Pics from Maputo

All my good pictures were lost when baggage handler thieves in Johannesburg stole my mom's and the project's digital cameras (and my cellphone) out of my checked bag en route to Zambia. So all we have are pics of the meeting, boring! I do have 1.5 seconds of excellent video of our M&E guy doing a Zulu dance and we'll see if I can figure out how to put that up. And EA will provide pics of our ill-fated cruise a bit later....along with the story I still have to write.

The Maputo meeting went really well, I think, and we accomplished most of our goals. The town is quite nice, pretty deserted but with tall office buildings and apartment buildings that are more or less covered in mildew. There are a number of good restaurants, including Micasa, which serves excellent caipirinhas and ostrich medallions. Yum! You can find prawns everywhere, butterflied and grilled with lots of butter, and the South Africans have opened a bunch of chain restaurants and clubs à la TGI Fridays or a mini African House of Blues. The first evening we saw some Portugese jazz at a place that had a faux treehouse quality to it, with vines and leafyness and a real rubber tree growing up out of the courtyard. The band sat in front of a large fake clamshell and there were five big video screens showing two different camera angles.

There was a really really good Indian restaurant not far from the hotel, and the Natural History Museum was AWESOME - stuffed lions and zebras and antelopes and civet cats and a coelacanth (Wikipedia here). Coelacanths are prehistoric fish that everyone thought were extinct until fishermen caught one off the coast of Madagascar, and then Indonesia, in the 20th century. They have little legs and look like Far Side cartoons (they also give birth to live young called pups!).

The museum was great - huge - with fish and mammals and insects, including our beloved anopheles. There were big wood carvings of cellular biology and the prehistoric time periods, with dinosaurs and cavemen. One wall had about 8 elephant fetuses of varying ages (cool!). And - all the animals were eating one another! The lion was perched on the back of the zebra, in the correct position to bite through the spinal cord. Areana said "Wow, that's great - lions are trying to be humane by killing the zebra quickly!" Always the party pooper, I pointed out that it's just more efficient for the lion to not waste a lot of energy mauling the zebra to death.

That's it for now - off to Puerto Rico tomorrow very early! Thank goodness the flight is out of Reagan and not Dulles, like I'd originally thought. In fact, I thought that Reagan and Dulles were the SAME until I checked my flight info last week. It's ok, you can laugh. I don't mind. :)

Shower Bliss

Last weekend at Target I got Edith and myself an early Christmas present - a new showerhead! After two weeks of really awesome water pressure in Africa I came home to our drizzly pathetic shower and said "no mas!". For fifteen bills we got a brand new kickass showerhead whose major advantage over the old one is that it is entirely unclogged with hard water residue.

It is a whole new world right now, and every time we step in that shower it's like a symphony is playing.

Fixies are Everywhere

I come back after two weeks in Mozambique and Zambia and what a difference! There are fixies everywhere in Baltimore. Everywhere! Downtown, Charles Village, Penn Station, Brewer's Art. Ok, so there used to be fixies at these places before, but I just ain't never seen so many. It's nice.

Also the new Chipotle is open up the street from me - won't get to that anytime soon I'm sure, given my past patronage of local eateries. Just can't seem to make it up past the grocery store when there's perfectly good food at home.

Other than that, nothing much is new. I will get to news of the trip a little later.

In Maputo

Made it to mozambique. hotel is nice and purports to have wireless, but i can´t make it work. flights were long but not brutal. it is overcast and warm and breezy and reminds me of libreville but with no people (it is sunday though). i still hate my haircut and want to cry every time i see it but since this is not conducive to getting anything done i am stopping with the pity party and pretending i have my old haircut. i should also stop saying ´thanks, but i hate it´when people say hey you got your hair cut!

i dont have to facilitate many sessions, thank goodness, but areana has already nominated me to go to kenya directly after london to do i don´t know what exactly. i am hoping she was joking but fear she was not. i do have a job to do stateside, after all! didn´t get out in paris at all as the layover was shorter than i thought (7 hours) and i was tired and didn´t want to waste the 195 euro (!!!!!) that the project was spending on the day room.

Hopefully I will have some pics to post during the trip. On verra. There´s a jazz concert tonight we will try to go to, and Matt wants to eat prawns, so who knows what´ll happen.

Packaging

I've ordered a bunch of stuff for work lately that's come in that awful hard plastic with edges you can't cut through without a bandsaw, but honestly, my malaria and traveler's diarrhea packaging takes the cake. I mean, look - they're six inches tall. The Cipro had 4 count 'em 4 tablets in it. I asked the pharmacist if they'd run out of the smaller bottles and she said "No, it's for the instructions." Jeez oh man.

Bike Porn

Check out the hot PX-10! Oooh, chromed seat and chain stays. Diagonal 531 sticker. Not in great shape but what a beauty!

If this guy thinks he needs boobs to sell this frame, he doesn't know what he's got.

Fun in B'more

So A came down to visit Charm City friday evening, and we hit up the bar circuit first thing. Joe Squared was having their one year anniversary week and had done some really terrible chichi redecorating, which completely ruined the gritty, fry-oil-and-smoke, punk rocky nature of the place. They have ensconced lighting and boring wallpaper and boring art and big plants on the back bar/kitchen area. The PhotoHunt game is tucked away at the front and the video games are still there (as is the DJ area) but it's almost like those are going to be on their way out soon too. Poo. AND there was no kangaroo pizza, though what we had was pretty good.

From there to Club Charles which was pretty empty and less cool than I found it after seeing Borat last weekend (when it was packed and played great music). Finally to Dizzy's for curly fries and more PhotoHunt (damn you, Susansimeo and your lightning fingers!) and home.

Saturday was a PERFECT day - 75 degrees, sunny, amazing. We went up to Rocks State Park and climbed with Martin, Dave, Camilla, Lucy, Katrina, Anne and JP, and Richard. Nate was also there and let us jump on the 5.8 he'd just led, which was a big hand crack and, once I figured out what was going on, not terribly hard. We also bouldered a bit and did a 5.5 the gang had set up before leaving to catch Nick and Johanna at duckpin bowling in Patterson Park. A was whipping SCUD missiles down the lanes but couldn't manage to get a strike, while Edith surpassed all of us in an amazing come from behind trouncing in the 3rd game. My lucky green ball served me well and I broke 100 and had a few strikes.

We left to get pizza and wait for Laura to drive in from DC for salsa night, and as we were leaving I realized I'd lost my car keys. Somehow they fell off my key carabiner between the bowling alley and the pizza place, but we looked and couldn't find 'em. So Laura showed up and we went back with them, I got my extra set and they dropped us off before going to salsa, and all was ok. Now I get to go back and see Chuck the Locksmith which I do not mind at all.

Sunday was cool and rainy, and we finished the crossword and had a nice brunch at Donna's, where Noah from Velocipede turned out to be our server! We got free coffee out of the deal, yay! Friends are awesome. :) Then we hit up Stranger Than Fiction in soulless Towson and the verdict was not bad, not bad at all. Will Ferrell was fantastic, subdued but so expressive. My favorite scene of his was, I think, when Dustin Hoffman is asking him a battery of questions to determine what kind of story he is in. The expressions on his face are just the epitome of normal-guy confusion, with a little hurt, a touch of frustration, and the ever so slight whiff of exasperation. Emma Thompson was quite good too but A was confused about Queen Latifah's role...she didn't really serve to move the plot along, except to allow ET to dialogue without sounding like a crazy person. Which is something, but not a lot.

We dropped A off at the bus stop and headed to DC for the show. Edith read me the Magazine's story about Will Ferrell on the way there and it convinced us that Talladega Nights should be next on our Netflix queue. One of my many bosses saw it this summer and spent 15 minutes trying to describe how it was the perfect movie, with the killer ending that reveals exactly how highbrow it has been the whole time. I didn't believe him then but now, armed with a bit more information, I'm willing to see for myself.

Habib!

Habib last night was awesome - Dobet Gnahore from Cote d'Ivoire and Vusi Mahlasela from South Africa were also amazing. It wasn't 3 separate sets, but trading songs and backing each other up. I think they only did one solo number each, actually. Afterwards we marched backstage (ignoring the guy who asked us who we were with - duh! We're with Habib!) and chatted with Habib for a little bit, and then some more after he finished signing CDs. It was really nice to catch up with him - I met him in 2000 on my first trip to Mali (long story) and we've hung out off and on in Bamako and in the states. Mostly Bamako though.

A whole truckload of DC-based Mali PCVs were there too and it was nice seeing everyone, even if only for five minutes. Gotta get down there to hang with the family more often.

Haircut

Got my haircut. I like it. Jenny at Crash was super nice and even called me on Monday to make sure I liked it and was doing ok. Guess I was a little frazzled during the process. Thinking about going even shorter....and Esther at work is egging me on.

Spying

I get on the shuttle this morning and realize the woman sitting in front of me works at my office. Not too many of us commute via the shuttle - it means a 15-20 minute walk through downtown to get to the building.

She's been in the field for a while and is just back as of a month or so. When she met me briefly I had longer hair and I figure she doesn't recognize me. Also, I'm wearing big sunglasses. I know her to be cool (from others) and she also looks the part, youngish, with streaky gray in her hair and sharp cheekbones.

She gets off at my stop and I follow. She walks pretty fast and there's this awesome The Knife song on my iPod, We Share Our Mother's Health (Trentemoller remix) so I feel like I'm in a spy movie, with my black coat and shades and tailing someone. She takes a slightly different route but I keep track of her the whole time and was never spotted. I'm about a 100m back when she gets to the door. Perfect.

Gorgeous in November

I took the bike to work today, after tightening up the headset last night. Hadn't ridden in about a week and was feeling lonely and incomplete, but sho 'nuff once on the road everything was right again. At lunch I took her out to the parking office, to get my and Edith's neighborhood permits, but I had no registration and the lady was firm. No worries...it was 70 and sunny and I rolled over to Whole Foods for a spinach salad just to prolong my break. A short person's fixie was parked there, a red Schwinn with a cool brown/red argyle dingpad on the top tube. When I came out it had gone. Earlier I'd seen the guy on the green track bike (Bishop?), going the wrong way down Lombard. On Monday I'd seen him going the wrong way on St. Paul as I waited for the shuttle at Penn Station. And I often see the bike alone at Donna's.

I wish it would be light out when I bike home tonight, and as warm as it is now, but those wishes won't come true. But maybe my new saddle will have arrived, and that will have to do for now.

Updates on all the malaria debauchery soon....

NYC Debut

Took the bike up to NYC this weekend for her maiden voyage. Too chicken to find my way to A's at night by myself, and slightly unsure of my brakes, I taxied there instead. My Puerto Rican cab driver was voluble, old, and charming. "Guess how old I am! You never guess. People always wrong." I guessed 62. "I'm 70! I born in 1936. I live a long time! I the oldest taxi driver in New York City! No problem!" The secret was not smoking or drinking, he told me, smoking, it's very bad for you. "I play poker with my friends and they smoking these cigars, I get sick the next day! It's bad - don't smoke! You hear me?" I promised I wouldn't. "You can drink a little, you're young, but if you wanna live a long time, you gotta not smoke and not drink too much." I got out of the cab and got my bike and he came out to talk some more and tell me about growing up in the mountains, going swimming and hiking all day long. "I live a long time 'cause I active when I'm little, these kids here they don't get to go outside! It's terrible."

I finally escaped. We had some falafel and I read the new LeCarre while A studied. Had brunch with Maddie the next morning and then we biked over to Brooklyn to see what we could see. Prospect Park, Park Slope, a slew of good-looking restaurants on 5th Ave, including Bonnie's Grill. As we walked in the door passers-by remarked that it's famous for its burgers, which was EXACTLY what we were looking for! They were gi-normous. The soup was crap, filled with celery and low on keilbasa and chickpeas, but A's chili was pretty good. Duly sated, we headed off to find Diner, a Williamsburg hipster hangout near the bridge. We were hoping to find pie there. However, Brooklyn is a little tricky, so we asked some cops for directions (they were very nice and helpful!), nearly got ourselves killed crossing Flatbush, and made our way to Wmsbg. It was nearing sunset when we arrived at Kent and Wythe, and a man walked by in a big cylindrical fur hat and black robe. Then another one went by. And then a family, with three boys in curls and suits. We biked through the neighborhood which was empty and sort of desolate except for all the Hasidic Jews going to schul, and it was a really...cinematic sort of experience. Women in wigs and cloth coats, girls with their hair tied back with ribbons. We found Broadway and Diner, which had no pie at all but a very nice selection of wines, and a fancy menu written on a long scrap of receipt paper. Had a drink instead then braved the cold and got ready for a birthday party where I met more economists. A few of us went to Sin'e to see a really terrible band from Martha's Vineyard play and brush back their OC-style hair every five seconds.

Sunday dawned warm and sunny, but as we ventured out around noon to find food and B&H Photo Video it began cooling off and even raining a bit. French Roast's eggs benedict were really good but their coffee was really expensive. There were more Hasids at B&H, which was overwhelming and made both A and I nostalgic for our respective darkroom days. We biked back home, packed up my stuff and biked to Chinatown/Little Italy where I would catch the bus, though we had time to wander and grab some cheesecake beforehand. Traffic in Delaware made me late for dinner at Edith's, but they were kind enough to stay up and reheat it for me when I got back, and by then I was starving again and eager to share stories from the weekend. Edith went to Flugtag, a RedBull sponsored event where teams push giant flying contraptions off a ramp and into the Inner Harbor. Sorry, no pictures. :)

The Angel performed admirably and I may never ride geared again. Just gotta keep an eye on those cranks as they loosen over the potholes. I won a new Ideale saddle as well this weekend and that'll go on tout de suite. Sweet.

Midnight Snack

Brakes!

Angel's got brakes! Well, just one. Because I am mechanically naive I did not realize the lack of spring in my Mafac 1975 brake lever was no problem. Upon sorting through the brake lever bin at Velocipede I realize that none of the Weinman/Diacompe non-aero brake levers had springs. Eureka! I had all the parts necessary.

Except housing for my new brake cables! Curses! Ok, well there's a little piece left in the parts bin. Let's throw that on (assembling the first few times I put everything in the wrong order). Wow, fits great. Tighten that shit up, and hey! I got a brake!

I am nearly ready to head out the door for the first ride when I squeeze energetically and the cable housing covering splits back from the brake hood. Hm. There should be one of those stoppers there. But it's long gone. What else could I use? I sort through a bunch of nuts but they're all too big. Can't use tape. Hm. I wonder if...a piece of chain link would work? Sure enough, it's a good size, but because it doesn't set right in the hood opening the cable slides out the front. I tape it down with some electrical tape and jam a cable end-cover in the slot (which is not very useful, actually, as it doesn't fit right) but now we got ourselves some good braking action. Forty-five minutes later I finally get the adjustment right and the screws all tightened up and I have 20 minutes until the finale of Project Runway.

I take her out. The brakes still work! I brake hard and the fameux 'cri de Mafac' awakens the entire neighborhood. Oh well. I'll have to fix that later. For now I am cruisin'.

The Ideale saddle I had spied at the co-op was still there after the bike swap people moved the entire space into the next-door warehouse and back, and to my dismay I realized the leather is dried out and cracked beyond repair. Nothing too drastic, but it's parched and it ain't gonna heal itself with no Obenauf's beeswax product, that's for sure. I put a little on there anyway just to see, and it was happier, but I don't think you could get much for the thing on Ebay. So instead I am bidding an ungodly amount of money on a new old stock Ideale. Because I absolutely, positively, MUST have a french saddle on my Peugeot. I'm turning into one of those people. And I haven't even showed you the bag....

No Brakes

After a trip to the farmer's market with Laura and Edith, I made ragu and went down to mess with the bike. I still have no brakes. I can't use the brakes Dad sent because they have no springs. My brake cables are on the way. So I adjusted the seat a bit and sighed a little and tried to trackstand. Put some laundry in and figured it was so nice outside I would just take the bike out and ride around the neighborhood, slowly, since I had no brakes.




I love this bike.


She is silent, light, quick, agile, and gorgeous. I don't care if I never put brakes on her. I don't care that she's got some scuffs and her left side decals are shredded. She's charming as all get out. I couldn't stop riding.

Now for my Ideale saddle, to replace the squeaky McSpringy saddle. This guy in Belgium is gonna hook me up. And if not, I will just rescue the dried out one from the co-op. Then it'll be me and the Angel, together, forever.

Booya Ka Sha!

Saturday morning dawned cold and clear. Laura had come up from DC the evening prior and I'd biked to the M&T Bank Stadium to pick up our race packets. As I left the lines were 100 people long to get into the elevators that took you to the packet pickup/running-wear sellathon. Like Russia in '89, there were three lines - packet, chip, and tshirt pickup. The stations are placed strategically to make you pass the maximum amount of merchandise (shoes, shirts, shorts, tights, Gu, more shirts, powerbars, shirts shirts shirts). Having succumbed last year I was ready this time, ignoring the siren song of UnderArmor and the 50% off rack.

As part of my plan to channel Floyd Landis, I had a beer. We ordered pizza (carboloading?) and watched Drumline, falling asleep at midnight. The race started at 9:45 so we got to sleep in (rad!) till 8am. Taxis were not plentiful and we ended up driving and missing our rendezvous with Laura's colleague's roommate Quinn, though we clearly stated the new meeting point. Still, no sign of her. We lined up and I just felt excited to find out what would happen during the race. Would my knee blow? My hip flexor? Would I finish? A thousand possibilities awaited me!

Around mile 2 I lost Edith around a corner. Steady on through Fells Point and around Patterson Park. This was my leg of the relay last year so I knew about how far it was to the halfway point (as if I couldn't read the mile markers); more importantly, I knew the hills. I floated up them; they were nothing. I kept my pace. No rush.

Around mile 6 I caught up with Laura, who, being a DC resident, was not as familiar with changes in elevation. She showed me how to hold the cups of water and grabbed us some Gu at the one Gu stop. It tasted like frosting. We stayed together the rest of the way until mile 11.

Music played along the way: the theme from Chariots of Fire (mile 5); a drumline (!) (mile 6); South African dancehall music (my neighborhood, mile 9); the theme from Rocky (mile 10). Big ups to all who cheered us on!

Plan Floyd worked out well - I barged up the hills and my hip/knee pain was stable the whole way. My time was 1:55:17, which works out to 8:50 miles. Not bad.

Afterwards we got our water, banana, and beer, then hit Sophie's Crepes and the end of the Bike Swap at Velocipede. The alleycat turned out to be just a drag race (one mile) so we skipped it and took showers and naps. Neely drove up from College Park because she is AWESOME (leaving the baby with Doug) and we went out to Thai Arroy in Fed Hill, which was excellent as everyone's said. We ate a ton and came home and watched Da Ali G show.

So - not really that sore! Knee hurts a little going down stairs, but honestly, I felt much much worse after my 9.5 mile run (which was post NYC biking, compounding muscle fatigue). The whole race I was filled with adrenalin, totally euphoric, not wanting to be anywhere else. Off my rocker. Fatigue set in only around 3pm. However, this doesn't mean a marathon's in my future. Thirteen miles is plenty long enough for me.

Imminent Demise

Saturday is the Baltimore Half Marathon.

That's 13.1 miles.

Pretty far, innit?

We'll see if I can do it. Less worried about my aerobic capacity and leg strength than the integrity of my hip flexors and knee parts. There are free massages at the end but I'm pretty sure I will not be walking for the rest of the weekend.

I'll keep you posted!

No Change (esp quters)

This is a sign at a deli across from the Baltimore Sun building on my way to work (when I walk). I should take a picture of it but I fear the staff/clientele would think I was making fun of them. Plus my camera's broken, but that's sort of moot.

As my mother always said, it's not nice to poke fun at others' orthographic faults. Hm. All this translating at work has frenchified my syntax...tant pis.

Wilco

So on Saturday night I was itching for something to do. Edith and I had done not one but TWO intense shopping sessions at the mall, due to the unexpected openness of an H&M. H&M is my favorite store and I always load up about 20 items to try on in the dressing room. 10 of them end up fitting and I buy too many of those ten. But I wear them all the time. Edith and I both needed pants for work and lo and behold we are the same size (!) which is slightly bewildering to me. Well I'm a bigger shirt size due to my wicked-powerful shoulder muscles, but we can wear the same pants. So we got a bunch of pants, mostly in brown, and some skirts. Also some shoes at Nordstrom rack and two green jackets. I feel much more hip now.

Edith was going to salsa and I had no plans so I called up Sean from Work (as opposed to Sean from Climbing) and we met up at Dizzy's with two of his friends. One knows Nate from Mali as they work at the same study abroad joint (which I, coincidentally, used to go abroad after high school). We had a great evening drinking beers. Apparently I get along with guys named Sean. He reminds me of Mike Rickard, and not just because he's a vegan and bikes and is quiet. He's got his own thing going on and whatever you think doesn't really make a difference (though I bet they both are very aware of what you're thinking). They're both tall and skinny, write and draw, have eyes, a few fingers, some teeth, etc. I don't know.

So there's a lot of Wilco being played on the jukebox and I remark upon this. Sean agrees, and I bring up the concert, and baddabingbaddaboom he wants my extra ticket! Which is currently up for auction on the good ol' ebay. I promise he can have it for what I paid if I can cancel the auction and we're set. Hooray! Wilco buddy. And we can talk bikes the whole way to DC.

He has a zine and shared it on Monday; I reciprocated by sharing the Neuf Routes newsletter link. Not sure he's read it.

Wow. Edith heard me typing and said "Are you blogging?" She's so deductive! If I were typing shorter things with more pauses and perhaps some snickering I'm sure she'd suspect me of IMing.

Wrestling the Angel

I never told you about New York!

I don't have time right now for the full story, but basically, it was awesome again, we biked, I got my PR10 frame.

I took the components off Miss P on Wednesday and started putting them on Mr P at Velocipede. I already told you about this part. Thursday I borrowed a chain tool from Penny at Light Street (whoa!) and spent a large amount of the evening remaking the chain from extra bits I had in the parts box. Realized the seatpost would work with the shim from Miss P and put the seat together. Chainline lined right up. Then the stem.

I wrestled with this stem the whole weekend. I didn't get it all the way on the bars until Sunday afternoon. Miss P's 26.0 moustache bars won't fit in the Italian stem I got, so I chopped the Nishiki's old drops and tried to force them onto the stem. No dice. Many curls of aluminum fell to the floor. I greased a little, tried again. A little better. But still stuck. I left, came back, tried again. A little further onto the middle shim part but so much grinding ensued I gave up and got out the sandpaper to sand down the now ragged interior of the stem clamp and the bar. Liberal application of fancy grease (all I got). Success - almost! I am wrenching and pushing and turning and goddarn it I should have greased the stem AND the bar, but f-it there's no turning back now, I only have an inch to go before it's centered. Back and forth twisting is replaced by the 360 degree rotation and the bar slides through like it's threading itself onto the stem, finally, and I line it up nice and clean the grease off and tape it up with crazy strapping tape and electrical tape because I am so anxious to ride the damn thing after all this. I did not go climbing this week but I got a workout quand-meme, lemme tell ya. My biceps and forearms were bulging.

The brakes are still non-functional as the levers are being sent to Pops, along with the old Nitto stem and my 26.0 moustache bars (I ordered 25.6's off Ebay). Course that means I have to undo my tape job and take the bullhorns off again but perhaps I will just leave it like this for a bit and ride brakeless around the hood. It is October after all, the season of scariness. I need a new saddle and I will be all set, me and Mr. P, united at last. I might call her the Angel though, as it has been a definite wrestling match between the two of us, right from the beginning. A lost auction, a second chance, a missed pick-up, a second trip to Flushing, the carrying down on the bus, the bb wrenching, the headset problems (still loose), the chain, the stem, she's my angel but she's a fighter.

What's Good

Is having a roommate like Edith, who is the same H&M size as you and roughly the same shoe size, and you can buy and share clothes! Doesn't hurt that she can kill mice that get caught in sticky traps either. I tried to dispatch one with a blow of a broom handle to the nape of the neck and of course did not hit hard enough to kill it outright, though I'm pretty sure I broke its spine. Edith's put-it-in-a-bag-and-whack-it-on-the-ground strategy is more impersonal and effective.

Mozambique!

Work is sending me to Mozambique in December for our Africa Regional meeting. Apparently the beaches are beautiful (not that we will have time to enjoy them!) and the prawns are 8 inches. Oh yeah.

Grease is the Answer

I took my his n' hers Peugeot frames to the co-op this evening, as I needed a pin spanner to remove the adjustable cup from the hers so I could put the whole bottom bracket into the his. Turns out people notice when you bring in a pair of French bikes and then sit quietly with a small screwdriver, scraping loctite out of the threads of the bb shell. A super nice older bike guy named Dan helped me out with wrenching the fixed cup in; I will have major bruises for a few days, but I very much doubt it'll come loose on the mean streets of Baltimore like Miss P did on her third day out. We did the bb adjustment real nice and now I feel like a pro.

Next came the headset, as Sean said it was bone dry, so I dove into the mystery world of headset bearings and parts with abandon. I had loose bearings, ok, no problem. Junked em, cleaned the old dirty grease from the races, flipped Mr. P upside down and installed the lower bearings with plenty o' grease, then flipped again and did the top bearings. Mysteriously (!) the lockring-style part was going on stubbornly, so I used the trusty towel rag to turn it, my hands greasy as a night out in Jean Paul II. This had the added effect of stripping much of the grease from the bearings themselves, resulting in major problems (bearings doubling up) when the headset was installed all the way. Sean and I took a few minutes to figure out the problem and then I redid everything with more grease and Voila! a more-or-less smoothly turning fork. Good enough for me, je te dis.

By this time it was cleanup hour so I swept and put away my tools and cursed again my foolishness at breaking my chain completely apart earlier in the evening and ruining everything. I'll have to go in tomorrow and take out a link and replace it with leftover chain, not quite sure how that'll work but if Sean says it's what I gotta do, then I gotta do it. Pretty much I should get my own dang chain tool is what I'm learning, if you ask me. I snagged a french stem and have my eye on a super nice and dried out Ideale saddle (black) that might be reconstituted into something awesome with enough Proofide and TLC.

Dude 3 / Creepy Dude showed up and made me look at his Peugeot, which I think of as Robert's Peugeot, and I was sad to see it in his back trunk awaiting its fate as the fixie of a creepy desperate man. It cried out to me for rescue but the timing was impossible. Only cool people should ride French bikes, though I know this is a reve of mine that will only make me bitter and angry when I see goofballs on their Gitanes.

Afterwards we went to Joe's where I discovered that Alex of the large earrings spent 3 years riding the rails in boxcars, and Noah, despite being 22, is extremely well informed about bands I've never heard of as well as art spaces in Baltimore. Noah can trackstand too on his BADASS Pinarello, which I am trying not to covet.

I think I have everything I need (except the chain tool!) to finish the bike tomorrow, so, nchallah I will be riding Mr. P to work on friday. Oooooooh I am excited to get on this bike!

Customer Service

Three cheers for Kryptonite Customer Service.

Not the speediest in the world, but they sent me a new lock and a reimbursement for the locksmith after I wrote them a snippy letter about how it was their fault their keys snap off in their locks, and not the fact that I'd had 6 beers in four hours and was unlocking my bike in an altered state. I guess they've kept me as a customer and here I am giving them free advertising, so it's probably worth the 100 bucks or so to them.

Maybe if I get drunk and break a Colnago I could get a brand new bike too?

Vestigial Trolley Rails

Are my new enemy.

Die Hard 4 is filming in Baltimore and that may not have been the reason traffic was backed up on Guilford this morning, but backed-up it was and I sailed up the line of cars to Pleasant Street like the badass I secretly am.

At Pleasant and Guilford there was a jam, so I eased in around cars and, blocked off from my favorite side of the road (left), I went for the middle. Where the trolley rails are.

Of course I was not PERPENDICULAR to these wheeltrapsofdeath and of course I got stuck and fell slowly to my right. A bus driver exclaimed 'Oh My!' as I righted myself and reversed direction towards the safety of the rail-less left side of the street.

Thank god traffic wasn't moving and I was going slowly and I was on the Nishiki, which allows me lickity-split dismounting (no toe clips!). Otherwise it would have been curtains for me.

Those of you who've been to Baltimore may be wondering - "Trolleys? I ain't never seen no trolleys there!" Well you're right! There are NO TROLLEYS. Nothing uses those tracks anymore. They exist purely to KILL CYCLISTS. Honestly. I wouldn't hate 'em so much if they were being used for public transportation.

A Nobel Prize doesn't make you smart

This morning, eating my Raisin Bran, I noticed that Becker and Posner had blogged about the WHO's recent DDT announcement. Becker is a Nobel Prize-winning economist at U Chicago, which is bursting at the seams with smart economists. You may have heard of a certain Steven Leavitt, for example, who wrote a pretty good book called Freakonomics.

Posner is a judge on the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals and lectures at the UChicago Law School. He's lately a wackjob, advocating all kinds of torture in the name of national security, and Becker is known to be fairly ruthless in his reasoning (as one of the leaders in economics of population growth and fertility). But I was astounded by the level of ignorance they displayed while writing on this topic. Becker refers to the WTO, not the WHO, for starters, and it gets worse. Thankfully someone's already done my work for me, so you can read the full ass-whuppin' here at Tim Lambert's blog.

I'm all for DDT as part of a balanced approach to malaria control. Combined with long-lasting treated nets (LLINs) and effective treatment, it can reduce malaria to near-undetectable levels. But it's not a magic bullet; it's not effective in all climate zones, it requires an enormous amount of logistical coordination to undertake effectively. The people who think it's the answer to all our malaria woes are underinformed or worse, willfully blind. The WHO knows all this which is why they've been using it for years, and why the ban on DDT never applied to its use in malaria control programs. If you spray it over cotton and tobacco fields, it'll mess up your ecosystem. If you spray it inside houses in small quantities every 6 months, you'll prevent a lot of cases. But when people get sick they still need effective treatment.

Indoor Residual Spraying (IRS) with DDT costs about 40 bucks per disability-adjusted life year (DALY) saved. LLINs cost about 20 bucks, and artemisinin combination therapy (ACT), the best medicine we have right now, is around 12 bucks. This is from Morel's 2005 article Cost-Effectiveness of Malaria Interventions. You know, if you want to make an economic argument with some good facts.

Free Weekend

Virgin Fest was this weekend, over 12 hours of pop music, drunk folks, lame t-shirts and people watching. I got a pair of volunteer passes from Johanna at MPIRG, so Nate and I tabled for the city smoking ban from 10-3 in full view of the main stage, then went off to fully rock out. I guess all together I saw Kasabian, Wolfmother, The Raconteurs; Brazilian Girls, Gnarls Barkley, Scissor Sisters, The Who, The Flaming Lips, and the last two songs of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The Raconteurs were excellent and I'm excited to see them for real with Bob Dylan in November. Drive By Truckers played the first slot and I snuck away from our booth for 15 minutes to see them put on their now-standard performance, which for the uninitiated or die-hard fan is a hard-rocking show. Unfortunately it was noon and I wasn't prepared to rock and donc, found them lackluster. I had a great time at their show a month ago in DC so I slipped away to safeguard that memory rather than witness a less-than-stellar gig.

I spent 17 bucks on the cab to Pimlico and nothing else the entire weekend. We got free lunch for volunteering and I scored water from Nate and one drink from Allison and Darien, who worked magic with factory-sealed water bottles, knives, ziplock bags and lighters and brought in enough booze to kill a horse. How Ali was still dancing at the end of the night having eaten and drunk nothing but vodka and diet Pepsi I will never know; I was impressed. I couldn't really get into the festival even after my shift was done and ended up wandering, lone-wolf style, from stage to stage, avoiding pukers and Bill Gates lookalikes.

[As I'm searching my bag for my schedule]
Bill Gates: "Hey, you got a piece of gum in there?"
Me: "No, sorry."
Bill: "Aw, too bad, cuz I ate this onion and pepper pizza and my breath is pretty bad right now,"

That might be the worst pickup line I've ever heard.

I talked to the Roller Girls whose booth was two away from us, and they recruited me for tryouts after I revealed I'd played hockey. Later on in the evening they waved hello to me which totally appealed to my inner middle-school student (the cool girls said hi!). Not sure I have the time or funds to put towards this activity (other things would have to move, like climbing or the bike coop), but since I already have my rollergirl name (Chrome Molly) and number (103) I am tempted to hit up Play It Again Sports for some old school skates and give it a try.

To pass the time Nate and I created a ladder of tshirt coolness:
5 (least cool) - Virginfest tshirt
4 - Band tshirt (if the band is playing at Vfest it's a high 4) or college tshirt, or brandname tshirt (except Old Navy, which is a 5)
3 - slogans
2 - clever slogans (I didn't think these existed and that all slogans were inherently tacky, but Nate disagreed) or kitschy tshirts (Seseme Street, for example)
1 (most cool) - cool designs that I did not recognize. Small monsters, or a line drawing of an owl, no words allowed. If I know what you're trying to associate yourself with, it's not cool.

We gave an exemption to kids under 15 because their enthusiasm is cute even if their clothing isn't.

By the end of the night I was dog tired from being on my feet for over 12 hours. The Flaming Lips guy made his entrance in a huge plastic bubble which he rolled over the crowd. I ran into James from Lake Trout but did not say hi to the rest of the band (Biggest Error of the The Night). The Who were good, everyone was good, but I just didn't have the werewithal to fully enjoy myself. If I had paid the 100 bucks for the ticket I'm pretty sure I would have had a better time, according to behavioral theory. But for 17 bucks I cannot complain.

Today I went with Allison and Darien and their friends Corn(elia) and Matt to the O's/Twins game, which was company organized. So we got free tix and free lunch (bbq beef mmm). O's put together a rally late in the game, thanks to Tejada's two solo homers, but then the rain hit and we left. They lost the game, the last one of the season. Tant pis.

The One That Got Away Comes Back!

The dude that won the PR10 auction didn't want it!

So I get it!

This is f'n awesome.

PLUS

It's in Flushing.

Which is in New York.

So I can Pick It Up.

And.....
I won some Wilco tickets.
And.....
I scored a sweet parking space very late last night when I thought I would surely be mugged as a result of having to park far away from the apartment.
And.....
Dan Bern was lovely. Epiphany was there. Also Nick, Johanna, Nick's mom, Chris and Elizabeth. Out of the 50 people in the crowd, I would estimate 30 were completely raptured. I was gently heckled for sitting in the balcony but held my ground with one raised eyebrow and a Gabo lip-pout.

New LeCarré

Hot dawg.

I checked the LeCarré website a few weeks ago thinking jeez oh man he MUST have a new book out. But nothing!

So then my pops tells me last night that lordamercy John is back with a tale of darkest Congo, interpreters, coups, the whole shebang, and it is getting good reviews (as usual). I mean, what else would you expect from the Leading Spy Novelist of All Time (sorry Graham Greene)?


So here it is, I promise not to read it until I next get to New York. Hopefully the movie they make out of it won't be as awful as The Constant Gardener - gah. I was terribly underimpressed. Tessa was much less annoying in the novel and Ralph Fiennes' character was much more interesting.

J-Co, if you are reading, get this book. You'll enjoy it.

The One That Got Away

A 70's PR10 frameset, white, perfect size, great condition - and cheap! I mis-bid and lost it. Oh well. Now I can waste more time searching for my elusive orange PR10/PX10 and save up money to finance it.

Have been diggin' SF Weekly's "Ask A Track Bike" column. Only four issues but good laughs to be had. People in San Francisco are so...pointue.

Did some lead climbing last night and am more-or-less certified. This rules. Too bad my hands hurt like hell today.

She's Up

www.fixedgeargallery.com. #3,900.

Aw yeah.

More exciting news later...we may be expanding the family.

My Weekend Kicks Your Weekend's Butt

Too much fun.

On Friday I went down to DC for the WHO press conference announcing their 'new' stance on DDT, which is the same as their old stance - it's good when used for indoor residual spraying (IRS). The reporters shanghai'd the discussion and turned it into the environmentalist/safety debate, but most of the resulting articles were pretty well balanced and used Kochi Arata's only comprehensible quote, "DDT will help us save African babies."

Can't argue with that one.

Because I had to get back to catch my bus for New York I skipped the Global Health Council meeting - no huge loss as most of the key people are in Dakar for the World Bank Booster meeting. It was fun roaming around DC hobnobbing, and I even got to do a little investigative journalism of my own with a friend over on the Hill. Caught the MARC back to Baltimore, took a taxi home, researched, packed, and hopped on my bike (the Nishiki, after all) and got down to the Liberty Street bus stop in the pouring rain. I expected a large bus but what rolled up was a 15 passenger van - the shuttle to the Travel Plaza where we would board the big bus. Hm. No room in back for my bike. No rack on top I could bungee it to. Que faire? Fortunately the driver is Chinese, i.e. not American, i.e. resourceful, and we took the front wheel off and slid it into the narrow space next to the door. Some girl's mom called and she said "Hey mom, I'm in this van going to New York, there's like 16 people AND A BIKE," and everyone cracked up.

We get out and board the real bus. I am still pretty soaking wet from the ride down. I eat a Luna bar and read the New Yorker article on Neuroeconomics and most of the one on Clinton, which is remarkably long-winded and not very informative.

Arriving in New York I disembark and hail a taxi. The bike (still in two parts) disappears into the cavernous trunk. Ten bills later I am at 72nd and Columbus right near where John Lennon was shot and Yoko still lives, and Matt meets me. Have not seen the dude for a year and a half and damn did we have a great night, as always. Except that I forget to eat in my excitement and rue my decision the next morning as I struggle for energy. At least I remembered to take my contacts out.

Saturday morning I take the bike on the subway, following NYC bike policy (use the service gate; stay at the end of the car; wait for crowds to clear before using stairs etc). Five people ask me for directions as I walk it down to NYU. Duh! No one from out of town would have a bike in the city. Ha. Plus I have my permanant air of helpfulness about me. I meet up with A and we take his new fixie and my Nishiki out for a little jaunt.

Let me just say that biking in New York is AWESOME. Cars are used to you, there are even bike lanes, more or less, and potholes are few and far between. Basically the opposite of Charm City.

We head up to Central Park to boulder, eat hot dogs, ride around, and wear ourselves out before meeting up with department people for cheap-ass sushi in the East Village. I am the only American at the table and the only non-economist; however, I get bonus points for being my father's daughter, especially as one of the guys actually understands what he does. Cool!

The economists go off to see Little Miss Sunshine and we grab a drink at a too-cool-for-school sake bar, then call it a night. Sunday we head to Brooklyn via the East River bike path (all I could think is this is where they toss the bodies) and the WTC site. Taking the car ramp up the Brooklyn Bridge turns out to be NotSmart, so we cheat death and cross the freeway to get back down to the bike/pedestrian lane. Plans to check out Prospect Park are thwarted by the very entertaining Atlantic Avenue festival, which has DJs and soul bands and drumlines and waaay too many potters and t-shirt manufacturers. Brooklyn has more fixies than Manhattan and also more charm. Or perhaps I mean trees. The correlation between these three things is pretty strong, but, I suspect, confounded by an unknown fourth variable.

We head back over the Manhattan Bridge, which I like less than the Brooklyn but only for its large, regular gaps between pavement slabs. A kicks beaucoup ass with the fixie and navigates us back without a hitch, in time to pack up my stuff and roll up to Macy's to catch the bus. Which I nearly miss because I wait across the street, bien sur. No clue if it will drop me downtown or if I will be biking home from the Travel Plaza at 10pm - fortunately, there is the same 15 passenger van minus 10 passengers and so plenty of room for me and the Nishiki. Back at Liberty Street I saddle up and ride home, cursing the potholes and my overstuffed backpack and scary Baltimore traffic, exhausted from the weekend in the best possible way.

Putain

Je n'ai pas pu acheter les billets pour le concert de Wilco aujourd'hui; tous etaient vendus en moins de 10 minutes.

Putain merde!

Les salopes sont en train de les vendre à cent dollars sur ebay et craigslist. Deux cent le pair. Moi, je pourrais payer autant, mais le probleme c'est trouver un compagnon qui ferait pareil - ou bien, subventionner le billet (mais à combien? Est-ce qu'on lui dit le vrai prix, ou seulement ce qu'il veut croire qu'il vaut?). Surtout que je ne paie rien pour ce Virginfest le weekend prochain, je suis prete à payer un prix enorme pour ce concert, qui sera inoubliable, petit, intime. A Telluride j'étais devant mais l'energie dans les montagnes, avec tant d'espace et le ciel dessus, etait dispersé. Au 9:30 nous serons tous coincé, on partage les inspirations, la seuer, et l'électricité va couler les uns aux autres, y compris les musiciens.

Donc, une autre décision à prendre.

Conundrum

Yesterday I rode the fixie to work. I got downtown and noticed something wasn't quite right down in the cranks. Got out the allen wrenches and set to tightening the cranks as they can often get a little loose.

It wasn't the cranks.

The fixed cup had come loose. My fixed cup spanner was at home. I continued to work, cautiously. Sean didn't have a wrench but it turned out I could hand tighten the thing enough to get it to the LBS where Beth let me borrow a spanner. I should probably put some locktite on that sucker next time this happens. It's disconcerting to be all wobbly down there.

Hopped on the Nishiki this evening just to make sure it was in good shape, but it felt broken when I coasted (what is all this spinning?). So I'm leaning, at the moment, towards taking Miss P to NYC tomorrow evening, despite certain embarassment of prolonged scraping of toeclips along the street. The Nishiki is not at all lacking in style, don't get me wrong. Hopefully tonight when insomnia strikes I will figure this one out. It's coming down to safety vs. style, or, alternatively, adventure vs. fear. We know how those battles always turn out.

Not Dead!

I commuted to work today on the fixie and didn't die.

I even did a good job with the toe clips, after practicing last night.

More good news - Floyd Landis looks to have a strong case for dismissal.

And for all my grouching about having to obtain Maryland residency so I could have my car registered here, I went and voted in the Democratic primary this morning. This was the first time I'd voted in the States since the 2000 election. Rah rah, civic duty, hooray.

I think my favorite vote was still the 2004 election when Bob and I were commanded to go to the embassy in Bamako and not worry about mosquito nets for a couple hours by our Senegalese director. "Go be citizens!" she said. "I can't vote, so take the morning and go do your duty." We sat for a while in the waiting room with all the Malians trying to get visas, while Mary Beth gleefully received our ballots from behind the bullet-proof glass. A woman next to me peered over at my absentee ballot, the punch kind, and asked what I was doing. "Je vote!" I said. "Ah, c'est bien, voter c'est bien," she replied.

Yeah, voting is good. I guess. I'm just not quite ready to be a real Marylander yet.

Bob Dylan at our Family Reunion

My mom is visiting DC and Baltimore in November for the annual Slavic History meeting (or something). Bob Dylan is playing the same weekend (Friday) in Fairfax. Perfect! I email her this and she writes back:

"It is SO tempting, but I actually have to participate in sessions Friday late and evening. So sorry!"

This is bullshit and I tell her that.

In the meantime I pull Dad in, as he is doing nothing that weekend and might as well fly out to hang out with me and Mom and Bob, and Ede's family. Mom reevaluates her priorities (and her schedule) and discovers she is done with sessions at 6:30. Brilliant! "COUNT ME IN!" she says. Only fitting for a woman who was first in line to buy the new album from the Moscow books and music store, Pages.

So Dad will fly in on Friday and I'll pick him up, go meet up with Mom somehow, see Bob, hang out in DC, then everyone comes back to Baltimore Sunday and we dine chez Edith, two big happy families, and then we do touristy Balto stuff Monday before their flight back. Perfect!

Two Bikes

I picked the Nishiki up from Chuck on Tuesday. He'd ground the U-lock off, apparently it took 15 seconds but made the shop smell like burning plastic for an hour. Got my copies of my receipts and put the lock in the mail to Kryptonite this afternoon, so we will see what I get back from them. Hopefully, full reimbursement for the locksmith and a new lock.

The Nishiki is none the worse for wear, a couple bangs on the decals on the drive side but I put her back together and it's just like old times again. Haven't commuted on Miss P yet but soon...very soon.

Next up: repacking the Maillard hubs, taking off the freewheel and redishing and respacing, and trading stems, bars, brake levers and toe clips with Dad. He got me a Rivendell membership, and I am eyeing this burrito tool bag. Totally old school.

Fully Operational

She's done!

Saturday evening I took Miss P for her first ever ride as a fixie. Thanks to Tim et al. at Light Street and Christian, Beth and Sean at Velocipede, and Edith, Nick, Johanna, Sean, Nick and Alistair for the moral support.

Tomorrow I probably won't commute on her but I will try to ride to the climbing wall and Dizzy's after work to show her off to the gang. I think she looks like a little punk, a little 70's French vixen. There's a couple things I'd like to do in the handlebar/stem area to spruce her up even nicer, but that's for later. Right now I get to fall in love with her all over again.

And learn to trackstand.

March Madness for Malaria

Not entirely sure how this will work, but Lance Laifer is kind of kooky (he runs Hedgefunds for Malaria, very pro-DDT). To begin with, it's March Madness style, but you are competing for the Malaria Cup (hello, department of mixed metaphors!). Any money and any publicity that raises awareness for malaria is good, though, and we'll keep a close eye on how they use the funds. So far he's got about 1000 people signed up.

I like Rick Reilly's Nothing But Nets campaign better. Probably because he's a much better writer and his website makes more sense. If only we could get the NCAA to donate a net for every point scored in the March Tournament - what a great lead-up to Africa Malaria Day (April 25)! According to my calculations, you'd get around 9,000 nets (at a cost of $90,000 bucks). Kinda weak, actually, but perhaps the publicity would be worth it?

Favorite Papers

This week The Malaria Joural published an article by some researchers at The Wellcome Trust that I found really interesting. It's called Rethinking the economic costs of malaria at the household level: Evidence from applying a new analytical framework in rural Kenya. The team looked at cost data on treatment seeking, burden and coping strategies during the wet and dry seasons over a year, and also followed 15 households to collect qualitative data. Unfortunately no significant different was found between mean direct cost burdens (i.e. the percentage of household income they spent on malaria) in the wet and dry season, although illness and income do vary with the seasons. The main variable was vulnerability - the ability of the household to cope with malaria episodes and other shocks. Unsurprisingly, wealthier households were better able to cope, but poorer ones descended further into poverty, spending up to a third of their income on malaria treatments.

If you would like a brief summary, there's a 10 slide powerpoint presentation available too.

Another Freakonomics-y article I remember from a few months back: correlation of girl's toilets to number of girls enrolled in schools in rural africa. It was in The New York Times but you can read the full article here.

700C =/ 27x1 1/4

I knew this, of course. I just wasn't really thinking about it. I ordered some new wheels for Miss P, 700C (622 mm), with a flipflop rear hub. They came yesterday and I put 'em on. The front brake will reach ok, but the rear one is far far far from the rims, and no way to adjust it further out. One doesn't need a rear brake on a fixie but it looks sort of goofy to have the wrong size wheels on there. More incentive to learn how to repack hubs and redish that old wheel to keep Miss P period-correct. I may even get those old brake levers back, my Cane Creek ones look oversized and awkward on the moustache bars.

The chainline looks pretty good but it's hard to tell without a chain on there, so that's the next step, plus some tires and tubes. I think I'm about 3mm off but my measurements are inexact. I'm hoping I don't have to redo the bb because it spins real nice now...maybe some spacers.

We're getting there, folks, petit à petit.

Setbacks

Saturday night Edith and I went out bar hopping, starting at Joe Squared and finishing in the apartment of some arrogant climbing people. I'll start at the beginning.

We parked on Howard and approached Joe's, and lo and behold six fixies were locked up to the parking meters nearby. We quickly spotted the group inside but they were clearly keeping to themselves, so instead of talking to them we played Photohunt and secured the high score with the help of a nice guy named Ramadan. Moving on to Brewer's Art (the downstairs) we spotted a guy who'd been at Joe's and cast our eyes about for boys to talk to. Sure enough not ten minutes in some girl comes up to us and says "You really need to join this conversation over here," and drags us five steps to two dudes. One announces he makes climbing holds at Earthtreks and the other starts crowing about climbing competitions, but neither of them are very interesting. Climbing competition just seems oxymoronic to me. What I like about it is you're pitting yourself against yourself, in the company of others. Not trouncing people.

Despite their arrogance we agree to join their gang of Earthtrekkies back at Dude 2's place after Brewer's closes, just you know, to have a story. Dude 1 climbs out the 6th story window into his apartment in the next building to bring back beer, but I didn't see it. We chat with the various people but poor Dude 2 gets nowhere with Edith, and we take off.

The last time we went to Joe's looking for boys to talk to we ended up finding climbers too. Either it's a series of unlikely coincidences, or there are way more people climbing than I realize.

Sunday we go to the Farmer's Market and I am still on the lookout for fixies. Edith is getting rather interested too as the boys who ride them tend to be attractive. Sure enough, a beautiful dude wheels his blue Peugeot by us as we're eating our breakfast crepes and we stalk him through the market as I explain to Edith what makes a fixie recognizable. As we walk back to the car I see two bikers coming down Guilford and know immediately they're fixed; Edith asks how I know and I make up some stuff about how they just look different. You know it when you see it. It's probably a combination of realizing they're not coasting, plus their clothing/hair/style, all adding up in my head.

Monday I go to the JHMI recycling meeting, which is awesome because a) they're super energetic and b) I have all this useful knowledge to offer them. Tuesday we climb and go to Dizzy's and Dave and Camillia announce they're getting married (hooray!). I'm at my limit and Sean and I leave to bike home, but on our way out we're stopped by a retired guy in a suit who says "Hey! You guys look like bike people, lemme buy you a drink!" Of course I say yes and we end up talking to him for a lot longer than necessary and have two drinks. Oops. The guy has 13 bikes at home, including two Colnagos (one a track bike, which he promises he'll let me ride). Eventually we escape but as I'm unlocking my bike the key gets stuck. Then snaps off in the lock.

After much swearing and an attempt at removing the bus sign on the top of the pole, I give up and take the wheels and seat off. Dave and Camilla walk me home. The next morning, feeling like crap, I go back to the bike, ask campus security to unlock it (no, because it's not on campus) and also the Police Escape and Apprehension Unit. All they have are boltcutters, but are unwilling to help. They do point me toward the Auto Repair joint across the street. A voluble guy is sent to help me out but his boltcutters are useless against the Kryptonite, and we can't get the key out. Another guy comes up and takes over, and cuts off the sign's bolts with a saw. By this point we're getting lots of weird looks but whatever, I look respectable in a skirt and it's my bike and we're putting the sign back together so I'm not worried.

Ray is bolting the sign back on after we've lifted the bike over the pole, and only then do the four cop cars show up. "Do you know people have been calling in about you?" "Well, no." "What's goin' on?" "I broke my key off in the lock and we're lifting the bike over the pole and putting the sign back on." "Oh, well ok." My reply gets relayed back as the cops approach. Elaine from Dizzy's gives me a wink and explains that a lot of parking signs have been cut down in the neighborhood lately, because they feel it's too restrictive. I guess it's good that people are watching out for the 'hood and it's nice to know that cops can be laid-back.

So now I have the lock still on my bike, which is another hassle. Kryptonite says they'll reimburse for a locksmith but I think they're lying. Only one way to find out.

BB Adjustment

I had a couple drinks at happy hour with the young work crowd and biked home. Everyone is busy or out of town so I figured I'd go down to Velocipede and get some advice on my bottom bracket. It would have been nice to ride the Nishiki with Miss P's frameset strapped to my back, but I was lazy and drove.

Museum dude was there and told me to talk to Beth, who checked my work and said "Hm, there's a lot of play in there. Better tighten things up!" So I tightened up the fixed cup which made the spindle not turn. Oops. Christian was there and feeling helpful so we messed around with bbs and grease and tools and after much fiddling got the spindle in there pretty good. Put the cranks on to try it out and Hellyeah! she spun nice and smooth, no play at all. Nishiki guy rolled in, and he works in my organization! I'd never seen him in the hallway or nuthin', so we chatted a bit and I searched for more crank options. No luck, though I did find the box with all the left cranks in it. It was kind of a sad little box, all these guys with no partner, hoping to be matched at least with a right crank of the same length and general shape. Made me hope I don't end up like that....where's my sugino right crank arm and chainring? Then again, will I really be happy when I find him? How will I know he's the right one?

So it's back to ebay (for cranks, not boys!). Patience, grasshopper. The right deal will come along. In the meantime, use lots of grease in those cups and make your fine adjustments so that things run smooth when they finally arrive.

Swappin' Cranks

So Saturday night was interesting. I got in my car after five days of not looking at it and realized that all the seatbelts were buckled, except the driver's. I'm sure I locked it.

Total mystery. Does a stranger's Honda clicker also unlock my car? And this is a way of telling me, without malice? Nothing else was disturbed - CDs were there, iPod charger, ice scraper, everything. The change was still in the change thingie.

So I picked up Jessie's crank-puller and went to work on Tuesday swappin' cranks between Miss P and the Nishiki. Crank puller worked like a dream once I figured out its secret. But then I hit a snag - that stupid stuck chainring bolt on the new crankset! This was holding up EVERYTHING and my tinkering soul needed satisfaction. So I got in the car and drove down to Light St. and ordered up some crank bolts (needed) and a couple tubes (also needed) and then asked if they could help me out with the chainring. No problemo, they have the tool. I even found a nice parking space in this side street, where a 12 year old girl holding a very small dog was saving a spot for her mom.

No, I didn't take her mom's spot, there were two. I'm not that evil.

So I got home and switched the 42 tooth chainring off the Nishiki crankset onto the new crankset and everything was going gangbusters until I put the new crankset on the Nishiki. I tightened it up and voilà!

Nothing turned.

It went on too far, and the chainring was up against the chainstay. Drat!

So I had a beer and took off everything and put all the cranks back where they had been originally. Just for kicks I put the new cranks on Miss P's shiny new bb and they spun so nice I thought I'd been visited by angels. If only I could find the right tool (36mm wrench; I have the lockring tool) to tighten up the fixed cup. I think I'd be all set.

Now I'm waiting for those wheels to arrive and to find a 42tooth crankset. And Jessie's crankpuller worked so hot I want one for myself...good thing old bike hands move into retirement homes and have to clean out their garages every so often....

Tall=Smart?

So two women at Princeton wrote some really dumb paper for the NBER stating that "taller people earn more because they are smarter."

Yeah, sorry - huh?

Everyone knows that nutrition and height are correlated. Back in the Dark Ages no one at vegetables or meat and soldiers were tiny (you've seen those suits of armor at the museums, haven't you?). Industrial Revolution came along and baddabing, baddaboom, average heights went up all over the world. Even China is catching up to Sweden in average height!

The paper says that kids at age 3 score higher on cognitive tests if they are taller, "before they've even started schooling." Well, nutrition and cognitive ability are (gasp!) also correlated! Who knew?

They attempt to disprove the other half of the taller=higher earner phenomenon, where employers prefer to hire and promote taller people, especially for managerial and executive jobs. But not very well. Mostly they just mention it at the beginning and forget to put it into their equations later.

So, are taller people smarter? Maybe. But they're not smart because they're tall. I think these ladies may need a refresher course in causality.

More research is needed....
do taller people get paid more for the same job?
do taller people get hired/promoted more/sooner than shorter people?

Economics can explain a lot of things, which is why I like it so much. But it's embarrassing when it really misses the boat.

Pignon Fixe

David writes from France, letting us all know that "Pignon Fixe" means fixie in French.

Linux

Just in case you weren't sure, my snorting out loud at this youtube Mac/PC spoof proves how big a dork I am. I particularly liked the voiceover at the end - hey, I am in public health.

I sure hope this blog doesn't turn into a bunch of links to goofy youtube videos. Lord knows there're plenty of 'em.

Inspiration

So it turns out, not surprisingly, that there is a large contingent of fixie-lovin bikers out there in the old cyberspace. And like ants around a stray peanut they congregate at www.fixedgeargallery.com, posting pictures of their new and old conversions, stock bikes with upgraded parts, boyishly jostling for wackiest handlebars, sickest gear ratio, and most punk-ass color scheme. You can do searches for your frame (Peugeot!) or your pedals or yo' mama, so of course I looked up to see what the mixies and the moustaches were doing. Here are a few examples:

















Mostly dudes on the site, of course, but a lot of ladies too. Someday Miss P will be up there with the fancy Campy-only builds and the trackstars.

Fixin' Miss P

I'm breathing new life into my mom's 1975 Peugeot UO-18, a white mixte frame that has seen better days. The old Simplex derailleurs were trashed (the front one has been useless for over 10 years; the rear, operational but brittle). Dad and I put on Nitto moustache handlebars last year and new brake pads, levers and cables, along with some fetching red handlebar tape. Little Miss P was looking foxy, but soon enough she will be even more stunning.

Dat's right folks, Miss P's gonna be a fixie.

I'm not quite sure how all this bike stuff started, or where I got the idea that I could do it myself (Sheldon Brown, overpromiser, your technical know-how goads me into action!). Johanna and a trip to London convinced me I could bike to work; Sean and I split two pitchers one night and biked home recklessly; the sense of moral superiority I have while biking is better than most other highs. Plus, there are tools and hardware and tinkering involved. I love tinkering.

So I stripped off the old derailleur and chain and accoutrements, dismembered the bike and flailed away at the cottered cranks before succumbing to the reality of my own inexperience and lack of appropriate tools. Took her into Light Street Cycles where Tim got out the power saw and attempted to cut through the spindle. Nary a dent. "Gee, this old 70's steel is pretty good," he said. So then he went after the cranks instead, slicing them right open along the cotterpins. Shazaam!

I degunked the BB shell and installed my shiny new japanese french thread cups and spindle. Still working on the adjustment and am hoping to swap the 165mm cranks off my new Nishiki for a crankset I got from the bike co-op. Got drunk Saturday night and bought a Formula/Alex wheelset off the internet along with a 15t cog and a lockring, so when those come I should almost be ready to work on the chainline. In the meantime I took a steelwool pad to my dingy chrome forks and polished them to a high sheen. The old Lyotard pedals are gonna look slick too once I get through with 'em.

It's nice to have a project again. Back in Gabon I made shelves and hinged mosquito screens and fancy lighting setups for my house, but it's been a while since I've had the opportunity to putter around and learn new skills. It's fantastic, but my cocktail conversations are a bit one-sided.

[me] "Dude, I heard you might be able to help me out with something."
[Art dude I met a couple times who stretched my Dominican Republic rooster painting] "Whatcha need?"
[me] "I need to pull some cranks."
[Art dude] "Sweet. I got a crank puller in my studio."
[awkard silence]
[me] "So maybe I should get your phone number or something?"

I also watched Breaking Away for the first time since 1986 and hotdamn! is it better the second time around. What a tight little coming of age story it is, with (bonus!) bike geek scenes! Watch as he chases girl on scooter after picking up her notebook from his bike without a wobble. Revel as he drafts off the Cinzano semi-truck and gets up to 50 mph. Rock out to the montage-eriffic sequence where he fixes up the old bike before the Little 500 and trues the wheels. Sigh when the Italians crush his dreams, and his father gives the old heart-to-heart. Cheer when his friends tape his bloody feet to his pedals for the final laps.

A perfect, compact little movie, especially when accompanied by three Natty Boh's. Go Cutters!