BBWs #26 &#27 are both at the last stage before they are entirely tacked and welded and ready for their alignment check and finishing.  With so much time invested already I went ahead and spent the better part of the day at the buffing wheel bringing the stainless steel dropouts on #27 up to a blinding shine.  What a F’ing waste of time.  No it won’t make the bike faster, straighter, more durable or anything else but it is swowing, i’m not at Work on a Wednesday so why not.

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?

I didn’t go to Cornell [for college] but I found the best room mate there.

We found each other in a slightly musty dorm room on the first day of summer school. Hailing from Staten Island, Mell was lightly freckled and Irish to the core. She was confident without being arrogant and charismatic without being annoying. We listened to early 90s punk and squealed over boys but gave each other enough space to avoid nasty cat fights. She pulled off the sexy tomboy thing with ease and had a drama-free relationship with a pretty gorgeous, tall blonde. She was basically awesome without being overbearing, and we got along magnificently.

I’ve never quite found another roomie like her. I’ve lived with both genders but the amicable yet trustworthy relationship I had with Mell is, I’ve found, quite elusive. Because you can love your friends, but living with them is always another animal.

I made a lot of long-lasting friendships that summer, but Mell still sticks out in my mind. Whenever I hear of Staten Island, I wonder what she – currently a chocolatier – is up to, and how I really should drop her a line. And if I had plans to be down in NYC this coming Sunday, I’d make sure to drag her out to an awesome event on her own home turf: SICX.

Conceived by CJ and Jed – NYC resident representatives for all things ‘cross – it makes a small part of me wish that I wasn’t going to gorge myself on turkey and pumpkin pie up in Massachusetts, but that my sister had invited me to whatever she and her small, Asian, lesbian friends were doing for Thanksgiving in NYC. The line-up of sponsors is enough to have me drooling and I’ll even consider dropping the whole “no eating four-legged animals” thing for the fifty – yes, FIFTY – pounds of bacon from Wellshire Farms that CJ has [supposedly] stashed in his ‘fridge for this event [if that bacon goes missing, you know who the culprit is].

But wafels, bacon, and croque monsieurs isn’t the only reason you should make your way out there. Because if you live in NYC and enjoy riding your bicycle in mud, this is an absolute godsend. Any other weekend, you’ll have to travel by car to get to any decent ‘cross race. SICX is placing a legit event in your lap, accessible by public transport. If you’re in the city, have a cross bike, and aren’t going to this, CJ and Jed are right – you do hate to have fun.

Or you’re just a fatass. Post-Thanksgiving, there’s probably no better way to burn off those two pieces of pecan pie you’ll down on Thursday, and the massive turkey sandwich you’ll have on Friday for lunch, and that apple pie you know you’ll indulge in on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. If you’re blessed with a body fat percentage of 2%, and you can use all the calories you can humanly consume, then, well, Thanksgiving is going to be the perfect carb-fest for SICX.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to learn how to run before I race SICX, and the promise of starchy, meaty, sugary deliciousness a mere 30 miles from my house is going to keep me in MA. But for all those NYC residents, I expect a full disclosure of the awesomeness that will be SICX.

[And if you are in Boston, come out to the Middlesex tonight to support the Geekhouse CX Team. Come on, admit it, you can't resist those kits and bikes!]

Another Embrocation Cycling Journal Monday…

Apologies for the lack of a drawing…next time, I promise!

Now go read my real post…

Summer’s over, cyclocross season is starting, and it’s another Embrocation Cycling Journal Monday…

Enjoy!

I [fortunately?] have a few friends who have enough social influence to enable them to drag me out to events I have no desire of attending. This usually involves countless excuses on my part, then having said excuses shot down too efficiently and a half-joking ultimatum that not going would entail the end of our friendship. And this always involves rearranging my whole entire weekend schedule to make up for lost time.

So while I might actually wake up the next day, mascara smeared all over my eyelids, and concede that I was glad that I went out, that’s not to say that the rest of the weekend won’t be stressful. Going out actually makes me scramble out of bed at some absurd hour the next morning, and race to some secluded, quiet spot with my books for the rest of the weekend. I like to save myself the resulting panic and just putz away at whatever I have to do over the entire weekend, including Friday night.

One main reason that while friends in NYC were planning their first ever NYC Velo Cyclocross Season Kick-off event, I resolutely reasoned to myself that I could not possibly go. I wanted to. Desperately, in fact. But Federal Income Taxation of Corporate Enterprise stared up at me accusingly. It sucked. I just couldn’t.

And then I woke up on Saturday in NYC and walked over bright and early to a bike shop milling about with friends and customers, and lucky for everyone in attendance, the Wafels & Dinges truck was there as well.

Inside, shots of espresso were being pulled and ‘cross bikes examined. Questions were fielded and directed to a number of seasoned ‘cross racers. Cards were exchanged in between bites of bacon-filled wafels. Embrocation and creams tested while talk of how the season went bounced amongst the attendees.

Maybe it was the sugar, but squeezing between new and old ‘cross racers alike, there was nothing inaccessibly serious about the whole thing. Well, that’s not quite accurate. The only thing really serious about the Kickoff party was the deadpan conviction that practically simmered in those who have discovered the wonders of ‘cross that this was the single, most teeth-gnashing fun that you could ever have on a bicycle.

Which would sound slightly creepy if it wasn’t for the fact that nearly every single person who races ‘cross seems to passionately believe in this. And though cyclists tend to fall on the insane side of psychotic, there’s always something to be said for consistency.

The NYC Velo Cyclocross Season Kickoff Party only served to heighten the excitement that seems to be bursting out of those in love with ‘cross, just as the season starts to get into gear. And it’s infectious, too. Because everyone seems to be talking about cyclocross this year.

If I had the funds and the bike, even I’d be up for embarrassing myself by face-planting in some mud on a cold, autumn New England day. And I’m pretty sure it won’t just be for the wafels.

[More pictures of the event here.]

Th e debilitating leg cramp that just coursed up my left hamstring and threatened to turn into the dreaded double by cramping the quadricepts or calf as well as I stretched it are as sure evidence as any that BBW #23 does indeed do its job as a fun woods riding bike. (And that I’d better start getting some more miles in before cyclocross season really heats up)

I didn’t push it too hard or clean every section of trail but the bike was responsive and fun enough to encourage me to do my best to keep it moving fast through the some of the more difficult trails at the Fells, with the perfect weather today was one of those days that I felt really lucky to have these trails so close by and to be physically able to take advantage of them.

Remember the “ipod nod”? Back when only a select few had ipods and they were far from touch screen? And those white earbuds would qualify you for that so-geeky-it’s-chic, sage nod from another ipod owner? That secret, shared understanding of owning something…superior?

I like how that died within a year as ipods and Apple just continued to take over the world. Now everyone has one, it’s just another gadget attesting to your status [or lack thereof]. There’s nothing special about owning one anymore. No more of that exclusiveness. No more of that excitement that comes with belonging in a special group of the select few who really, truly understand.

Bikes are different though. Proof? I saw two pairs of excited eyes yesterday that seemed to hum with elation. I nearly nodded.

After a [miserable] run and then a bike ride downtown, I showered then hopped back on the bike to get drenched in my own sweat all over again. Because Marcus was putting the finishing touches on his new ‘cross bike, and invited me on its maiden voyage. Like I could ever miss this. I skipped into IBC, dumped my bike next to Wes’s Merckx [hottt!] and clopped my cleated feet over to 2nd Cup for some coffee.

Picking my way back to the shop, I saw a guy who had just purchased a Trek. And just before he pushed off onto the street, I asked him if it was New Bike Day. He happily answered in the affirmative and, with bright, happy eyes, jumped onto his new steed. It never gets old, that feeling. Even when it’s not your own bike…because you know. You understand.

Back at IBC, I climbed the stairs with caffeine in one hand and a camera in the other, and paparazzi-ed Marcus as he put the finishing touches on his new baby. I seemed to be the most impatient person there; I couldn’t wait until it was ready to be ridden, and I literally jumped up and down with excitement when I first saw it, it was so so so close to being complete.

Bars wrapped perfectly [by Chris], cables adjusted, chain measured out, and pedals finally installed, we headed out for a quick ride down Comm Ave. And wow, is that bike hot. In the light of the setting sun, the silver frame looks almost white, and seemed to shift like butter. My knee was being stupid but with vicarious excitement coursing through my muscles and fueled by adrenaline, I was springing up the hills, alternating between following Marcus and leading.

We parted ways after babbling about practicing dismounts, jogging, and how good his frame is going to look with mud splattered all over it. Plans are in the works for practicing and falling over our bikes in dark fields when no one else is around. It’s going to hurt and probably be slightly miserable.

As usual, I can’t wait.

“Hey, wanna race ‘cross?”

Marcus asked me this as he, Eric, and I lingered on Harvard Ave last night after an IBC sushi fest. He just got a new cross bike that he’s building up today so maybe I should have expected the question. And even with a belly full of sushi, I nearly pounced at that question.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.

That question lingered in my head and greeted me this morning, bright and somewhat early. My legs were a little worn out from the psycho 40-miler-plus-running workout combo of yesterday, and I was tempted to do an easy 30 mile loop instead. The hills I’ll have to tackle on my decided route…the fact that I’m on a single-speed…my leg being a little achy…

All those got shoved aside as I swung a leg over my bike and didn’t stop until I hit Arlington, again. And on the way, I remembered something that made me detour into the heart of Lexington. My aunt used to live here. Between Brussels and Tokyo, my aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in this quaint, little New England town. It was only for a few years, and because I associate my aunt with Belgium instead, it’s a fact that I tend to forget.

And sometimes, I wonder if my aunt has as many memories of Lexington as she does of Brussels. I remember one Christmas [yes, my family celebrates it even though we're complete heathens], she brought a small casserole dish that smelled deliciously of cream and cheese. Hiding between those gooey layers were endives, pale with a browned corner here and there, their distinctive bitterness tempered by butter, cream, and Gruyere. My first mouth-watering encounter with the vegetable, I gulped and gobbled it down. That gratin d’endives still has me yearning for Belgium.

As I took pictures of Lexington, I was tempted to call my aunt and cousins. Endives and waffles are amazing, but why did they never get into cycling? Why did they keep secret this sport called cyclocross?

“Wait, oh, you’ll have to get another bike,” Marcus said, last night.

“That’s a ‘cross bike. I can race it single-speed,” I said as I pointed to my Bianchi.

“Dude, that would be so awesome!”

Or it could just be incredibly embarrassing. Maybe it’ll get me to Belgium, though. And even if that takes a few years, I’d endure an hour or so of incredible pain to sink my teeth into a sugary waffle.

Alright, a cupcake might do, too, in a pinch.

My Mom has this tendency to flip through clothes with a dismissive, almost violent hand. Hangers squeak loudly against poles as she’ll cast aside suits, shirts, and pants, unable to find that perfect, impeccably tailored, designer whatever. Meanwhile I try not to completely lose it as the product of someone’s hard labor is violently shoved aside.

She does the same thing to books. Pages grating against themselves as she tries to find a quote or phrase. The fragile tissues somehow withstanding her abuse but clearly bearing the battle scars of wrinkles and too much wear. It drives me absolutely insane.

Maybe that’s because I love print publications [and yes, clothes]. I prefer print-outs to reading things online, newspapers to the internet, letters to emails. My favorite books, while read and re-read, manage to remain mostly unscathed, the gloss of their covers still largely intact.

So you can imagine why I almost wished I had those made-to-handle-antiques cloth gloves on when I ripped open a package left mysteriously on my front doorstep [delivered by bike, I later discovered, with a $5 bill tucked into its pages for the shipping I had paid for...thanks, James!] and found Volume 3 of Embrocation Cycling Journal. Pulling it out of its envelope with slightly sweaty hands, a surge of goosebumps swept up my back as I ever so gently flipped through its pages.

Taught the importance of font and layout by an extremely critical sister [who happens to be a graphic designer], I ran an eye over it, almost bracing myself for something I wouldn’t like. Something that wouldn’t make sense. Something that would inevitably disappoint. Instead, my eyes feasted. And not just on the layout, which, though beautiful, seems only complementary to the sheer talent behind the magazine itself. Because that’s what sets Embrocation Cycling Journal apart – the realization that that intangible something that all cyclists share managed to somehow collect the best of its members and spilled their gifts out onto its pages.

Due to the fact that I ride a single-speed ‘cross bike, it was only too fitting that my first introduction to Embrocation Cycling Journal came in the form of an issue focused on cyclocross. Between the smorgasbord of stunning pictures, including photos by the incredibly talented Michael R. of Velodramatic, were stories and interviews, cyclists relating their love for racing, fabricating, and training. The pages kept turning as the laptop [and work] got pushed away. Even after owning it for several weeks, it still has that effect.

Which is dangerous. Especially because I now happen to be in possession of Volume 2 as well. Focused more on road racing, there’s that same, strong talent behind every page. Just enough to give a sense of the potential Embrocation can grow to, but not quite done with puberty. And like a really good date with the high-school-nerd-turned-successfully-wealthy-hottie, it doesn’t disappoint, but definitely leaves you wanting more.

That doesn’t mean I won’t be turning back to these issues once Volume 4 comes out. When sad, lonely, and covered in grease and brake dust, I turned to Joshua Gunn’s “Bird Watch,” careful not to blemish the pages with tears and snot [Volume 3]. When lacking artistic inspiration or dreaming of tattoos, Peter Rubijono’s drawings [Volumes 2 and 3]. When fantasizing about custom-built road bikes, “N.A.H.B.S.” [Volume 2].

It’s all there – feelings of victory, disappointment, desire, excitement, fuzzy contentment…all tied together by a shared love of bicycles. The effect? Intellectual and emotional embrocation [the cold weather kind]…without the stickiness.

[Buy yourself a copy here.]

I got up this morning and made a beeline for the bathroom. Nearly tripping over the rollers in the hallway, I wondered why 1. I had to pee so badly, and 2. why there were clothes strewn all over my floor.

Oh, yeah. Beer. Cupcake. Mustache.

Well, the party, I mean. The book itself, created by Natasha of Pedal Power Photography, is a collection of beautiful photographs which, standing alone, would be more than sufficient for coffee table book status. But it’s even better. It’s a true “who’s who” of New England cyclocross with interviews and questions concerning favorite beers, cupcakes, and ‘cross races…and who can really resist that kind of combination?

I almost feel nervous flipping through its pages, anticipating that grungy streak down the side of the book from too much thumbing through. And there will be [much] thumbing through [and reading!]. Like Facebook but better – because you can stalk without fear of discovery and be able to show up to birthday parties with a 6-pack of a cyclist’s favorite beer – it had me ogling its pages after I managed to stumble home last night.

As for the party itself [held at Washington Square Tavern], the title of the book was only too fitting. Vegan cupcakes were demolished, free Chimay was had, and ample mustaches were in attendance. Needless to say, I got completely smashed [something that happens rarely these days] and ended up dizzily guzzling water [with lime!] before skipping home in the rain.

Flipping through its pages again, I had to force myself to put it down this morning, to stretch and head to school. The misty rain and lack of a front fender meant that bits of grime and dirty water got splattered on my bars and jacket, my face only spared [most of] the grossness thanks to a cycling cap [which, ironically, I never tend to wear]. It gave me a taste of New England falls though, and the possible hope that I’ll be able to at least watch some ‘cross races later this year.

The ride home is going to be wet and dark. But I’m already looking forward to the post-shower zoning out with beer, cupcakes, and mustaches.

Got a reminder for this awesome party:

—–

When: Apr 20th, 8:30pm onwards
Where: Washington Sq Tavern (714 Washington St, Brookline)

Come help celebrate the release of the Beer.Cupcake.Mustache. book.
In my whirlpool of projects I have absolutely forgotten about the Marathon, so the Tavern may have a few people chilling after that race.

The bottom line – if want your free beer (did I really say Chimay? Damn… No, it’s true.), you would probably want to get there sooner rather than later.

Another highlight of the event – cupcakes! Mo (Maureen Bruno-Roy) is making a small batch of 48 delicious chocolate vegan cupcakes. Only 48, and they won’t last long, I’ ve seen that happening before, like at MMRacing launch party. Here they are, you’re looking at them, then you turn away, turn around, they’re gone. It almost looks like an illusionist trick.

Now that I have mentioned free beer and free cupcakes….somebody’s got to bring some free (as in “establishing their freedom”) mustache.

If you want to own the book for $5 less than it will be after the party, then bring $25 to the party. The books will be there. You will be there. Perfect time and place (as well as price).

Until then,
I remain yours truly,

Natasha
www.pedalpowerphotography.com

Got this in the mail today from a friend, looks like it is going to be AWESOME! Check this out people.

The Cyclocross Book of Who’s Who in New England is finally done.
Meet “Beer. Cupcake. Mustache.”
The book contains interviews and b/w photographs of 50 cyclocross racers categories 4-Elite; featuring interview with Richard Fries, Hannah Kirshner and the North Star of the Cyclocross Style – Yash Katsumi.
An illustrated glossary of basic cyclocross phenomenae is included to make sure that non-racing audience feels comfortable flipping through the book.

Please come to the presentation/release party on April 20th, 8:30pm onwards; Washington Square Tavern (714 Washington Street, Brookline).

The presentation is officially sponsored by Chimay Brewery, so there will be FREE CHIMAY as long as it lasts. First come-first serve. Coupons are available at Cambrdige Bicycle Shop (and will be in other bike shops, too – I will update accordingly) or you can request it by e-mail: magic@pedalpowerphotography.com and I will hand it to you at the party.

A friend once asked me why I didn’t just switch my squealing, impossible to adjust cantilever brakes – the front refuses to STFU, so in retaliation, I refuse to use it – to center pull caliper ones.

“It’s not like you’re ever going to race ‘cross,” he said.

I stubbornly refused to switch them out though; and for once, I distinctly remember that decision being motivated by something other than my automatic reaction to being told that I can’t do something ["Oh yeah? Watch me"]. Because even though I had no idea what cyclocross was when I bought my tractorino, once I found out, I’ve been secretly crushing on it since.

I mean, who can resist a cycling event that looks so hardcore. Not only does it involve biking through grass and mud, you have to run [up hills, even!], and then jump over stuff. It looks like pure masochism. It totally turns me on.

Unfortunately, I currently lack the balls to actually do it. But laziness and the need to go to the BC main campus sometimes fires up the cyclocrosser poseurcrosser in me. Because when the options are biking up a hill or taking the stairs with a bike over your shoulder, well, I made the obvious choice.

Okay, I admit, I didn’t run up them. More like plodded at a steady pace while the undergrads snickered about the psycho girl hauling her bike up too many stairs. And those stairs were killer. But they still fuel daydreams of running up them in cycling shoes with friends, bikes over our shoulders, in preparation for an up-coming cross race. Only to descend them to do it all over again, thighs burning, heart and lungs about to burst, but still laughing.

It hasn’t happened yet, but those agonizing cantilever brakes are a constant reminder. Through all its screaming – when I absolutely need to use it – my front brake keeps that dream alive. I’m definitely keeping my fingers crossed on this one.

No pun intended.

[My favorite underage bike mechanic is turning 21 today, too -- Happy Birthday Chris!!!]

Excuse the late evening posting recently, but it’s been warm out.

Which means I haven’t been getting enough work done, but it’s not like the balmy weather’s going to last much longer. Which also means I’ve been spending the day [since getting out of class] pedaling as hard as I can [to places where I can drink coffee]. The freezing cold almost made me forget how much fun it is to go so fast you’re spinning out [although, yeah, I'm geared low]. Almost.

My excuse for blowing off the day? I’m officially on spring break, although it’s not really spring, nor much of a break.

Still, I’m not complaining. The past few days have been akin to rubbing my face on cheese graters. It’s not even the work, which can be sort of mind-numbing and prone to dammit-did-I-just-drool-everywhere-? naps, but the whole song and dance I tend to do at school. Smile, be sociable, pretend I don’t have a secret life. Repeat.

Not that this secret life of mine is very exciting, mind you, but it does a lot to retain my sanity. And when things like “the economy” and “the world” start spinning out of control, well, it’s nice to be able to hang onto something [even if it's just a fixed cyclocross bike].

Wait, scratch that. Especially when it’s a fixed cyclocross bike…and coupled with coffee.

I’m really bad at being optimistic. Once, in a stupidly foolish moment of one-sided confidence, I declared my conviction that people in general just aren’t really interested in what anyone else has to say. They only care if you’re interested in what they’re interested in. If not, their interest in you is directly correlated to how attractive they think you are.

Horrified, my then-confidante looked at me as if I had just killed a bunny, and then informed me that I was probably “too jaded for [my] own good.”

Maybe. But I have a point. I mean, there’s an irrationally rational reason why I love bike mechanics that work on my bike: they fix and take care of the most important thing in my life. You get the same effect from mothers when you coo over their not-so-attractive children, or from your friend when you pull out the well-practiced “ohhhhh my god, your new boy is soooooo cute! Where did you find him?” while you make a mental note of never stepping foot in whatever location your new friend found the awkward mess she’s currently dating.

And, yes, I am, occasionally, disingenuous.

Like the time I promised everyone that I’m working really hard on hats. Because, um, I really haven’t had the time to do that in like…the last two weeks.

Unfortunately, [and contrary to popular belief,] I sometimes have other priorities. Most of which are slowly dragging me under like really wet mud. It’s like falling face first into the mud in a ‘cross race; but instead of just eating dirt [literally], you find yourself waist-deep in brown goo. And you know that even if you somehow make it out of that cesspool, you still have a hill to climb…with a bike over your shoulder.

Which makes me sort of just want to stay and sink, instead of swim. But apparently there’s a finish line, somewhere. So even though every week seems to pitch me into a new pool of mud, I’m still trying to crawl out [and make hats in that narrow margin between climbing the next hill and tumbling into the next obstacle].

I’m pretty sure no one’s going to stop and help me out of this mess, unless, of course, it somehow serves their interests. I’m still trying [to make/finish hats] though. I might be jaded, but I’ll be damned if anyone calls me a quitter.

[And for the record, I'm not being disingenuous this time.]

“I saw you on Comm Ave last night,” a friend said.

“I thought about opening my door on you. You know, just to make it a little more challenging.”

As if this weather wasn’t challenging enough. I feel like a Yeti on a tricycle these days – sans the training wheels [unfortunately].

Yeah, I know, I know; I knew what I was getting into by deciding to be a year-round commuter in Boston, so I shouldn’t be complaining. I really wouldn’t be whining so much if there weren’t so many goddamn obstacles!

It’s not even the insane drivers who, through their sheer douchery, will teach you how to stubbornly take the lane and stay there while they honk at you incessantly. It’s the potholes.

Like my sanity due to being deprived of warmer weather, the streets are cracking under the pressure of snow, cold, and everything else. And of course, no one’s really doing anything about it.

Okay, so maybe I should do something about it. But at this point it’s almost like a masochistic little game. I want to see how long it’ll take until the whole street is just one big hole. And then I want to see how long it’ll take the city to notice it.

And of course, while this is all happening, I want to see if I can learn – through sheer necessity – how to do wheelies and bunny hops so I can climb out of any holes I get into.

Come next ‘cross season, I’ll probably be owning the races too. So, thanks, Boston!

It’s good to know that some things remain consistent. Like the schizophrenic weather.

Oh, New England, why is the weather here as fickle as a slightly overweight BC undergrad in unfashionable Uggs and leggings? It was in the 40s a day ago – and now this. More snow.

I stubbornly rode in today, and rode home, patting myself on the back the whole way about how foolishly lucky I was to buy the first single-speed bike that came in my size which just so happened to be a ‘cross bike. Seriously, the bitch can take anything.

Well, almost anything. When my tires got clotted with too much snow, I ended up having to walk some of the way. A nice gentleman even rolled down his window and slowed down his minivan as he approached me, and asked,

“Which way to BC main campus?”

…

Yeah I guess some things – like Boston drivers – remain consistent too.

Come learn the ropes of prepping and cleaning your Cyclocross bike with Matt Roy, MM Racing Team Mechanic.

Check out the flyer here. (pdf)

Price of admission gets you a custom mini-pit kit from Pedros with the stuff you need to keep your bikes running perfectly. The kit retails for $44.99 but if you come to the event, you’ll get the bucket and the know-how for $29.99.

The clinic will be held behind Wheelworks Too – 22 Church Street, Belmont (just around the corner from Belmont Wheelworks). There will be tents, heaters, lights, several very dirty/muddy Seven Cycles Cyclocross bikes, beer and salty snacks for the full “pit” experience!

The clinic will cover the essentials of cyclocross bike maintenance and cleaning. Matt will start with bike washing and continue with some standard checks done each time a bike is worked on. He will review tire pressure, pit etiquette and technique and answer any ‘cross specific questions you may have. The event will be outside so dress warmly! You will not need to bring
your bike – there will be a few dirty Seven’s on hand to do the walk-throughs.

For more info go to wheelworks.com. RSVP required.

Event Details:

Date: Thursday, November 20th

Time: 7pm-8:30

Cost: $29.99 includes Pedros Pit Kit (a $44.99 value) & instruction by one of pro cycling’s finest mechanics

RSVP: Required to participate – Call or email Gary Wood – gwood@wheelworks.com – 617.489.3577

Come celebrate the kick off of the cyclocross season with the MM Racing team launch party at Wheelworks in Belmont on Friday October 3rd from 7-10 pm.

Matt Roy and Mo Bruno Roy have got an incredible new sponsor to announce and raffle prizes from our dedicated sponsors. There will be beer from Harpoon and prizes from Embrocation Magazine, Chinook, Michelin, Mad Alchemy Embrocations, Pedros, Bowchies, the Atomic Cafe and a rapidly growing list.

Can’t make the event? You can still buy raffle tickets through BikeReg (event ID=7187).

For more info, email Matt at matthewr8@gmail.com or go to mmracing.org.

It’s racing for people who think that their clothes should be a whole lot dirtier after the race than they were before.

Saturday 4/12 – Sludgement Day: The Day of Wreckoning – Randall’s Island Cyclocrossterium Circuit Races. Rat Pack Hustle sprint competition. Side events like skid-hockey, mudsprints, grasstrackstands.
Tuesday 4/22 – Randall’s Island Tracklocross. Grasstrack racing.
Tuesday 4/29 – Randall’s Island Tracklocross. Grasstrack racing. Maybe your bruises have healed by now. Maybe not.
Saturday, 5/10 – Harlemegeddon Cyclocross Alleycatastrophe – The Uptown Beatdown. A full-length NYC alleycat featuring offroad checkpoints in Northern Manhattan. Come get tired.

more details and some bad words below the fold (you have been warned)

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