choo choo train

So it ends up that I did have a reason to go to IBC this weekend. I needed to purchase and get new pedals installed because - gasp! - I'm flipping that wheel over and going fixed.
Not that I haven't been riding fixed on the track bike. But the Bianchi and the Dolan are such different rides that switching ponies was never a problem. I could rock the freewheel for a longer ride in the morning, then skitter around town later fixed. True, I almost tore my leg off once or twice, but the Dolan's stiff, twitchiness was a constant reminder to keep the cranks turning [or else momentum would].
The Bianchi's relaxed geometry and natural propensity to roll over everything in its path pairs perfectly with a freewheel. Which is why I almost expected to have both legs lurching around yesterday, propelled forward by my rear wheel when I attempted to coast.

It wasn't so bad. In fact, my legs stayed attached to my body. Mostly because my drivetrain sounds like...a train.
Dan M. took a look and jumped on my bike to make sure it was just the shark-finned cog. And as his 6ft+ frame weaved around the store on a 44cm bike, he jokingly squeezed the squealing front brake like a train whistle. It screamed, as usual, like a puppy being run over. It also sounded exactly like a train.

Assured that it wouldn't do anything except sound like I don't actually take care of my bike, I left debating changing my gearing or just purchasing another cog. For now, it's actually a nice reminder that I'm not on that wondrous freewheel anymore. I miss it already; especially being able to clip in and climb hills without that built in assist that fixed gears give you. And coasting. Oh, coasting.
Pedaling [the whole entire way] home, my feet naturally pushed back on the pedals, slowing down, creeping between cars, and allowing for a much greater amount of control - the kind that requires a level of skill that I haven't yet achieved on a freewheel. I remembered how fun it was to maneuver around piles of snow on a fixed gear, even if my knees weren't so happy later on in the day. This might be temporary, but it's definitely still fun.

Grinding to a slightly screechy halt in front of my apartment, I winced a little at the noise. And then remembered Dan's goodbye to me a few hours ago:
"See ya, K Train."
At least I'm still faster than the Green Line.

re-gruppo-ing

The unpredictable [well, more than usual] mood swings, the sometimes swirling depression, the desire to drown myself in ice cream and potato chips [at the same time]. All signs pointing to a very reasonable suspicion that my uterus is currently getting out of control.
Estrogen, I hate you.
The weather doesn't seem to make it any better either. Overcast with a just-enough-so-it's-annoying misty rain, it's encouraging me to blow off after-work rides and stay in to work at my machine. Which is beginning to get slightly stressful.
But when some Motown beats channel their way through my ipod and out my speakers, and a friend drops me an IM about receiving an inexcusably late birthday present, I'm tempted to get back on the bike, or at least on the rollers.

Having known Jones for about 5 years, I owed him a birthday present, big time. Yes, his birthday was in March. Yes, I attempted to make up for the delay with a cog I've been lusting after myself. Yes, I like to gift things that I like.
I did get one for myself, too, but it's been staring me down from my desk, shoveling on the guilt for not riding my bike enough. Much less installing it. Admiring its sharp edges last night, I put it on the never-ending list of things to do. Cut, sew, design, embroider, email, run, ride, write. Mix and stir with an estrogen blitzkrieg and I'm tearing out my hair and crying for hours over gchat.
Ah, the disadvantages of being the sole member of Team Flying Solo. I wrongly assumed that riding/working/writing alone, I couldn't possibly drop myself. But last night, I sort of did; I found myself in the existential equivalent of that dreaded scenario that hardcore roadies talk about - getting dropped from the pack, 70 miles from home, just as it starts to rain. Oh yeah, and obviously cursing my lack of gears.

Shit Life happens, I guess. And when you're stuck in that kind of "OMG FML" situation, there's really nothing to do but get back on the bike. So this morning, I made a promise to mentally regroup, sort through all the bullshit, and be a little less crazy.
Which is why I'm wearing my new favorite t-shirt. A Gage & Desoto original. Well, at least the first that's been printed on an American Apparel Tri-color Track shirt. M1 wasn't offering girl's shirts when he got in touch, which meant I even got to pick the color of the shirt. And do I love it. Even if wearing it while pedaling a single-speed is dripping with hipster-esque irony.
Yeah, I know. Sometimes it does pay off to be a girl.