Pedal Strike

I have a bad case of the “guilties.” If I’m on the rollers, I’m feeling guilty that I’m not doing my reading [even if I have the whole night to do it]. If I’m cooking dinner, I’m feeling guilty that I’m not out on a ride [even if it’s sub-zero temperatures out]. That familiar sinking feeling has me constantly busy, and it’s probably what has me springing out of bed at 6am and making coffee with one hand while compiling a to do list with the other.

This also makes me a fairly impatient person. Even when I was burning up with a fever last week, all I wanted to do was get over it so I could go on a ride or do some work for cassette or edit that pesky note. Upon expressing my displeasure guilt at being unable to get some quality time in with my bike before school started, Mike pointed out:

“Nothing’s going on right now. Everyone’s waiting for it to get warmer. Don’t sweat it too much.”

Yeah, everyone’s waiting all right. We’re all perched on our saddles, waiting for calls from team mates or friends to drag our asses out in this cold. The more fortunate are waiting for new bikes for the coming season, the less fortunate are waiting for a new trainer or a few new parts. Me? I’m waiting for my face to thaw out. It’s freezing outside, son.

But like the deceptively casual invite that turns into a full production that you’re pretty sure you never signed up for, all this waiting has a tendency to just sneak up on you. You know how it goes. A friend will invite you out for a drink [“just one”] and all of a sudden, you’re stuck in said friend’s living room, waiting for her to finish doing her hair and/or going through all her outfits while she calls a small army to the casual one drink you guys were supposed to grab to decompress. Then when you finally get to the bar, you get roped into either karaoke or doing shots [or both.] And just when you’re about to put your foot down and escape back to the comforting quiet of your empty apartment, another friend inevitably drops the “I just got dumped by my boyfriend” bomb. So because you can’t just abandon this friend, “just one” drink turns into one of those long nights consoling a friend in the corner of a bar until either way too late or until your first friend decides to go to yet another bar, finally giving you the excuse to shove the dumped friend in a cab and call it quits yourself. That’s kind of what happened when I tried to get on the rollers last night.

Okay, it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as drunken karaoke or watching me pass out at a bar after one measly shot. But the production that went into some casual spinning was fairly impressive. To be fair, I could have just pumped my completely flat tires. But it’s the first time I’ve climbed onto those things since I left Boston for Tokyo last month and I had a sweet saddle awaiting installation. So the leopard print Bianchi saddle came off and got replaced with the white and pink Fizik saddle that looks disturbingly like I designed my track bike around it. Of course I installed it too far back the first time, so after installing it, pumping my tires, feeling guilty [again!] about not lubing my chain, and starting to pedal, I had to get off, re-adjust, make sure it was straight and level, then get back on. Doesn’t sound like much, right? Except I had only planned a quick, easy spin. Considering I spent at least 10 minutes fiddling with my bike and another 5 getting changed/picking what I was going to watch on Hulu, it felt like it was almost too much effort.

But hey, it got done, and without any embarrassment [read: crashes] on my part. And at least this kind of waiting-turned-into-something-dramatic-that-involves-too-much-energy doesn’t come with a hangover or a hysterically depressed friend. On the other hand, no one ever said this waiting was over. At least not for me.

For others, it’s a different story. Like those who are fortunate enough to live in SoCal. Or, for those who, like Laura Van Gilder, are fortunate enough to make it to the Cyclocross World Championships in Tabor, Czech Republic. She needs funds to go, though, and as a poor graduate student/aspiring athlete, I can more than relate. Which is why, during all this waiting, I’ve dropped in a donation to her donation fund. You should, too, if you haven’t already. And if the existence of a woman who made it to the worlds in her second season of racing ‘cross isn’t enough for you, well, maybe this might do the trick.

Besides, what else are you going to do with all your recent free time?

Tags:   cyclocross · laura van gilder · rollers · waiting4 Comments

My break is officially over, and I’m trying to start the year out right. That means returning to posting [more] regularly via Embrocation Cycling Journal Monday…

Enjoy!

Tags:   embrocation cycling journal1 Comment

There’s nothing like being in one of the world’s largest cities, back near friends and the only family that lives stateside…and being confined to a bed because you’re burning up with a fever.

Exciting, right?

Actually, even for a domestic homebody like myself, it really wasn’t. Multitasking was out of the question; as was getting out of bed. But, it gave me the perfect excuse to clean up some unfinished business. And I don’t just mean watching Half-Ton Dad, Half-Ton Teen, and Half-Ton Teen, Part 2: Survival of the Half-Ton Teen.

I mean the unfinished business that had me leaving the bike at home, and toting a suitcase down to NYC instead. The unfinished business that I finally got around to after my fever subsided [after I got that whole “sleep” thing out of the way] yesterday, stuffed in a bag, and delivered to some awesome friends. Late handmade Christmas presents crafted from my little fingers and transported across the globe from Tokyo to NYC.

The popularity of collars and merino items might have had something to do with my choice of what knitted gift to give to my cyclist friends this season, as well as the popularity of facial hair this time of year. Inspired by the Incognito pattern available on Knitty, I chose merino wool yarn instead of alpaca [I couldn’t get the yarn listed on the pattern in Tokyo], and changed the gauge accordingly [for the knitters, the more complicated “tangy” version of this pattern is well worth the extra little effort]. The mustaches also got modified [how could I not design a crazy long, curly ‘stache for Brett?], and Andy’s got the royal “NYC Velo” customization.

Too bad when I managed to make it outside and to the shop yesterday, bag full of cookies, rice crackers, and mustached collars, half the recipients of the collars were already wearing their own homegrown ‘staches. It was still cold enough to have them excited about the gifts, though, and tomorrow looks freezing enough to force them to wear it [muahahahaha!].

Unfortunately, I’ll be leaving this fair city tomorrow, and with two days eaten away by a fever, I feel a little cheated. Still, I have a full 24 hours left here with my favorite people. And that’s a good thing, too, because…well…I haven’t quite finished all my unfinished business. There’s a collar still on deck [needles?] for Mike, and with a promise of a picture of Andy, Brett, Justin, and Mike with their fake ‘staches, there’s motivation to get that thing done by the time I board a bus tomorrow afternoon.

Besides, with no bike around, recorded episodes of Law & Order, Intervention, and Hoarders, plus expectations of snow later today, what else I should be doing than sitting on a couch sipping coffee, and looping that yarn around two needles?

Tags:   knitting · knitty · mustaches · nyc velo · presents1 Comment

“Remind me to invent time travel,” was the first thought that popped into my head when I finally landed in Newark last night. It consequently got tweeted a few hours later when I got back to Boston, greasy, hungry, exhausted, and reeking of airplane.

I’m a fairly seasoned traveler, but suffice it to say that flying over 12 hours in one sitting will always pretty much suck. Some things I’ve learned, though: don’t fly out of Logan, Houston has a nice airport, be prepared to get your bag searched twice and patted down before you board, and getting to the airport over two hours before my flight will still have me nearly running to the gate, shoes untied, laptop in one hand, coat, bag, and passport in the other.

All things that help ensure that I am perfectly willing to beat the living shit out of any wannabe terrorist.

But back to bikes. And Boston.

Anyone who has crossed the international date line a few times can tell you that it’s more than a little surreal to find yourself in another country after 12 or so hours of being crammed in a seat that was made to accommodate children or those without hips. When foreign languages are also involved, things get a little more awkward. Sleep-derived, with patches of dry skin all over my face courtesy of the complete lack of humidity in any airplane cabin, arrival also means stuttering my way into the appropriate language. The total lack of interest in any productive sort of communication means that I have learned how to smile and giggle my way through both immigration and customs. The shame. But hey, it works.

The irony being that that’s one thing I consciously missed while in Tokyo: the ability to verbally masturbate over everything related to bicycles. Mention of Lance Armstrong resulted in blank looks from my parents [“…Lance…who?”], and attempted conversation usually ended in “just be careful on your bicycle.” And who can blame them? My mother – suspicious of my virtual harem of male friends and the possibility that I may be dating one of them – believes “poor” and “cyclist” are synonyms. I imagine that this must terrify her; that believing me to be generally useless, her youngest daughter probably shouldn’t be considering marrying poor. My father has more pressing things to worry about, like the economy. Neither know about cassette, much less this blog.

So after two weeks in Tokyo that first felt like an eternity, then turned into a whirlwind that ended too soon, I poked my head into my dark apartment last night to catch a glimpse of a gray-black tire that used to be white. I left my suitcase in my alcove and turned on the light to check on the track bike. Things were just as I left them, just as they should be.

I wasn’t talking to anyone yet, and I’m not crazy enough to consider my bikes to have human characteristics. It was comforting, though, to be back. Even if it’s freezing out. Even if I sort of wish I was still back in Tokyo.

Jetlagged but stateside, I’ve unpacked and have a full day ahead of me. Presents to be delivered, a note to be edited, books to be bought [already! ugh!]. As for that verbal masturbation, I’m headed down to yet another city, loaded with goodies for a few friends I haven’t seen in too long. NYC Velo, get excited!

Tags:   boston · nyc velo · tokyo · travel1 Comment

I am slightly embarrassed to say, that three years in, I have yet to find the perfect cure to a semester plus of law school. A day, a week, a few months, I can do. Any time on the rollers – from fifteen minutes to forever – can usually keep the insanity at bay. But a semester plus two years? It takes a lot of cycling to erase that kind of pain.

Take bikes away from the equation and I’m not sure what the normal law student is left with in terms of options as to how to resocialize. I have a feeling that it might involve a lot of sex. Or whatever the gastronomic equivalent is. On the other hand, that might just be my way of explaining the unnervingly large number of fat creepers which populate your typical law school. I like to think that it’s the inevitable result of too many hours scouring too many cases. You eventually end up fat and desperate.

In any case, left without my bicycles for the duration of 13 days, in another country no less, I’ve been at a complete loss. Roller-less, recovery is slow, and unsurprisingly involves staying far away from anything with a keyboard and a screen. And yes, that involves the internet.

I understand how that might sound. Like I’ve too easily turned my back on a best friend. Taken the proverbial shit on the guy who has always been there by my side. Kicked a fiance to the curb right as the limo to the wedding pulled up, so to speak. And the worst part? I’m sort of getting used to this.

Despite my mother’s fussing, I can get used to rolling out of bed and not really having much to do. Nothing about not putting on a bra until 3pm bothers me. It’s okay that the farthest I might travel in a day might be the distance from the kitchen to the bathroom, because it’s twice as far as the bathroom is from my desk back in Boston. And the fact that I’m riding shotgun in my mom’s car? Please. Since when was I an eco-freak that rode my bike around for environmental reasons?

So other than the invisible, ever-changing itinerary of “preparing for stuff we’re going to do just because tradition dictates that we should do it” which I’m told about approximately 5 minutes before we’re all supposed to leave the house, I’m flexing my lazy like The Situation tightens his abs in a club full of guidette hoochies. But like how nights at the same clubs [even on the Jersey Shore] can get old, I would be lying if I said that a part of me wasn’t itching to get back to my bicycles. Stuffing myself full of decidedly non-vegan goodies is pretty awesome, but I miss the messy, sweaty sessions on the track bike, or the freezing cold commutes on the Bianchi.

I’ve been missing the empty staring at blank Word documents as well. Who knew that laziness could be so…boring. But without bicycles, it seems a little silly to write about my life sans velos. Even if – and I’m being honest when I say this – the guilt of my silence is hovering over my shoulder like the stranger drafting behind you that you just can’t seem to shake off.

But just like that drafting stranger, there’s a new year [too] quickly approaching, and I’ll be back to bikes, Boston, blogs, and my boys before I know it. So let me savor this “doing nothing” thing for just a little bit longer. Because, come on, you know you’re doing the exact same thing, too.

Happy New Year, guys!

Tags:   lazy · recovery · tokyo · winter1 Comment