to build an if

There are times when the days blend together. Whether it occurs because of a great winning streak in a game of Beirut or because of late night ramblings over a midnight snack with a friend at a 24 hour diner that eventually turns into breakfast, anyone with even a hint of a social life will understand this. Even with a couple hours of sleep thrown in, one day can turn into another, the reminder that you mentally crammed 48 hours into 24 only hitting you full force when the headache of sleep deprivation sears through your temples. Too bad when the overpowering desire to curl up on the floor and doze saturates your brain, you’re usually already a drink or two into your next blurred-together day.
Of course, the last time my days blended together, it was due to back to back to back episodes of “To Catch a Predator.” Me, pedophiles, and Chris Hansen. Until 3 a.m. Oh yeah.

And though Chris Hansen’s magnetic creepiness was woefully absent, the past few weeks have blended together, too. Sleeping in until almost noon, trudging through the slushy streets of New York, going to too many bookstores...and before I knew it, 2010 had flowed seamlessly and somewhat unmemorably into 2011.
It wasn't until last Sunday night that it occurred to me that it really was 2011. That night, in a slightly chilly bike shop, with some Victory beer, the help of another Chris [Harris, not Hansen], and some oddly shaped tools, I slowly assembled my very first road bike.
It started with a bottom bracket tapping and facing set; a gigantic metal contrapction that does the frame-prepping equivalent of douching and brazilian bikini waxing. Each tap got inserted so as not to cut through the BB threads, “chasing” them, before the facing cutter was fitted onto the outside edge of the BB, shaving off most of the paint. It hurt a little to do [doesn't waxing anything?], but I managed not to screw it [or my frame] up.

With a hammer, I pressed my first fork crown race, clanging away at the crown race installer. Then, feeling very pro mechanic, pressed my first ever headset into place, perfect and pretty. Okay, that’s not accurate. I only really installed the bottom half of the headset while Chris did the hardest part of aligning the top half. After spacers, bars, and brakes were attached, Chris made me figure out how to install the derailleurs myself [which was totally cool because those are only the exact parts that don't come on a single-speed bike]. I got it, eventually, only to be laughed at when I tried to put on my wheels, tightening them down like they had track nuts on them. Chris had to fix the wheels before helping me wipe down and measure out the chain, installing the brakes, and insisting I wrap one side of my bars. And he took pictures, documenting my embarrasment.
A la "To Catch a Predator," the bike build was a team effort. I was the equivalent of the Internet pedophile that stupidly walks into a TV set [“well...I thought it would make sense to put that...there...is that...wrong?”], while Chris [Harris] pretty much played the part of my other favorite Chris [Hansen] by attempting to reason with me [“do you really think that’s a good idea? You're building your own bike...What did you think was going to happen here tonight?”]. All very much like one of the greatest shows on television, with the exception that when I left the store, I wasn’t tackled by some burly cop screaming at me to get down on the ground.

And at the end of it all, I had a road bike. All I really got to do that night on the bike, was to pedal the length of the store. The saddle was a little lower than it should have been but once I cruised past the display of Chrome bags, that cliched realization, the prefix for those "I told you so"s [or more accurately "I TOLD you--Jesus CHRIST! WHY don't you ever LISTEN?!"s], that this bike was made to measure, hit me. It felt perfect. Not in the pre-fabricated, psychological way born of expectations, but in the physical sensations of a just-right reach, a standover that didn’t feel dangerously questionable, and the tangible fact of how the hoods fit into my hands.
And that’s when I knew. When I ceased to have any question in my mind about this simple fact:
Y’all are going to have a hard time catching this predator.

all i want for christmas is...bike porn [of my new bike]

I know there are pictures of the complete and painted frame floating around already, but for those needing some bike porn, want to stalk IF vicariously, or have simply never seen braze ons being, well, brazed on:

Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Now go ride your respective bikes!
[All pics courtesy of Tyler at IF.]

christmas mornings and the rapha 500

My sister loves to sleep.
This fact is not only well known amongst her friends, but might go so far as to be a distinguishing feature. It's not that my sister loves to sleep in after drinking her way through most of the previous night with friends, or wakes up at a respectable hour and chooses to go back to bed, hung over. My sister's sleep is much more intense, probably requires extensive training, and is an event that should be included in the Olympics. Getting up at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon might be an early "morning," and calls are not allowed before noon, at the earliest. Flailing arms [and sometimes, fists] would fly in[to] the face of anyone brave enough to attempt to wake her [yes, even, once, my mother's].
Yet my addicted sleeper of a sister has consistently made one exception to the rule. And that was always Christmas morning.

The anticipation familiar to everyone who has had parents loving enough to give gifts at this time of year, my sister made a practice of getting up at what I would later come to refer to as "the ass crack of dawn." Long after I abandoned the practice of jumping out of bed and racing to the tree, my sister would scuttle into my room, wide-eyed and awake [for once],
"Kaiko, Kaiko, wake up! It's Christmas!!!"
I would do the equivalent of playing dead, hoping my unresponsiveness would discourage her. It never worked - she would shake me like a cat ripping gleefully into a small and helpless rodent - but thankfully college seemed to mellow out my sister's ability to rocket out of bed at 5.30am on Christmas morning. And after a few Christmases spent apart, I'm not even sure her internal Christmas clock is still working.
As annoying as it was then, though, this year, I almost wish my sister had kept up that practice with the early Christmas morning wake up calls. Because with a road bike - my very very first - on the way, and all the little parts of it coming together [or at least sitting in a cardboard box at NYC Velo], even with snow on the ground, I would gladly rise too early to ride the crap out of that new frame. And if the prospect of a new bike wasn't enough to get me outside into the freezing cold, there was the idea [or hope] of doing the Rapha 500.

The concept of the Rapha 500 is to ride 500km [or 310.7 miles] in the seven days from December 23rd to December 30th. A feat that might not be possible to attempt if you are 1. employed or 2. have a life, it seemed like the perfect way to mitigate the damage to my arteries from my own holiday plans to inhale my weight in Christmas food and cookies [mostly cookies]. It's a fair bit of riding, and it would be difficult to accomplish without riding nearly every day of that week, but being 1. mostly unemployed and 2. lacking a life, with 3. a new road bike on the way, it seemed like a great way to get my lazy ass on the road before the new year. Besides, the first 100 people to complete it get a really cool patch!
Can you tell I always wanted to be a Girl Scout? I did. I made it to the Brownies and then either got kicked out or couldn't figure out how them bitches roll and gave up. Probably the latter.

Anyway, the problem is that with those holiday plans to devour cookies smack in the middle of plans to build up my beauty, [thankfully, perhaps, because, let's face it, I have zero proper winter gear to do longer rides in] those fantasies of getting up on Christmas Eve to churn out 70 miles [and then doing it again...and again...and again...] are not likely to materialize. I suppose I could be shamed into doing it trying it [and killing myself] on my single speed, but that idea is currently bordering on "retarded," because what kind of idiot risks life and limb doing that when said idiot will have a proper road bike in a few days' time?
Not this one [surprisingly, for once]. But because I love to live vicariously, I'll be checking up on photos, blogs, rants, and commentary on everyone else's 500. And don't you worry. That new frame's gonna get 500km on it in no time...just maybe not from December 23rd to December 30th of this year.

be still my murmuring heart: a visit to IF

I got the flu about ten days ago, which meant that I got to both amass an arsenal of over-the-counter cough suppressants and other flu medication, and have the honor of being possibly the only person in America losing, rather than gaining, weight on Thanksgiving. And while both some weight and the fever have since been kept at bay, I’ve had a dry, hacking cough that’s lingered. The kind that will wake you up at night like an insatiable significant other, persistent and somewhat predictable, resulting in groggy workdays. The kind that results in somewhat sore abs and a tight back from those nighttime acrobatics. Except, you know, without satisfying happy endings that are implicit in anything involving insatiable significant others.
All of which led me to run to a walk-in clinic where a doctor listened to my heart every which way and then informed me that I just may have a heart murmur.
“Have you experienced any shortness of breath or difficulty breathing during exercise?” The doctor asked.

Images of attempting to climb River Road without “shortness of breath or difficulty breathing” came to mind. The inability to suck enough air into my lungs as I got pulled, dragged, then dropped up and down 9W presented itself.
“Uh, no, not really,” I answered.
Because images of a frame also emerged as I envisioned how I must look, riding up River Road. It was small and cute and welded together by a friend. I had visited the workshop to watch it being put together and even met the guy who was going to do my braze-ons [that sounds so dirty, I know]. And there was no fricking way some goddamn heart murmur was going to keep me off this almost-complete beauty.

Because, like I mentioned before, it’s an IF. The day before I got so pathetically sick that I was living off Tom Yum soup, I had ridden up to Somerville, MA to the IF workshop, with a quick stop by Clear Flour Bread to pick up some treats [their morning buns are pretty phenom]. Bundled up in every bike gear layer I own, it was a quick trip north to a warm workshop where my already-tacked frame sat, being TIG-welded into existence. I got to watch as Tyler worked his magic, explaining the process of using a giant electrical circuit to weld, and the use of air without oxygen in it.

Then I got the grand tour. I got to see the collection of tubes, the jig where tubes become frames, and the chain stay cutting machine [it was really cool]. There was the paint section where the newest green Ti Featherweight sat, waiting for its stripes of black matte paint, as well as an assorted collection of frames waiting for their respective powdercoats. I even got to see the big machine that provides extra pure air to the paint department, as well as IF’s sand and glass blasters.

Along the way, I saw and learned about how braze-ons are brazed on, leaving a glass-like residue, and how Corvids are assembled and the super power glue that holds them together. The IF carbon lugs for the Corvids are made specifically to measure, and not bent or stretched to fit like steel lugs. Even in its raw form, the carbon fiber frame was awesomely impressive. I think my heart murmured when I got to touch it; it didn’t hurt that it felt like air when I lifted it up, either.

There’s actually so much cool stuff and people at the IF workshop that it’s hard to actually delve in and describe everything in one visit [especially when your own custom frame is sitting in the welding department, nearing completion]. I left feeling more excited than when I arrived, and even in the midst of a feverish flu a few days later, I did a mental little dance when Tyler sent me even more pictures.
Yeah, that’s right. Pictures of my brazed and welded IF Crown Jewel. [Potential] Heart murmurs be damned. Ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me off that bike.

cut, tack, weld.

NYC is a big city with lots of shops and cool peeps, but when you're ordering an IF, it pays to be a Boston local.
Having met Tyler of the IF crew over a year ago, I emailed Tyler about whether I could drop by to see my frame in production. If he was okay with it, I imagined this would consist of a phone call, then dropping by the IF workshop, and taking pictures with my admittedly not-so-great digital camera of an unpainted-yet-otherwise-complete frame. Tyler, because he is awesome, was down for letting me know when the frame might be ready. But then he did something even cooler: he took pictures of my bike tubes as soon as they were cut.

A few days later, I got another set of pictures of those tubes being tacked, and an email that it was now officially in the welding department. Did I want to come by?

Oh yes, yes I did.
[* All pictures courtesy of Tyler Evans at IF.]

if i had an if...

I've mentioned this before, but I think it bears repeating: when you come from a "tribe of midgets" as my mother once described our immediate family to a much-taller cousin, it's hard to find a bike that fits.
Being a smidge over 5'2", I'm too tall for the 43cm bikes that come with 650cc wheels but too small for anything on 700cc wheels with a horizontal top tube. In that gray, in-between area, I'm placed in the unfortunate position of choosing between the two. Add to that the fact that I'm a woman, new to road cycling, and Japanese, and the decisions to be made when purchasing that just-right road bike can get more frustrating than fun.
Sure, a lot of bike manufacturers now have entire lines of women's specific bikes, in sizes starting from 44 to 49cm, usually designed with slighter shorter top tubes and seat tubes than their unisex counterparts. The woman that these bikes are generally designed for is one with longer legs and a shorter torso than her male counterparts; valid considerations for your typical non-Asian cyclist. But if you have shorter legs and a longer torso like I do [think E.T. but with normal length arms], going for a unisex, smaller frame could provide the better fit.

The problem then becomes finding a bike that's small enough, made from the material you want it to be made from, and, if you're as unreasonable as I am, in colors that you can tolerate [personally, this tolerance is inversely and exponentially related to the cost of the frame or bicycle]. The first two considerations are obviously the more important ones, and ones that required the most leg work because while I'd ridden steel and aluminum, neither bike had gears, nor involved rides longer than 40 miles. I didn't know what carbon felt like, what aluminum with a carbon back triangle felt like, or how smooth high-end steel can be. I called a dozen bike shops about road bikes they might have in my size, I rode a bunch around the block, rode a few a little longer than that, asked an endless train of questions, tried Sram, re-tried Campy, and ended up trusting my countrymen in deciding that I liked the ubiquitous yet reliable Shimano, best.
Now that I got the shifting down, I just needed a bike.
You'd think finding a smaller road bike with Shimano wouldn't be so hard. You'd think that, wouldn't you? Especially with all the women's options out there?
Except for...well, a lot of things. Back in May, Andrew had measured my height [this is when I discovered I was more 5'2 than 5'3], had me wedge this wooden L-shaped ruler between my legs to measure standover height, and hold the end of the tape measure where my collarbones meet. I stood around the small stage at the back of NYC Velo in my socks [we had to measure my height without shoes on, which is more accurate and close to reality but which I also think is fundamentally unfair], and was asked questions about my weight, the kind of riding I do, and the kind of riding I would want to do with a road bike. Andrew sent the deets to IF a few days later, and a few days after that I got to see a custom frame spec'd to my measurements, and about two weeks after that, I balked.

I'll admit that it wasn't just the impending bar exam that got in the way. There was sticker shock, too. The realization that I was going to put down kind of a lot of money for a custom frame and fork scared me. I had never ridden an IF at that point, and the chances of me finding one close enough to my size were slim to none. In the face of the unknown, [at least I could ride, say, a Felt ZW5] I couldn't commit.
But a few months post-bar, there was a sparkly green demo 47cm Independent Fabrication Steel Crown Jewel built up with Dura Ace hanging from the ceiling of the shop. Offered for a test ride, I took it up River Road and back and, unfortunately, fell in love. I tried to tell myself it was the Dura Ace that made the ride so smooth, that it was entirely in my head that the steel bike felt light, and that I should seriously consider carbon. But there was something about the way everything worked together, how the frame complemented its parts and the entire thing seemed to want to roll out and keep on going. As a complete derailleur novice, the versatility of the Crown Jewel appealed to me as well: it could be raced, ridden for hours on end, or taken out for quick spins. There was a lot of potential in that frame, but most importantly, despite the fact that it was too big for me, it felt really good.

The toe I dipped in the welcoming warmth of the IF pool was the end of my deliberating. I didn't admit it to myself for another few weeks, but once I had ridden that IF, the bikes I test-rode seemed...not that great in comparison. Still, I wanted to be 100% sure. I emailed Kevin at IF too many times, asking too many really long-winded questions, and every single time, he seemed more than happy to explain things and even offered to take a look at my current bike fit via photos. He said something like, "I understand this is big decision," and I wanted to hug him. I gave the okay a few weeks later.
And now here we are. It's been about 4 weeks, and with an approximate turn around time of 6-8 weeks, my bike is on the horizon. Actually, it's already been "born," so to speak, and the sheer thought of having an IF all to myself has me giggling like a 13 year old with a crush. I can't wait. It's going to be awesome.
More updates coming [very, very] soon!