bike stupid

My parents are both typically Japanese...and not.
They're typically rarely [overtly, at least] proud of their daughters' accomplishments. But they managed to skip the "parent stupid" phase where everything their children did was endearing and adorable. Maybe our faults were pretty blatant from the beginning. Maybe they didn't want to be "those parents." Maybe they just kept their excitement to themselves. Who knows.
And while I inherited most of their stoicism, when it comes to the things I love, I inevitably cave into the stupid.
Because despite the dings all over my top tube, the dirt caked on parts of my bike, and my rear white tire that's turning into a dark gray from all the brake dust, I still think my bike is hot shit. And despite the fair number of douchebags on high end bicycles, I still love bike people.
Which is why I'll get up early on Saturday morning - earlier than I get up for work during the week - to go on a quick ride before the rest of life wakes up to start the day. And happily, I wasn't alone; I ran into my fair share of cyclists, legit and kitted out, riding things much more expensive than the tractorino between my legs.

And I even got my fair share of the cyclist nod. That coveted acknowledgement of belonging in an exclusively special group of cyclists-bordering-on-insanity-because-no-one-should-be-riding-this-early-on-a-weekend-morning. I mean, let's ignore the fact that it was sometimes coupled with a quizzical look of confusion ["wtf is this girl doing?"]; we're not going to sweat the details here. The important point being that it happened [right?].
The best part being the pack of roadies I passed on the way home, obviously mid-training ride, and the sunglassed glances pointed in my direction. Baileyworks on my back, fender on my back tire, an earlier version of myself would have blushed in embarrassment. But being bike stupid, I smiled instead, half tempted to blow them a kiss.

Later on in the day, shuffling through pictures taken earlier in the week, I came across one taken of my bike locked up in front of the grocery store. The front wheel turned towards the rack, it looked almost coquettish in the early evening light. I thought it was the cutest thing, ever.
Yeah, I know, I might need treatment for this.

fearless

Last summer, I encountered my first pack of roadies.
Plodding home from work, mostly zoned out, a male voice behind my ear called out:
"On your left."
As those words hit my brain, I instantly found myself floating in a sea of matching spandex. Six or seven cyclists drew up alongside me before passing by effortlessly, as I struggled to hold a decent line. Oblivious to everything but the goal [wherever that was], they swept by in perfect coordination and cadence. The proximity to the adrenaline, pure abundance of power, and muscle leaving me positively dizzy.
It's true what they say. Roadies are fearless. A "me and my team" mentality that can verge on the obsessive, and one that takes a kind of neurotic commitment that I respect and admire. It seems like a mentality that forces you to build character, or at least learn how to Shut the Fuck Up and Deal. Because, as a friend once put it:
"Cycling's different...your heart won't give out before your legs do."

And it's so true. In cycling - any kind of cycling - you'll always hit that point where you're tired and panting, but there's just a little bit more hill to conquer, and while your heart's still functioning, the only thing that's not listening to you are your legs.
That's when my heart really wants to explode. The desire to do well/conquer/go faster...and finding myself with no go. I was useless last night, and these aren't days to be useless. I need to stop cutting out of the library before 10pm, stop desiring sleep, stop feeling the pain in my knee and the stiffness in my sciatic nerve. And, in a sad way, stop thinking about pretty much the only that makes me happy: bicycles.

These days are kind of like riding fixed, but brakeless, clipless, and helmetless, all that's keeping me from an ugly crash right now is a hope and a prayer. But as I attempted [in vain] to keep up with two cyclists this morning - a Ridley and a Guru that looked like it lacked a third dimension - I spotted a hawk clutching a dead squirrel. It was sort of oddly comforting, and changed my mood for the better as I coasted [freewheels are ah-mazing] into the library.
I still might need a big dose of fearless from Team Shut the Fuck Up and Study...but I have a feeling [or at least a hope] that I'm going to make it through finals in one piece.

no competition

Nothing gets me up Heartbreak Hill faster than another cyclist with gears. I once climbed that thing so fast I had to juggle basic life tasks like "trying to breathe" while coughing, gasping, and trying not to fall over.
Nothing, apparently, makes me pedal faster than seeing another cyclist up ahead of me. Yesterday afternoon was filled with random encounters: a Babson student heading to Somerville on a single-speed [we rode through Watertown together...and he was fast], a handful of random cyclists in Cambridge [as usual], and I even ran into Boston's Cutest Polo Player/Courier. Helmetless, brakeless, and clipless, seeing him made me question why I've been attracted to the spandexed-out roadie types these days.

I headed into the library fairly early today, and with the warmer weather, I expected to see packs of roadies flocking towards Dover. Maybe I got up too late, but I didn't see one. Not one cyclist on the road, just a handful of cars and one group of runners. And without that adrenaline rush of unreasonable competition, I was rolling along at a pace that would have been more suitable on a heavy cruiser.
But even so I got to school before the library opened. That meant that few students were around. That meant, too, that I could shamelessly change out of my sweaty t-shirt in front of my locker [yes, we get lockers in lawyer school].

I have a feeling though, that I'm going to see more bike people tonight when I head out. Or, at least I hope so. Because someone's gotta motivate me...and it's certainly not going to be me.
[Also, this is my 100th post! Yayyyy!]