a superb elite [party]

It's Friday night, and there's a hand sneaking in between my legs. Fingers brush my inner thigh as I squeal and giggle.
I wasn't tipsy at all. Just a little drunk off adrenaline from the Superb Grand Opening party.
I had cleared my schedule weeks in advance for this party [and not only because cassette was a sponsor]. With a Fuji Feather being given away, who wouldn't? But there was also the promise of "fraternaliz[ing] with Boston's cycling elite." And knowing Superb was going to fully deliver on that promise, it's a party I wasn't going to miss.

Arriving close to an hour after the doors opened, the place was already packed. Bikes lined both sides of the new shop, and people had spilled out onto the sidewalk. Squeezing our bikes into a narrow open space and locking them up, M1 and I ran into none other than Mr. Igleheart, the awesomely friendly framebuilder behind those delicious bikes that "ride like butter" [I wasn't kidding when I told him that I was saving up for one of his frames]. And as I turned around, ready to elbow my way into the shop, I waved hello to Marty of Geekhouse. This was going to be a really good party.
Inside, people swirled around the central display of bikes underneath the chandelier. There was a wave and thumbs up exchange between myself and Tyler of IF, an introduction to James of Revolution Bicycle Repair [he and M1 worked downtown together back in the day], and quick hellos to Croth and Kip. Lucas Brunelle was sighted, as was Joe of Sugar Coat and Geekhouse, and of course, all the hot Asian girls of Cambridge Bikes. Jason, the mastermind behind Superb, clearly delivered on his promise, and more.

Good beats streamed from the speakers as people moved around the room. Stepping outside to check on our bikes and cool off, another Boston cycling persona, Natasha of Pedal Power Photography, rolled up. In great company, we checked out the array of bicycles entered into the "Hot Bike Contest." The contestants varied from a slick Specialized to a swoon-worthy vintage Pinarello pursuit frame with a tri-color, glittery paint job. While I regretted not riding the Dolan in, even with its new fall/winter 2009 look [coming soon!], a part of me knew that it probably wouldn't have stood a chance with this kind of competition.
But I did take part in another kind of contest: $3 got Team Cassette 5 tickets into the raffle. With fingers crossed that we'd win something a Fuji Feather, we checked out the rest of the prizes and ate up some of Jason's time before we reluctantly headed out the door for a friend's birthday party. It was early, the party was still in full swing, but I didn't feel lame leaving. Superb tends to have that effect; there's no insecure pre-judgment of those who walk in the door, but you better be prepared to walk out feeling not only cooler but also like you've just managed to infiltrate Boston's decidedly unpretentious cycling elite.

Which would explain the big smile on my face as I rolled away from 842 Beacon Street, despite my early departure. Thighs even pumped harder as we sped around taxis in Friday night traffic, spinning wheels and pedals to the next scheduled event of the night. And on the way, that hand. My palms seared with cold nervous sweat in response.
"Got it," M1 said as he drew up next to me.
I relaxed as we surged up a hill - no longer needing to hold a motionless line - mashing en danseuse on the pedals, secure in the knowledge that the Knog Beetle on my seatpost was now diligently blinking red.
[More pictures of the event here.]

undeniably superb

My love of bike shops is no secret; I'll stubbornly stand in cleats around bike stands, even with a knee that's throbbing and begging me to sit down, to kill time with the best mechanics around, whether in NYC or Boston.
I never thought, though, that I'd have the opportunity to watch a new bike shop develop from gutted out space to awesome concept shop. But every few weeks since early July, that's exactly what I've been doing at a particular spot on Beacon Street.
Yup, that's right. It's open. Superb, that is.

I've hinted at it. I've posted a few vague pictures. I even designed a t-shirt for the shop! But renovations were still going underway at that point, and despite my itchy fingers desperately seeking to post about the shop, I had to resist until it was officially open.
And yeah, it was totally worth the wait.

Back in March when Jason first told me about the new shop, I got excited. But it was that vague kind of excitement where you don't really know what you're getting excited about, just that the person talking to you has some awesome ideas and is actually going to follow through on them. I had no idea what to expect, really, except that the shop colors were going to be gray, teal, and purple.
That drastically changed in July when the real work started in the space formerly known as Boston Bicycle. And as damask was painted onto the walls, new cabinets build, chandeliers installed [possibly my favorite part of the shop], and a fainting chair assembled, my constant exclamations of "oh my God, this is AWESOME!" started sounding almost lame.

Because honestly, it's such an understatement. "Awesome" doesn't do justice to a shop that's clearly been well thought out, and executed with even more care. Stocked with cassette and Gage & Desoto t-shirts [I'm not biased, I promise], vintage jerseys, narifuri bags [possibly the only place you can get these babies in Boston], Phil Wood deliciousness, and Campy peanut butter wrenches, Superb is living up to its name. Add to that a bike inventory that is limited to steel frames [geared and otherwise] and you have a concept shop that has really good taste.

But that doesn't mean that it's inaccessible. Like its brainparent, Jason, Superb is - while almost intimidatingly hip - quietly confident, courteous, and perhaps most importantly [for a bike shop], non-judgmental. Everything from hybrids to track frames walk through the door; drawn to the velodrome display window or just to get a flat fix. And on one recent visit to Superb, a customer paused before heading out with a properly inflated tire:
"You guys did a little rearranging, huh?"
We all blinked. Yeah, you could say that.

adorkable

My first boyfriend was a computer science major [yes, I started dating in college]. He was clean cut, played Ultimate Frisbee, and was his high school's valedictorian. He also watched Star Trek and loved video games. He didn't totally look it, but he was kind of a dork. I thought he was the most adorable thing, ever.
Until we broke up, of course.
Still, I've always had a soft spot for dorky things. Like I find abacuses sort of charming. I really want a Casio calculator watch. And I've played my share of a certain MMORPG.
So when I found myself surrounded by cyclists of every shape and size, at least half of which had on one of those unavoidably bright yellow traffic vests, I didn't cringe. In fact, it was really sort of endearing. Sprinting to Cambridge to drop off hats that I'd promised for months and months, I found myself in the middle of the Amory Park Brookline Bike Parade. I vaguely remembered being handed a flier about it at an intersection on Friday but had proceeded to completely forget about it.

Catching up to the tail end of it, I chatted up a few bike cops before winding my way up the parade. And right before I turned off Beacon to hop onto Comm, I saw the immense peloton that was the Bike Parade. It was impressive. And while it was sort of, well, dorky, it was the good kind of dorky. The kind that makes you smile to yourself because people are having so much fun. The kind of dorky that reminds you that cycling doesn't always have to be about speed and competition and training.
Heading towards Comm, my legs finally moving at a reasonable pace, I unconsciously started to push myself to go faster, faster, faster. But slowing down at a light, I wondered why. It was Sunday. I was rushing to Cambridge...just to rush there. And I was getting sweaty and gross.

I coasted the rest of the way there, resisting the urge to pick up and haul ass. Decked out in all black, my poor choice of clothing dictated that I was sweaty when I arrived to chat with friends. And watching them get excited over a few cycling caps, I realized how bike-dorky we all are. It's just hard to tell without the yellow vests.
No wonder I love bike people.

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.

hump de bump

I have 1.5 Boston winters under my commuting belt [I got my Bianchi in January 2008].
It doesn't make me any more hardcore, or special, than any other cyclist. But it's something I'm secretly proud of. It's also the reason I think Bicycle Commuter Appreciation Day should be in the middle of February, not in May. When your eyes and nose start to gush water as soon as you climb on a bike because of the cold, and the air's so dense you can't manage even a moderate pace without a struggle, well, that's when you should be appreciated.
But open houses, contests, and block parties are a different story. You need warm weather, good people, and a solid shop. And that's exactly what my other, other home - Cambridge Bikes - provided last night. Even food was involved.

Arriving a little late [as usual] and slightly completely confused, I stopped by a tent, bumped into RMM, and got suckered into entering my track baby into the Commuter Bicycle contest [believe it or not, I actually have commuted to school on my little pony]. There were a whole bunch of different categories, and tons and tons of bicycles. No way I was going to win anything, but hey, I got to park my bike next to a Vanilla, and that's a reward in itself.
Bouncing between the shop and the party outside, I spotted some distinctive white and black kits and shaven legs. And tricycles. I couldn't miss this.

The camera came out and I was laughing hysterically as some of CB's finest raced tricycles in kits and cleats. It seemed addictive, as more and more people signed up to spin around the makeshift course three times. I nearly got seated on one of those things, but used the excuse that I'll have an unfair advantage over everyone because those tricycles would probably fit me.
Slipping inside, "what's up"s and high fives were exchanged, despite the packed shop. Both familiar and unfamiliar faces filled the shop, and sort of in limbo, I ended up leaning against the end of the counter, in that happy medium between customer and employee. Between snapping more pictures, I caught up with Pete, Jason, and Zach while commuters as diverse as the bicycles outside milled about curiously.

It was dark before I knew it, which meant that I learned how to open the plastic packaging of a Knog light [throw it against the floor]. And just when I was about to head out, the call that awards would be announced was made. It was probably the new CB cycling cap [designed by Croth, and handed to me by Kip himself] that did it. Or maybe my luck's just turning. Because I did end up winning something:

Or, a few things. All things pointing to more bike rides. Matching green CB socks with Pete? Check. CB water bottle that I've been wanting for a while? Check. Massive bag that I could probably carry my sister in? Check, check, check!
Winning stuff also apparently meant pictures had to be taken. Natasha snapped away while Croth pulled a sneaky from-behind pic [justifying it by claiming that "that picture didn't include that much of your ass"]. All pictures which will undoubtedly eventually surface on the Internet. So, a disclaimer: I am constantly sweaty, disheveled, and un-photogenic. You've been warned.
[Big thanks to everyone at CB for putting this on - it was awesome! More pictures from the open house/block party here.]

bike shop christmas

As per the usual morning routine, I grabbed my eyeliner pencil yesterday morning, unsheathing the magic black wand that helps accentuate the eyes that I don't have. One eye squeezed shut with the accompanying eyebrow raised, hand poised, leaning in towards the mirror...
I stopped. Who was I going to need this for? The exam proctor???
The pencil got capped and tossed back into my make up bag. Besides, I figured that looking absolutely haggard would keep me from hanging out anywhere on the way home.
I should have known better. I mean, I do know better...but despite my age, I'm still recovering from junior-high-nerd-status and can't resist the opportunity to hang out with the cooler kids. Bags under my eyes, skull still freshly throbbing from the effects of a tax law exam, sweaty from being overdressed for the warmer afternoon weather, and with no eyeliner on, I bounced into Cambridge regardless.

And found that not only were all the cool kids working there yesterday, so was the infamous [and slightly intimidating] Mr. Croth. I got to bask in his vicarious cool for a grand total of five minutes before he jetted off in those rocking red gloves and the giant Ortlieb bag that was made to smuggle small children into the country. Meanwhile, customers came and went, Jason had his nose buried in paperwork and I started to feel bad skipping around and just being in the way.

Until, of course, Dan came in from the service door, announcing a shipment of bike goodies that Pete described was "as big as a Christmas tree." And indeed it was. There were countless boxes of...everything. Taped and tied together, then wrapped in a plastic cocoon, all it was missing was a big red ribbon. It was like Christmas morning; for once, the bags under my eyes and general haggard appearance seemed appropriate for the occasion. And with the energy born out of unexpected surprises, I pitched in a hand, carrying and ripping open the plethora of boxes.

It was awesomely fun...the best part being that I didn't even have to clean up or organize the huge pile of everything. I left two hours later, secure in the knowledge that Cambridge is currently fully loaded with pretty much everything I happen to currently need. Tubes in every size imaginable? Check. Wicker baskets? Check. Freewheels? [Yes, freewheels.] Check. Cookies? Probably.
Well, okay, maybe they're not stocking any mini road bikes with my name written all over it. But I'm working on that. Maybe, hopefully, for Christmas.