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.
I was born in the year of the pig [or, as I like to call it, the year of the boar]. I don’t say this to justify my adoration of food, but because, by sheer luck [or misfortune], the year in which I was born blessed me with a streak of stubbornness and, worse, a one-track mind. And when I say “one-track mind,” I mean the kind where, if I lose one train of thought, it’s probably not coming back. Ever.
Sometimes I like to think that I’m getting better at pretending to be as ADD as everyone else around me. But unlike the rest of the world, when my brain goes racing off on a tangent, I'm pretty much never coming back to my original train of thought. I can apparently only focus on one thing at a time.
“Hey, so, I wanted to ask,” I started, yesterday, dutifully filling in for Mike by parking my butt on the NYC Velo couch. I trailed off.
“.....Ohhhh, who’s Serotta??? So niiiice. Hey, whose is this? Man. Wow.”
“So what were you trying to ask?”
“Huh?”
“You were trying to ask something. Before you got distracted,” Andy informed me.
Even now I can’t remember what in the world I was trying to ask. I think I did remember, though, after about 3 solid minutes of deep thought. But back to the Serotta - a black one. It was Andy’s, and when I pointed out the flat pedals, he pointed to his waterproof shoes [it was pouring out] and mentioned that he had gotten the pedals at the Brooklyn Bike Jumble. I hadn’t realized he had even purchased anything.
Given that I was there, it was probably my one-track mind at work again. After Cafe Grumpy, the three of us headed to the Brooklyn Bike Jumble to check out bikes, parts, and clothes in our Lycra and cleats. There were vintage frames, a BMX bike with an amazing “Predator” decal on it, and a good showing of bike friends. We made it about ¼ of the way around the outside of the jumble before bumping into Abe and Tyler of Outlier, both of whom I haven’t seen since...oh...INTERBIKE LAST YEAR.
We caught up a little, and I got to see their new merino T shirts in person. They’re making polo shirts out of the same soft fabric now, and when I saw a guy try it on, I started running down the list of upcoming holidays to find an excuse to grab one for Mike. No holiday is necessary to stop by their new space on Saturdays to try on their women’s pants, though. I promised I would [and oh, I will].
Mike and I picked our way through the booths and tables with our bikes, squeezing past various frames and laid out bike parts. I got to meet John Prolly, got some hugz from Ethan Laekhouse [hands down one of the most hilarious people to sit on a bicycle], and met Harry, who recently organized the Coney Island Velodrome exhibit at the Old Stone House [is that enough name-dropping for you?]. All of whom were super down-to-earth and reminded my stubborn brain that I should be doing that whole socializing thing a lot more.
Our stomachs growling and my phone blowing up [for once] with my sister on the other end, we left soon after for lunch at Tom’s Restaurant. An hour or so after nomming on baked goods, we were stuffing our faces full of eggs and toast and good ol’ diner coffee.
Because even with easily distracted one-track mind, I always seem to remember the importance of coffee.
A few years ago, my father came gimping back from chasing my dog around outside in his sandals. He had slipped, broken his fall, and ripped off most of his big toenail in the process. It was still attached to his toe when he showed me, his foot propped up over the sink. He pushed the nail, making the blood caught between toe and nail pulse a little.
“See, I ripped it off.”
I mentally shrieked. My entire body was covered in goosebumps. I almost felt like puking and pooping my pants at the same time. Yet another reason I could never go into medicine.
I felt the same way - and possibly queasier - last night when I helped Mike change the blood-soaked gauze that was patched around his sutures. And by “helped,” I mean “watched in morbid curiosity.” Because I obviously don’t deal well with blood.
Not that I didn’t expect at least some of this. Mike had surgery scheduled to patch up his hernia for a few weeks now, and with little time and sunshine left before he went under the knife, Andy suggested we do a few laps in Prospect Park on Sunday morning. A 44cm Bianchi Valle was offered on loan but it came with flat bars, so I stuck with the Cyfac, but managed to nab a used Specialized BG Toupe saddle. I was told that it would be better than the leopard print stripe number I was currently using but I had my doubts.
Yeah, I was wrong. Again. The Toupe is flat, hard, and feels like you’re sitting on the hood of a giant Cadillac. No shifting around or constantly getting out of the saddle. Extremely comfy, it helped me concentrate on not being able to really breathe while trying to hang on with guys who were dumbing it down for me but keeping it at a steady 19-20mph. The flats weren’t so bad; but you guys know me: anything with over a 2% grade is a pretty big challenge. Gears make it hurt less, but also just remind me of how much aerobic strength I don’t have.
After a few laps, with me trying to hold the yogurt I had for breakfast down, Andy was craving coffee so we made our way to Cafe Grumpy. A few minutes after pulling up, I was sipping a delicious Americano and got nibbles of chocolate chip banana bread, a pumpkin apple spice muffin, and a zucchini muffin. All of which hit the spot after trying to keep up with two steel frames that went way faster than the aluminum one I was riding. Coach DS was definitely right about how it doesn’t matter what your bike’s made of.
Fifteen minutes later, we were back on our bikes, headed to do more bike-related things. No more puking sensations this time, or goosebumps caused by bloody bandages, just good times. And enough fun for Mike to hopefully alleviate the pain of not being able to ride for the next few weeks.
Lucky for him, the rain’s been helping out. Hopefully my domestic skills are, too.
Yo yoooooooo, I’m back from my 72 hour benderrrrrrrrrrrr.
Just kidding. Although there might have been a mini bender in between finishing up finals, packing up to move into a new apartment, packing more stuff into a small suitcase, and catching a bus down to NYC. Okay said bender might have only consisted of drinking less than 2 inches of beer and getting wasted as a result BUT THAT’S KIND OF CALLED A BENDER IN MY BOOK.
So that’s what I’ve been up to, mostly for lack of a better thing to do with all this “free time” I’m suddenly finding myself with. Because somehow “free time” doesn’t translate to more cycling, just budding alcoholism. And somehow, more work.
Because after 48 hours of attempting to pack everything I own into a bunch of boxes, I needed a break and decided that working in a bike shop would totally hit the spot. And you know, I kind of really wanted to show off one of my new outfits.
So Saturday morning I was back behind a bike shop counter - at the front of the shop this time - and pretending to know what I was doing or what exactly was going on. Chad and Kyle gave me the scoop on rentals and before I knew it, I was hauling Kona Humus from the basement, gushing about how much I love my Baileyworks, and buying pretzels for Jared. All in a really sick vintage Sportful jersey that I’ve been hiding since I snagged it off Ebay a while back. I mean, yeah, sure I risked getting dirt and chain lube and grease all over it but whatever placates my vanity, you know?
The weather being pretty frickin’ gorgeous, the shop was packed. Waves of people would stream in, meaning that burritos, salads, and breakfast sandwiches had to be eaten in stealthy bites behind the counter. Running back and forth, bringing things down to the basement or up from the back of the shop meant that there was hardly any time to notice hunger. Until, of course, Ish and Chad’s lunch appeared from S’macNYC. Soft macaroni elbows blanketed in gooey cheese with a delicately burnt cover of casein. I was drooling. Actively.
“Good thing I’m lactose intolerant,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I even prefer my pizza without cheese.”
“...That’s like preferring your men without penises,” Ish informed me.
Touche.
Hunger finally stoked, I grabbed my apple but with people still coming through the door, it got eaten in about 5 different sittings. The rest of lunch was a Chocolate Peanut Butter Luna Protein Bar that I managed to get to around 3pm. Those 12 grams of yummy chocolate-covered, Breast Cancer Fund supporting protein tided me over for another hour and a half of scurrying around and powered my nonexistent biceps through carrying more bikes up and down the stairs. And with a good dose of Iron and B vitamins from that Luna bar, I think I even did it with a smile on my face.
My 2/3 of a day complete, I sauntered back home around 4.30, ate some yogurt and passed the fuck out. A few hours later, I was back in the shop and a few hours after that, back on the bike. The last which proved to be possibly more painful than the last exam I took.
Well...almost.
I'll be done with exams in a few days...and with my study buddy getting me sick [thanks for licking my cup whenever I wasn't looking, Matt], I have't been on the bike in what feels like forev.
It's the last push. I'll be done...DONE!!!...before the week is out. Meanwhile, get out there and ride lots for me!
I watched some bits and pieces of the World Track Cycling Championships on cycling.tv [yes, the ones from March...I know, I know] last Sunday while sweltering in the humid heat. Mike just randomly put it on his computer; he later said it should be inspiring, but I think he just has a thing for girls on bikes with big thighs.
It was cool to watch, though, especially because whoever was shooting it insisted on taking close ups of all the female racers’ faces just as they started their sprint. There were all kinds of grimaces as they turned gears that weren’t ever meant for normal people, making the painful start somewhat hilarious to the spectator on the other side of the screen. Their otherwise impeccably made-up faces crumpled into a burst of speed as each racer booked it around the velodrome on feather-weight bikes that were something else.
My mom once asked - as if I would know - why female athletes sometimes have make up on before their event. A few months later, she informed me that she had figured it out:
“It’s because that’s the only time they’re ever on TV and they probably want to look nice.”
Thanks for the FYI, mom.
Anyway, back to bikes that are made to go fast. After riding Mike’s Cyfac and a few days off, my legs were feeling good, so it’s back to Dovering it every chance I get. By now the routine is familiar, and climbing onto the bike a few days ago, I pushed off...and grimaced.
You know those tactical war videos where there’s a tank that’s going over some small dirt hill at a weird angle so it ends up briefly stopping at the top of the aforementioned hill, nose pointed at the sky, before the sheer weight of the thing makes it crash awkwardly down the hill? That’s the image that was running through my head the entire time I was on my tank of a bicycle a few days ago. Shit is heavy. And to think I’m leaning towards a steel frame for that ever elusive road bike...
I got used to it after a few miles, but it was kind of a pain in the ass. Literally. My glutes were tired, my calves were seizing up again, and I reeked. Eh, easy slow ride tomorrow, I thought. Something kind of lazy but enough to get me out of the house for a while. Nothing fast, anyway.
Of course, when I make those kinds of decisions, I inevitably run into people I know who have gears and are way faster than me. This time, it was 100psi in a Rapha Club Jersey and on a Gold IF Factory Lightweight who joined me for most of the way back. My relaxing ride went the way of toe clips in the pro peloton because seriously, who has gears and actually goes slower than 15mph? It was fun, though, to ride with someone new, and I do appreciate the faster pace. I did feel a dark chill of fear when we passed Paceteaser-BRC-IF guy who thankfully was heading in as we were heading out. I sighed in relief though part of my head spun at the idea of getting caught up in a ride with BRC-IF guy again.
My legs made it home, got stretched, then the arms got to work doing some push ups and reverse flys before a shower, lunch, and coffee. Then it was back to work for the tank that is my brain, slowly lumbering through Intellectual Property law for that exam I’m taking today. The last 24 hour take-home law school exam of my life. Hopefully it’ll go as smoothly as my rides; even if it’s a little more painful than I’m probably expecting.