back to...work?

Yo yoooooooo, I’m back from my 72 hour benderrrrrrrrrrrr.
Just kidding. Although there might have been a mini bender in between finishing up finals, packing up to move into a new apartment, packing more stuff into a small suitcase, and catching a bus down to NYC. Okay said bender might have only consisted of drinking less than 2 inches of beer and getting wasted as a result BUT THAT’S KIND OF CALLED A BENDER IN MY BOOK.
So that’s what I’ve been up to, mostly for lack of a better thing to do with all this “free time” I’m suddenly finding myself with. Because somehow “free time” doesn’t translate to more cycling, just budding alcoholism. And somehow, more work.

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Because after 48 hours of attempting to pack everything I own into a bunch of boxes, I needed a break and decided that working in a bike shop would totally hit the spot. And you know, I kind of really wanted to show off one of my new outfits.
So Saturday morning I was back behind a bike shop counter - at the front of the shop this time - and pretending to know what I was doing or what exactly was going on. Chad and Kyle gave me the scoop on rentals and before I knew it, I was hauling Kona Humus from the basement, gushing about how much I love my Baileyworks, and buying pretzels for Jared. All in a really sick vintage Sportful jersey that I’ve been hiding since I snagged it off Ebay a while back. I mean, yeah, sure I risked getting dirt and chain lube and grease all over it but whatever placates my vanity, you know?

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The weather being pretty frickin’ gorgeous, the shop was packed. Waves of people would stream in, meaning that burritos, salads, and breakfast sandwiches had to be eaten in stealthy bites behind the counter. Running back and forth, bringing things down to the basement or up from the back of the shop meant that there was hardly any time to notice hunger. Until, of course, Ish and Chad’s lunch appeared from S’macNYC. Soft macaroni elbows blanketed in gooey cheese with a delicately burnt cover of casein. I was drooling. Actively.
“Good thing I’m lactose intolerant,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I even prefer my pizza without cheese.”
“...That’s like preferring your men without penises,” Ish informed me.
Touche.

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Hunger finally stoked, I grabbed my apple but with people still coming through the door, it got eaten in about 5 different sittings. The rest of lunch was a Chocolate Peanut Butter Luna Protein Bar that I managed to get to around 3pm. Those 12 grams of yummy chocolate-covered, Breast Cancer Fund supporting protein tided me over for another hour and a half of scurrying around and powered my nonexistent biceps through carrying more bikes up and down the stairs. And with a good dose of Iron and B vitamins from that Luna bar, I think I even did it with a smile on my face.
My 2/3 of a day complete, I sauntered back home around 4.30, ate some yogurt and passed the fuck out. A few hours later, I was back in the shop and a few hours after that, back on the bike. The last which proved to be possibly more painful than the last exam I took.
Well...almost.

last push

I'll be done with exams in a few days...and with my study buddy getting me sick [thanks for licking my cup whenever I wasn't looking, Matt], I have't been on the bike in what feels like forev.

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It's the last push. I'll be done...DONE!!!...before the week is out. Meanwhile, get out there and ride lots for me!

back on the tank

I watched some bits and pieces of the World Track Cycling Championships on cycling.tv [yes, the ones from March...I know, I know] last Sunday while sweltering in the humid heat. Mike just randomly put it on his computer; he later said it should be inspiring, but I think he just has a thing for girls on bikes with big thighs.
It was cool to watch, though, especially because whoever was shooting it insisted on taking close ups of all the female racers’ faces just as they started their sprint. There were all kinds of grimaces as they turned gears that weren’t ever meant for normal people, making the painful start somewhat hilarious to the spectator on the other side of the screen. Their otherwise impeccably made-up faces crumpled into a burst of speed as each racer booked it around the velodrome on feather-weight bikes that were something else.

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My mom once asked - as if I would know - why female athletes sometimes have make up on before their event. A few months later, she informed me that she had figured it out:
“It’s because that’s the only time they’re ever on TV and they probably want to look nice.”
Thanks for the FYI, mom.
Anyway, back to bikes that are made to go fast. After riding Mike’s Cyfac and a few days off, my legs were feeling good, so it’s back to Dovering it every chance I get. By now the routine is familiar, and climbing onto the bike a few days ago, I pushed off...and grimaced.
You know those tactical war videos where there’s a tank that’s going over some small dirt hill at a weird angle so it ends up briefly stopping at the top of the aforementioned hill, nose pointed at the sky, before the sheer weight of the thing makes it crash awkwardly down the hill? That’s the image that was running through my head the entire time I was on my tank of a bicycle a few days ago. Shit is heavy. And to think I’m leaning towards a steel frame for that ever elusive road bike...
I got used to it after a few miles, but it was kind of a pain in the ass. Literally. My glutes were tired, my calves were seizing up again, and I reeked. Eh, easy slow ride tomorrow, I thought. Something kind of lazy but enough to get me out of the house for a while. Nothing fast, anyway.

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Of course, when I make those kinds of decisions, I inevitably run into people I know who have gears and are way faster than me. This time, it was 100psi in a Rapha Club Jersey and on a Gold IF Factory Lightweight who joined me for most of the way back. My relaxing ride went the way of toe clips in the pro peloton because seriously, who has gears and actually goes slower than 15mph? It was fun, though, to ride with someone new, and I do appreciate the faster pace. I did feel a dark chill of fear when we passed Paceteaser-BRC-IF guy who thankfully was heading in as we were heading out. I sighed in relief though part of my head spun at the idea of getting caught up in a ride with BRC-IF guy again.
My legs made it home, got stretched, then the arms got to work doing some push ups and reverse flys before a shower, lunch, and coffee. Then it was back to work for the tank that is my brain, slowly lumbering through Intellectual Property law for that exam I’m taking today. The last 24 hour take-home law school exam of my life. Hopefully it’ll go as smoothly as my rides; even if it’s a little more painful than I’m probably expecting.

at your service

“Water safe for consumption,” the subject line of the email read. So Boston’s back to being a normal city in an otherwise developed country, and I can finally wash my hands with unboiled water. Which is nice, because my hands have felt like they did on Sunday when I spent most of my morning behind the service counter at a bike shop in NYC.
Yeah, you read that right. A girl who doesn’t know which way is up when it comes to derailleurs and cassettes was keeping busy in a service area. With tools, even.
With the 5 Borough Bike Ride last weekend [I have plans to do it next year on a mtb tandem in full Lycra with a teardrop helmet], NYC Velo needed some help so I figured it would be interesting to pretend to work at a bike shop for realz. For some reason, instead of manning the cash register - a more appropriate activity that I could probably pull off fairly competently - I ended up talking to Coach DS while he worked a wrench, which then meant I was behind the counter when a girl showed up with newly purchased shoes and Speedplay cleats.

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Okay, cleats, I can do. Never mind that I’ve never installed Speedplays before. And the skirt and white tank top that I was wearing which are both completely inappropriate for a bike shop is no thang. So I end up installing one of the plates and cleats with some [read: a lot of] help from Andy, and while I’m struggling with screwdrivers, another girl shows up with a pair of spinning shoes and weird spinning cleats that need to get tightened, too.
A touch of locktite and a few new screws later [the ones on her shoes were mostly useless...and by that I mean they were a pain in the ass to get out], and my hands had a thin film of grease on them. Not visible, but enough to give me that oily tacky feeling that gets my OCD going.
“Can I put gloves on so I can feel like a real but fake mechanic?”
“If you want to feel like a real mechanic, you won’t put gloves on,” came the ever witty reply courtesy of DS.

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I went to grab a pair anyway, then dropped them when a bike came wheeling in for a bottle cage and pedal install. Things even I am capable of doing. By that time it was close to 2pm; the last time I had eaten was over 5 hours ago, but I was hardly hungry. There was really no time to be; even if I can’t tell a brake cable from one that keeps things shifting, sunny, beautiful weekend days mean busy times at bike shops.

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Mike sold another bike, I helped DS out a little more, then we both snuck out an hour later for lunch. Ish had come by so we weren’t really needed, and there was a Sunday afternoon to enjoy. There was a stop at a bookstore, followed by Stumptown at the Ace Hotel, then later that night, a chance encounter with the best chicken taco I have ever had. I’m still dreaming of you, Pinche.
And while I’m back in Boston to finish up those pesky final exams, if you missed me standing awkwardly behind a service counter in a bike shop last weekend, I’ll be back there in a few weeks. Maybe by the cash register next time, though.

hunting for gears

Last Thursday spelled the end of law school classes, but I was still sweating out of stress and completely sober a few hours after class let out. Rummaging around my fridge for whatever was for dinner, I found a few ice cold bottles of beer from forever ago, because when drinking just the neck of a beer can get you floored, a six pack tends to last a while. I thought about it a little, picking up one of the bottles that was lying on its side, putting it back upright before thinking eh, probably not, and finding that spinach that had to be polished off.
I’m thinking more about that beer now that I’m back in Boston and a broken water pipe means that no one in the city should be drinking the water. I was even a little afraid to drink that Americano I got at Cafe Fixe, and I’m definitely questioning if showering in that water is actually going to end up with me being cleaner than the alternative. But back to the beer, and why I wasn’t drinking it.

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It had nothing to do with my confidence in my ability to cite a paper while mostly hammered, and more to do with the fact that I had to be up by 6, out the door by 7, and on a bus to NYC by 8. Four hours, lunch, and a few minutes of prepping later, I was back on a borrowed bike that’s too big for me but has gears, and has that adorable tendency to make the seat feel like a pitbull that’s jumped up, bit onto my lady parts and refused to let go. It’s probably the junky seat I have on there [the famed leopard print stripe stock saddle that used to come on the Bianchi San Jose], rather than the bike which rides and shifts like air, but either way I learned my lesson the last time I rode it, and this time, it didn’t hurt to pee for five hours after the ride.
TMI, right? Probably. But hey, it has gears, and like my 8 year old self who didn’t used to care how nasty a pony was as long as it had four legs and a tail, dream bikes with gears - even not so comfortable ones that don’t exactly fit - have been on my mind lately. Which might be old news to some, but of course, I’m the last to admit these kinds of things to myself. Because when you’re stuck with two gears between two bikes, and limited funds, it seems like I shouldn’t be allowed to dream so much. That maybe it’s easier to trick myself into believing that I won’t have shifting paddles for a while, so I should make the best out of what I’ve currently got.
But dreaming is free, and in an attempt to avoid the kind of rash decision-making that puts me into forever-single-speed-track-bike-land, I’ve been doing a little investigating. If I’m honest with myself, I’m irresistibly drawn to lighter frames but might not be so enamored with how aluminum rides. I haven’t tried my hand [seat?] at carbon, which is so deliciously airy but inevitably weighed down by that whole “it feels like it’s going to fall apart” feeling. Then, there’s the old standby of steel; much heavier but cushy and comfortable and unlikely to shatter, but difficult to finance if you’re looking for a frame that isn’t made out of water piping. [That's Andy of NYC Velo's IF and Coach DS's Parlee.]

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The tyranny of choice. Sometimes I wish someone would push a bike into my hands and tell me this is the only bike that will ever fit me so I better ride it into the ground. Which I happily would do, instead of wavering over websites, frames, and magazines, judging components and wheels to see if this bike is actually worth it, or if it fits any one of my ridiculously arbitrary requirements like “it doesn’t come with Sora” and “I refuse to ride something that is women’s specific and therefore only comes in baby blue.”
I suspended all that, though, when Bicycling came in the mail the other day. “Editor’s Choice Bikes of the Year,” it said, and I was sure it would be filled with good stuff. With a female Editor in Chief, Bicycling’s been doing a fair bit of stuff for the fairer sex, so I naturally expected to see a women’s specific section, which there was. Awesome, I thought, this might lead me to the dream bike of my dreams that comes in size tiny...!

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Um...yeah...
When I flipped to the women’s section, for some reason I guess I expected a women’s entry level bike too. Instead, all three bikes listed are over $3k. Great carbon fiber bikes with solid components [the Giant TCR Advanced 1 W comes with Ultegra 6700], but way out of my budget, not to mention a price tag at which I’d rather go custom. But then again, I’m not a competitive cyclist by any means, and maybe CF gets some people’s juices going. That’s not to say I didn’t see a few interesting not-quite-entry-level stuff [the Jamis Xenith Comp priced at $1950 and the BH Speedrom 105 at $2399], but of course, they don’t come in my size.
There’s good stuff in there, just not THE ONE for me. Which, I suppose, is a blessing in a way. Because this whole frustrating, headache-inducing, sometimes disappointing, other times extremely satisfying hunt for the perfect bicycle is what makes it all worth it in the end, right?

not entirely mia

Hey all,
Apologies for being somewhat MIA, but I've been working my butt off trying to finish up school. Not much bike stuff was going on last week but this week is looking up. Well, except for that whole finals exams thing.

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More tomorrow, I promise.