geekhouse-ery

Monday.
No matter how chipper I might be feeling on this day of the week, that line from "Office Space" will run through my head at least five times, in that same gratingly annoying voice:
"Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays!"
And then there's that Swingline stapler by the copy machine that I wish was bright red and belonged to a co-worker that looked like Milton, who would mutter and stutter about the squirrels outside his window. The ones that were apparently married.
Oh, Milton. I loved his glasses, the timid muttering, that forlorn look when he didn't get any birthday cake, and of course, just his sheer geekery. Which might explain why, in a way, I love the name [and bicycles] behind Geekhouse.

And while I can't quite say that I love the people behind Geekhouse [yet], well, I'm at least in strong like of them. All [two] of which I officially met while infiltrating the NYC Velo ranks last Wednesday. After refueling on caffeine, we rolled up to a garage space packed to the brim with machines, tools, and [of course] bicycle frames, and we got to see Geekhouse at work.
I've actually been to this particular address in Allston once before [though over a year ago], but last week was the first time I got the full tour and a peek into the personalities behind the instantly-recognizable frames of Geekhouse. And though the space was vastly different from the IF warehouse we had just visited, the same intense love for building bicycle frames was crammed into every nook and cranny of the place.

From a one-man show started in 2002 by Marty, it's expanded to sustaining a full-time employee. And with frames painted in saccharine-sweet colors, a Geekhouse frame is hard to miss. Clean, simple lines and sometimes aggressive pursuit geometry, I've ooh-ed and ahh-ed at Marty's frames whenever I've gotten close to one [even though, yes, me + pursuit geometry = instant endo].
Too bad I'm broke. For the second time that day, my skin crawled with the desire for another bike. The most tempting part being Geekhouse's new powdercoating operation, too appropriately named Sugar Coat. While watching Joe spray powder onto a frame from a gun, I learned that they're now offering to powdercoat even non-Geekhouse frames. And with Marty putting together a 'cross team, I'm almost tempted to hand over that San Jose and attempt to pull off the faux Geekhouse 'cross bike look.

Okay, that would be beyond stupid. Still, you can't blame a girl who could never fit on a Bareknuckle to want a bubble-gum pink bicycle at some point [and just between you and me, I desperately wanted a pink track bike before I realized no one makes such a bicycle in my size]. True, the tank of a San Jose might not be the bike for that, but you know, it might just work.

At least until I have the cash money to throw down on a real Geekhouse frame.

rose sky

It's in the 40s today, which means that the cyclists are out in full force. I saw my morning older-bearded-dude-on-road-bike-with-bright-yellow-wind-jacket and the girl-on-hybrid-who-always-looks-really-really-happy-to-be-coasting-down-the-hill-I'm-trying-to-struggle-up. Those are the only cyclists I usually see. Older-bearded-dude usually does either the slight hand raise or nod of what I like to imagine is a seasoned cyclist salute of mutual respect for commuting through the winter. The girl just ignores me in her happiness.
Using the warmer weather as an excuse, I flew out of school after class to drop by therapy IBC [yes, I am quickly becoming the persistent, eternal customer that just stops by to "hang out," i.e. annoy the too-nice employees into listening to my banter when they have real customers to actually pay attention to who probably have more money than me]. I ended up pedaling from Brighton to Allston behind two kids on fixed gears, and was actually able to keep up! And by "keep up" I mean I wasn't trying to act cool with one hand off the bars while my nostrils flared in my attempts to suck in enough air to keep me from passing out. Like, I was really able to keep up.

On my way home under a rose tinted sky, I saw at least four other cyclists - roadies, hybrids, and last but not least, a black cruiser with full fenders and a pretty wicker basket in the front, full of groceries. It was pretty enough to make me sort of want one - despite my slight aversion to step-through frames.
The image sort of slowly died this sad, cringe-inducing death as I watched [and eventually flew past] the woman on said cruiser attempt to crest a slight incline in heels with no helmet.
Maybe I'll file that cruiser for when I move to a European city.

third hat...mail off

There's really no point in cheating.

Because in the end you figure out/come to your senses that you should have stuck with whatever/whomever you're cheating on in the first place.

I would know.

Or at least my legs and ego would. (Who would have thought that I could get up hills faster with one gear as opposed to, say, twenty one?)

So I know I shouldn't be cheating, but I am. I'm sending these hats out to one of my favorite bike shops in the area - International Bicycle Center in Allston. And technically that's cheating because I'm supposed to drop them off by hand. I'll feel the guilt later.

Oh and the return address? I borrowed that one from a friend. Because we all could use a good alibi when we're, you know, cheating.