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!