time for 24

Over a decade after its first season aired, I’m finally getting around to watching 24.

If, like me, you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t seen this show, there are moments when the time will appear in digital format, with beeps accompanying the seconds as they tick by, closer and closer to catastrophe. This display is sometimes accompanied by a montage of all the simultaneously occurring events, all of which are also preventing Kiefer Sutherland from thwarting certain disaster.

There is a possibility – a small one, given that I only watch like five different shows a day – that I watch too much TV. I’d like to think that 24’s ticking, beeping clock is so characteristically ominous that it will linger, even for those who aren’t actively destroying their hard-earned educations with a flood of bad television shows. I suspect that the show itself is genetically engineered to trigger that beeping whenever something in a viewer’s life involves a countdown. Which is to say, that clock will haunt everything you do.

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I suppose, then, that I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard that beeping in my head as I tried to crest a small hill a few days ago. While caught in the vice grip of intense pain and a failing cardiovascular system, I wondered what I was supposed to be mentally counting down to [assassination of the president? Another nuclear meltdown?]. Then I realized there was no rushed crescendo of beeps. More like a slowing down towards the inevitable flat-lining of energy, availability of oxygen, and the will to go on. The inescapable consequence of over a month of inconsistent [“nonexistent” might be more accurate] riding.

It was 16C out, and gorgeous, but I limped home after a mere 2.5 hours on the bike, unacceptably exhausted. I heard that beep again, on the way home. This time, it was my Garmin. “Battery is low,” read the screen, as if stating the painfully obvious state of my legs and lungs. It died soon afterwards, and I was almost tempted to pull a Marcel Kittel: 

The ride and my addiction to 24 reinforced what is so easy to forget: that the problem with time is that it happens. It keeps happening, even when you’re trying to hit the pause button on training, an assassination, or bikini season. This means that there’s really nothing left to do except to do it; claw your way back to fitness, save the world, or get a set of amazing abs. The time will pass, either way.

And besides, if Kiefer Sutherland ever died/failed, there wouldn’t be eight seasons of the show…right?

leaving cuddles

I'm off to no-TV-land-which-means-no-ridiculous-cheering-on-of-professional-cyclists-in-the-Giro-and-ToC with a dress in my suitcase [finally!] and an email to read.

I'll be back on Monday in full force. In the meantime, cheer on Cuddles for me? I got a soft spot for my fellow Aussies.

disorder & [cookie] anarchy

Somehow, miraculously, in the two days I was in NYC, I only watched one episode of Law & Order.
Yeah, one.
And for a girl that seemingly makes the four-hour bus ride down there expressly to watch TV, that's a huge deal, folks. But there were cookies and pizza to be consumed, and cups of really, deliciously refreshing coffee to be gulped down, and even work to be done. And I'm not just talking about researching great burger joints.
Saturday started with, of course, a bike shop: NYC Velo. Dropping off hats would usually take a grand total of 5 minutes; instead I hung out for almost a solid hour, checking out the new shirts and the mix of people who rolled in and out of the door. New shop employee friends were made and loitering accomplished before I made the trek to Mood once again...but this time with a companion [Mike Spriggs, a.k.a. M1] in tow.

Thread and fabric were purchased and then wandering ensued. Strolling around the garment district, our ability to detect all things Rapha led us to the new Ace Hotel, where some of the Continental team had had drinks just over a week ago. Sinking into the plush, red couches, we rested our feet, sucked in the lobby with all of our senses [okay, we didn't lick the couches, though], and took goofy pictures of each other [the picture of me will not be posted here].

Our stomachs growling loudly, we demolished burgers - veggie for me, meat for him - at the Old Town Bar & Restaurant. A two-floor bar established in 1892, it's what you would expect from an old pub. But the high ceilings are peeling paint, the booths are solid wood, and the tables bear the marks of decades of use. Impressively authentic, I munched on fries as skinny and delicate as the women strolling around outside while snapping even more pictures.

Bloated, fat, and happy, our feet automatically led the way down to the bike shop. M1, though, with other things in mind, cleverly directed me down a few streets, and with one casual remark, had me drooling.
"Oh, this is Momofuku Milk Bar...wanna check it out?"
Before he finished his sentence, I was assaulted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. I nearly swooned. We grabbed two cookies - blueberry cream and cornflake - to go, before I was ushered out onto the street, following the brown paper bag in M1's hand.
And it didn't end there. My pulse started racing yet again less than 10 minutes later as my lips touched the rim of a cool glass of cold brewed iced coffee at Abraco. Served with cream and sugar [unless you request otherwise; I opted for milk instead of cream], this iced coffee will change your life. This is to iced coffee what DiFara's is to pizza; genuinely delicious, it almost makes you wish you had never tasted it because now, you can't stomach handing over money to drink normal iced coffee. And when coupled with cookies, it's enough to rekindle my love affair with New York, NY.

Back at the shop, Mike and I sprawled out on the couch until another famous face, Ethan Laek of Laek House came through the door. And before I knew it, I was in NYC Velo after closing, feeling just a little bit exclusive.
Of course, Saturday nights in NYC never stop at 7pm. Pizza from Lil Frankie's was demolished along with a pear, arugula, and gorgonzola salad while ideas were bounced around for upcoming projects. As I masticated cheese, bread, and tomato sauce happily, M1 grabbed the TV remote:
"Hey, wanna watch an episode of Law & Order?"
Ah, New York City...you know the way to a girl's heart.

loaded

In a few hours, I'll be headed back to Beantown. Headed back to training rides [fun], a block party at Cambridge Bikes tomorrow [more fun], and running [the least fun, ever].
At least my wallet might stop getting thinner, and my tummy might also stop getting thicker. Because I ate. And drank. Delicious sandwiches [hands down one of my favorite foods], cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine, and multiple caffeinated beverages from Jack's and Ninth Street Espresso. I even cooked dinner one night, but only after injecting my arteries and heart with juicy grease in the form of chicken wings and fries.

There was even a celebrity sighting. Malcolm Gladwell, who almost looked like he might walk into Ninth Street Espresso yesterday. I was all staring him down like "oh hey, I've never read your books but I've heard of them and you should get yourself an espresso." Fail [obviously].
And then there was the TV watching. Between the multiple runs to Mood for fabric, the East Village for coffee and bikes, and the post office to send boxes of acquired things back home to Boston, I managed my fair share of Law & Order SVU, CI, and somewhat trashy true crime shows [I don't have a TV at home, so I have to get my fix in NYC]. And in spite of the inordinate amount of time I spent in front of the tube, I even managed to get blogged.

Okay, I also managed a few more things. Like getting my hands on a very limited edition Gage & Desoto bag [for the non-uber bike geeks, those are some key names of Team CSC Saxo Bank]. Wicked, right?
Mike explained that he didn't want me to leave empty-handed when he gave me the bag, seeming to pull it out of nowhere. Empty-handed? Really? This trip had me loaded full of good food, new friends, and an appreciation for those who bike in the city. Add to that super exclusive bike-related gear and I am leaving here a happy girl, fists full of stuff.
As if I really need any more reason to hop down to NYC more often.