high off handlebars

I've always been skeptical of out of body experiences and the people that "experience" them. I remember, back in high school, a girl once told me how she got so high [off weed] that she felt like she had become the glass of water on her desk.
Somehow I restrained myself from telling her that she was fucking insane. Or just incredibly dramatic. Because while I've been fucked up enough to stare intently into a glass of water for about 5 minutes, I've never actually become one.
But yesterday, I sort of came close to an out of body experience. Or, I understood how weird events can sort of make one part of your brain pause and pose a logical question ["what the fuck am I doing?"] while the other part of your brain is like "holy shit, this is awesome!"
You'll laugh, but it's because I rode no-handed for more than 2 seconds yesterday.

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Cursed with the ability to knock down glasses, spill any open containers, fall out of my bed, and crash while not even moving on my bike, balancing on two wheels takes a lot of effort. Add five crashes and hideously scarred up knees to show for it, and I'm not so keen on taking both hands off the handlebars unless at least one foot is firmly planted on solid ground. This results in overcompensation on my part; when friends ride no handed, I'll stubbornly stay in my drops, pretending as if I prefer that position, anyway.
But time on the rollers on a track bike makes you learn how to stay motionless while pedaling and gives you a new appreciation for how to use those hips to control the bike. And bored enough on my ride yesterday to throw caution to the wind, I tried it. And stared. And blinked. Because I was pedaling but there were these empty handlebars in front of me.
It was the weirdest thing. But so cool! I kept trying it, regardless of the fact that I was riding down Beacon and there were actually cars on the road. And like staring into that glass of water back in college, it gave me a strange sort of high.

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Hours later, I even found myself staring into a glass of [the best] iced coffee [in Boston] at Cafe Fixe. While actually taking time to read a book for pleasure - something I haven't done in I-can't-remember-how-long. The irony being that the book ["Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer] is about Mormon fundamentalists. Which means it's a total fucking trip.
Of course, for every high, there's that sobering up period. So don't be surprised if I crash spectacularly today, somewhere along Beacon or Comm Ave. Here's to hoping it's more like a weed high though, and that the worst thing I'll do is end up eating 20 cookies, a bag of pretzels, and passing out on my floor.
Which would be a good thing. Because with NACCC starting tomorrow, I'd like to keep my injuries confined to those acquired on a bicycle.

polo madness

Did I really write a half-sentimental, verging on fuzzy-wuzzy post on bike polo yesterday?
Yeah, yeah I did.
Wow. That's kind of embarrassing. I mean, sure everyone who plays in Boston is incredibly laid-back, but the reality of playing polo is more "Fight Club" than "Sister Act." More "Kill Bill" than "Snow White."
It involves squeaky skidding, the loud thud of the ball bouncing off wheel covers and the clatter of the door hatch as players tap out. The occasional heckle and the cheers when bikes tangle and crash, players get shoved aside, or make kamikaze-like sacrifices.

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Because when the best from around the country [plus Canada!] get together in possibly the biggest polo event, ever [35 teams showed!], things get fast, bloody, and broken. I arrived at the Allston court in the early afternoon and got to watch some of the best players in the country unleashed upon each other for the 4th East Side Polo Invitational.

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I knew it was going to a complete sausage party [aren't all bike events?] but I was unprepared for the frothing-at-the-mouth-testosterone-fueled competitiveness. With Boston locals clearly in the minority, it was like stepping into a different world. I actually stood in the middle of the crowd for about a full minute, searching for familiar faces, rummaging in my bag like I would somehow find my friends in there.

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Not that these strangers didn't look interesting. There were enough mallets, tats, tight jeans, and bikes to make me swoon. Fortunately, being dressed in spandex and knee highs and arriving on my vanity track bike made the situation sufficiently awkward so that swooning would have been out of the question. Fortunately, I shoved aside the awkwardness for a few hours to watch some amazing games. And, fortunately, the players I did end up meeting didn't seem nearly as crazy off the court.

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Although, once mounted on bikes with mallets ready, all the teams were fueled by something more than just the desire to win those Volume frames. Pride is on the line, and apparently that makes for some spectacular games. I snapped pictures furiously, leaning over the door, watching the game through the small screen of my digital camera.
Impending final exams [and the need to study for them] forced me to leave early. But ESPI finals are today. You know where to find me.
[Pictures from yesterday here.]
[Edit: and more pictures by Croth from Saturday and Sunday.]