west siiiiide!

I've never been to California, or the West Coast. Even with the beautiful weather and equally beautiful people, I was always convinced that the dreary, cold, bitterly sarcastic East Coast [or, at least the New England area] suited my personality much better.
These days, though, I'm flirting with the idea of checking out the other coast. Seattle, in particular. Yeah, I know, it rains a lot. Yeah, I heard it can kind of suck to train there. Yeah, it's probably not the cyclist's paradise that I'm convincing myself it is. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
It'll never be associated with law school, though, which is part of the appeal. That's not to say that the decision over whether I should even try exploring my options west doesn't fluctuate as wildly and as often as Britney's weight. I'll make a decision, and then scrap it within the next 30 minutes, think about it while zoning out on bike rides and nearly run myself into parked cars.

Because Boston's got its charms. It comes in the form of bike shops and polo, and awesome people who give great hugs. Standing alone in a crowd at the ESPI finals - having wedged my way by the door of the court which now lacked the usual chainlink fencing for better viewing - someone squeezed my shoulder and I turned to find Tom...then saw Croth, Matt, Clark, Cole, Reuben...Boston represent!

So when Seattle played against Boston yesterday in the finals, I shamelessly cheered for Boston, despite the fact that I was literally surrounded by strangers. Toby and his friend turned to me, telling me that they were conflicted as to who to cheer for because Seattle played so well. For me, for that one game, the choice was blatantly clear.
Constitutional law [and the fear that accompanies final exams] had me jetting off before the final game. East Vancouver took 1st place though, with Milwaukee taking 2nd and New York City taking 3rd. All points west.

And Seattle did win over Boston in that game. I was sorely disappointed but hey, it happens. And even with the magnetic pull that Seattle's had over me recently...well, maybe we [and I mean Boston] can win that trophy next year...
Congrats to the winners and everyone who played!!! It was amazing to watch!
[To get your official ESPI 4 fix, head on over to Legit Bike Polo.]
[Pictures here...and some by Croth here and here.]

polo madness

Did I really write a half-sentimental, verging on fuzzy-wuzzy post on bike polo yesterday?
Yeah, yeah I did.
Wow. That's kind of embarrassing. I mean, sure everyone who plays in Boston is incredibly laid-back, but the reality of playing polo is more "Fight Club" than "Sister Act." More "Kill Bill" than "Snow White."
It involves squeaky skidding, the loud thud of the ball bouncing off wheel covers and the clatter of the door hatch as players tap out. The occasional heckle and the cheers when bikes tangle and crash, players get shoved aside, or make kamikaze-like sacrifices.

Because when the best from around the country [plus Canada!] get together in possibly the biggest polo event, ever [35 teams showed!], things get fast, bloody, and broken. I arrived at the Allston court in the early afternoon and got to watch some of the best players in the country unleashed upon each other for the 4th East Side Polo Invitational.

I knew it was going to a complete sausage party [aren't all bike events?] but I was unprepared for the frothing-at-the-mouth-testosterone-fueled competitiveness. With Boston locals clearly in the minority, it was like stepping into a different world. I actually stood in the middle of the crowd for about a full minute, searching for familiar faces, rummaging in my bag like I would somehow find my friends in there.

Not that these strangers didn't look interesting. There were enough mallets, tats, tight jeans, and bikes to make me swoon. Fortunately, being dressed in spandex and knee highs and arriving on my vanity track bike made the situation sufficiently awkward so that swooning would have been out of the question. Fortunately, I shoved aside the awkwardness for a few hours to watch some amazing games. And, fortunately, the players I did end up meeting didn't seem nearly as crazy off the court.

Although, once mounted on bikes with mallets ready, all the teams were fueled by something more than just the desire to win those Volume frames. Pride is on the line, and apparently that makes for some spectacular games. I snapped pictures furiously, leaning over the door, watching the game through the small screen of my digital camera.
Impending final exams [and the need to study for them] forced me to leave early. But ESPI finals are today. You know where to find me.
[Pictures from yesterday here.]
[Edit: and more pictures by Croth from Saturday and Sunday.]

espi 4

In a former life, I would either be currently attached to a TV or in Kentucky, with a ridiculous hat and a mint julep.
Because, hello, today is the Kentucky Derby.
The first of the coveted Triple Crown, I've dreamed of watching this legendary race in person for years. And back when I would have made the weight cut, I even considered training to get an exercise jockey license. Because, you know, that would bring me one eensy, tiny step closer to the Kentucky Derby.

Instead, today, I'm off to the polo courts in Allston and Somerville, with a few prizes in my bag and full of expectations of good hugs from good friends. Finishing up hats for ESPI last night, I suddenly realized that I had promised to make these the first day I showed up to polo. In October. It was just starting to get chilly; I had just watched my life as I planned it go down the shitter, and the only thing I seemed good at collecting were rejection letters from firms. In retaliation, I painted my nails bright, bright red.
And started spending Sunday afternoons with a mallet in one hand [or, at least a beer], and forming those bonds that make bad days, weeks, or months just unravel. I remember biking down Western Ave, then that paved sidewalk to the court itself on sharp, verging-on-winter fall days my mind an emotional mess of "I didn't get that job I was dying for, my note's a mess, my future is falling apart, blah blah blah, wah wah wah wah..." And trying to keep myself from bursting into frantic tears, I'd look up and see a raised mallet or hand waving, Jamie stopping by the wall to say hello [cigarette in one hand, mallet in the other], and Nick making some smartass comment as he coasted by [laughter, in any case, inevitably ensuing].

In any life sans polo, I'd find a way to watch the Derby. But even with three more finals staring me down, I'm going to make a little time to deliver on promises, and watch my polo peeps own. I may not be able to offer any kind of tangible support on the court [unless you count my trademark "get in everyone's way" move], but that doesn't mean I can't cheer or heckle.
And even if Boston doesn't take every single prize offered [including a Volume cutter frame thanks to Kip and Bud at Cambridge], at least the winning team will be forced to rep Boston whenever they might turn these brims up. And with the Derby favorite this year named "I Want Revenge," well, I think that's all too appropriate.
[And if you're reading this, with nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon, pedal your ass over to one of the courts. Right now. GO.]

marco...!

Cruising home last Sunday on the new track bike, a tall, lanky boy caught my eye.
Brown tussled hair, dressed in black, and features that can curl up into a super cute smile. Added plus? He was loaded with polo mallets.
I shouted out his name and gave a wave before turning onto Harvard Ave. Carefully rolling through the uneven patches of pavement, I heard a bell ring and turned to see none other than Jav, The Responsible Mature One of Boston Bike Polo's main regulars [and of course, one of the best Boston's got]. With increased gearing on my track bike, I felt like I was running through water on the slight incline while Jav's ridiculously low gear ratio had his knees bobbing faster than Jennifer Beals' in Flashdance. We rode through Harvard together, catching up, before parting ways all too soon on Beacon.

Then, last night, as boredom and cabin fever from being trapped in the library for too long crept up on me, making me more than a little bit homesick, my favorite polo player IMed me. I unfortunately missed their Sunday Polo/BBQ event last weekend, but was told lots of people showed up, even a fair share of girls [my cougar bait - a long-running joke - is apparently still single, though...phew!]. Jamie, one of the sweetest boys I've met in Boston, also demanded to know where I've been before leaving me with some sage advice [re: cougaring]:
"You need a man, not a bitch."

I had to cough to stifle my giggles and cover my mouth so no one would see me laughing at my computer screen. Jamie somehow always knows the right thing to say, and he's totally right about my inexcusable absence from polo. All signs are pointing to the fact that I need to go back to see the people that didn't tell me to gtfo after crashing into walls, other bikes, and generally being completely useless on the court.
Don't be surprised if, come this summer, at least half my posts are about...
1-2-3 POLO!!! [8 more days until ESPI 4!]
[Yes, these are old pictures...another sign I need to go back to play polo.]