attention please, part two

When a met a tall, lanky, long-haired boy with "Everybody Poops" tattooed on the inside of his wrist, I never thought that he would be my first ever customer. Back then, this blog was still mysteriously anonymous, and I only had two jobs - hat making and blogging - in addition to school instead of about five. So when Gregory emailed me about purchasing a hat I offered to the Internet, I surprised him outside of the Otherside Cafe and delivered the hat in person.
A year later, he offered to write a post about the hat. And when I read it for the first time after a long, shitty day at school, it made me feel all fuzzy and cuddly inside. So here it is:

I am a fan of birthdays and anniversaries. Not presents or cake or anything, but I think of them as benchmarks. They are a fantastic way to asses how far you have come in one year, and deciding on where you would like to put yourself a year from the day. One year ago today I purchased a hat, and unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the first one pedalstrike ever sold.
I want to write something to honor the passage of time while respecting the timeless nature of it all. I want to laudate the brain, fingers, and sewing machine behind it all. But mostly, I am here to appreciate the hat.

Trying to describe the hat: The ultimate in comfort cool style is what first popped into my head but then I realized what a painfully queer combination of words that is; so I think I will just whittle it down to cool. This hat is cool. From every angle and in every interpretation or disambiguation of the word- this hat is fucking cool; and I knew it right away.
Where did I get it? –people asked.. A friend made it, a friend hand-made it, it’s the only one like it and the only one the premiere the baby the guinea pig the only ever; there can only be one first and this is it.
Unlike other mass production hats- all of pedalstrikes hats have this amazing brim. Soft and malleable- they remind me of my childhood basketball hoop in NH. It has the perfect amount of give; and a year to the day this hat has never stopped giving. Those who own one know exactly what I mean.

When I lived in a camper in New Hampshire I wasn’t feeling very Rapha. Riding a conversion I never feel very Columbus speciale. I ride, now, with some sweptback Wald bars and I don’t feel Eddy Merckx in the least.
But when I was uncomfortably getting into wearing a helmet, my pedalstrike hat was there. When I gave my first bike hat to a girlfriend traveling halfway around the globe; at least I had my pedalstrike. It’s corny, I know, but I’m not that outgoing. I don’t carry an ID because I hate the bars. My friends have to literally drag me to parties and the likes.
But when someone realizes my hat was made by Kaiko and ask me about it- I get a surge of confidence, a spring in my step, daresay a little swagger. I say “Yeah, it’s the first one she ever sold.” It’s my one bike-geek way of saying “Attention, Please.”

Gregory, you're awesome. I'm glad you were my first. Customer, that is.
[Here's anotherRapha Scarf Friday.]

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.

it hurts

So apparently going from sitting in a chair in the library for 12 hours a day for three weeks to riding over 100 miles in two days makes for an unhappy knee. Not to mention my ass.
I have knee tracking problems that make my knees sound like velcro when I get up from any kind of squatting position. And now my IT band is all "okay calm the fuck down and cut me a break." Lack of any bike-appropriate gear save for a wind-proof soft shell and a pair of Sidis have me/my butt almost sighing in relief when I see a hill around mile 32, even if my knee's freaking out. And sheer laziness had me sneezing and coughing when I got home yesterday because, despite the wind and rain, I didn't want to stop and put on the jacket in my bag [yes, I go on 40 mile rides with a Baileyworks strapped to my back...don't judge].

It was probably for the best though. I have a whole pile of stuff to be cut, sewn, screened, and assembled. Activities that don't involve putting [too much] pressure on my knee. Although, I admit, I did get a little zealous last night with the sewing machine making it go full-throttle Chinese-sweatshop-style with my foot squeezing the pedal [yes, there is one] against the floor.
And I got more done than I thought I would. Nothing's complete, yet, but I'll have an inventory soon. Or at least Cambridge will. And that list of hats already promised will start to get shorter. Even if my rides get longer. And slightly more painful. Because as long as my knee feels like it's going to snap, crackle, or pop, I'll find time to stay up too late working on cycling caps.

I have lots of new ideas too, and custom jobs that have been shelved for months. They're going to be pretty awesome. Even my knee thinks so.
Get excited.

[briefly] living the dream

Despite both of my classes having been canceled today, I rolled out of bed at the usual time.
Granted, I can't sleep past 8am on any day, anyway, but I was sort of excited to get up and pick my way across a floor littered with fabric, tailor's chalk, and some random pins [ouch!]. I scooted my chair in front of my sewing machine - not the laptop - and settled in for a morning of pins, seam rippers, and bias tape.

The need to stop in at school before taking the long way to CB meant I was working on a deadline. I slightly kicked myself for spending the majority of last night sitting at my desk, my chin resting on the top of my machine, while I read and clicked through the amazing photographs on Velodramatic. It's such a great blog! Clean, professional, and very well executed; it's where I get my Rapha fix because my current bank account balance won't let me actually do that in real life.

My foot like a lead weight on the sewing machine pedal, I didn't mind the pressure or undoing a seam or two. Mostly because this kind of near-sweatshop-labor is my definition of fun; I almost wished that I could hand embroider the "Boston" or somehow personalize each a little bit more. But with limited time and a pretty saddle waiting for me, the screened versions had to do for now.

Then I crawled into a pair of rain pants [yes, dorky] and jumped on the bike first to school, then to CB. The saddle's hanging from a bag on the bars of my Dolan, on the secret 3rd floor of IBC. UPS is currently killing the possibility of a finished bike this weekend, but by this time next week, I plan to have something incredible between my legs.

me, myself, and i

A few weeks ago someone asked me what the patch on my bag was about.
"What's 'pedal strike'? Like a band or something?"
Due to the fact that I keep my blog/hats/personal life details far farrrrrrr away from law school, I managed to mutter something about what pedal strike is, fixed gears, bicycles, and something about a nickname.
...Yeah...um...what? Nickname? No one calls me "pedal strike," even though it's way easier to pronounce than my real name. Okay, granted, if I was actually okay with letting people at school know about my life, it might have been easier to explain. But I still find myself stumbling over words when people ask me about the "pedal strike" thing, even though I'll smack it on hats, websites, and even bikes.

I'd hate to call it a "brand," mostly because it sounds so pretentious. "Logo" is only marginally better; it still seems to smack of commercialized bullshit and the implication that I should be handing out [figurative] blowjobs to get people to like my stuff. And I don't like to, because I'm selfish and lazy and deluded enough to think that I'm better than that.
Although that's completely not true, because my ego totally blew up when I saw "pedal strike" on the Freddy vs. Jason alleycat flier. Staring at it was almost better than that post-coital smugness you feel before you pass out in bliss. And while relationships based solely on how well you get along with the other person [or, activity in this case] between the sheets are never a great idea, no one said they weren't fun. At least for a little while.

Not that my relationship with my hats, sewing machine, "creative side" has devolved to that point yet. My fling with "marketing," "brands," and "labels" was always just that though. So I might be sticking "pedal strike" everywhere these days, but I'm going to justify that by saying that it's more personal than just a "brand," it's about me. Me, myself, and I.
Masturbation? Maybe. But hey, at least I'm not handing out blowjobs.