a friendship in review

Hey,
I realized, on my pre-Vuelta ride this weekend, that we’ve kind of come a long way. It hasn’t been long since we’ve known each other – almost a year and a half – but you’ve been with me through some hard times. Remember that crash back in October last year that left me with a left arm that still doesn’t work so good? And the weird health problems that kind of floored me for six months this year? You stuck around, through all of it. I guess that’s what real friends are made of.
Our easy friendship wasn’t always like this, was it? I remember when I met you for the first time. You seemed a little too much for me; just really cool and something I didn’t really deserve to know. I was kind of overwhelmed, actually. And maybe that’s why, when we started to go on rides together, I started to toe the line of co-dependence. I felt a little paralyzed when you just needed to recharge your batteries and couldn’t ride with me. It’s a little embarrassing to admit now, but there were a few times I almost didn’t ride because you weren’t around. Okay, full disclosure: I panicked because you claimed you were at like 3%, that you'd only last 10 minutes on the bike. I thought, "well, how could I ride then?" I did, though, but it was close.

Can you blame me? We became inseparable pretty quickly. I’d always have my face in yours, and we’d do that thing where we’d stare into each other’s eyes for dangerously long periods of time while we were coasting along. I totally almost crashed into stuff like 10 times. You remember that, right?
And when I got my power meter, you were as excited as I was! You pushed me when I needed it, but also showed me when I had to dial it back a little and relax. I’ve always sucked at the latter, but you were right; I made some crazy gains with your help. I eventually got used to looking at you – I guess you became familiar – but I never stopped thinking you were pretty sexy. You’re smaller than some, sure, but I think it makes you more adorable. Like I want to just tuck you into my pocket and take you all around Tokyo.

I could go on and on about the times we've had, and I know you'll recall all of it, too (I've always admired how easily you remember things). I'm not paralyzed without you on rides anymore; I actually like our weekend deals where we ride around, not so much focused on each other anymore, but still together. I think you like it, too (if only for the safety factor).
There's more we'll see, I'm sure. Different countries, places, friends. I expect you to call me on my BS ("yeah you wish your FTP was that high"), and to never lie to me about the grade of an incline ("are you seriously suffering this hard on a 12%?"). In return, I will keep you sheltered, fed, and firmly attached to my stem. Promise. Cross my heart.

Because we've come this far together, Garmin 500. I don't intend to trade you in for anything else.
oxox, k

air conditioning my samurai spirit

“You know he doesn’t let his family use air conditioning, right?” My coworker asked.
“…But why?” I said, “I mean, I know air conditioning screws up your body’s ability to regulate its own temperature and stuff…but it’s…really hot out.”
“Well…I mean, maybe that too,” my coworker responded, “but I think it has more to do with how it’s supposed to diminish your samurai spirit or something.”
I gave him a look.
“I swear, it’s a thing. Look it up.”

We were trading some gossip, as I attempted to fan the humidity and sweat off myself with a plastic folder. Tokyo summers are densely humid and hot – this past week having been particularly brutal – but it was the first I’d heard of air conditioning being a detriment to my samurai spirit. I had, until this point, been under the impression that artificially cooled environments were aiding my ability to remain zen when my body seemed unable to stop sweating. And sweating uncontrollably just didn’t seem very samurai.

But this was the coworker who had warned me about the Paris Syndrome, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. A five second Google search later confirmed his statement. The references were vague, but enough to concede that yeah, it’s apparently a [real] thing. "Okay, fine," I said to the back of my coworker's head, over the partition between our desks, as I pulled on my cardigan. The air conditioning was kicking in in the office.
My allegedly diminished samurai spirit came to mind again on Sunday as I pushed the pedals towards home. It was my second day in a row riding outside in heat so intense it felt like the sky had pulled a wool blanket over Tokyo, while blasting the city with a heat lamp. On Saturday, I knew temperatures would peak at 37C, but thought, well, how bad could it really be? And the worse it was, the better it would be for my samurai spirit, anyway, right?
Apparently it can get pretty bad. And apparently, I’m lacking in the samurai spirit department.

Five bottles of water and Skratch kept me alive on an easy three hour spin on Saturday, but the next day, even with stronger legs and slightly less punishing temperatures, I was toeing the edge of heat crazy. If you keep pedaling, it’s not so bad. But your denial inevitably stumbles across the too obvious signs of what exactly you’re doing to yourself: the hot water in your bottles, the waves of heat coming off the asphalt that reaches under your bars to sear your eyes, the sight of your shorts sprouting salt crystals, the reality of sweat coming out of your shins. It's like doing one of those masochistic juice detox fasts, where you convince yourself you have to feel like shit for a little while, but don't worry, in ten days, you'll feel so much better. Clinging to life on a hunger high, it's not hard to chant to yourself that you feel better ["energized," even] doing this, but stop and think about the situation for a minute and you realize all you want is a huge burger and a king size bag of chips. Or, in my case, a cold shower, green tea shaved ice, and air conditioning.

Sprawled out on my bed after scrubbing the sweat off of me, my skin still stained with the heat, I reached for the air conditioner remote. Modernity may be maiming the samurai in me, but actual death by dehydration seemed equally detrimental to that cause. Or so I told myself. Shaking my head at my own ineptitude, I drew up my knees and noticed crisper tan lines that were finally edging towards "good." I stretched my heels towards the ceiling before dropping heavy legs onto the bed.
"Whatever," I thought, as cool air swirled around me, "samurais never had to ride bikes, anyway."

re-connecting

My Internet connection at home inexplicably disappeared for a few days, but like a banged up knee, it's back in action.

Good stuff coming in a bit!

july selection

It's been a struggle - physically and psychologically - to readjust to Tokyo after a week in Paris [really, can someone just import me there?], but here's some good stuff from this month, mostly inspired by Paris...
- This didn't happen in Paris, unfortunately, but so, so cool. [via Bike Rumor]


- The green [Sram] red goatee. Just because I got to see it. [picture by Brakethrough Media]

- Bicycle Spring Rolls from The Garum Factory? Oh, my YUM.

- Nico mentioned Spinlister when we did a little 4-year reunion in Paris. For cities without bike share programs, it looks like a fun, easy way to get around town while traveling. Fingers crossed they have some tiny bikes listed...

- And because my trip wasn't all about cycling, I stumbled on a little taste of Japan while I was there too, in the form of Claire Naa's jewelry. I've fallen in love with her stuff.

More soon!