end of each ride, I spent most of the weekend away from my bikes. The weather providing a good enough excuse, both the Dolan and the Bianchi stayed parked in their respective spots in my apartment as I headed to NYC on Sunday morning. I was ready to spend most of my extended weekend [Marathon Monday + a cancelled class on Tuesday] bike-free.

It didn’t work...and why would it when you bring your shoes and helmet “just in case”? I looked at the sunny weather and weighed it against my discomfort riding anything with gears, especially a bike that’s a bit too big for me. Then I thought about how it wasn’t going to change my life and that I really should have brought my own bike and dealt with my inability to climb anything more than a 2% grade. Then I figured, I gotta start somewhere, and got dressed.
And surprise, surprise...it did sort of change my life. This time around, instead of riding Mike’s Cyfac like a single speed [keeping it in the big ring and mashing], I did as I was told and started out in the small ring. I spun.

Up the West Side Highway, back into the city and around the Cloisters, it was a short 25 miler with some fun sprints and big ring action on the way back. Less miles than I usually do, but it was so easy I knew I’d have a hard time getting back on my own bike[s]. I could climb hills - real ones - at a decent clip without that inevitable slowing down. My legs never hurt like they do when I drag myself through Dover. And strangely enough, I didn’t feel like I wanted to crumple up into a ball of sleep within 2 hours of getting home.
A part of me missed that fall over feeling of exhaustion, but a lot of me really loved that unpainful rides really do exist. And if 25 miles felt that easy, with the right bike, I’m pretty sure 50 wouldn’t be a problem. And if 50 isn’t a problem...well...100 doesn’t seem like such a pipe dream.
Okay so everyone was right that a road bike would solve more of my problems than add to them. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and say "I told you so"...BECAUSE THAT'S NOT GOING TO HELP ME LATER TODAY WHEN I HAVE TO DO THAT DOVER RIDE ON ONE GEAR AGAIN. I'm working on that geared thing though. For real this time. Trust.

a day in the life...

In pictures. Because I'm out of words for now:

[Click on the image to view the full size...because I had no time to ink that shizzle.]
Have a great weekend!

a jersey with boobs

So you know how a few weeks back I posted about the dearth of women’s jerseys without the flowers and all that other lame shit all over it? Well, a bunch of you suggested a bunch of different brands, and naturally I checked them all out.
But one...one stood out.
I thought I had my heart set on the Castelli Magnifica jersey: full zip, lightweight for summer, came in a predominately white color scheme which led me to think that maybe I won’t die of dehydration wearing it, and was just a touch over my expected budget of $150. But then Andy led me to Capo’s website, where I was immediately sold on a white jersey that was not only cheaper but came with boobs...!

Okay, not really, but...how clever. My best friend taught me this trick of framing boobs with a darker color to get them to pop out, and while I’ve never had the balls to execute it, it’s stuck in my mind since. Black is the shade of choice for many women because of it’s flattening effect: it hides the shadows that might protrude from unsightly curves like a muffin top or a tummy. That’s all and well when you’re at a black tie event, but on the bike, if you’re going faster than 5mph for more than 10min, black essentially spells death by dehydration.
But white...so pro, and yet so difficult for women to wear...! White basically takes any curves you have and blows them up by 60%, unless said curves are your boobs, in which case they’re deflated by 45%. So while you might avoid heat stroke in a white jersey, you get to look like a walrus squeezed into sausage casing. If you have broader shoulders like me, they get accentuated by 33%, rendering you into a fatter version of the Hulk on a bicycle. What to do?

Enter Capo’s Cortina jersey [$130]. When I first clicked on it, I expected to see yet another typical white and red jersey. But some genius at Capo has understood the basic concept of adding black accents in all the right places. This means that even if you have nonexistent boobs like me, you don’t have to depend on clever angling and shadow to create an illusion of a rack. BECAUSE CAPO DID IT FOR YOU, ALREADY.
Genius. Really. I can’t imagine what this jersey could do for those ladies who have extant mammary glands. But, that’s not to say that this is the cure-all jersey that’ll keep everything in while lifting other things up and together. Thin and clingy, it fits like a second skin. And being white, that means you don’t get to hide much elsewhere. But fuck me if that thing doesn’t look sharp.

Luckily, I had also ordered the Castelli Leggera vest [$50]. In white, of course. Paper thin but wind and water resistant, it breathed in the right places and appropriately refused to creep up or budge on my ride. It’s fitted enough but keeps things modest, and a little self conscious about my own winter muffin top, I layered it over the jersey yesterday. When I took it off, I experienced the joy of balling it up and cramming it into my jersey pocket. Because apparently that’s what you’re supposed to do; you’re not supposed to cram your Patagonia jacket under your jersey and head home looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Because that looks retarded, even on me.
So while I’m hesitant to get into the functionality of either the vest or jersey - they still smell new! - I did get a fair amount of appreciative looks yesterday. Which is the only thing we women care about, anyway. Just kidding! No, but if you’re in the market for a women’s jersey made with boobs in mind, do check out the Capo Cortina.
And if you order from Competitive Cyclist, take it from me that the people who work there are the nicest people around. Seriously. Not only did they call me because I was a dumbass and made a mistake when I entered my credit card info, they also pronounced my name right. And let me tack that jersey onto my original order.
Seriously <3 them. Now go stalk their site and get yourself or your loved one the most ingenious jersey I’ve found so far. Go go go.

stumbling in stilettos

Track bikes are to ‘cross frames what stilettos are to Crocs. Not everyone can wear them, much less wear them well. To a good portion of the population, the distinctly sharp shoe is simply impracticality in its most feminist-inhibiting form. To others, heels that tower ever higher, ever more constrictive, are something of an art to be mastered at any expense.
Both track bikes and 3 inch pointy-toed stilettos look like [aero] dynamite. But looking good on them takes a fair bit of practice, both indoors and out. Sure, you might be able to saunter effortlessly around your apartment in your best heels...but that’s no guarantee that you can navigate a carpeted room with the same swagger. So while I’m fairly confident in being able to keep the rubber side down on the rollers, encountering wind and real asphalt is a different matter.

There’s some convoluted reason why I have two single-speeds, though, and with laziness plus a tinge of boredom with the usual Dover ride creeping in, it was time to get reacquainted with the Dolan. The bras drying on the top tube got dusted off, the mostly flat tires inflated, and looking every bit the serious cyclist except for the whole sneakers and toe clips part, I jumped on.
Or, clambered on awkwardly. You know those situations where you end up losing your shit at someone and then inadvertently bump into them the next day before you’ve forgiven each other? Or maybe you have forgiven each other via some kind of easily misunderstood medium like email, but have been slightly avoiding each other since? And then you’re thinking, “awwwkwwwarrddd,” but you don’t want to say it because they might misconstrue it and think you’re more of a jackass than you actually are?

That was like me and my own track bike yesterday. It’s not like I don’t remember how to ride fixed, despite all that time I’ve spent on a freewheel. But I’d been severely negligent long enough that I had to do the requisite clumsy dance where we each felt each other out before proceeding with the day’s plan. It only tried to take off my leg off once, but we got along grandly after that. Even the knees cooperated.
It wasn’t a ride at all, just some good ol’ dicking around. I rediscovered things I already knew like “this thing can go fast,” and “holy shit, I cannot stop this thing,” along with “I am extremely uncomfortable going downhill even with a front brake on.” I practiced my trackstand and set a personal best record of .01 seconds.
There was a shower at the end, but no buzzy post-ride exhaustion. I probably burned more calories gchatting trying to decipher my reading later that afternoon. It was [outdoor] time in the [track] saddle though, which, like those awkward post-fight moments with friends, is something I’m just going to have to get used to.
There’s going to be a lot of stumbling involved, of course, but in the end, if there's any correlation between friendships and bicycles, it’ll all be worth it.

saddle woes

So, yes, I did watch Paris-Roubaix on Sunday. Yes I saw FabCan dominate the last 45km and be all like PEACE OUT, BITCHES!!!!, and yes I saw Boonen come in a measly fifth. And yes, there is now a dope t-shirt about the events of last Sunday.
And yes, I finally got back on my bike yesterday.

While I would love to say that I dominated my Dover ride with the ease of FabCan, it was a lot more like Boonen’s attempt at a sprint. I thought things were going okay, picked up the pace a little with what power I thought I had in my legs, and then realized that three days off the bike is about two too many. The leg that usually doesn’t hurt that much started to hurt on the way back. Now my IT band is ever so slightly bothering me. Ugh.
Oh yeah, and if you didn’t catch it on Twitter, I had an awesome saddle sore to keep me company, too.

Did you think I was going to post a picture of it? YOU DID, DIDN’T YOU? I’ll spare you. Mostly because I’m sure you’ve all seen one before on your own respective asses. I usually get mine in the most uncomfortable places [although I guess any saddle sore is uncomfortable], and I’ve learned in my two years of cycling that there really isn’t much of a cure. I mean, you’re always given the choice of tolerating it or trying to lance [Armstrong] it, but the end result is the same kind of disgusting.
But here are a few things I’ve learned from trolling the Internet in desperation the first few times I’ve gotten one. Some of it specifically for the ladies, of course:
1. Laser Hair Removal > Trimming > Waxing > Shaving. Some people say waxing solves their problems while others say that it makes things better but requires a lot of regular exfoliation. Pick your poison, just don’t shave.
2. Wear proper shorts. Not doing so is the number one reason I get these things on the regular.

3. Try to keep things clean and dry once you do get one and don’t irritate it. Saddle sores = the only reason I might sleep without underwear on.
4. Neosporin is your friend. I’ve heard acne medicine works to reduce it too; basically anything that’ll dry it out and suck all the bad stuff out at the same time [has anyone tried baking soda?]. Some people swear by using those corn pads if it’s really bothering you [I’ve never tried it]. Epsom salt baths help to an extent...but who wants to take baths in the summer?
5. If you do lance it, disinfect religiously. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if you don’t.
6. If it’s huge, go see a doctor. There’s a reason I’m in law school: because I was too stupid to get into medical school. So remember that this isn’t proper, professional medical advice. I’ve heard of saddle sores as big as golf balls and if that’s what you’ve got...sorry, dude. I can’t help you.
Oh, and don’t be shy about asking around. Everyone who has ever put in decent miles on a bike has gotten one of these at some point in their lives, and I’m sure someone out there has some kind of cure-all for this that I don’t know about. Case in point: Mike bought Bag Balm when he got one. It’s for cow udders and is made in part from sheep bladder.
He claims it worked. To each his own [saddle sore cure]...right?