attention please, part two

When a met a tall, lanky, long-haired boy with "Everybody Poops" tattooed on the inside of his wrist, I never thought that he would be my first ever customer. Back then, this blog was still mysteriously anonymous, and I only had two jobs - hat making and blogging - in addition to school instead of about five. So when Gregory emailed me about purchasing a hat I offered to the Internet, I surprised him outside of the Otherside Cafe and delivered the hat in person.
A year later, he offered to write a post about the hat. And when I read it for the first time after a long, shitty day at school, it made me feel all fuzzy and cuddly inside. So here it is:

I am a fan of birthdays and anniversaries. Not presents or cake or anything, but I think of them as benchmarks. They are a fantastic way to asses how far you have come in one year, and deciding on where you would like to put yourself a year from the day. One year ago today I purchased a hat, and unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the first one pedalstrike ever sold.
I want to write something to honor the passage of time while respecting the timeless nature of it all. I want to laudate the brain, fingers, and sewing machine behind it all. But mostly, I am here to appreciate the hat.

Trying to describe the hat: The ultimate in comfort cool style is what first popped into my head but then I realized what a painfully queer combination of words that is; so I think I will just whittle it down to cool. This hat is cool. From every angle and in every interpretation or disambiguation of the word- this hat is fucking cool; and I knew it right away.
Where did I get it? –people asked.. A friend made it, a friend hand-made it, it’s the only one like it and the only one the premiere the baby the guinea pig the only ever; there can only be one first and this is it.
Unlike other mass production hats- all of pedalstrikes hats have this amazing brim. Soft and malleable- they remind me of my childhood basketball hoop in NH. It has the perfect amount of give; and a year to the day this hat has never stopped giving. Those who own one know exactly what I mean.

When I lived in a camper in New Hampshire I wasn’t feeling very Rapha. Riding a conversion I never feel very Columbus speciale. I ride, now, with some sweptback Wald bars and I don’t feel Eddy Merckx in the least.
But when I was uncomfortably getting into wearing a helmet, my pedalstrike hat was there. When I gave my first bike hat to a girlfriend traveling halfway around the globe; at least I had my pedalstrike. It’s corny, I know, but I’m not that outgoing. I don’t carry an ID because I hate the bars. My friends have to literally drag me to parties and the likes.
But when someone realizes my hat was made by Kaiko and ask me about it- I get a surge of confidence, a spring in my step, daresay a little swagger. I say “Yeah, it’s the first one she ever sold.” It’s my one bike-geek way of saying “Attention, Please.”

Gregory, you're awesome. I'm glad you were my first. Customer, that is.
[Here's anotherRapha Scarf Friday.]

breaking away

Still spinning on this tdf high, it's all I can do to wait for the weekend where a tdf brunch is planned.
I'm secretly [okay, not so secretly anymore] scheming. Brioche from Bouchon Bakery or Balthazar? Or should it be a croissant? Coffee or an Americano from Abraco? I'm torn.
But one thing I'm certain of: even if I don't expect him to win, I'll have my sights on Lance, for sure.
Can you tell I'm a fan? And being Japanese, that's defined in the most manic way possible. Because although I've never been to Austin, TX [or even close to Austin, TX], I'm already a fan of Mellow Johnny's. Ignoring the obvious Lance connections, the concept of Mellow Johnny's is hard not to love: a coffee shop attached to the bike shop, all kinds of incredible bikes, and they even offer spinning classes and rides for women.
I may have posted about PDX earlier, but Austin is looking like a very good contender city, too.

And when the object of my affection throws a party with Mellow Johnny's to celebrate the 30th Anniversary of "Breaking Away" [even enacting the last scene!], well, I'm going to celebrate in my own way.
Unable to watch the Tour, but dying to be a part of it, I hatched this idea about a week or so ago, and got to embroidering late last week. My first attempt at embroidering something so minute, I found out that not only do I dislike embroidering straight lines, curves sort of bother me too. And this, like most things, was [unfortunately] full of both.

Completed late Sunday night, it made me feel sort of better that I won't be able to fly down to Austin this Sunday, when the men of Rapha will partying at an event that, if you're in the area, is not to be missed. But if I could, I'd be wearing this hat - hand embroidered with lots of love for the tdf, Lance, Mellow Johnny's and Rapha - hollering "CUTTERS!!!" at the top of my lungs. Instead, it's been entrusted to a modern day Dave Stoller to be delivered to Austin, TX. Hopefully on a bicycle with the drivetrain on the correct side. And perhaps even on his head.
Meanwhile, I'll be pushing away feelings of jealousy and the urge to pout in disappointment at another unattended not-to-be-missed event. I may even be crossing my arms. But hopefully this will be on a couch, in front of a TV with cable, brunch within easy reach, and surrounded by bicycles.

surprisingly exclusive

I'm not going to lie, I secretly love owning exclusive things.
The earrings I got in a small store in a stylish Tokyo neighborhood, the bracelets I never take off, and the tiny track frameset I now proudly own. Sure, other short people own the same Dolan, but none in Boston, and none have doused that frame in so much pink.
Small surprise, then, that I like to make exclusive things too.
But, it is sort of surprising that I'm currently [back] in New York City, with a bagful of new hats, for a new shop. The concept is the same, but the everything else seems completely different. Which sort of resulted in something like two weeks of crazed hand painted hats inspired by bright sneakers and my personal love of the 80s.

And it also resulted in panicked fits of nervousness and apprehension and the conviction that these are not going to move. I almost backed out of a weekend down in the city, despite a promise for Americanos and french fries on someone else's tab. I spent the morning sipping coffee, stalling and balking at leaving my sister's apartment to head to the shop, the bag full of new hats still burning a hole into my confidence and self-esteem.
I'm finally getting off the couch, off the Internet, and out of the apartment to head to the East Village though. Because I hold myself to keeping my word, and a promise was made to NYC Velo for an order of 10 hats [okay, I did one better, literally, and am delivering 11]. It took some late nights, some stress-fueled tears, and some coaxing by friends to get them done. They're finished though, and seemingly just in time; I'm so anxious right now that I almost need them out of my life.

And with the added weight of being an exclusive run for a very reputable shop [evidence of their awesomeness here, if you scroll down a bit], I'm going to worry about them. Obsessively.
One more reason, why, if you're in the city, you should stop by. I mean, even if only to let a worried mother hen know how her babies are doing in a strange new city.

fabricated crises

1.57am. That's when I finished.
Not like that's unusually late these days. Between rides, blogs, and scheming, late nights are becoming part of the whole routine. A dizzying one that has me nearly falling asleep as I brush my teeth and having small fits of existential crises over gchat. All while some part of me lists all the things I have to do the next day, then tells me to stay up some more. I'm not that tired, am I?
Actually, I kind of am. But it's totally my fault.
I chose to hang out yesterday after my ride, instead of finishing off the latest batch of hats for Cambridge. So those got done after dinner, stretching into the next morning. There was good IMing company, but in the end it was me, a needle and thread, and a pair of scissors. Hand finishing each and every one.

But I like this batch, a lot. There are the classic black ones [Zach insisted on more black], then some lighter ones, more summery and a little more adventurous. I even mixed some gray ink for the brims, the white getting slightly redundant.
The sewing was getting redundant too, though. Barely able to see, mostly unable to think, and completely dead tired, I was rambling and ranting to a partner in crime.
"What am I doing? Why am I doing this? It's 2am," I said.
To which he advised:
"The best cure for a 2am existential crisis = sleep."

Yeah, maybe. I mean, I should do more of that. Soon. After I finish some more hats, cut some more fabric, take some more pictures, write some more posts. After that, and the errands, then the gearing up for work on Monday.
After that, maybe.

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.]

[briefly] living the dream

Despite both of my classes having been canceled today, I rolled out of bed at the usual time.
Granted, I can't sleep past 8am on any day, anyway, but I was sort of excited to get up and pick my way across a floor littered with fabric, tailor's chalk, and some random pins [ouch!]. I scooted my chair in front of my sewing machine - not the laptop - and settled in for a morning of pins, seam rippers, and bias tape.

The need to stop in at school before taking the long way to CB meant I was working on a deadline. I slightly kicked myself for spending the majority of last night sitting at my desk, my chin resting on the top of my machine, while I read and clicked through the amazing photographs on Velodramatic. It's such a great blog! Clean, professional, and very well executed; it's where I get my Rapha fix because my current bank account balance won't let me actually do that in real life.

My foot like a lead weight on the sewing machine pedal, I didn't mind the pressure or undoing a seam or two. Mostly because this kind of near-sweatshop-labor is my definition of fun; I almost wished that I could hand embroider the "Boston" or somehow personalize each a little bit more. But with limited time and a pretty saddle waiting for me, the screened versions had to do for now.

Then I crawled into a pair of rain pants [yes, dorky] and jumped on the bike first to school, then to CB. The saddle's hanging from a bag on the bars of my Dolan, on the secret 3rd floor of IBC. UPS is currently killing the possibility of a finished bike this weekend, but by this time next week, I plan to have something incredible between my legs.