Back in my fag hag days, a fabulously gay friend once informed me:

“I only like to be friends with attractive people.”

I laughed in response, at least half in disbelief. The statement sounds ludicrous but I was also struck by its stark naked honesty. We all want to be friends with attractive, fashionable, interesting people, we just never say it out loud. Instead, we say things like “never judge a book by its cover blahblahblah” and make conscious efforts to be friendly to boring, unfashionable people. They deserve a chance, too, right? Besides, there aren’t enough attractive, fashionable, interesting people to go around, anyway [even if I'm using "attractive" here to include more than just physical beauty].

The problem when you do manage to be friends with someone who is attractive, fashionable, and interesting is that the stakes of the friendship are naturally raised. They’re interesting people, people! That means they give perfect gifts, say witty things, and have the kind of charisma that looks good in a burlap sack. By nature of being friends with these kinds of people, they [mistakenly?] believe that you’re effortlessly capable of the same.

Which is not true, in my case. That’s right; I’ve somehow managed to finagle my way into a best-friendship with a girl who is attractive, incredibly fashionable, and interesting. She gives the perfect gifts while saying witty things about current fashion trends. Meanwhile, I give my Mom a call one, sometimes two, times a year: “Mom, Lauren’s birthday is coming up. Can you get her something interesting from Tokyo?”

But despite my terrible gift-giving skills [or lack thereof], sometimes I see something that has both the lightbulb and the alarm going off over my head. It’s usually accompanied by this sweet, bubbly feeling that I’m going to bring back something perfect, myself.

This time it wasn’t for Lauren [sorry, Lauren], but a random stop by the bookstore resulted in a few awesome finds this past winter break. And when I saw the “Bicycle Custom” magazine, my brain screamed as I clenched the pages. The light bulb went on, the alarm was ringing full blast. Hello, Jason a.k.a. Superb Bicycle Mastermind a.k.a. D.J. Mayhem a.k.a. Most Hip Cyclist in Boston, I have the perfect gift for you from Tokyo.

The magazine is full of bike reviews, bike-related clothing, and street shots of people in Japan with their various bikes. Pictures of men and women with anything from a tricked-out fixed gear to a downhill mountain bike grace the pages. Plus, there was a full page on nari/furi, a Japanese clothing and bag company of which Superb is the only distributor in the area. Excited and giddy, I purchased it, already on that “perfect gift obtained” high. Yesterday afternoon I finally delivered it.

We ended up poring over it [the pages going left to right] before it got added to Superb’s fairly impressive collection of bike-related books on their coffee table. If you know your bikes, it’s a weird treasure trove [think vintage Kleins and some crazy mountain bikes]. And because Jason’s an awesome guy he even tweeted that anyone who stops by can take a peek.

Oh, and while you’re there, make sure to check out the array of Outlier pants, nari/furi bags, and the Swrve jackets that apparently every cyclist in the city is snatching up. Jason gave the Swrve Winter Softshell Trousers two thumbs up and for what it’s worth, they look really good, too [if only they made a women's version!].

I ended up biking back home just as it started to snow, in my ratty, torn up jeans and coat that was decidedly not made for cycling. More homework awaited, but instead I ended up scouring Swrve’s site for a lot longer than was really necessary. I’m starting to really want that jacket. Thanks, Jason…like most all of my attractive, fashionable, interesting friends, you can be quite persuasive.

this looks fun

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Superb Bicycle presents Sprocket Rockets, an art opening with original works by Simon Peplow, curated by Meighan O’Toole. Friday December 4th from 6pm-8pm, food and drink provided. More info and a sneak peek on the Superb Blog

When I first arrived in Boston, with no friends or knowledge of the city, my best friend directed me to Newbury Street. It’s no New York, she cautioned, but it would at least be something to do/see.

She was right. On both points. The long stretch of Newbury Street made for good people watching and a lazy afternoon spent outside. It was distracting enough, but given the long stretch of storefronts, there wasn’t much to discover. Side streets didn’t lead to the kind of stores you only tell your closest girl friends about. They mostly just led to shittier streets.

It wasn’t until I got on a bike and rode down Newbury for the first time that I realized exactly how distracting it is. Because when you’re searching for a store [on the lower level of a building, nonetheless], it makes it that much difficult to dodge doors, avoid pedestrians, and impatient wealthy people who would rather run you over and settle the subsequent wrongful death suit than actually slow down. Given that other than strolls around the Public Garden or the Boston Common, I don’t find hanging out or cycling in the city very exciting or entertaining, I actually try to avoid the city. Besides, it’s flat. Just thinking about it makes me yawn.

But lest readers think that all I do is push the pedals indoors, I ventured outside yesterday. And taking the familiar yet still foreign path downtown and onto Newbury Street, I was slightly optimistic. Cities are supposed to be fun! Shopping is fun [even if it doesn't involve bicycles]! Boston can be fun!

I kept chanting that to myself as I passed unremarkable scenery, boring buildings, and didn’t even get to experience the excitement of trying not to get run over. If it wasn’t for the wind, it almost felt like my morning roller session where my legs are on autopilot after 15minutes and my mind is off in other universe.

Newbury delivered, however, in the form of double-parked cars, unpredictable drivers, and doors popping open left and right. But too used to the usual suspects, it still wasn’t very exciting. Nearly asleep at the handlebars, I suppressed a yawn as I pedaled away from the city towards a place that, while more familiar than downtown Boston, was guaranteed to be a lot more interesting.

It involves bicycles, but you knew that already. But Superb is worth ogling at every opportunity; especially when they’re carrying some delicious-looking Igleheart track frames. Emblazoned with both the Igleheart logo on the fork and the Superb logo on the frame, it’s a good thing that the smallest size available – which comes in a beautiful purple that I’m pretty sure will complement my existing stable of single-speed ponies – is a 48 [and therefore too big for Asian Short Legs over here].

But it’s not just the bicycles. Catching up with Wei Wei is always entertaining to say the least, and I even got to see the new shop clock, made by Tom himself [yes, that is a Campy chainring]. Apparently he plans to make another one to hang from his neck. I think that’s a brilliant idea.

Boston can be boring and predictable. But it’s the things like Superb that make me glad I started cycling in this city.

[Special edition Rapha Scarf Friday with the man who started it himself!]

You know you’re at Interbike when the day starts with a stop by a suite at the Venetian, and the elevator next to you spits out a guy in a full kit on his bike, who clips in and rides his way to his hotel room.

But you know the day’s going to be really good when it involves a cell phone sound system, Bouchon Bakery, and independent cycling apparel designers in the form of Outlier and Swrve.

A month and a little bit ago, M1 and I met Tyler and Abe of Outlier. Over lattes and iced coffees, we chatted about printing shirts, fondled their new Merino T-shirt [which feels like a soft black cloud of air], and when Interbike came up, they let us in on a plan for a trunk show. After saying our goodbyes, M1 and I babbled excitedly about it. And before we knew it, we were sitting in a suite at the Venetian with Tyler, Abe, Matt, and Miriam [of Swrve].

The trunk show – and all the running back and forth it involved – was possibly the most fun I had in Vegas. Because while both Outlier and Swrve obviously take their craft seriously, they not only deliver quality products, but are some of the friendliest people in the industry. Getting excited over how good ak-mak crackers are [they are addictive] wasn’t stupid, but awesome. And feeling lazily comfortable after a morning and then some spent on my feet, I even managed to pop my cherry on one of the couches.

My Bouchon Bakery cherry, that is. We scarfed down sandwiches with a coffee so dark it tasted like an Americano [except...almost better, if that's even possible], and an Americano with crema so thick it almost looked like a latte. One bite of the huge oatmeal-raisin cookie and I fully, completely, and totally understood Abe’s admission when he said had a “Bouchon problem.”

Tummies full and re-energized, we headed down to the Momentum fashion show…And I ended up in an elevator with Jason and his Walmart Huffy [which he later did a barspin with]. It sat in the suite along with Affinity’s new road frame [with complete Sram Red] as Outlier’s Workwear pants and 4 Season OG pants flew into eager hands [they are hottt]. People marveled at their Merino T-shirt and the soft texture of their Merino hoodie as Tyler danced to the Major Lazer streaming out of his cell phone. M1 tried on a pair of the Workwear pants and had paid for them before I asked if he was getting them. I couldn’t resist and bought a cap. Can I say I can’t wait for their womens’ pants?

It was over almost too quickly, although my legs felt dead. People drifted off to the Crit as we wrapped up our things and sat for a few minutes in the quiet aftermath of a good event. I left the next morning without seeing Outlier or Swrve but emailed thanks and mentioned indulging our respective “Bouchon problems” again.

“Bouchon, anytime…” came the reply. Yup, these are definitely my kind of people.

My love of bike shops is no secret; I’ll stubbornly stand in cleats around bike stands, even with a knee that’s throbbing and begging me to sit down, to kill time with the best mechanics around, whether in NYC or Boston.

I never thought, though, that I’d have the opportunity to watch a new bike shop develop from gutted out space to awesome concept shop. But every few weeks since early July, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing at a particular spot on Beacon Street.

Yup, that’s right. It’s open. Superb, that is.

I’ve hinted at it. I’ve posted a few vague pictures. I even designed a t-shirt for the shop! But renovations were still going underway at that point, and despite my itchy fingers desperately seeking to post about the shop, I had to resist until it was officially open.

And yeah, it was totally worth the wait.

Back in March when Jason first told me about the new shop, I got excited. But it was that vague kind of excitement where you don’t really know what you’re getting excited about, just that the person talking to you has some awesome ideas and is actually going to follow through on them. I had no idea what to expect, really, except that the shop colors were going to be gray, teal, and purple.

That drastically changed in July when the real work started in the space formerly known as Boston Bicycle. And as damask was painted onto the walls, new cabinets build, chandeliers installed [possibly my favorite part of the shop], and a fainting chair assembled, my constant exclamations of “oh my God, this is AWESOME!” started sounding almost lame.

Because honestly, it’s such an understatement. “Awesome” doesn’t do justice to a shop that’s clearly been well thought out, and executed with even more care. Stocked with cassette and Gage & Desoto t-shirts [I'm not biased, I promise], vintage jerseys, narifuri bags [possibly the only place you can get these babies in Boston], Phil Wood deliciousness, and Campy peanut butter wrenches, Superb is living up to its name. Add to that a bike inventory that is limited to steel frames [geared and otherwise] and you have a concept shop that has really good taste.

But that doesn’t mean that it’s inaccessible. Like its brainparent, Jason, Superb is – while almost intimidatingly hip – quietly confident, courteous, and perhaps most importantly [for a bike shop], non-judgmental. Everything from hybrids to track frames walk through the door; drawn to the velodrome display window or just to get a flat fix. And on one recent visit to Superb, a customer paused before heading out with a properly inflated tire:

“You guys did a little rearranging, huh?”

We all blinked. Yeah, you could say that.

When I first got Embrocation Cycling Journal volume 2, the first page I incidentally turned to was “The Art of the Bike Wash” by Radio Freddy. On the pages following the piece were pictures and two sentences:

“A clean machine is a PRO machine. Keep it PRO, keep it clean.”

Sometimes I wish I’d never read that. Those words consistently come flooding back whenever I glance at my bike. But I’m really good at denial, so it wasn’t until Jason pointed out that my rear tire was the “grayest white tire [he'd] ever seen,” that I knew I had to do something.

But scrubbing my rims really did nothing but smear the brake dust everywhere, and while black tires would hide such nonsense, white [PRO] tires are much less forgiving. So when I made the ridiculously amateur move of rolling over gum, I also simultaenously found a way to whiten those strips of rubber.

I’m not going to go into detail here, but during one extremely embarrassing point in my life, I made out with a boy only to get his chewing gum all over my back. This taught me two things: 1. hook-ups are rarely worth the trouble, and 2. nail polish remover will always be my default go-to harsh chemical of choice.

So while Radio Freddy warns against using harsh chemicals, this is rubber we’re talking about, not a Ti frame, so I went at the gum plastered on my tire with a cottonball soaked in nail polish remover. It did the trick, and then some. Because the tire ended up whiter.

And of course, more PRO. And with a trip to NYC planned, the sun finally shining, and a tire that looks more black than gray, I finally pulled on some gloves and gave my rear tire the same treatment [the gloves aren't really necessary unless you have nail polish on and you don't want to screw up your manicure]. I’m sure someone’s going to tell me I just did the worst thing I could do to my tires, but clean tires are PRO tires. Even if that means I’m going to flat on the way downtown today.

Plus, unlike the worthless wtf-how-did-your-gum-get-all-over-my-fucking-back hook-up, at least this use of nail polish remover is going to end up in something positive. Well, for my bike. Unfortunately, I can’t say I look nearly as PRO. Good thing there’s a salon next to NYC Velo. Which means friends, espresso, a couch, bicycles, and a decent mani-pedi are within 20 ft of each other.

What more could a cyclist ask for?

If it isn’t obvious already, I’ve been gathering a list of cities I’d love to live in. NYC, Portland, Seattle, Austin…

And Chicago just made the list.

It really should be on there already; my best friend is at UChicago, and she’s always telling me about her incredible vintage finds. But her horror stories of the Windy City weather also had me clutching my radiator in icy fear, not to mention pictures of the Tour Da Chicago. Boston’s cold enough for me, I thought, and even Kanye couldn’t lure me out to Chi City.

But apparently, the cyclists out there are among the nation’s best. Or at least the couriers are.

And they’re some of the nicest, too. Looking the farthest thing from a genuine courier, I slyly infiltrated a NACCC party Saturday night at Harper’s Ferry, PBR Tallboy in hand, Baileyworks thrown over my shoulder. Good thing DJ Mayhem [a.k.a. Jason] was on the decks [until a random metal band started playing], Geekhouse was in attendance, and I managed to bump into Meghan, one of the funniest girls to throw a leg over a top tube. All of which resulted in me actually getting drunk. And dancing.

And even making new friends! Turns out Meghan was hosting four couriers from Chicago, and in a weird turn of events, I was already Facebook friends with one of them. The only out-of-towners I met this past weekend, they were the antithesis of the judgmental hipster courier stereotype. And milling outside Harper’s Ferry after we all got kicked out, bike in hand, I even got asked if I had ever raced my bike ‘cross – possibly the last question I ever expected during NACCC.

No surprise, then, that Chicago was already earning big points in my book by the end of the night. Sunday morning, lacking any official NACCC volunteer status, I took Jason up on his generous invitation to hang out at Superb, one of the race checkpoints. Tom was acting as a dispatcher and as couriers flowed in and out, I snapped pictures furiously. Bikes of all shapes and sized rolled through, couriers dressed in everything from Sidis to Chucks, and maps and crumpled manifests were pulled out of Ortlieb, Chrome, and Baileyworks bags.

With open roads and random manifests, there was no way to tell who was winning. And it wasn’t until later that night, at the Middle East Downstairs, that I learned that Chicago had not only taken both top male and female courier wins, but that a female courier from Chi City had won best overall. And while I didn’t get a picture of this history-making champion, I was fortunate enough to already call Nico, the top male courier for 2009, a [new] friend.

Which makes Chicago that much more appealing. And late Sunday night, goodbye hugs were dispensed, and promises to get in touch if I ever visit Chicago were made. True, the likelihood of getting my butt over there [along with a bike] before full blown winter is slight to none. But I’ve got that city in my sights; and with a track just north of the city, I’m finding it hard not to book a flight to Chi town, stat. I’ll see you guys soon, though. I promise.

[Thanks to Jacobs, Croth, BBMA, and all the volunteers and sponsors that made this year's NACCC an awesome success!]