tri state vagabond

2009-03-03T19:51:00.002-05:00

I've been being a nerd over here.

I get hobbies, hard. I remember when I felt like I became a musician - not just a practitioner of music, but somebody for whom music was vital. There were rhythms in my stride and melodies bounding through my head. Everything I saw, I sang. Songs - bad ones, mostly, and then better ones - just flew out of my head and out of my mouth and out of my pen and out of my guitar.

There have been others.

Now, it's cycling. Specifically, racing. There's so much there for it - the calmness in my head when I ride. The connection to my body and to the world. The adrenaline and the energy and the triumph. The intricacies of tactical races, teamwork. The speed of a sprint. The pain of breathlessness, the quivering legs.

So there it is.

2009-01-15T10:49:00.003-05:00

Being snowed in means that there's no way I can go for a training ride, and that I must ride for work. It's tough but not terrible. At least it's below freezing, which means that it won't be so wet.

I registered for a hilly, challenging race to take place on April 18th. In the early spring, I'm hoping that slightly rising temperatures and more daylight, combined with my enthusiasm for the April 18th race, will get me outside getting in those long, hilly miles I'll need to be ready.

Prior to that there will be criteriums in Connecticut, which mean weekend road trips with whomever I can muster. Early Sunday mornings hopping on commuter trains going north, in lycra and casual clothes, bikes near at hand, eating oatmeal and drinking water, preparing for not one but two races per day around and around tight, short, fast courses.

This morning I replaced my road bike's bottom bracket and tweaked some uncooperative gears, and it's sitting there like a puppy in a headcone, begging me to take it outside and to let it gnaw at its wound.

2008-12-22T10:36:00.002-05:00

These days, as a professional cyclist - yes, getting paid to ride my bike as glamorously as humanly possible under the sweaty or wet or freezing conditions - I explore the meatpacking district, where cobblestones and lard-slicked sidewalks abut slick and sleek boutiques.

Moustachioed men in bloodstained coveralls walk by fashion shoots where emaciated models teeter on highheels in front of clicking cameras and obsessed assistants.

There's a Banksy piece on a wall - a man in a suit, bent down to press a plunger, blowing up a rat in the distance.

Today, I hope I will be warm enough.

2008-10-20T21:31:00.003-04:00

With hastily laid plans, Al and I crawled on the 6.43AM LIRR train out to Babylon, our pockets stuffed with Cliff Bars, and at 8 AM pointed our snot-dripping noses toward Montauk Highway and the eastern end of Long Island.

The sun was just coming up over the trees. Commuters lined up on the train platforms. I should have worn another layer on my torso. Al's feet went cold fast. The wind blew right in to our faces.

One hundred miles to go.

A few minor issues required some time off the bikes - three flats (three?), a lost contact lens (never to be found amid the roadside grit, not like we looked), and Al's need to pick up some booties. I started feeling pretty raw around mile 50 - the wind was blowing so hard in our faces. Any efforts above 22 miles per hour were folly, and the shoulder was so narrow that it was hard to get a draft. As if the wind and Al's skinny arse didn't make it hard enough.

I complain a little, but it's all part of the game.

It felt great to get out there and grind the gears for hours on end. After a little over four hours of riding time we cruised in to Montauk, legs wobbly, but with big smiles on our faces - the last few miles of rollers rewarded us with spectacular views of big, long, curling white waves crashing down one after another on to a cold, empty beach.

"Village Pizza!" Al roared, and we pulled off for a snack. We ate, idled for a little bit, picked up a few other snacks, and went to find the train station.

Let it be known, if you want to get on the train to Montauk, bring cash. There's no ticket machine, and you might find yourself drag racing around the immediate and abandoned area trying to find an ATM, with a strict time deadline - the next train isn't for another eight hours.

We made it.

Barely.

2008-10-17T11:19:00.003-04:00

So, pleasing finishes in my last three races - 3rd in an alleycat/road race, 2nd in a team time trial after one of our threeperson team dropped out with a mechanical, and 2nd in another late night Prospect Park race.

I guess a few weeks of hard riding shapes me up pretty fast. Wish I was riding like this in August.

2008-10-14T08:57:00.003-04:00

We took a trip out to the Trexlertown Velodrome on Saturday for the Fall Swap Meet. The weather was gorgeous - just crisp enough to put on a sweatshirt as we rolled that clunky Cutlass Sierra out of my parents driveway, pre-dawn. Once at the velodrome, the sun was strong.

We waited in the pack by the entrance for a few minutes before paying our entry fee. When the gates were open I put my head down and had to scold myself to focus - it's too easy to get distracted by eyecatching stuff that I don't need, and, what with recent unemployment, I wasn't about to open my wallet capriciously.

I had two main objectives - a Campy-compatible wheelset for my road bike, and a carbon fork with lots of steerer tube for Evan's Viner. I wandered through turns four and three for several minutes, stopping every now and then to pull out my tape measure to measure a steerertube. Then, I wandered inward where I came across a set of Campagnolo Eurus wheels, thoroughly used but not abused, for a very, very fair price. I ran to the ATM for a few more bucks and walked away with them strapped to my bag.

After another few minutes of looking I had a fork for Evan, too.

T-Town is fun for bike geeks. I love seeing lots of bike crap in one place. I like guessing about people based on what's on their table. I picked up a seatcluster lug from one guy, and, at another's table, almost bought half of a handmade frame. He had two sitting there, about 54cm frames with no rear triangle. "I'm never going to finish them," he said. "Fifty bucks, and you can either finish it or just hang it on your wall." He read my mind, but I passed it up.

There were a lot of things that I passed up - a Corima 4-spoke track wheel for $100, another set of Look pedals, and, to a greater extend, little odds and ends that would have cost a few bucks here and a few bucks there and would have resulted in a heavier bag and a lighter wallet.

In the end, I'm glad with what I got - a few cheap parts and an expensive wheelset to freshen up my road bike, and a few bits to help out a few friends.

2008-10-06T08:56:00.004-04:00

It's worth remembering that if I haven't sprinted in earnest in five or six weeks, if I haven't worked on my sprinting since July, and if I'm on only my fourth or fifth long ride since track season ended, no matter how decent I feel at the end of a Prospect Park race, I probably don't have the juice to seriously be in the sprint.

It's also worth remembering - never forget your glasses. Spending thirty seven miles wiping wheelwater and roadgrime out of my eyes is not fun.

Also, I rode pretty well, I think.

2008-09-29T09:41:00.004-04:00

It was raining in Brooklyn; a glance a the weather report (okay, frequent glances) gave some reason to hope but not a whole lot of reason to expect that the weather would improve. So we pulled on kits, mounted water bottles, and filled our jersey pockets with cliff bars before heading out into the rain. It was a steady, misty drizzle that had been falling for several hours, so the roads were pretty soaked. Well, somewhere between damp and soaked. We made our way to the west side bike path and spun our way up to the GWB and New Jersey.

A field was assembling underneath the overpass in Fort Lee. I gave Crihs my twelve bucks and made the rounds, saying some hellos to riders who I haven't seen in a while, and scoping out the field. Lots of road bikes. Lots of people I don't know. A bundle of track bikes. I had no sense how this race would unfold. I did have a plan - and a teammate - but by the time the race was starting my plan had changed to "ride until you're warm again, then reassess." Fortyfive minutes standing around in very damp, thin clothing had left me shivering. As we pulled away on the rolling start, William reached over from his trackbike to give me a goodluck handshake, but I shook my head, saying, "I'm keeping both my hands on the bars until my body stops twitching."

In a few minutes, we turned on to 9W and the race was on in earnest. Attacks were quickly launched by kids on track bikes - did they think they could just ride the legs off of everyone else? I moved toward the front of the field, squinting my eyes to avoid the grit and splatter from the roostertails coming off of rear wheels, and keeping an eye on the attacks. The pace would surge and calm, but no attacks stuck. My secret teammate Alex took a nice flier at 32mph near the Greenbrook turnoff and I jumped to grab him, but the pack wouldn't let it get anywhere - it was our turn to see whether or not we could ride away from everyone else. It was like a Cat 5 race, everybody nervously keeping an eye on everybody, nobody really letting anybody get anywhere.

No worries - the terrain would take care of the pack and I resolved to sit six to eight wheels back, sucking wheel, taking it easy, and waiting for the rolling hills. That is, until I saw the support car pulled over and Crihs hanging out the window with the camera. Then I launched an attack. It went nowhere but I went to the front and pulled at 27 for a bit before drifting backwards into Prentiss's big and tall slipstream.

Finally we got into some quick terrain. Izumi, on his track bike, stepped it up leading into the downhill approach to the State Line. I grabbed his wheel. At the line there would be a sprint for a prime; I know the terrain well, but didn't remember where exactly the line was. I tried to keep my head up and grab wheels - it looked like there were a few subtle leadouts happening and I grabbed the fast wheels as the pace picked up to - oh. My computer conked out in the rain and the wet. Again. I looked up and looked around for the line - ah! There it is, at the crest of that rise, and put my head back down to Alex's wheel and - oh. Neil and Eric, two powerful guys with strong road racing history, had already jumped. So much for that prime. I rolled through the line third and got into a tuck for the descent. The road is wide and the turns gentle so I coaxed the bike into the mid40s with the wind strong in my ears; then the couple on the tandem went flying by, the stoker with her head pressed into the small of the captain's back. Dave Trimble came riding up, reaching deep into the drops, yelling "Go go go go!" As Phil Leggitt would say, the elastic had snapped - most of the field had been left behind. The pace stayed high and we fell into a paceline - seven of us, plus the couple on the tandem, driving hard toward Piermont.

I expected to go through Tallman State Park - Prentiss and Al turned in but Dave, Dan, and the others kept going straight. Knowing that one of my goals in the race was to mark the two of them, I stayed with them. Would Tallman's narrow roads and steep descent be slower than this other way around? I didn't know. We descended into Piermont, Dave almost getting right-hooked by a car that didn't realize that a race was coming up behind it. We turned toward the pier and saw Prentiss and Al with a good minute on us. That answers the Tallman question.

We hit the flagpole, collected the info we needed (the last word on the plaque, and the year) and turned, fast. I went to the front and took a long pull up the bumpy road. Toward the end of the pier we started to see racers on their way out - we had a good lead. With five of us working together we'd catch Prentiss and Al, and it would be anyone's race.

Or would it? The climb through Tallman and the fairly brief respite before the climb up to State Line changed that. Dan and Neil left the three of us in Tallman; by the time we got to State Line, they had good time up to the top of the hill as Prentiss, Al, Eric and myself fell into a paceline to see if we could catch them. But we couldn't even see them.

Prentiss would move to the front and pound away in a huge gear; we sheltered Eric for a while as he gamely clung on. Al would spring to the front for strong pulls and I'd move up, too, carefully counting my strokes before moving over. It was starting to dry out. I felt warmed up. We were really cooking it; glances at my speedometer were only occasionally helpful, as it went in and out as it dried out and got wet again. We were steadily at and above 25 mph, and spending good time up around 28. Where were Dan and Neil?

The race finished at a bar in Lower Manhattan, which meant crossing the GWB and entering a traffic free-for-all for another nine miles. Alex and I looked at each other - when you enter traffic and enter alleycat mode, you don't have teammates anymore. It just doesn't work like that. We took the smart route south and east; Prentiss turned off to go through Central Park - bad idea. Eric clung gamely on as we tore down 5th Avenue. It started to rain again, torrentially. I smiled through Alex's wheelgrit in my face and thought, what a good way to end a good race! We traded pulls and split around taxis; I sought buses or minivans to grab quick accelerating skitches to no avail. 5th Ave got a lot less clean once we were clear of the park, and Eric dropped back several blocks as Alex and I were engaged in no holds barred traffic attacks - who can take the light fastest? If you can get through a light a second faster you can get to the next one two seconds faster and have a chance to increase your lead. But by 14th St we were still together, and Eric had caught back on. Okay, he wasn't just some roadie we could catch in traffic. A red light at 2nd Avenue gave us pause but we plowed through a good sized gap while Eric turned south. A good idea?

There was Dan, cruising casually ahead of us. Did he think he'd just slide on in for the win? I put my finger to my lips, cautioning Alex to be quiet until we flew by him - that was when we saw he had a flat.

Alex and I turned on to Avenue B wishing each other luck in the sprint, hollering at jaywalkers, and tearing down... only to find Eric turning the corner of 10th Street ahead of us, taking Second Place as he got to Neil - First Place - waiting on the sidewalk. I hopped off my bike and tagged Neil a few seconds before Alex.

Dan rolled in a few minutes later - he'd ridden the flat since he was in the 100s. Dave rolled in, not feeling so fine, followed by Prentiss and William, who took first track bike and 7th overall.

Evan rolled in in the mid-teens, and I was pleased as punch to see him finish his first race. He must have been on his own for most of the race - once the field shattered there were few opportunities for people to work together.

When's the next one?

2008-09-28T10:20:00.002-04:00

Today is Nyack and Back, an alleycat-style road race organized by Crihs (yes, it's spelled that way). There will be a sprint for undetermined points at the State Line, and climber's points on the big hill on the way back.

If it dries out, I'll contest the sprint; but if it's wet and people are being cautious, I might go a little bit earlier for it. If it's wet and people are racing like it's dry, I'll sit back and let people blow if they'll blow.

I'll stay hydrated and remember to eat these miniCliff bars that I'm stuffing in my jersey. I'll save energy and mark some Studs and try to stick with them. I'll also not expect to be in the top three - placing really high expectations on myself and getting pissed off when I didn't do as well as I wanted was one of the reasons that I stopped racing alleycats. When you're an uptight nut who's pissed over sixth place instead of third and it's not fun anymore, it's time to stop.

First road race on the new bike...

2008-09-25T11:56:00.003-04:00

Things remaining on my fun new road bike:

Put on a more comfortable saddle
Trim down unnecessary steerertube
Fiddle with front derailleur
Get a nonsetback seatpost
Get fun-looking wheels
First race on it (Sunday!)

Things already done

Built by myself! except for headset installation
Fast rides with quick people
Oozing excitement all over everything
"New bike day" photos posted to Preferred Bicycle Messageboard.
Made list of I-can't-wait-to-race races.

2008-09-19T10:55:00.003-04:00

I swung by Time's Up to remove a stuck bottom bracket, but even with four people - one person stabilizing the tool and the stand, two people stabilizing the bike, and the fourth person using a three foot cheater bar on the tool - the damn thing wouldn't come out. I want it sooner rather than later, and no shop that anybody I was talking to knew of stocked midlevel Campagnolo bottom brackets, so I had to do some internet clicking to order one. Damn. Wish I just had it in my QBP order. You know, the order where I also ordered the wrong size seatpost, and failed to order the Campagnolo housing/cable replacement set that wound up costing me $[REDACTED] when I realized I needed it at Bike Works.

So I've already spent a bit more on this newish bike than I had planned. Picking up a new frame and swapping parts is never that straightforward, is it? Even when you've got an awesome coop to rely on.

It's slightly frustrating, but it's not like it's breaking the bank. It's just that I'm spending more than I anticipated. I think it will be worth it, though.

Other things I have to look forward to: selling two wheelsets. Two wheelsets? Really? I think so. I think I plan to buy a low-end Campagnolo wheelset for the newbike, sell the old crosslaced one - if not soon, then, well, later when I figure out my employment situation. I'm also selling one of my fixed gear wheelsets and replacing it with the jumble of whatever-else-is-around, in my ongoing quest to simplify my number of wheels that I've got sitting around.

My new road bike is turning into something that's considerably less lock-up-able than my old one, but I don't think that will bug me all that much. It might be a slight annoyance here and there, but I'm also happier with my "commuter" than I have been in a while, and I also live much closer to most of the things I do.

2008-09-11T15:18:00.004-04:00

Up until fall 2007, I had been relying on my fixed gear commuter and my Pogliaghi for around-town transportation, but was interested in getting a road bike. The advantages are obvious - brakes, gears, the ability to go down hills going really fast. It was part of my gradual transition from, you know, being somebody who rides in cut-off jeans to being somebody who rides in lycra.

Last fall, a trip up to Rhode Island coincided with somebody in Westchester County selling an older, brifter-equipped steel-and-carbon roadbike, and so on our way I picked up the Bianchi Veloce, set up with Campy 9 speed. It took a little while to get it to fit - I had to get a comfortable saddle (I started with an Selle Italia SLR, used a Flite for a while, and I've settled on an Arione), more appropriately "ergo" bars with a shallower drop (I hate the square-shaped ergo drops), a threadless adapter so I could use an open-face stem with these bendy bars... I also picked up a double crankset (didn't need the granny!), a prettier and more adjustable seatpost, road pedals, and a short-cage rear dérailleur (a story of its own...). The bike was meant to be a more recreation-oriented road bike, but I was going to try to squeeze a bit more performance out of it. The differences lie in gearing, easily changeable setup, and vanity, so it's not hard to do.

The shifting was pretty finicky at first - it took me a while to get used to getting the shifting on point, but replacing the cable and housing took care of that. Still, though, the rear shifter has what I assume is a worn-out spring in the mechanism, which makes it possible to overshift by half a cog without the mechanism returning to the center of the click. This gives a unique ability to trim the rear dérailleur, which is particularly necessary after shifting up or down two or three cogs at a time - the pull from the shifter causes the dérailleur to over shift a fraction. I've gotten quite deft at it - flicking the mouse-ear and then tapping the paddle to center the dérailleur on the cog of choice - but wouldn't mind a rebuild that would get the shifting to lock in a bit more precisely.

The wheels are 32-spoked, 3-cross wheels, which I don't mind. Since I do use this bike regularly, it sees some lock-up time and I like avoiding some bling factor. However, I wouldn't mind some sportier wheels for next season's racing. I'm keeping my eyes open on ebay and craigslist for something with fewer spokes and a deeper rim.

It's not the fanciest rig on the streets, but it gets me riding places I wouldn't be riding otherwise, and - like all my bikes - is a tough little workhorse with that fierce underdog pride.

Here it is from last week's 40-miler up toward River Road/Hudson Drive with Ev. It's a bit shrouded in shadow.

2008-09-11T10:10:00.003-04:00

Inspired by Sprinter della Casa's post about his Riggio track bike, I thought I might give an overview of the gear I'm using. I gave an overview/review of my Felt TK2 earlier in the season, but, as a disorganized and halfhearted blogster, don't title or tag my entries and so they're hard to look through to link again and find.

This weekend, I put back together my pretty track bike, above. It's a Pogliaghi, dating from 1973 by my guess. I got it for a steal almost two years ago from a rider in Albequerque, who trusted me enough to send the frameset to me on his dime, prior to payment, so that I could give it a chance before committing. I took my time building it up, relying on modern cranks and the wheels from my commuter at first.

But then I took some other opportunities - buying a Zeus rear hub laced to a Mavic Open Pro, picking up a set of Campagnolo pista cranks, and before I really knew it I was slowly building the bike to a general sense of period-appropriateness. The last bit, I picked up this winter - a Zeus front hub laced to a Mavic Open Pro, for a matching wheelset. (Zeus! Avoiding the all-Campy build with these replicas from Spain - and how smooth they are, too...)

With Cinelli criterium bars and 165 cranks (my first foray into <170mm cranks), I was really pleased at how the bike fits. I had only ever ridden my commuter extensively before, and so was pleased at some of the other ways that a bike can fit a smaller rider.

I started the track season racing it, but I'm pretty attached to the bike; the more seriously I took the season, the less I wanted to race a bike I was attached to. So I started looking around for a modern aluminum track bike that would tolerate being underneath a working racer.

The Pogliaghi sat sadly in my bike pile for several months - no rear wheel, no pedals, bars hanging in the closet - until earlier this week. I put it back together, and was reminded about how lovely it is to ride - the swiftness of the handling, the smoothness of the drivetrain and wheels, and the charmingly odd combination of supple steel and jarring, steep angles. So I've been riding it to work, with a big smile on my face.

It's probably the least useful bike in my stable, but we all deserve a little bit of vanity now and then.

Edit: that picture uploaded like that? Crap. well, here's a link.

2008-09-08T09:41:00.004-04:00

I put back together my "commuter bike," which I've rarely used since I stopped delivering in May. I finally took off a saddle that I had hoped would come around to being comfortable, and put on a reliable classic Flite. What a difference - the bike is ridable and I had a blast riding all over the past few days. Feeling a solid strength in my legs again - I've missed riding fixed.

So I also put back together my pretty steel track bike, and intend to put many long park miles on it in the next few months.

Of course, once I put all the parts on to my new road frame, it might take precedence.

2008-09-05T13:51:00.001-04:00

This morning, I pumped up my road bike's rear tire. It's got a slow leak - never enough to make it flat enough to ride, but enough to make it soft.

I've been feeling slow lately. For the past few weeks, it's felt as though everything on the bike takes a lot of energy - when I'm going, I'm crawling, spinning slowly, struggling up the bridge, never cruising at those fast paces that I love so much. I thought it was me having gotten knocked out of shape by my somewhat dismal August.

Um. Do you see where this is going?

This morning, I pumped up my road bike's rear tire. When I stuck the pumphead on, the pressure guage read 50psi. Seriously? I've been riding 50psi, thinking "it feels a little bit soft," for a month. Where has my head been?

Oh dear.

So I put it at 120 psi, had a bone-jarring ride to work ("oh right, this is what it feels like to ride over these streets at this pressure") that was also much, much swifter than it has been.

Oh dear.

So my head might be stuck thinking I'm way off my top form (which I might be), and though my body had been agreeing, it seems like some sensible changes to my bike might reverse the whole course and get me back on track for some fun-level competitions this fall: Nyack and Back, being put on by Crihs late this month, and the Wednesday night Prospect Park track bike races that Al is doing.

Of course, knowing that Jersey Dan will be competing - after having taken first cat 4 in the Green Mountain Stage Race - well, it's not like I'm gonna win.

But I'll have fun, and I won't be whining about how I can't make my bike move.

2008-09-03T11:29:00.003-04:00

Just in time for the racing season to end, I bought on a lot of 10 jerseys from ebay. Okay, it's a little scummy to wear used jerseys, but hey, 10 for $50 beats any price I can think of, and besides, a quick inspection upon arrival shows that they've been laundered.

They fucking rock. A handful are modern-style obscure amateur team jerseys, a handful are somewhat boring (totally useful) two-color whatever jerseys, and three of them are delightfully retro-ugly. Think late 1980s, lots of bright colors and diagonals. Not quite at the level of Mapei's famous kits, but still pretty eye-catching. One even has scorpions on it for some reason!

2008-08-27T10:24:00.004-04:00

Niki and I talked a bit how a lot of the match sprints on Sunday were won by people sprinting very, very long - starting with 500m to go. It's a risky strategy - the long sprinter risks tiring him or herself out, being drafted, and passed easily by a much fresher rider.

It's a bit different in a big match sprint tournament; at Kissena, a lot of the sprints were three-up or four-up. I realized that this can wind up working well far more frequently than in a two-up; in one, Niki broke early on turn 4, and Andrew, Deverell, and I fell into a paceline to catch him. However, since only one person would advance, none of us wanted to take the lead to drag the others up to Niki. Each moment that went by, he gained on us - the strength of the pack was broken by Niki's move and by the shortness of the race.

There's a discussion here on sprinting long in match sprints, which is pretty interesting. I'm still making my way through it.

But of course, it's focused on two-up match sprints. Three-up and four-up are of the more amateur, grassroots track variety (I call low-key down-home tracks grassroots track because of their phenomenal people power, and because the roots of the grass and weeds under the surface push around and cause waves, bumps, and distensions).

Next season I'll spend a bit more time and dedication working on my sprint; I watched it rise nicely this season - I even hit 40mph on my road bike a couple of times - and, with a bit more diligence and dedication, I think I can cook up something formidable.

2008-08-26T13:53:00.002-04:00

Kissena is my home track, but I wandered a bit and went to T-Town on July 12th. I had been feeling good - upgraded about a month prior to Cat 4, had been racing very consistently and placing well sometimes, riding a lot - generally feeling strong and fast. I didn't have any pretensions of kicking ass - I figured I'd be filler in the cat 4s at T-Town, but I'd still get out there and have a fun time.

I wound up doing better than I had expected - placing well in a points race with a big late sprint put me in 5th for the omnium, which qualified me for the B feature race. I broke away early - it was a snowball - and took 3rd. Hearing my name over the loudspeaker - "..And there's _________, of The Bronx, New York, out in front, collecting more points in this snowball" was a highlight of the season. I felt good. I felt strong. I was even surprising myself.

The low point of the season was late July. After having a great time racing a crit with Gui, I got very sick, recovered, entered a high-stress period that also coincided with the need to mourne a very dear family member, and racing suffered. It has been a difficult summer.

I've been thinking a lot about training for next season; I have a lot of thinking and planning and, most importantly, learning to do. Training is complicated - when do I do what? What do I need to build? I'd like to get stronger, faster, more endurance-y, and sprintier. Like everybody else.

So I'm leafing through a copy of the Cyclist's Training Bible. I don't plan to use too much data about VO2max or power - just a speedometer and some sensible plans - build endurance, work on intervals, do some at-home leg strength work, work on max speeds, and make sure to rest.

2008-08-25T08:40:00.003-04:00

I came to the realization last week that my track season is pretty much over. I was in really good form in late July, but immediately thereafter, got Very Sick for a week and a half, was off the bike for a bit longer due to Other Things, followed that up with Too Much Work And Not Much Riding, a short vacation. The end result was that I spent three to four weeks being sick and riding very lightly.

I did, however, make a point of going to Kissena for the State Champs and Nat'l Qualifiers for one of the three days of racing - just to have a last couple of races for the season. We did Flying 200s, match sprints, a 4-mile scratch race, and a keirin.

Very soon it was clear to me that I lost a lot of my top-end, which could be strong but wasn't exactly a thing to brag about earlier in the season. I also realized that I lost that ability to surge and recover, surge and recover, though I wish there were more mass-start events on Sunday to see exactly where I was after a slow month.

My flying 200 was unimpressive - actually slower than right at the beginning of the season, which was a bit of a disappointment. I got seeded into a 3-up match sprint, holding the obligation to lead for the first 200 meters. I did so, brought the other two into turn 3, and went into a trackstand. An MIT rider took the lead and I fell behind the other rider into 3rd. We stayed high on the banking, no major moves, just a lot of watching. MIT ramped it up on the homestretch, but didn't jump. As we went into turn 1 I took the opportunity to go high on the banking; MIT was looking over his inside shoulder, and Kimani wasn't looking, so I came down and passed them both at a good clip. But I left the sprinter's lane open for MIT, who came inside me; Kimano went over the outside on turn 4, and as my Felt hopped around on the bumps of turn 4, I eased up - my race was over.

MIT later told me that had I came inside after passing him, I could have taken the sprinter's lane and boxed him, preventing him from really winding up for a few more seconds, which could have held him (and, just maybe, Kimani as well) off. It crossed my mind but I didn't want to completely come down hard in front of him. But it was a really good race and I raced it smart.

In another match sprint, Niki took off with 500m to go, surprising me and the other two riders (yeah, a 4-up match sprint. Hmm), and rode away with it. Nice one! But he no longer holds the track hour record. That belongs to Ken Harris, who broke it on Thursday morning with 110 laps - 44km, averaging 27.5 mph for an hour. Wow!

I raced pretty smart on the long scratch - not contesting a prime, keeping myself in good position. After the prime, the leaders recovered and stayed together, the ass fell off the back, and I and two others were trying to bridge back up. Alas, we couldn't do it - the other two fell off and I rode through in sixth place. Not a bad performance, but obviously nothing special from me.

After hours and hours of waiting around in the strong sun, I was pretty cooked and not really psyched for racing the Keirin - especially after I drew the first position and had the obligation to stay behind the pacer - thus, leading out the sprint.

But by that time, late in the afternoon, I was ragged, and had a hard enough time finding Campo's draft as he brought the fume-spewing moto up to 32mph. When Campo pulled off, I was pretty done, and the earnest sprint passed me with 300 to go.

Anyway.

Later today I'll look back on the highs and lows of the season, and think about next season.

2008-08-07T11:51:00.003-04:00

An evening back at the velodrome for the first time in a couple weeks - and after recovering from a rough illness, over a week off the bike, and an accidental three or four pound weight loss - saw me riding with mediocrity. I kept trying to bridge up to the leaders and kept failing; the same four riders kept thrashing the cat 4 pack.

In the B feature I stayed near the front with three others who kept the pace high and strung the field out. I was on what I thought was the right wheel - somebody I knew from college whom I had just gotten reacquainted with - but he didn't start to sprint with 200m to go, and an attack came from over our shoulders. Fucking Angry Drew! I didn't even know he was in the race, or I'd have been watching for him. I did nip David Correira at the line, though, for 3rd place in the feature.

On vacation next week, so I won't be racing; there's only one Twilight Series night remaining for me. However, I'll be able to make half of the NYS championship meet (Friday night, I'll miss Saturday due to work, all day Sunday), which has an exciting schedule. I'll also throw down heavily for the Labor Day Meet, and hope that my track season will go out with a bang.

I'm looking forward to hanging up my TK2 and putting my Pogliaghi back together for pleasure rides around this new burrough in which I live.

2008-08-06T14:23:00.003-04:00

My vagabondery used to take me from the Bronx to New Jersey a lot, but that will change. Geography has changed - social geography. Also, I moved to Brooklyn on the same day of the change.

The ride over the George Washington Bridge - when it's clear you can see forever, and, with that kind of perspective, pretend for a minute that everything's different.

2008-07-26T12:20:00.003-04:00

Charlotte's post on Loving Bikes reminds me of the small internal fuss I made a few weeks ago at T-Town, when I had to change chainrings.

I hate changing chainrings. Those pesky little bolts in the back are such a pain. And, like at T-Town, sometimes you go from a big thick chainring to a thinner-bodied one, and the chainring bolts that formerly I was able to use a dime to stabilize while tightening now required use of those obnoxious little tools that never work well.

Meanwhile you're greasying your hands and trying to see the inside of your crank spider and bumping your head against the downtube.

On the flip side, I love repacking hubs. No need to clutter up the small kitchen with a disassembled bike - it can stay on the rack in the corner. I bring the wheel to the kitchen table, line up a few cone wrenches, a small cup of degreaser, a tube of grease, and a pencil. And a beer, sometimes.

I love the slight frustration of, after repacking them, trying to find that delicate balance between play and smoothness. Tightening the cones, feeling the axle, backing off the cones, tightening again, checking, tightening the locknuts, feeling again, backing off the cones, feeling, and - yes. There it is. Smooth. All that's left is to ride it to break in that thick grease.

SDC has two interesting posts, one after the other in humorous juxtaposition. One on learning the racing ropes on club teams, and the next on getting a few more mphs on top of your top speed by using deep-dish aero rims. Reading these so soon after racing my first crit with Gui (I probably wouldn't have gone to race without his company) made me think very different things in rapid succession. Yeah, I really wish I had more opportunities to learn about racing in casual-but-committed and friendly environments! That's where it's at! followed by, Hmmm, maybe I should invest in... I mean, buy my way to the top of... Then I could win... HEY WAIT A MINUTE. That's not how I like my brain to work!

I've always valued learning from those who have done before me and have rarely considered purchasing to be a stand-in for membership, education, experience - those foundational things. But those two blog posts were toying with my mind in an amusing way (no criticism to Aki, who writes thoughtful, intelligent posts, and was in no way trying to suggest to unwitting readers like myself that they ought to race on Zipp rims because without them there's no way that they'll get higher than 6th in a small-field 4/5 crit).

Oh bikes.

I love 'em.

Today's a day off, a quiet day here in the Bronx, as I listen to music, enjoy the cicadas outside of my window (cicadas in my neighborhood? Really? Oh the joys of the sounds of my childhood!), and think about packing for my impending move.

2008-07-25T09:38:00.003-04:00

There was no track racing this week, so instead I took G up on his offer to team up for the Rockleigh Criterium, an evening race over the GWB and up in New Jersey a little ways. We were running a bit late, but made it over the river and through the woods with about five minutes to spare. They say you're supposed to get to the line sweating, and we were.

The official warned us about some bumps on the back stretch. "Just relax and ride through it," he said, and I stopped my inner bravado from talking about the crappy roads I ride on regularly... even when on the Velodrome...

It was a smallish field of maybe thirty riders, riding around a small complex that felt like a public school - some lawns, some buildings, some fields, ringed by parking lots and access roads.

We took off at the whistle for two neutral laps, G and I at the front getting to check out the terrain. Some bumps and a grate on turn 1; a bit of sand and a close curb on turn 2. The back stretch had some awful pavement, like the official said - a few potholes and patches with some deep gouges in it, leading in to a turn that offered maybe about 18 inches of good line and a narrow path through the worst of it; once out of that and out of the shadow of the buildings, there was another short straight stretch, turn 5, and a fast, wide stretch to turn 6 and the long straightaway back to the line.

On the 3rd lap, I attacked just before the rough stuff, opening up some distance that I held for a lap until they rang the bell announcing a prime. The field caught up to me and some sprinters went for it, largely uncontested.

We settled into a rhythm; I got used to working my way around the line and getting in to good cornering position, navigating the corners, coming out of them. A few moves off the front and I realized that, much like a Flying 200, fast lines are everything. If you want to be fast you have to be efficient.

Halfway in my calves cramped, hard and painfully. I had lots of water, but suppose I was low on nutrients. I kept drinking and took opportunities to stretch.

In the second half of the race I tried to stay near the front, on the wheels of some of the big guys; I followed a few good moves but spent a bit too much time in the wind, I suppose. It's really nice to attack a bit, look behind, and see the field just rounding the corner...

My cyclocomputer was handy - I could see my speed, which helped me think about pacing myself; but more importantly I could see how much time to go before they called out 2 to go. I made sure I was near the front - the field was together but I felt like there were places where it could snap in the last couple of laps. The pace picked up but with no real attempt to catch the 3 people who were off the front. We rounded that last turn at about 31mph; I didn't ramp up my speed and other riders started to slowly swarm around me; I caught a wheel and moved up the inside, ducking branches leaning over the road, and then one person jumped in front of me - I caught a wheel and fought to keep it. I was maybe fifth wheel. Somebody else jumped and Gui, in front of me, responded. Time to go - I gritted my teeth and dropped my chain to a smaller cog and kicked, riding around my wheel and into some open road to catch 3rd in the sprint!

Needless to say I was pleased with the ending, as was G, who took 1st in the sprint and 4th overall. But I'm still learning a lot about how to race the rest of the race - when to chill, when to work, and how best to conserve energy and put myself where I want to be. And, of course, what to expect at the end of the race. I was somewhat surprised how I finished - that I stayed near the front when the sprint started, and then was able to launch from it.

I'll try to get out to one or two more of these, if I can. We'll see.

2008-07-17T07:23:00.002-04:00

This morning, my legs are pretty damn tired; last night, I didn't feel like they have that snap. Thunderthighs suggested that if I'm still tired from Saturday, I might not be getting balanced protein; it was a nice suggestion because he didn't suggest I start eating meat, he just suggested I eat a variety of proteins. Later, Gui suggested that I rest a bit more.

I didn't feel like I had a whole lot of pizazz in my pocket last night - well positioned but outsprinted in a "1 mile final" (why isn't this just called a 4-lap scratch race?); I raced smartly in a win and out, until I made the bone-stupid mistake of thinking the second bell was calling the end of the race, and sat up the next lap - I could have bridged up to place, but idioted myself right out of the running with that. And right now, I can't even remember what the third race was. Go figure.

But the Feature, a miss and out - that was a good race. Niki, holder of the track's Hour Record, and I decided we'd break from the start. Our reasoning was, maybe they won't chase us since the race happens from the rear. Mike said he'd block for us. We placed ourself together at the rail and stayed together during the creep, and at the whistle we took off, but our friend Gabe held on and wound up keeping the pack on our ass.

No matter; we'll make it a race. And we did, staying in front, setting a fast tempo. David, one of the Big Thigh Sprinters, stayed on our ass like glue, and we worked hard to shake him and to exhaust him, attacking and counter attacking. Any hope at winning would rely on taking him out before the final sprint, but after the field was eliminated, it was Niki, me, and David lined up with 600meters to go.

I swung high on the banking trying to shake him, and he followed me up; I put the brakes on but didn't want to lose Niki completely. David stayed at my hip and brought me to the rail. Niki had enough games and started going from the pole. I stayed high with David and then jumped - not from the best spot, but I had the banking in turn 4 to help me out. I blasted by Niki in turn 1 and hoped I had a gap on David, but I didn't - he came around me at about a million miles per hour in turn 3, and there was the race. David, huge gap, me, gap, Niki.

It was satisfying to come in second, and a satisfying race to race - we played it really well, it was tough, and we got beaten.

Next time.

2008-07-13T15:19:00.001-04:00

I asked a local master for advice about racing at the velodrome in Trexlertown, Pennsylvania. He agreed with me that I should gear up one tooth, told me about some bumps in the 'drome's surface, and left me with one piece of advice. Bring sunscreen. Thanks, Baz Luhrman.

Of course, what I found out was the following:

*riding at T-Town is just like riding on a velodrome, which I've done.
*I would either get used to the larger, faster pack on a smaller velodrome, or I wouldn't and I'd get dropped.
*The borrowed sunscreen I used was really, really helpful, so I should have brought some. T-Town is like chilling in a giant satellite dish in the hot weather!

I drove down with two other riders, registered, changed into my bibs in the locker rooms, and stolled to the infield like the new kid at school, wondering where to sit in the cafeteria where I wouldn't make a faux pas that was invisible to me but blatantly obvious to everybody else. Fortunately, we were early enough to stake a claim to some space under the tent, and set about reintroducing ourselves to other riders while we waited for the peewee program to wrap up. Riders were gathering and I noticed many folks who I'd met at the rare weekend events at Kissena.

I geared up to 50x15 and went out for some quick laps, doing a few sprint efforts and feeling the way that, at speed, you feel the G forces pulling you down. It was nice to see that it was very easy to hold a line in the pole - but later, during the Miss and Out, I learned it's much harder to hold a line coming our of turn 2 midtrack.

First up was a 5k scratch race - a bit longer than scratch races at Kissena. The cat 4 field rolled almost 30 riders deep - much bigger than the 15-person fields I'm used to at Kissena, which on top of being longer, is wider and slower. I stuck to my "unfamiliar territory" plan - stay near the front, ride aggressively, and figure out which wheels to grab. It worked out pretty well - pace stayed high and I stayed in front, positioning myself well to lauch a good sprint in the last lap which netted me 6th. I could have gotten 4th, but was momentarily sketched out by another rider's behavior with about 100m to go, and had to back off and resume sprinting - it left enough time for 4 and 5 to get away, and they had a wheel's length on me at the line.

Next up was a 6k points race with 3 sprints. Unlike at Kissena, the final sprint wasn't worth extra points - too bad, cause I rock final sprints after the Studs have tired themselves out. The pack was strong enough to exhaust itself reeling in the people who hurt themselves in the first two sprints, and getting in position for the 3rd found me 3rd wheel in a 3-person breakaway - thanks to a strong effort bridging up to it. With about 130m to go, first wheel had the sprinter's lane, 2nd wheel started coming around, and I had to kick hard to come around both of them. They were sprinting each other and not me, and I was able to nip First wheel, who was also nipped by Second wheel - who took first. So, second in points for that third sprint.

Last up was a miss and out. I like miss and outs, and I'm good at them, but at T-Town, it was a different story. Very different pack dynamics. In the backstretch, riders go wide and surge up, and then come back down cutting off people who are accelerating. Everybody swings up on the home stretch, squeezing people against the rail, and then dive back down toward the pole to try to grab a wheel - a whole lot of touching going on, and whole lot of not-looking. I didn't think it was safe, though I stayed alive until there were 12 to go. I got bumped, and while I was cooling off on the apron, another rider gestured to the field still alive and said, "well, there's the who's-who of the cat 4s, for sure," and I responded with scowly bravado, "then how come i'm not out there?" The miss-and-out was definitely the most challenging race due to the track and the field - I would have loved to stay in it until 6 to go and contest for a weary sprint with a smaller field.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that my performance in the points race had netted me 5th in the omnium, which qualified me for the B Feature, a 12 lap snowball. Steve, one of the collegiate kids, broke to grab that first point for the first lap, and I what-the-hell'ed after him; sucked his wheel for a few seconds and went right around him to take 2. The pack was just noodling along, so I put my head down and went around again for 3. They were picking up the pace, but I thought, hey, why not? Put in a good effort and got 4. One more! I thought to myself, but I couldn't get 5 - I was caught on turn 4. I spent the rest of the race desperately trying to grab a wheel, and then was spit out the back. Alas. Well, it was nice to hear my name over the loud speaker while I was out there pushin' it.

And I heard my name over the loudspeaker again - announcing the top three, with me as the third, and going on to inform us that we qualified for the A Feature, a devil's scratch.

I like devil's scratches.

There was no time to rest. I went right back to the rail. 20+ riders were whittled down to 10, and I stayed in. Maybe it was because it was the last race of the day, or maybe it was because there were a lot fewer cat 4s in there, but nobody was taking stupid chances. After staying in until we got to the 7 lap scratch, I sucked wheel as we went around and around at a very quick clip indeed, and came across the line with nary a sprint remaining in me, in 9th place.

Not bad.

Actually I'm pretty pleased with the results, but I wish my traveling buddies did well, too - N. had more than his fair share of mechanicals on his lovely bicycle. He only got one race in. He did, however, get lots of shutter time, so I look forward to providing multiple glorious shots of the races at T-Town.

Next up - Wednesdays at Kissena. I missed them this past week, thinking it was going to thunderstorm and get cancelled. It did rain - after the races concluded. Alas.

2008-07-08T10:22:00.003-04:00

I've been getting myself into the Tour de France. Here's what I'm thinking. Stage 3's breakaway that stayed away for 200k was wonderful to watch - a great change from Stage 2's long breakaway that was caught with about 2k to go. I loved seeing Chavanel desperately try to stay away, but alas. I'd like to see him involved in more breakaways. Ditto for Feillu, the tiny guy who almost took yesterday's stage with great acceleration, but was caught and passed by the Dumoulain.

I don't really have favorites, but I would like to see more of Kim Kirchen, who did well in stages 1 and 2 under tough circumstances. I'd also like to see a couple of awesome bunch sprints to see Hushovd and McEwan hit some absurd speeds. And of course the mountain stages should be exciting, because it's a chance to see some really interesting riding - suffering up hills, screaming descents, and course layouts that will tear the pack to pieces. 200k flat stages are a bit boring to me - hence my always rooting for the breakaway.

Also, doping. Here's the thing. I just don't care. Officials being assholes is more damaging to the sport than dangerous tradition. Hopefully this tour won't see teams getting booted all the way through the race, hopefully it will be sensible and stable.

My favorite bar, Lakeside Lounge, shoes Versus coverage between 5 and 7. I'm hoping to be able to make it there a couple of days a week to watch the coverage. I've found some streaming online content, which is good if I miss the end of a stage (cause come on, the end's the most exciting. As track sprinter world champ from the 1980s said of road racing, "I don't know why you guys take so long to get to the last 200 meters.") but kind of a pain - no Phil Leggett, and crappy quality making it difficult to geek out over bikes. So Lakeside is preferred.

2008-07-03T07:51:00.003-04:00

In track racing, there are races that play right into my strengths, and races where I struggle just to hang on. It was a disappointing night - a 6 lap tempo and a 7 lap point-a-lap. Fast, short races that favor the Big Thigh Guys and left me struggling to hold on. Longer races - eight, nine, ten laps - and I'd be able to sit back, recover, bridge up to the leaders and launch an attack. But not ones so short, and I rode around the velodrome, not placing.

There was also a scratch race of unknown distance, which was fast and fun but an uncomfortable jumble of they-should-have-known-better bike handling in the last 200m that disrupted my sprint.

So it wasn't the best night of racing, but there was a Devil's Scratch for the Feature. Half miss and out, half scratch.

What did you say? That race has my name all written over it?

I agree.

I wound up some sprints to keep myself alive through the eight or so laps of devil-take-the-hindmost and settled in for the scratch section. The six of us were in a fast, tight paceline. There were a few attacks to keep things alive - we were all breathing ragged and rolling really fast. With just under two to go, gui put on a burst of acceleration and I struggled to hold his wheel, but had room to accelerate up the inside once people had responded to hsi attack. The field was going fast as we came around to the bell, and I was in front, looking at Crihs and David (a strong cat 5 and a cat 4 sprinter), on my wheel, wondering who was going to go first - I wanted a wheel.

No dice.

So I jumped hard off the front, an I'll-try-this move that had the cards stacked against me - no banking, no drafting, just me and the guys behind me. I gritted my teeth and put my weight into the pedal stroke and on turn two I hazarded a glance behind me and I had a gap. I tucked my head down and put on my game face, kept the pace high, and rode around to the finish line uncontested.

Some races are just yous to win.

Others you have to keep figuring out how in the hell you're going to beat the competition.

If I were racing more of the latter, I'd get really, really lazy about track racing.

Oh, and I almost forgot:

2008-06-26T09:02:00.002-04:00

Kissena Track Racing blog has got photos of every night of racing. Awesome. Here's one of me winning the sprint for 2nd in the miss and out this week.

***

I have a track racing pet peeve: people talking about what they can't do. As in, oh, it's barely worth trying in that 5 lap scratch - it's pretty much going to be a 4 lap leadout for the sprinters.

It's definitely true that some races just favor some racers, and for folks like us who stock up the ranks of mediocrity at the velodrome, well, it's damn hard to beat folks who are racing in races geared precisely toward their strengths.

But what's even harder is finding the motivation to do so if you think it's not even worth the effort.

Ceya taught me to race my race - back when I did one of the first things I was proud of, breaking away in a points race to score a few uncontested. He said, "Don't look back. Don't worry about them. Keep your eyes forward and race your race." I like to apply this widely around the track. Don't take yourself out of contention by waiting for the pack to swallow you, or by telling yourself what you can't do.

2008-06-25T23:08:00.003-04:00

I've got a Modolo Especial and I ate a big plate full of beans, salsa, yogurt, avocado, and pepperjack cheese. So satisfying after a night of racing.

It was my second night in the 4s. Last week went well, but it was a small 4 field, combined with the 5s - the threat of rain kept everybody away, and in fact sent us all away after only two races per field. Tonight - warm but not hot, a mix of sun and clouds - brought out a lot of people.

First up was a win and out. I have mixed feelings about this race. It's in the "-and out" bucket of "races I like," but it's a hard race (what isn't?) and you've got to be smart (when don't you?). Fortunately, I did race smart - after bridging up to the leaders who were blown from the first sprint, I put myself third wheel with a lap and a half to go for second place. A bike moved up the field uptrack of me - what's-his-name - and I moved over to get on his wheel. Perfect. In turn 4 he dove and attacked and I was right with him. I had plenty left to come around him before turn 3, and opened up some room - or did I? The shadows were in my favor - I could tell someone was trying to come around me. 50 meters, then 20, then the line - and I had him by half a wheel!

John Campo, the track director/cheerleader and former Olympian, had a huge smile, high five, and hug for me after the race. "That was awesome!" Wonderful to get such enthusiastic praise for a guy who's done so much for local cycling.

Unfortunately the other two races were a bit of a bust - a 5 lap scratch that was basically a mile long leadout for the sprinters. Epidemic in the 4s and 5s are fast guys who will just pull attacks back to the pack rather than bridge and work together to hold a lead. It makes me very much interested in having a team that will work together, including blocking or sweeping those dead weights off an attempt to really get the race moving!

Last up was a snowball. I moved strong to take the 5point lap, but was edged at the line by the guy I had beaten for 2nd in the win and out. I tried to grab his wheel to recover for the next lap, but got sudden chills and a strange, cooked sensation. I sat up and the race was over for me: disappointing.

However, that 2nd place finish was enough to earn me a spot in the A feature - just barely. I had been talking about wanting to race longer scratch races than the 5-8 lap races that are standard in the lineup, but I groaned when I saw that the A feature was a 20 lap scratch race. "Damn my tongue!" But I was excited to roll with the big boys. I shot off the front a few laps in and held a gap working with somebody else, but the pack only humored us for so long before hauling us back in. I spent a little time in the back, a little time in the front, and bridged up to another short-lived gap - it was a fun race. It was faster than other races I've been in - higher sustained speeds, which get everybody rolling fast together rather than just shattering the field cause some sprinter is sprinting for points or a win or something. Fun stuff.

A Feature, I'll be seeing you again.

2008-06-21T15:14:00.003-04:00

From the NYTimes, "An Olympic Cyclist's Levelheaded Advice". A reporter speaks with Christian Vande Velde about the basics of training to race.

Unfortunately, the writer didn't seem to know whether or not she was writing for a lay audience, so the article comes off sounding really lacking in direction. Explain the basics or pick apart the particulars? Depends on who you're right for, doesn't it?

Quite regrettably the article starts out by talking about spending money, which I think is bullshit. Yes, you need a race-worthy bike to race (and it's good that they mention that the difference between spending $600 and $1500 is much, much, much more than the difference between spending $1500 and $8000), but the article is really about training, and in order to train all you really need to be able to do is get comfortable on a working bicycle.

If I were writing the article, I'd have written something like this: "If you're a road cyclist looking to get into racing, no need to buy another bicycle. Instead, spend money on a few things that will keep you on the bike longer and let you put in good training time. A professional fitting can run a couple hundred bikes, but can get you set up in the perfect intersection between comfort and performance. Saddle comfort is a very personal area; try buying several, from cheap ones to more expensive ones, to see what works for you. And make sure you're comfortable in your shoes. Setting up your contact points on the bike - the bike fit, saddle, handlebars, and shoes/pedals - will ensure that you won't experience pain or discomfort that would block you from training to achieve new personal highs. These, much more so than buying a new titanium/carbon/whatever-material-is-in-vogue-right-now racing bicycle with the latest gimmickry (11-speed? Really, Campagnolo?) will get you competitive - which, after all, is about your strength - not the bike."

It could also have benefited from a section like, "For those who don't care to spend a cool grand on a power meter, there are other ways to train. A basic $15 cyclecomputer can guage your speed, distance, and ride time. Ride the same training route and see if you get faster during key splits. Train for sprints by keeping an eye on your maximum speed, and also by improving your leg speed - in certain mid-range gears, aim for target speeds that have you spinning at 150+ rpms (32mph at 42-16, for example). Try to climb the big hill on your ride (yes, it should be much, much bigger than the lump in Central Park) in ten fewer seconds next week. A minute less by next month."

2008-06-19T09:57:00.001-04:00

Yesterday evening, I pinned a new number on my jersey while hoping that the predicted rain would stay away. We rode out in a shower - one of those short, bright, heavy summer rains - but the streets were dry by the time we got out to Kissena. It was my first night in the 4s, I didn't want it rained out.

Unfortunately, the field was small due to the threat of the weather, and the 4s and the 5s were combined, since there were very few 4s out.

While warming up, Niki was taking dives off the banking. Last week he showed that he can hold a breakaway, and I gathered that he was working on his technique that would allow him to break away again.

The first race was a six lap scratch. "Roll it off, stay together, and I'll give you the whistle on turn 2!" Alan hollered. I stayed high on the banking, right in the front, as we crept around. The whistle blew and I heard somebody swing up the banking toward me; I looked over to see Niki diving down again. Racing is about split second decisions and some good luck; I was in the right place to respond, tilted down the banking, jumped, and caught his wheel. After a lap we had 100 meters on the field. "Half lap pulls," I said. There was another guy with us; when I pulled off to let him forward, he didn't take it. Niki stepped up, I fell in behind him, and we dropped the third. We kept the rhythm going; every so often I'd hazard a glance behind me. The field was still over 100m back, and Niki and I were feeling smooooth.

The bell rang, one to go, while I was in front. I thought about feinting to get Niki to take the lead, but didn't want to risk having the pack swallow us with half a lap to go. I put on an in-the-saddle acceleration and hoped Niki would lose my wheel. I glanced under my arm and thought that he did; I did my best to keep the pace high. But between turns 3 and 4, there he was on my elbow, coming around me with a strong final kick. I gave him a good run for it, but he had me. "No," he said later, "I never lost your wheel. You just gave me the perfect leadout." But I don't consider it a loss when you breakaway with a pal for six laps and come in 2nd.

The next race was an unknown distance tempo. For races where each lap is worth points, I like to give it a couple laps until the handful at the front have exhausted each other, and then attack. After two, I moved right up the field and bridged up to the three or four leaders, winding up on Niki's wheel with the leader in our sights, saying, "Let's catch him." Half lap pulls and we left him in the dust, holding a gap on the pack. I picked up one second (1 point) and two firsts (2 pts each) before the pack started threatening us again. Confident that I'd placed, I sat back and let them fight it out for the two remaining sprints. Khary, that initial leader, probably got first, but I think I got 2nd again.

We were all set to roll off for our third race when the rain started coming down in earnest, and everybody went home. Andras and I rode toward the triboro, stopping at the Astoria Beer Garden for a pitcher of pilsner.

Not bad for my first night in category 4.

2008-06-12T10:50:00.001-04:00

Whew. My last race night in the 5s, and it was a doozie. The first race was a snowball - points for the winner of each lap, increasing in value each lap. I attacked hard with 3 to go but was edged at the line, tucked in behind him, and attacked again on the next lap - got it, pushed hard, held it as he tried to come around me, barely winning the final lap.

Three hard sprints in a row and boy was I hurting. I managed to keep myself in decent condition during a scratch race with an improbable breakaway. Assuming it couldn't last, the leaders never launched a chase. I wound up moving hard at the end and got 3rd place. But my legs felt too wobbly for their own good on the miss and out, and i missed, getting pulled with 5 riders remaining.

Man, almost everybody turns very wide around turn 4 at Kissena. It's worth watching. I could have moved harder to stay in during the miss and out, but it could have been a bit sketchy. Everyone - myself included - should remember to turn all the way around that turn.

Well, I qualified for the B Feature, but it was a 12-lap Tempo - points for 1st and 2nd on each lap. These are fast, hard races to do well in. I told BA that I'd go hard to launch him forward on the 2nd lap, but there were already strong attacks being launched by that time. I burned hard for a lap and a half to move him forward, which was successful, but didn't stick. I did half-lap pulls with another rider to settle into a rhythm and work our way up to the shredded leaders' field - with two to go I caught one of them, kept plowing forward, and got up in time to sprint for 2nd across the finish line. The story of the day was that Niki, holder of the track's Hour Record, broke away and held the lead for the entire freaking Tempo.

Next up - me figuring out how to sustain a strong pace for a long enough time. I have a good sprint and I can sit in and position myself well, but I have a hard time doing any kind of solo effort.

2008-06-08T20:07:00.002-04:00

I don't ride with a computer - a speedometer plus a bunch of other bells and whistles depending on how much one spends (including in the $1000+ range, if you want to measure your power output).

I don't ride with one because I could see myself staring at it too much - twenty four? hmmm. i can be going twenty six on this section. UH OH TAXI! - and possibly getting myself into dangerous situations.

I also don't like to think too much about data. Even getting into racing and "training" (scare quotes to differentiate it from an actually serious training regimen), I try to remember that it's supposed to be fun. I succeed, too - I backed off of alleycat racing when it was getting stressful. There were too many races that I wanted to do, and I started doing well enough to be disappointed with myself when I didn't do even better. That's when I realized that a) I felt like a dickhead to myself and b) it would be really dumb to get hurt doing a sport that I wasn't enjoying because I was too busy trying to win because I had gotten in the top five in some other (very different) race.

Where was I? Oh, right, not having any data. Until recently, that is - I clocked 13.84 seconds in my first flying 200, which gives me an average speed of 33mph, which makes me say a) daaaaamn, okay; b) what would my Mom say? and c) I can do better.

2008-06-06T10:39:00.002-04:00

3. Thoughts on my new bike.

The Felt TK2 that I picked up last week has seen three days of Velodrome action thus far - two Wednesday night omniums and Super Sprint Sunday.

My first impressions were good - it's got big ugly welds but they're fairly clean and uniform, though without the filing or smoothing that Cannondales or Bianchi Pista Concepts use. No matter - fit is way more important. The Felt is a 52cm, which would be too large for me, except that what's called a 52 is much more like a 51, whereas other companies' 52 size closer to a 53cm. It's always good to get familiar with reading geometry charts and knowing what sizes you can ride - you don't want to exclude possibilities because of what size name they're given, nor do you want to buy a bike that fits too small for you.

I think that bikes at the small end of the size range should come stock with 165mm cranks, and Felt says that their 52 does, but this one has 170s. I'll trade them for 167.5s, to get the tradeoff between spinning and power. The Felt comes stock with Deda Pista bars - 42cm wide, oversize clamp, and just too damn big for most people.

I did use the 170s for the three events, and the Deda bars for two, however. The Dedas kept me slightly uncomfortable and I felt as though my spin was sacrificed somewhat with the 170s - this was noticeable toward the end of my sprints. That's also a fitness and strength issue that I'll have to address with training, not parts trades.

I was slightly nervous about the Felt's very steep traditional track geometry. Kissena is bumpy and though I had the opportunity to buy the Felt, given the choice I might have gone for a Cannondale, with its somewhat slacker geometry. However, the Felt has exceptionally stable front end; especially with the better-fitting handlebars I put on it, it handles well. The rear end skipped around a few times on turns 2 and 4 during hard efforts, but everybody's bike does that. My Pogliaghi did that a few times. It's a reminder not to exceed 120psi, which I've done when ambitious a few times.

My only gripe is the trackends - they're short, and without steel inserts. I don't know if the aluminum will get chewed up, but I do take out and re-insert my wheel frequently, to change cogs once I get to the track (note: Miche splined cog and carrier system totally rocks). The trackends barely accomodate a 2-tooth difference. Felt has addressed this with both longer trackends and steel inserts in their 2008 model, but I wish they had the foresight earlier. Oh well.

Anyway, enough talk. I'm at work, which means I should be daydreaming about some really long miss and outs.

2008-06-06T10:31:00.002-04:00

2. Bike fit and track bikes

I was just going to make a post about bike fit (well, two nights ago when I started writing this) when I read this post by Gui. It was particularly timely, because while waiting up at the Queensboro Bridge for others to join our caravan out to Kissena Velodrome on Wednesday night, I took off the 42cm Deda Pista bars that came on my Felt TK2, and put on some 38cm B125s. The difference is significant and delightful - immediately the fit felt much more locked in.

Track body position is interesting, especially considering how it's been influenced by a bunch of different trends. One is the trend toward compact sizing in road bikes - these days, a racing bike doesn't look like one unless it's got a whole bunch of seatpost going up there to compensate for the toptube sloping downward from the headtube (there's more to compact sizing than just this, however). Another, thanks to NJS import trends, is the aesthetic of deep drop stems and handlebars - people who haven't fit themselves to a whole lot of bikes assume that they've just got to get super low on a track bike. Combine the two - lots of seatpost on sporty, racing bikes, and low bars - and you wind up with people reaching very low indeed for bars on bikes that might be a cm or two too small for them. In the process, they may be sacrificing power, comfort, and handling.

I think that a lot of people can comfortably ride track bikes that are a hair larger than they're used to - especially people coming at track bikes from the track-bikes-on-the-street heritage. Additionally, standard road stems and handlebars like Cinelli Criteriums and Nitto B125s deserve consideration - particularly for shorter people. I've found that I get better low positioning by bending my elbows rather than having my bars very low. I think that some people who have their arms sticking straight down to their track drops are putting too much weight on the front, and might have some sketchy handling because of it.

Taking a look at how Japanese keirin riders ride the totally hip NJS bikes - they're using the classic "fistful of seatpost," which means that the bikes they're riding are larger for them than American kids who ride bikes size the frames. That's why they use deep stems and B123s - not to mention they're pretty damn fit athletes, and have a use for the extremely aerodynamic, bobble-heads-down low position.

Speaking of keirin, I've had a few conversations about how Japanese Keirin is pretty different from the ordinary keirin event in non-Japanese track racing. Here is a cool blog post about Japanese Keirin (and a bit more; and a good read is Ben Kersten's diary as one of the few non-Japanese cyclists invited to compete in the International Keirin circuit. I really liked reading about the three different sprinting strategies, that you've got to declare in advance. That really changes the race. And, of course, his faux pas was a great read.

Which reminds me of my own nervousness the first few times I got to the track - like middle school, I was afraid I'd ignorantly make an egregious error that everybody would notice and would just be awful and underline my complete idiocy.

But it didn't happen. Moral of the short story is, if you're thinking about racing on the track, get your ass on to the track.

2008-06-06T10:26:00.001-04:00

1. Messengers: I like 'em!

Messengers might be the friendliest group of people in the city. So often, while riding, or while locking my bike up, some dude will roll by babbling a barely coherent greeting - "allrightallrightallrightallright!" or "what's good, what's good?" seem to be the common ones, with a rhythm that matches the pedal strokes. It never fails to put a smile on my face. Once while leaving my building, a dude and I just put up our hands and high-fived, without a word and with barely any eye contact.

I'm not talking about the young twentysomethings on dirty track bikes. I'm talking about the grizzled veterans who are unfazed by trends in biking, who haven't let cameraderie curdle and sour into contempt for outsiders or intruders. I'm talking about the guys who smile when they're riding, like the guy who raced me down 5th Avenue during our commute a few weeks ago. Like the hispanic kids who seem to stick together, on color-coordinated vinyl-wrapped mountain bikes, but who would return a nod and mouth "buenos" across the street when I was delivering food in the winter. And then there was the dude who approached me when I flatted coming off the Williamsburg Bridge - already late to work and without a repair kid (what a gn00b!) - with a tube, and wouldn't even let me buy his coffee from the streetcart.

It reminds me to go out of my way to be friendly to strangers. It reminds me that moving all around the madness of this city are highfives waiting to happen.

2008-06-04T23:29:00.001-04:00

A good week for track racing - 2nd place in Super Sprint Sunday; today during the twilight series, I took 2nd in a Win and Out, 2nd in the Scratch race, and placed in the Points Race.

Next week will be my last week in Category 5.

Sprint workouts are helping my sprint; the Felt TK2 is starting to fit really well.

And I love Kissena Velodrome.

2008-06-02T08:28:00.001-04:00

2008-05-31T13:31:00.002-04:00

People are doing weird shit on bikes these days. John Prolly's weekly tricks throw-down sees some pretty ill shit, and the trailer for the Bootleg Sessions II shows a horizontal trackstand and a short game of bikeslap that's really fucking awesome.

Of course, we're doing weird shit too, and getting some attention from strange places. Tracklocross/Mud Sweat and Tears got a write-up on Trend central.com", which I didn't know even know about. But apparently we're the new hottest shit. Do we count the minutes until we've got a NYTimes Style Section article about us? I don't know. All I know is that tracklocross was borne from the idea that riding bikes on Randall's Island would be fun as shit. And it was!

Of course, lately I've just been into going fast and turning left on a 400 meter concrete oval. Wednesday saw a brutal 7-lap tempo that I took 3rd in, and a 12-lap Devil's Scratch as the B Feature race that I took 2nd in. I finally did a smart thing, marked the right guy, and completely stuck with him even though his sprinters' thighs have a serious edge on mine.

Tomorrow is Super Sprint Sunday, and me and the new bike are pretty excited for it.

2008-05-15T13:13:00.002-04:00

Occassionally, I've gone over to NY Velocity to read up on race results, or local racing news, or whatever.

Bad idea.

There is some toxic, petty bullshit going on over there. People fired up in the competetiveness of racing, combined with the easy anonymity of being an internet tough-guy... that's a website to avoid. Can't find last weekend's race results without tripping over the word "sandbagger" a dozen times!

But sandbagging is kind of obnoxious, and I wish the roadie who heads up all the Cat 5 fields on the track will just throw his luck in with the 4s. Where he'd do well enough, or get destroyed by other racers who are getting really smart at working together.

But I was able to get a bit of comeuppance in a 9 lap points race. Early in the race I went high up the banking on turn 2 and got a bit head of speed, opening up a gap. I looked back several times to see how close they were, but it took them a while to react! The gap grew as I tore around turns 1 and 2, and I kept the pace high all tooth-grinding down the back stretch, and stayed alone as I cruised past the line to take First in the first point sprint! That was the first time I've broken away like that, and I blew pretty well after it; the pack swallowed me, I sat on some wheels, and didn't score for the rest of the race.

Next up was a 7-lap scratch. Early on I was wondering two things - can I do it again, but with company? And how will I avoid that strong rider who's new to track racing and bouncing around in the pack? I whispered to him that if he went, I'd follow. He broke strong and it hurt to try to follow him; they chased us down pretty fast but people were tired. Not too tired, though; there was still a strong sprint at the end. I was in fourth trying to sneak up to 3rd, but instead, ex-5th caught me around the outside, and instead of sneaking 3rd, I got 5th.

And finally, a Win and Out. Not my favorite race, but it's one that I have a shot of doing pretty well in. I wanted to sit back on the first sprint, try to bridge to the losers of it, split the pack, recover, and have a shot for the second. It worked; the field was split, but not enough. I wound up sitting back for the second sprint and let some other dudes get tired, then moved hard on the backstretch and tore up their fatigue to win third.

These finishes qualified me for the B Feature race, with the 4s. A ten lap scratch - I figured I'd just sit in and enjoy it. Worked pretty well and I even reacted to the final move with enough time to be in the sprint - though at the tail end of it, getting 5th.

All in all, a good night at the track. Tomorrow morning is the road bike training ride, and the Saturday, Sunday, or Monday I'll find time to get in my sprint interval ride.

Maybe I should get a computer, so I can figure out how fast I'm going, ever. It's a pretty basic "training tool" - not like a thousand-dollar powermeter hub or crank*. I definitely want to get faster, and so some smart training, but I don't want to get caught up in the techie-game of it, focusing on watts and distances and stuff. I'd rather just listen to how my body feels, have fun, and get stronger.

*These aren't for me, but any shittalking I may do of people who use them is done entirely in jest. I used to be the same about lycra, which I wear in spades now, so, you know, grains of salt, feet in mouth, whatever.

2008-05-07T22:50:00.002-04:00

Lesson learned. When you're doing all the work to catch somebody off the front in a scratch race, and you pull off what you think is a paceline and the dude in the fancy kit behind you says, "Don't give up now, let's catch him," just yell back, "If you want to catch him then take a fucking pull."

Don't just buckle back down, tow them to the leader, and blow up.

Stupid scratch races.

Finished 3rd in a miss and out, though.

I do sort of wish I didn't have twenty five miles worth of riding in thick traffic to go to and from the velodrome - though the short skitch off of the scooter piloted by everybody's favorite bike racing Hungarian cartoon character was fun.

Anyway, what can I expect after a week spent barely riding - well, every day, but nothing serious - you know? It's time to buckle down if that's what I want to do. Wednesday track races. Friday morning road bike rides. Sunday evening sprint workouts. Commuting, of course, for base miles (whatever those are good for*), and intervals in central park if I'm going that way.

*I can ride all day and never tire.

2008-05-04T14:57:00.002-04:00

A handful of New Yorkers traveled up to the Elm City yesterday for Grand Theft Velo II. I had talked a bit big before the race, saying that I was there to do better than I did last year (2nd overall, 1st out of town).

Last year's race was full of short sprints - 3 manifests with closely grouped checkpoints, many just given by location name, favoring the locals. It hurt me a few times, and with no time to plan the best route, a lot of on the fly decisions and hope-for-the-bests came into play. I thought I was doing worse than I actually was, seeing other riders leave checkpoints, but the hectic nature of the race was such that riders were flying by all over downtown, in all directions, and you couldn't really know who was where.

In the middle of the second manifest, we had to pick up a package and carry it with us the rest of the race. I had the misfortune of getting a long, triangular Fehttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=36842784
Blogger: tri state vagabond - Create PostdEx box that kept trying to fall out of the way I had it crammed between my bag and my back. Others were lucky enough to get flat packages. Buggery!

And, knowing full well that I was pretty sure I was wrong, I tried to quickly find a CP that was much further away, during the last manifest, and lost time and places. I finished 8th - well, sort of. 2nd place actually only did 2 manifests because of an organizer error, and rumor had it that the winner cheated something fierce (wtf?!) - so it's still a strong finish either way you cut it. But I wasn't thrilled. However, it was nice to race an alleycat again - it's been a while. Valentine Alleycat (in NYC, 4th place), and Battle for Brooklyn back in October, were the last two that I've done.

New Haven does know how to throw a good bike party, and it was nice to see some of the heads up there, including Matt from Ghostship, who's sponsoring Tracklocross pretty nicely.

2008-05-01T12:24:00.003-04:00

A crazy night last night at the track. On the way out, I got right-hooked by a livery cab turning into a driveway. Nearly right-hooked, anyway. It took some skilled skid-turning to avoid it, but I'm more impressed at my ability to engage in a very hostile argument in Spanish with the driver, who claimed que no tiene la culpa. I assured him that he did, and that in future, que necesita buscar, necesita usar los ojos! Pinche punetero!

It got my heartrate up, but that's not the same as warming up - I only got in a paltry two laps before the races started, and when the 5s were called to the rail for a 9 lap points race, I was cold. Bad condition for busting my ass, which I did, placing in two sprints and winning a respectable 3rd. But when it was all said and done, I felt like I was going to puke.

I felt a little bit better during the scratch, and moved strongly with Dan Bones. It didn't stick, though, and we wound up spending too much time in front. When things heated up on the final lap, I blew up hard, sat up, and didn't place. I was hurting. I'm going to have to figure out how to get the strength that some other folks have, for counterattacking and spending a couple laps off the front.

The third race was a miss and out; with somebody from Brooklyn Velo Force setting the pace, we hustled around the track, sprinting through turn 4, trying to avoid getting pulled off for getting in last each time. I stayed in the back for most of the lap, hustling up on turn 3 and coming down the banking on 4. It worked out well - I stayed in. For several laps I was boxed in on the inside but made some room in the sprint. I had a few kicks in me and hung on until there were just 3 of us remaining. Thinking that the neutral lap was the last lap, Andy kicked hard as the BVF rider moved forward, and I thought I was done. The pace stayed high into the actual bell lap and I fell off Andy's wheel. Hurting, I almost sat up and settled for 3rd, but I remembered that Andy was hurting as much as I was. Tapping into reserves, I put on an extra burst of speed and pulled even with him in turn 3; in turn 4, he looked over his left shoulder, but I was coming down the banking on his right. We sprinted hard and I edged him for 2nd place.

Of course, that put me in the uncomfortable spot of getting invited to the B Feature, to race with the 4s in a 12 lap points race. Immediately, with no break, and coughing like an asthmatic. Fortunately the pace stayed sane, and when I caught my breath by sucking wheel on the end of the line, I felt good enough to move up and place 3rd in one of the middle sprints.

I got a word from another rider about a move I had made, and started to think maybe I wasn't as safe a rider as I thought I am - maybe my confidence isn't so deserved. But talking about it later, he clarified what he had told me - just that I had unintentionally blocked him. Not unsafe, just (perhaps) unwise; he went on to compliment some of my riding, which made me feel a whole lot better.

Can you tell I'm excited for these Wednesday night races? Some people are encouraging me to upgrade to the Cat 4, but I'd like to stay in the 5 field for a handful more races in order to gain confidence, continue getting in better shape, and wait till I get a bit faster. Maybe after a few weeks of the sprint/recovery training that I am planning.

2008-04-28T09:53:00.002-04:00

Opening Weekend at our home turf, the Kissena Velodrome, was this weekend. With the motto of Heidi's race series from last summer, GET FASTER, ringing in my ears, we headed out for the races. I was feeling pretty good - Thursday morning training rides up the west side of the Hudson River, working bike delivery and getting base miles and lots of short sprints in, and spending more go-fast time on the road bike, including last weekend's road race... well, they made my legs feel like they were in a good place. I wasn't out there to win, but I was out there to gain some more experience - data, if you will - and see where I was so I can think about getting stronger and faster for the upcoming Twilight Series.

Saturday's events - a 1,000 meter time trial, a team sprint, and a 9-lap points race. The time trial hurt. The team sprint was fun - the impromptu team I was on included my sweetheart and a stranger. We worked well enough together and came in a respectable 2nd place. But I much prefer mass-start events. I don't consider myself to be a particularly strong racer, so I'm relying on reading race dynamics to take advantage of situations. In the points race, someone broke away, but I was able to push the pace of some confused racers, and took 2nd place in two of the three sprints - not bad!

Sunday's races were exciting - once the track dried out. The 6 lap scratch was unimpressive. Everybody riding for five laps and then sprinting for 1 doesn't do much for me. I'm going to have a better strategy for that race - hurt the field a bit and try to take the sprinters out of contention a bit. Then there was a charriot race - one lap, standing start. Kind of a crappy race for the Cat 5s, and the women, while everyone else is doing Keirins. I took first in the qualifying sprint, and third or fourth in the final. More points toward the omnium. But it was the win-and-out that I was really excited for - though I prefer miss-and-outs. But I was excited; one sprinter took off very early and was barely contested for first place. Two guys shot off hard for the second place sprint, and one was totally toasted as I and another strong rider set the pace winding up for the third place sprint. Coming around turn 4, about to embark on the last lap, I was in 2nd position, with Joe in front of me and Andy, winded, behind me. Joe, following what had been our move of swapping pulls to set the pace, moved over for me, but I didn't take the lead. I called to Andy to take it, but he couldn't move forward. I, on the other hand, wouldn't be persuaded to take the lead going into the last lap. Our pace slowed down on the home stretch, but going into turn 1, we were high on the banking - a place I love. I moved, tearing down it with a big head of steam, and opened up enough space. They never caught my wheel and I took the sprint by at least a bike length. 3rd place! And in a win-and-out, you really have to earn it!

So I took 4th place in the Cat 5 omnium. A good start to the season - I'm very excited for the Twilight Series.

2008-04-23T10:48:00.003-04:00

Well, I've been busy. Organizing the toughest, most innovative race series of the year is hard work. Getting sponsors, on the other hand, is lots of fun. You just send emails telling companies how rad your event is going to be, and then a week or two later, you get a UPS slip on the door telling you that they tried to deliver something, but that you weren't home (you were), and that they'll try again tomorrow between 9 AM and 7 PM!

Sludgement Day kicked the racers' asses - being longer and harder than elite cyclocross races. Tracklocross, or busted version of grasstrack racing, was a hell of a lot of fun. We had a great field with cones already there waiting for us to use it! We set up an oval and started running the races. Riding an all-purpose track bike around turns on wet grass is very difficult; it was easy to have your rear wheel slide out and go down. It was very hard to accelerate without slipping - thoughtful weight distribution was key. And it was hard - fast, sprintey, sketchy, and fun.

Leaving the "illegal, underground, and intense" realm, I bought my USCF license a month or so ago, and this past weekend I got a chance to use it during the Prospect Park Spring Series. I had heard enough about Cat 5 fields to be flat-out afraid of getting caught up in a wreck on this race, so solicited some solid advice - stay near the front or on the shoulder of the pack. If you're caught in the middle, let yourself out the back and work your way up the side. I raced a strong race, staying near the front, and being a part of the notoriously difficult to organize strong-but-inexperienced racers that Cat 5 fields are known for. Tried a couple interesting moves, almost held a break near the end, got swallowed up, didn't have much left for the final sprint, and finished toward the front of the midpack. Not bad!

Kissena Velodrome's opening weekend is this weekend, though, so my second road race will have to wait. And I've got to pick up my track bike from Taliah Lempert's studio.

In other bike world news, a notable local advocate for sensible/alternative transportation has offered me a job. So it looks like my months or bike delivery work are drawing to a close right when the nice weather kicks in.

It's all for the best.

2008-03-27T22:34:00.002-04:00

Right now I think I mostly update this blog for Beth. Which is good. I think I should just send her an email.

I had much fun at Kissena a couple of weeks ago, and even got 4th in a looooong miss-and-out. I'm getting psyched for the track season and plan to go race at Trexlertown at least twice.

Also importantly, I'm throwing a race series that's going to be ridiculous and fun. It even got mentioned on bikesnobnyc, for better or for worse. That blogger's bark is worse than his bite, but half the people who comment on the blog are six kinds of stupid.

2008-02-15T18:14:00.002-05:00

The thrill of alleycat racing returns! What could be better than a Valentine's Day Race - or a pre-Race conversation with one's sweetie that goes something like this:

"Now, hon, I'm going all out on this race, so if we don't stick together - that's okay, right? I mean, the start will be a scramble, and sometimes I just make a quick turn-off for a different route."
"No, that's fine. Go all-out. I didn't want to have to wait for you at checkpoints anyway..."

...all in sensible nature and good fun. And we're not even competitive.

It was fun to race a Manhattan alleycat again - high speeds up the avenues, twisting through intersections, hopping off bikes and grabbing things at checkpoints. At the last checkpoint, sprinting with the guy I'd been riding with all race, I realized that we were in the top 5. We sprinted East on 10th Street from Broadway. I caught him at every red light but he beat me through every intersection. I rode up on the sidewalk and hopped down at 25 mph. When we finally got to the finish line - just a bunch of people outside the bar - he dumped his bike and beat me to it as I fell over his bike. A great way to end a great race - he and I catching up to each other, passing each other, and getting passed again. Working together and competing in the strange way that only alleycats can offer.

4th place overall - not too shabby.

2008-01-31T10:28:00.000-05:00

Dispatches from underemployment. That's right, loyal readers who have not found out via other means. I left Large Corporate Nonprofit Organization That Made Me Miserable. It was a congenial and mutual breakup, and besides I had already started to flirt with other cutefaces at the party.

With some room to figure out my next steps, I took a delivery shift for a fancy restaurant in the West Village. It's an amusing affair. I get to work four or five hour shifts riding my bike around a fairly small delivery area - about a mile radius. I bring people overpriced food (Here is your lunch. You mainly just ordered a hamburger, but it's like twenty five bucks), and they give me money.

Getting paid an hourly to ride around is the obvious main Number One of the job, and getting cash is the second. Seeing other folks out and about - riders who I know, messengers and so forth - is another one. There really is a friendliness that's just built on, "I see you riding your bike around a lot," and it's nice. Even if I'm not earning my keep as a hardcore bike messenger - just a food delivery kid. Oh, and really? Don't be fooled by the hardcore talk. Countless messengers have left the streets for better-paying, safer, and more relaxing food delivery jobs.

And any smack talk against food delivery guys for being unsafe bikers is really just thinly veiled racism, targeted at a largely immigrant workforce...

But that's a different post.

This one will just stay here as a reminder that I have this blog, even if it's in a winter hibernation of sorts. I certainly am not. I refuse to be. After all, I'm no longer working in the Windowless Office. I'm all but hibernating. My days are flexible, my bike and I have a part time job, and it's given me a renewed creative energy - spent working on new music in my house, and spent in the recording studio with my band. We're making progress on the album that we've planned since the fall. Well, since the summer, really. Actually, since the summer before that. Depending on when you start counting...

See you in the streets...

2007-12-10T21:31:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, for H's birthday, we went on a 60-mile training ride with a bunch of people we know. It was my first time taking the road bike out for a road bike ride, so I was pretty psyched to see what it could do. It was great powering along on the flats, tucking and zooming downhill, and even sitting back and spinning up some big hills. I loved spending some time in the big ring, and in the drops. Yup. I've been riding this a lot lately, and loving it.

There is a full-sized picture here. Unfortunately, it's not in its natural habitat (yet) - I just put new batteries in the camera, and the bike was against the wall, and what with the seasons being what they are, it's dark outside.

But, it's a photograph to satisfy the curious masses (hi Beth! this post is pretty much for you). Bianchi Veloce steel frame. At first I thought it was Reynolds 631, but it turns out it's a basic Bianchi-brand CroMo. Steel fork, with a threaded steerer. I liked that, because it meant that it was old enough to get a good deal on it. It's a nine-speed triple, with mostly Campagnolo Veloce components. I was thinking of swapping out the triple for a compact crankset, but don't feel strongly about it. 170mm cranks, of course - a bit more leverage, though I do prefer 165s on my track bike. It's sporting a set of f-a-n-c-y michelin Pro2race tires, which i got at the trexlertown swapmeet for ten bucks (not each. total).

I've got some road pedals, but they're currently on my pretty track bike, and since I'm commuting on this one, it gets a set of Time ATACs. I got rid of the ugly clunky stem and squishy saddle that used to be on it. Also, huge bonus is that all my bikes take a 27.2mm seatpost. That means that in foul weather, if i'm riding my beater, i can pull off the seatpost with the Brooks saddle, and pop in this one, with the Selle Italia. And swap to my Pogliaghi, if desired. I like compatability.

This bike is FUN. I love getting into a tuck and going down hills. I like pushing down on the thumb tab on my shifter and having the chain drop to a smaller cog, and going faster.

So, that's the buzz. I like my road bike (even though as a fixed-gear neophyte, years ago, I do recall swearing off derailleurs and coasting for, like, um, ever. but we all say silly things in our youth, don't we?).

Look forward to more pictures in its natural habitat.

2007-11-05T14:42:00.000-05:00

Heading home from Brooklyn on Sunday morning, I watched some of the New York City Marathon - from 125th street, into Mott Haven in the South Bronx.

I really enjoyed seeing all the bands that were playing on the route, and definitely want to apply for my own to play next year.

2007-11-04T17:10:00.000-05:00

I've been absent from blogging on here for quite a while. Most of my internet time is spent at work, and though I can access Google Reader, I cannot open up blog pages - they are blocked. I cannot update this blog, nor can I comment on the blogs of others. Rest assured, though, that I have been reading.

It is autumn. Yesterday, the air was brisk, and the cycling was delightful. A friend, a cycling aquaintance, gave me a wonderful cycling jacket - windproof, fleece-lined, very warm. It's got "Bicycling Magazine" emblazoned all over it - her partner is an editor, and they get much free stuff. I was grateful. It's always a challenge, figuring out how to comfortably bike in the cooler (and, before too long, very cold) weather.

I bought a road bike. Several years old, midlevel campagnolo components, steel and carbon frame - it's absolutely delightful to drop the rear der down to the small cog on First Avenue and go tearing down, faster than the cars, spinning smoothely, chain turning the rear wheel with speed.

2007-09-17T16:50:00.000-04:00

A very recent conversation between my officemate and I:

she: "mumble, shit..."
me: "did i hear you cuss? you know i don't stand for cussin' in the officeplace."
:pause:
she: "fuck you."

we both try to act professional, but we both fail. though, despite this story as evidence, i think i fail more than she does.

2007-09-11T15:55:00.000-04:00

It's possible that I'm starting to sound like a broken record on this subject, but New York City amazes and fascinates me, and I love exploring it by bicycle. When I'm somewhere I've never been before, I'm amazed that I'm still in New York City. The outer reaches of Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island feel like these little isolated suburban refuges that seem to be imbued with a bit more life and liveliness - if quiet - than the sterile, hypoxic repetition and grids of the suburbs that I am familiar with.

Sunday was Transportation Alternatives New York City Century, which meant an opportunity to pay a couple bucks to ride upwards of a hundred miles around 4 of the boroughs, with checkpoints every twenty miles or so, in the company of friends and a couple thousand other people.

The bike - a street-worthy fixed gear. I chuckled, looking at it with its road drops and brake levers with hoods, and its low gear. Last week, it had track drops and a super high gearing, for velodrome racing. It is quite multipurpose, this bike of mine.

My alarm went off at 4.45 - after a cup or three of coffee, some whole wheat bread and peanut butter, and a banana, I strapped on my camel back and hip pouch, threw a leg over my bike, and set out. It was still dark as Heidi and I rode to Manhattan to the north end of central park. She left and I met up with some buddies, and after a few minutes navigating the confusion of the beginning - long lines of bikers of all types - we left the park, heading West. It was just light out by the time we started, and we all felt good. "What say we pick up the pace a bit?" I asked, and with a wink, we fell into a paceline and spun up to 25mph or so, passing by all the cyclists who filled the road.

We made our way down Broadway, to the Brooklyn Bridge, and eventually to Prospect Park at mile 15, where the first rest stop offered us bananas, oranges, bagels, and donuts. Not wanting to either bonk or overeat, I took some fruit but stayed light on the heavy foods. After staying around to regroup and with some of our number waiting in line to refill water bottles, we headed out.

The route took us down to the South Brooklyn waterfront, into Coney Island, and through Sheepshead Bay. I'm amazed at how often I forget that New York City has such an extensive and beautiful waterfront - but so many years of heavy industrial and commercial use (combined with Robert Moses' highways on just about every waterfront in the city) have left New Yorkers with surprisingly little access to the waterfront. Not so in South Brooklyn. It was a beautiful place to be at 8 AM, and we were all smiles rolling into the second checkpoint. Another chance to snack and refill water, and then we were off again.

The route turns north into Queens, and I start to feel the fatigue of the early morning and fitfull sleep. We start going through neighborhoods I am terribly unfamiliar with, street names I've never heard, and surprisingly high-numbered avenues. At one point, I grab a leaf off a low hanging tree, turn around, and toss it at Gabe, letting the wind carry it back to him - deftly, he reaches up and grabs it, and I shake my fists in the air triumphantly.

We reach Kissena, do a lap amid jokes ("match sprints, anybody?"), and head out to the Northest, Eastest corner of Queens, where some friends are mechanicing at the checkpoint. At this point, about sixty miles in, I'm hungry and much desirous of coffee. I wolf down hummus sandwiches before we head out. I could use a nap, but opt to get back on my bike instead.

We venture West through queens, along the waterfront, past LaGuardia airport, and I gaze longingly at the Bronx across the water. I wouldn't mind napping there.

How to pick up the energy? We stop at Gabe's house and get a couple beers. It's midday, or early afternoon - no problem! While we're at the Astoria checkpoint, flirting with a mechanic, we see a guy who's wearing chammois briefs. Unreal.

The diversity of bikes is terribly wonderful. Super-blinged out modern road bikes, time trial bikes. Gorgeous classic steel racers. Clunky mountain bikes. A softride time trial bike. Several tandems (hooray!), including one with a softride rear (weird!). Horrible jerseys. What a fashion show - I loved it!

We set off over the triboro bridge - my legs felt good but I wanted to sleep. It took us back into manhattan, and once again, as I got on first avenue, I went into alleycat mode, spinning madly up the avenue, grabbing an SUV to skitch... of course my buddies could all follow, but it was fun to ride hard amid a more casual pack of cyclists. Finally, there was a loop through the Bronx. The most trying thing about this last leg of the Century was the fact that there were a lot of turns through small side streets, which was just wearing to ride. I'd rather be on some open roads, some long straightaways. But alas - it was a tough twenty miles to the checkpoint in Van Cordtland Park, where stood an older (ex-military?) man in an ugly kit barking orders to nobody in particular, "Okay, you've got eleven miles to go. Food is there, water is there, use the bathrooms, they're over there..." He had a buzz cut. Tired of his drone after just a few minutes, we resolve to hit the road quickly.

Pleasantly, the route avoids some of the monster hills of Riverdale, and brings us over the Broadway bridge. I would have preferred a straightshot down Broadway - reminiscing from the Broadway Bombin' race - despite the hills, but we've internalized the authority of the spraypainted arrows on the street, and we follow the prescribed route. Finally, it turns us back on to Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard, and Central Park is a half mile away. TIme to sprint again! Might as well finish strong, so I get out of the saddle and hammer, trying to stay smooth.

We enter the park, relax, stretch, give each other massages, and, before too long, agree that it is Beer O'Clock.

It's three thirty, and I'm pooped. We chill for a while before I head home. My arse is sore, my body is tired, but my legs feel good. I resolve never to ride long distances on that saddle ever again. I think back on my eating, hydrating, and electrolyte-consuming habits, and think I did a good job of fueling my body.

I start thinking about what it would take to do some other long-distance rides... like a 200K brevet... or a 300K, or a 400K... or 600, and maybe, if I like it, if I grow to like it in four years, 1200K.

2007-09-04T10:17:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I finally went out to the Kissena Velodrome in Queens. It’s a bike track – a banked concrete oval, made for riding track bikes (one speed, no coasting, no brakes) very, very fast. Despite having ridden track bikes on city streets for years, despite having lots of friends who race out there, I hadn’t yet taken the plunge and gone out to race.

Yesterday I did. I put a higher, faster, harder gear on my bike (Beth: 48.15 – what do you ride at the track?), borrowed some drop bars, got up early, packed water and food, and went out to the track.

The racers assemble on the infield, making adjustments to their bikes, pinning their numbers onto their jerseys, stripping off casual shorts to reveal padded shorts or bibs. Many are pumping up their tires; more than one put packing tape over the valve hole on his several-thousand-dollar aerodynamic disc wheel. Others shark around checking out gear and garb – I chatted with a rider from Sleepy Hollow, New York, who had a lovely classic Raleigh as well as a totally awesome jersey with the headless horseman on it.

The races are separated by class – Women’s, Men’s A, Men’s B, and Masters. I’m in Men’s B, which has a curious mix of first-timers, the skilled but (comparatively) slow, and the dudes on super expensive bikes with thighs the size of my torso, who should probably be riding in the A group. So, fortunately, there’s plenty of time to wait around and rest between races.

My first race is a match sprint – four riders, two laps. Typically the first lap is very slow as each rider tries to avoid being in front. A rider in back can predict if and when the lead rider will make a move, draft the lead rider, and pass them on the final turns and beat them in the sprint on the homestretch.

As we’re finishing our casual first lap, I’m behind the lead rider, and the advice I got a few nights ago (“Just don’t try to win your first time out”) is ringing through my head. We enter turn one, high on the banking, and I glance behind me. If I make a move, will Nick and Jack catch it? I shrug. I’m not trying to win, I’m just picking up the pace. I dive down the banking with a big burst of speed and as I come out of turn two I get low, low, low in the drops against the velodrome’s backstretch headwinds. I chance a glance behind me – I’ve got some space! I swing around turns three and the bumpy turn four and stay low and put on one last desperate burst of speed and as I cross the line, I realize that I’ve held off Nick and that my friends in the infield are cheering my name! Holy crap, I won!

I sit to spectate for a while, and, between races, hop on a paceline and do twenty or so laps to keep my legs warm, which comes in handy when my group is called to the rail for a 10 lap scratch race. A scratch race is a basic race – a bunch of laps, with winners at the end.

A few laps in, two guys break off the front, and another young rider who I’ve met a few times at bike events asks me to work with him to reel them in. For five or six laps we’re alternating pulls (riding in front, breaking the wind for the rider close behind to be fast with less effort), closing the gap little by little. For a while, we’re between the leaders and the rest of the pack, but the pack catches up as we close the gap. On turn 2 of the last lap, we catch the leader, who pulls up track and lets us go by (remember, in racing strategy, if you’re in front, you’re at a disadvantage! Kind of like golf in that regard). I’m not in great position for the final sprint; a big guy comes around me on the inside, riding on the grass to sprint past my buddy Nick who’s sprinted by (with me encouraging him!). Coming around turns 3 and 4 we lap another kid – Nick uses him as a blocker to ride high on the track and come down fast, and he’s got the advantage on me. He finishes second to the big guy, and I take third. Not bad for my second race!

After that, it seems, I was pretty done. I raced a miss-n-out, where the last person on each lap is eliminated. Mark and I worked together again to push the pace forward, but didn’t achieve any kind of a breakaway. and besides, there’s not much point in a small breakaway in a miss-n-out. I think one is better served racing smartly with the pack, and not being boxed in during the final sprint. We did a good job, but when the pack caught us after several laps, I was in poor position – on the inside of turn 4 – and was caught out.

I also had the match sprint semifinal, against two very fast guys, one of whom just came from behind, ate me and the other like a shark, easily dispatching us. Later, the other pointed out that it’s wise to get the fast guy in front during the casual lap. Of course – it made me wonder why his strategy was just to cruise along at a fairly brisk pace during the first lap.

I also entered a 20 lap scratch, which was open to Masters (30+ year-old riders), all women, the A group, and any Bs that qualified. It was a fast group, and I was struggling to stay on the end of the pack, hurting every time there was an acceleration. With nine laps to go I bailed, pulling up track, and not feeling bad about it either.

Well, I’m hooked. Beth, you helped me get inspired to get out and race. It’s too bad the season is ending, but I’m excited that by next season, I’ll have my dedicated track bike.

I definitely got the courage and skills to go out there because of Heidi’s prospect park race series, summerslam. Awesome stuff.

‘till next season…

2007-08-29T09:22:00.001-04:00

I can't Believe We're Still In New York City, Vol. ???:

The sun is bright and their air is damp, pleasantly morning cool - crickets and the smell of the ocean. I'm at work in the field and my colleague is saying, "...the seagulls pick up the crabs from the shore and drop them in this square to open them up. Two days ago one hit me in the shoulder!..."

I'm daydreaming. Miles and miles away.

I Can't Believe This Is My Life, Vol. ???:

The phone rings at 7.29 AM. "Sir, the car service you requested is on location at 1071 Intervale Avenue."

2007-08-27T12:21:00.000-04:00

Ski jumping.

Holy crap.

That is all.

2007-08-23T09:45:00.001-04:00

Grant Peterson is some dude who owns a company dedicated to making fun, rideable bikes, on the idea that racing bikes are stupid and not for everybody. Pretty neat stuff, especially considering the fetishization of technology that exists in a lot of bike stuff.

Anyhoo, he's got a nice little piece called Tips for Happy Riding, which I shamelessly plucked off the blog of somebody who i've never met but seems really cool and thoughtful.

Inspired by Peterson's sensibility, I put an easy gear ratio on my bike, flipped my flat handlebars way high up in the air, and passed up the third in a five-part race series (in which I'm doing well) to go to the beach with friends on Saturday.

It was a very good decision.

On Monday night's prospect park race, I had fun racing again - I had the feeling I wouldn't, so I was pleasantly surprised. I stole wheels and blocked some wheel-steals, then hopped on the wheel of a breakaway and had a deadly fast first lap. Wound up coming in 4th and scoring some points - not bad!

My sister has moved to town, and this is a nice thing. We had dinner on Monday night.

You know, in Boggle, when you shake up the cube filled with letter-cubes and you have to keep on giving them little shakes until they settle? But there are always a couple that are lying at odds on their corners?

Shake shake shake.

My band, Maxwell's Demon, is playing a show on Saturday. We have been intensively practicing and writing music and are planning work on a new album - we've got a great start and I am just getting more and more excited to see this develop.

I wish I could take a couple months off work to see this through... I still feel the strongest urge to play hookey, to go somewhere new each day, to wonder where I'll eat my next meal, to explore the corners, to sing songs loudly, to see Manhattan from new angles and heights. But sighing, I return to work every morning.

2007-08-16T12:34:00.000-04:00

As it happens, I am back at my desk at work. The morning was humid and damp, and, unfortunately, the flowers on my desk - this beautiful surprise waiting for me when I got back from vacation - are wilting. So it goes.

I'm restless and antsy. My pedal unscrewed itself from the crank on the way in this morning - why? I don't know - that's not supposed to happen.

I'm discombobulated!

I got back from vacation in Salt Lake City and feel somewhat defeated, deflated to return to a routine that is bracketed by time spent at work. Not unhappy or depressed, but rather, aware of the importance of experiencing new things and the extent to which a 9 to 5 job fetters that, binding the will, energy, and ability in manacles.

I have a sudden claustrophobia, I'm realizing - I need time and space. I need a long afternoon to myself, I need to clean up my shit in my house. I need to listen to REM on repeat. I need a day that doesn't end. I need time for liesurely bike rides - not commuting, not racing, but fun and exploration. I need, again and again, to go places I've never been. I need the clarity of a mountain top, the exciting heartbeat of thin air.

In the past - in more punk rock days - I would dogmatically spew lines about how selling one's labor is the death of the soul, that life it too short to do so, that sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul, that product is the excrement of action, that lived experience must be elevated to the status of art... slogan after slogan... and yet here I am. Quagmires - student loans, health insurance are what keep me at the desk.

I'm thinking of foregoing a race this weekend in favor of a ride to the beach. I was just thinking about how I haven't been in an ocean in a log time. Might be good for me. Shake some of the cobwebs out of my brain.

2007-07-30T11:21:00.001-04:00

Monday morning at work. I'm still thirsty, undercaffeinated, slightly dehydrated. Tired, but my sweat from the morning commute has dried.

I'm ammused at moments that feel like a huge contrast. Monday morning at work, and me feeling sore and fatigued from a weekend of vagabond punk bike tomfoolery in Boston - it makes me think of that delightful scene in Fight Club when Ed Norton flashes a bloody set of teeth at a coworker.

Why did I decide to go to Boston? I have a wariness of Boston that, at some point - mixed with fear and ignorance - blossomed into full-blown avoidance. I'm never racing in Boston! But this weekend, I went anyway. A whole mess of NYCers went up Friday night, and Brantley and I caught a Saturday morning Chinatown bus. Our destination? The L Street Beach, starting line for a race based on the movie The Departed. The goal? First Out of Town. The prize? A custom Geekhouse bike.

We got off the bus and popped into Revolution Bikes across the street. A dirty punk rocker with the thickest Boston accent I've ever heard in real life sold me a tube - I didn't want to be the jerk who flatted and had to bum a tube. We called Dan - who spent years in Boston - to figure out where the hell to go. I figured everything was a long ride away - after all, we're talking about going back and forth across the city!

Nope. Ten minutes had us pulling up to a bike shop where Dan and a bunch of folks were hanging out. We pulled up as it started to pour, and we took refuge inside. While hanging out, the rain kept coming down harder and harder, but for some reason, we decided to mobililze anyway, to head to another bike shop a few miles away.

We rode into some of the hardest rain I've ever seen. When you are soaked through (immediately!), you've got nothing else to worry about from the rain, so you might as well enjoy it. I should have photographed Dan skidding through three-inch deep puddles... or the sight of ten of us dripping wet all over Cambridge Bicycles.

We dumped some stuff at Lauren's house - it sucks to ride with a full traveling pack - but my bag was still heavy. You never know when you're going to need a lock in a race. Still, though, I'm looking for ways to lighten the load that I carry. Going fast is much easier when you don't have a ten pound bag on a shoulder.

It's raining less and less, and then barely at all when we roll through Southie to the L Street Beach. I'm a little nervous about this race, because of my New Very Special Plan: to have absolutely no idea where I'm going and just try to stick with the leaders, with Dan Bones, with Gary, with who ever can be fast, show me around town, and get me placing high. High enough to win some sick prizes. Cause let's be honest. I like winning prizes.

It's a huge crowd that gathers around Scott as he introduces the race, and then, with no warning, "NOW GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" I'm near the back of the crowd which means I'm early out and I hop with a fast pack that hurtles the wrong way down a narrow street and then turns onto L street, which turns into Summer and will take us out of South Boston. It's just narrow enough to be nervous and the neighborhoods are just quiet enough to make the intersections a little bit hairy. It's the lead pack I'm on and there are about twenty of us. I suck a lot of wheel and work my way close to the front, behind two fast Boston guys, a couple fast NYCers, Gary, and a few unfamiliar faces. The plan is to stick with this pack for as long as possible. These are the guys to beat.

I tightly draft over a bridge and we take some intersections together. I'm working hard and pull into the first checkpoint fourth, but there's no checkpoint worker. The moment of confusion means that the pack catches the leaders, and Dan Bones is yelling, "other way! other way!" and we all turn around and there are way too many riders together again, bombing this hill. I hear somebody go down behind me, and I need to go into oncoming traffic to avoid a traffic island.

At the second checkpoint I get in early enough to reach up to the guy sitting on the wall and hand him my manifest, but by the time it's signed i'm in the middle of a huddle and have to push my way out, not caring about people's bikes or bodies. Gary is just leaving - his green bike is distinctive to follow.

We hurtle through streets for another five or six checkpoints, doing some nasty, hurried traffic work. I'm kicking my ass to keep up to the pack, at times, making guesses at turns, keeping Gary's green bike in sight a block ahead of me. And then, a problem - Gary pulls over. "You okay?" I yell. "I'm out of the race!" he says back. Slowing down to ask that meant I had to struggle to keep the pack in sight. Every now and then I see Crihs a few blocks ahead of me, but it's hard... Luckily a guy catches up to me - I verify that we're going to the same place and that he can show me around. This is good. I can be back on track.

But what happens? Passing an intersection I see Brantley - he was ahead of me with the pack - and I turn with him and follow him to... a checkpoint I've already been to! I look up - that wasn't Brantley! It was Colin, wearing a similarly bright and ugly jersey. Fuck. Where am I, and where do I got?

I have no clue.

And by this time the leaders are very far in front of me, for sure.

I yell for directions back to Summer Street and get them, from riders headed in other directions. I meet up with some locals and follow them, but they are going slowly. No way I'm going to catch up at this pace. A few times going back and forth on Summer Street I see the lead pack - I'm two miles back. Brantley and Dan Bones are with the pack and I'm psyched for them, but realize that I'm out of the race.

With that realization comes fatigue; I'm working hard to stay on the wheel of David, a cheery local who accepts the role of navigator. My manifest is in tatters from being shoved in and out of damp pockets, wet hands, stamps and pens. It's getting dark. I could use some water. I could use to race a little smarter. I could have geared down. I wouldn't mind dry socks and a beer.

It's a long race. We go through Boston again and again, through puddles, out to lonely piers, to Chinatown Alleys. Friends at checkpoints say, "Yeah, you're doing pretty well," but I know it's not as well as I could be doing, or as I want to be doing.

Several times, seeing the leaders heading the opposite way, seeing Dan and Brantley with them, I want to skid 180 degrees and hop on their wheel, I want to pull out my manifest and scribble a signature in a few boxes and consider myself "caught up" - but come on, cheating in alleycats? I won't. Would anybody? I hope not.

Finally, the last checkpoint, climbing up Beacon to the State House and setting in to the ride to the finish line. Two others catch up to me and David, and with my last energies, I entertain a sprint to the finish line and am second in our pack of four to cross the line as Scott is counting off - he writes my name down in 27th place.

I frown, and get a funny combination of elated and disappointed in myself when I see Dan and head his way. "Seventh!" he crows. "Nice!" How'd Brantley do? I look at him. He's tight-faced and supresses a sparkle in his eye. The kind you do when you don't want to be overwhelmed as how awesome you just did... "Yeah, I got it..." he said. "First out of town!" Dan yelled! "Third overall!"

Brantley wins a custom frame! I'm pretty happy for him. He beat a casual rival of ours. Dan is super excited, too - he's got his confidence back, his legs back, and his impeccable navigation of Boston did him well - 7th in a race this size, with almost a hundred racers, is no small feat.

We celebrate with snacks from a convenience store, and a 4 pack of Fin Du Monde. Return to the party for beers, me getting drunk and yelling "I'm takin' portraits!" and snapping my camera in people's faces. Prizes all over the place. Smelly punks. High fives. We ride out to L Street Beach again to pick up Dan's chain lock, do some wheelies and other ridiculous shit before making our way - where? Who knows, but we got yelled at from a sidewalk, joined some other bikers including Scott, Brantley, and Aaronplane, and made our way to a bar for a few hours of recap, shooting the breeze, and me running into somebody from college who I cannot place.

Then we destroyed a bag of Doritos on Lauren's stoop and crashed, hard, smelly, and wet, all over her house.

The next day was brunch, desperately seeking a clean scrap of anything to wear, and long, slightly nauseated hours on the Chinatown bus before I made my way back to the Bronx for a fitful but much-needed night of sleep.

What a weekend.

2007-07-17T11:37:00.000-04:00

Last night was the first of a seven week, all fixed-gear race series, , Prospect Park Summer Slam! My team was generously donating a few bottles of our Special Edition Lager as prizes; after gluing labels on to bottles in a hurry we rolled up to Prospect Park as people were gathering.

It was a different crowd than I was used to. Plenty of people from alleycats, but plenty of fast people who are in the bike scene who don't come out to the usual races. Older, more experienced riders, and most people decked out in spandex. This was a Serious Race in an informal manner - very different from alleycat races. On the bike scene's internet forum, people were talking about pack riding, drafting, and treating this like riding on a huge velodrome with hills.

Obviously my city bike - fixed gear, flatbars, front brake - won't exactly suffice. So I pull off my chainring, put a larger one on, pull off my brake, and put drop bars on.

Just the opportunity to move my legs fast and gain more skills. Last night's race was a two-person, four-lap relay race. Jeremy and I teamed up, and I lined up on the line with twenty other racers for the first lap. With a "stay safe and have fun!" from the organizer, we're given the go.

People get up to speed, quickly, and the pack forms. It's not super tight but people are grabbing on wheels. I move through the pack, concentrating on being alert and keeping my spin smooth. I find Dan - we work together and move toward the outside where there's a little bit more room. He's on his fast bike and feels good, and as we're at the Southern end of the park, he moves by me. I grab his wheel.

I'm unused to riding in a pack - hoping I'm aware of riders close to my side behind me, working hard to hold my line. And meanwhile, I'm pretty sure that this frontal pack has left a solid handful of riders behind. Dan moves past the pack but I can't grab his wheel. Niki does and a line of riders forms, with me off to the side. It takes me a while to get back into good position - I let myself drop back in the pack and find plenty of room there.

I'm unfamiliar with Prospect Park. I realize that we've been going down a slight downhill when I realize that I'm spinning out, and that my ass is starting to bounce in the saddle. This means we're easily doing 30 MPH.

I settle out my spin - I want to keep it smooth. Sticking on someone's wheel, no matter what, means that I'll hurt, but a whole lot less than if I get dropped. But I'm also impatient. I want to be near the front, I want to be in good position to get a jump toward the end of the hill. But impatient and inexperienced aren't a good combination, and I'm learning that, when it comes to racing in a pack, where you are is no indication of how you're doing. It's when and how you make your move.

A handful of fast guys make their move at the bottom of the long, last hill. The hill's not very steep, but it's long enough to tire you out. As the pack picks up its pace I furrow my eyebrows, thinking that it's too soon to move on the hill. But the pack thins out, so I get out of the saddle and grab a wheel. Riders are quite spread out by the top of the hill, and as we come around the curve we're calling our numbers to our teammates, who will take the next lap.

I pull over, keep my legs moving, take a squirt of water, and in a few minutes, line up for the next lap. Heidi says that the winner of the lap crossed at 6.45 - I do some calculations in my head and figure out that that means there was an average speed of over 30mph throughout the 3.5-mile loop. Damn.

After a few more minutes of waiting on the line, we hear the riders approaching. A handful of leaders fly by - you can feel their power. I hear Jeremy a little while afterward, and just get up to speed by the time I hit the line. But as I'm riding out into the park I realize that I'm alone. The leaders have taken off, and there's nobody in sight in front of me. A quick look under my arms from in the drops confirms that there's nobody within sight behind me. I stay low in the drops and keep a good pace.

Finally, I see somebody ahead of me. I don't gain on them for a while, but then I begin to. Around the southern end of the park, I catch him, and hug his wheel. I'm sucking air from my effort to catch him and deserve the reward of drafting, even selfishly. After a bit, I pull in front; other riders catch us, Dan and Eric. Dan, who loves to move, pulls around us after a while, and we grab his wheel - he's pulling us up the hill.

In a more intimate pack, I feel more comfortable, and smarter. Halfway up the hill, I make a move, pulling around Tom and putting a lot of energy into the sprint. I'm moving pretty well, but definitely unsustainably, so I'm happy to bellow "ELEVEN! JEREMY! ELEVEN!" as I'm coming around the corner. Jeremy comes off the line, gains speed, and is moving when I cross the line.

I felt great. Tired, yes, but that part of tired when your legs are moving fast on their own accord. I am motivated to get faster, and will get up early at least once a week to do laps of Central Park at a brisk tempo.

Till next week!

2007-07-07T22:59:00.001-04:00

Hooray! Two new blogs I'll be reading:

Beth Bikes. I was fortunate to know this badass lady in college - before either of us were cyclists (I was a biker then, sure, but have since crossed a couple of important thresholds...). I'm not surprised that she's thrown herself into racing with such gusto - everything she does, she does 120%. I love reading race reports by people I know, so I look forward to more. Hey Beth! I'm glad your face healed! Damn!

Bike Snob NYC. When I first read a few of this person's post, I scowled, a whole lot. Come on! A whole blog dedicated to snark? Aren't there better ways to spend one's time? It's not that I disagree with him - yeah, just about everything that he mentions is stupid is really, really stupid. I just try not to let it get to me enough to blog about it... I prefer to try to be more positive than negative. But I've gone so far as to read the extensive comments to some of his posts, and the way that Bike Snob responds is considerably more tempered and even-keeled than I had expected. So that's good.

Oh. A third. A guy in the NYC fixed gear/alleycat scene or community or whatever here, is training for the Hour Record, and writing about it at Hour Record. "Training for the hour" sounds a little bit presumptuous, like taking on Goliath, but who among us here on the streets can say they're willing to punish themselves for a solid hour at Kissena just to see how they do? Plus, further marks in the "race reports by people I know" category.

I was thinking about focusing this blog a little bit more, since people enjoy my write ups of races, but here's the thing: alleycats are really, really awesome, but I don't want to get overly caught up in them. I mean, okay, I'm caught up in them, but I don't want to only write about alleycats. This touches on a bunch of stuff involving valuing processes and things that don't necessarily produce tangible results - "elevating the lived experience to the status of art" - and so needing to remind myself that I have a lot of fun with and on my bike, without racing. So I'm not going to focus it. Because, after all, what has riding a bike shown me? That I can get anywhere and do anything - and more than that, that I want to go places, do things, explore, try things, go to quiet spots in the city, cross through worlds, open new doors.

You can do anything on a bike. Anything. I swear. My challenge to you: bike every day for a year, and see if your life is better than before.

2007-07-06T10:34:00.000-04:00

Excuse me, but do you know about New York City in the summer?

Do yo know about the exuberance? The motivation to spend hours in a park? Do you know about how the buildings tower over pockets of green, peering down, jealous?

Have you breathed in the air shared with nine million people, all wearing very little clothing? Bumping elbows on sidewalks, sharing sweat and furtive glances around the corner; dirty, odd-numbered side streets where burly men throw parcels on to trucks lead to wide open, heat-seared avenues of migrating men in suits, of blaring taxi horns.

The whole city sweats - the smell of that stagnant water in the gutter, or of the sudden moist greenery of Central Park where you go to lie in the grass, to get impossibly grass-stained dirty in a fit of cuddling and wrestling with a friend.

Don't you want to yell and laugh? Grab a stranger's hand and spin around? This is what will happen: the crowd (and yes, there will be a crowd, for where are people but outside on the sidewalks?) will push back to create a circle for you and they will watch, some with glowing eyes, some warily, but when they skulk off they will remember your movement, your effortless and graceless abandon, and they will dance someday too.

New York City in the summer! I let slip to a boss the phrase "slacker summer" not once, but twice. I didn't hide the look on my face when I was asked about my five-day weekend, but let flow facial expressions, grins like laughter at the feelings from letting myself ride, enjoy the sun, enjoy a date or three in new york city, unencumbered, in the summer.

Why hide it? I challenge the liars. You don't want to be indoors anymore than you want to excise a piece of your heart. You don't want to be working, and if you say you do, then I challenge you to run around the block and then head to Madison Square Park; sit on the grass for thirty minutes and then I'll show up with a blended fruit smoothie or some sort, or a beer in a paper bag. Tell me now where you'd like to be!

I was at Coney Island for the Mermaid Parade and, dehydrated, undercaffeinated, and slightly boggled by the hour-long bike ride there, and the sudden infusion of piercing, bleached sunlight, lost my place as I found myself listening to a voice in my head narrating thoughts I didn't know I had; it did take me a moment to realize that the voices came from a loudspeaker, cabled to the announcers speaking the afternoon from their vantage point on the grandstand, but it felt like they were holding my hand through the oddest of dreams.

Later that afternoon, I hopped on my bike and rode somewhere else.

I do, I love it, I feel better than I have in a while. Chalk it up to several things if you want to - and that's okay - but I'm just going to say that I am thrilled by this love affair with New York City. It may take me longer to fall in love with the sighs and resignation of autumn (The Tartar Steppe) or the dream clarity of winter (Winter's Tale), but maybe I need to try harder. Maybe I even will.

2007-07-05T13:23:00.001-04:00

I curse, fiercely and forcefully. It's just gotten dark and the rain is starting to come down hard again; I am on my bike on Broadway in the 30's, heading South of course, and I'm in the worst place possible during an alleycat race: alone. The rain exacerbates the darkness and the lights glaze everything in a shine that obscures rain-filled potholes, pedestrians sneaking out in the road, and my desire to continue riding hard. We're two thirds of the way through Broadway Bomber and I do not yet have a bruised hip, scraped arm, and cracked helmet.

Despite a few mishaps on the way to the starting line - a wipeout in the rain and a broken seatpost bolt suffered by a non-racing friend - the race started off great. We gathered in a parking lot at the tippy top of Manhattan and waited around, staying warm and grabbing snacks from an over-airconditioned bodega. For once, I didn't mind waiting for an excessively late start - the longer we waited, the drier the roads were getting. I should put it in the singular: road. This race started at the beginning of Broadway in Manhattan, and ended at the end. Thirteen and a half miles from the top to the bottom: Broadway Bomber.

When they're ready to begin, the organizers lead us over the Broadway Bridge into the Bronx, to a parking deck behind a Target, a few blocks away from the Bridge. Mike Dee abuses us a little bit when one person crashes and two people flat on the bridge - "You were advised to stay off the steel roadway! There are two perfectly good concrete sidewalks for you to use! Now shape up and get in line!" Before beginning there's a brief hype session. The top twenty finishers from the last race, Rumble Through The Bronx, are given front spots in the pack and gold stars, while the others are told that we are the ones to beat.

I'm strangely calm by the time the security guard comes around to tell us to leave. Mike Dee and Chris ignore him, finish their speil, and with a whoop and a hoot, send us packing. Not knowing how to get off the deck, I follow the dozen guys in front of me down a ramp, and for a few minutes, it's a quiet, tense scramble over sidewalks, off curbs, and the wrong way down the street until we get to the bridge. We all take the sidewalk; I decide to be cautious until we get to open street, and I think everybody else decides this, too, but the difference between me and them is that my cautious is a little bit slower. When we get on to the street and I get up to speed, the leaders have a block on me.

I hop on the wheel of a tall, wide-smiled guy on a Pogliaghi, drafting him. As usual, the first push has fooled me into thinking I'm tired, but as we start up the first challenge - a long, steady climb up to the George Washington Bridge - I settle into a smooth spin and wiggle my eyebrows at a few cheering bystanders. I'm putting space between me and the people behind me, and trying to close the space in front of me. If I can stick with the front pack...

In and out of the first checkpoint, and onward! The next checkpoint is at an island on 163rd; "Eat a donut!" Jacob from Boston says; I take a bite, yell "fifty five!" and get my manifest stamped, and head out as Heidi pulls in. I hear say, "Nope, I'm vegan..." and as I'm pulling out, see a few people overshoot the checkpoint. I settle in to another climb; Heidi pulls next to me and we chat. She passes and pats her butt, yelling, "Hop on!" and I jump on her wheel to draft, spinning well and moving fast in the open stretches of Northern Broadway. I want to work with her, so on some of the fast descents, I take the red lights with my hand brake and give her a signal so she can bomb through with no brakeless reservations.

At the 125th checkpoint we're told, "tenth and eleventh." Nice! I clip back in and we head up the hill - I see a few riders ahead of us and say, "What say we make up a few places?" We pick up the pace going up hill, but then I see something too tempting to pass up - a bus that I can catch up to. I grab a hold on the wheel well, lean away from the wheels, and enjoy a great, fast-paced skitch up to the crest of the hill. I pull in before Crihs, but pull out after him. It's hard getting my manifest in and out of my damp pocket - I finally resolve to buy a cool hip pouch.

The hills are over and we've got time to settle in to a little paceline. Crihs greets me by name - that's cool, I didn't know he knew who I was - and as we're tearing down the Upper West Side we're working together with another couple of riders, communicating well and absolutely flying. My plan was to ride really hard for these stretches of the race, knowing I won't be able to handle the sub-42nd street traffic as fast as some of the others. If I'm keeping pace with Crihs, then the plan is working. Lincoln Center Checkpoint: Check. I tear through Columbus Circle but lose half a block on Crihs and the other two guys.

Suddenly, I realize it's getting dark. I navigate Times Square badly and have to hop a curb, ride through some tourists' picture, and drop off a curb to get to the checkpoint where Amanda, Chombo, and others are working. I pause for breath and realize that I've been dropped: dammit. 42nd street is jampacked and I go through it awfully slowly. My manifest is getting soaked and gross and I don't know where the next CP is - I don't want to fly by it, and I have no security of people in front of me pulling over. Without other riders to keep up with, my pace sags.

And then comes the rain. It starts slowly, with the realization that the street is wet, but then it is drizzling, and then really coming down. It is getting nasty. I'm tense and unhappy - we're in lower Manhattan and this is not a good place for racing. I take the Madison Square Park interchange badly and need to dive across a few lanes of traffic. Kym pulls up behind me as I slow off - "Don't slow down now!" she yells. I thank her and put in a new burst of energy, which lasts me until Union Square. I figured the Checkpoint would be on the island on the southeast side, but as Broadway hits the top of the square, a guy is yelling, "Checkpoint in here!" There are metal gates, can't go through, need to turn around, and then my tires slide, bike is on its side, I'm following it down, and I hear the crunch of my helmet against the pavement.

Stop, start. This is how accidents work. Different day, different time. I get up and grab my bike and straddle it and mumble something. "How's your bike?" Someone asks me. "Don't know, keep racing," I say. I get my mani stamped and I'm shaking my head and body out as I pick up another manifest off the ground in time to see Heidi come back around the corner, looking for hers. I hand it off to her - she barely breaks stride and takes off. I struggle to catch her and do - we share a few grumbles. The race has taken a foul turn - crashing rattles me, the conditions were absolutely dangerous, and the traffic was getting worse in lower manhattan, famed for covering road work with metal sheets. I just wanted to finish this race and get off my bike.

At the next checkpoint, Kym is off her bike, bleeding profusely from her hand. Gary catches up and I get re-energized. I want to beat him. We're getting close but I don't know where to finish. A cab squeezes me against the curb and I elbow its panel sharply; a few riders pass by on the other side and I lose more places - damn. Kym blows by me, still bleeding. Damn. And then there's a bull - we must be close, but I don't know where. I barely know where I am and can barely see where I am. I hear a yell and see a finish line, well off to the side. I yell at those in front of me, do a death-defying turn between a bus and a sedan, and make for the steps of the U.S. Customs House, ahead of everyone I had just passed. I run up the steps.

"How'd you do?" someone asks. "Only went down once," I mutter, as my manifest is checked over. I hand it to Hodari and the guy with the computer and go back down the stairs again. The pack is filtering in, and then it's a swarm, and suddenly there are a lot of bikes at the foot of the stairs.

I need to walk around. I feel weird, shaken, uncomfortable. I got tenth place, I should be thrilled, right? Top Ten in a NYC alleycat. But I didn't like the last two thirds of the race, and I only got top ten because I got lucky at the finish, and I'm cold and wet and tired. I talk with a few other people and more stories fill in - a crash over here, over there. Jeremy running from Canal Street after blowing his last tube in a crash. Heidi's ankle bleeding. Oh, and that sound I heard at the beginning of the race, on the ramp? That was Dan.

But that's races. A pretty big roll of the dice, about conditions, competition, and the ability to see where you've got to go. I don't feel lucky to get top ten - I got nothing out of it, and who wants bragging rights by beating their friends by dumb luck? Points were awarded seven deep for this race - I come up empty.

I have good company. We watch the fireworks. It's okay. It's just a race. My body is sore, but everything's okay.

2007-06-19T10:30:00.001-04:00

I'm eagerly awaiting the results from Rumble Through The Bronx. I know how I finished, but I have to admit - I just want to see it written down among so many other names.

It's not bloody fantastic or anything, but it's way better than I had really planned. I had high hopes, but more realistic expectations, and it was nice to be much closer to the "high hopes" section.

Yesterday, something significant came in the mail - cycling shorts.

I used to tell people, "Oh, I'm not a cyclist, I'm a biker." They'd ask, "What's the difference?" and I would mull for a moment and reply, "Spandex." Really, this exchange has happened several times. I think I even mentioned it in a blog post.

But I guess I've crossed the threshold.

2007-06-07T11:37:00.000-04:00

I get a big stupid smile in my heart when I'm moving through places that amaze me. This one moment last night, coming back from the velodrome out in Queens, biking past Shea Stadium and through a huge cloud of smoke from a car fire.

And then this morning, after a pre-work ride to Piermont, coming back across the Hudson River, seeing Manhattan in all of its glory.

I bought a cute little cycling hat. This is one of the best things about cycling.

If I glance at myself in the mirror, I can see a dark smudge on my forehead, about two inches long and three quarters of an inch wide, next to my hairline. I figured that it was from biking all day in the sun on Saturday - I got tanned in accordance with the vent holes on my helmet. No more!, I declared, and bought a cute little cycling hate, so as to avoid silly through-helmet tan patterns.

Also because it's a funny little cycyling hat. It says "Columbus" on it, which is the kind of steel that one of my bikes is made of.

This morning, several people asked me how my ride was, so I told them that I did a longer ride before coming in to work. They asked how long, and I told them forty five miles, which is the truth. "Wow, you must be in really great shape," is a frequent comment I get, but I'm not too interested in it.

I prefer to talk about how I'm just really proud of myself for having abandoned some unhealthy habits in favor of this far more healthy habit. I'm pretty proud of what I can do with my body - it's an achievement for me, and it's changed my lfie significantly.

I'm wary of sounding as though what is important to me is the Biker Points that I rack up - the mileage, the rides, the placings in races - because at the heart of it is the fun I have, the mobility I've aquired, and the pleasure that I take from it.

I take some inspiration from Jeanette Winterson's Product is the excrement of action (which, by the way, mimics some of the stuff we talked about a few years ago about elevating Lived Experience to the status of Art; oh, and, apologies for linking to crimethinc...): "After all, it's so complicated to have to worry about whether you are really enjoying yourself, how you are feeling in the moment. It is easier to focus on the results, the hard evidence of your life; these things seem easier to understand, and easier to control." When I'm in the saddle, I'm feeling my legs, my hands, my ass, my pace, the wind in my face. I'm looking at the view, I'm moving through it, I'm feeling the pavement through my tires, I'm feeling my feet through the rotation of the pedals. These moments come frequently and they're moments when I am truly enjoying what I am doing, and I can honestly say that I am present to my body, to my self.

I learn lessons from riding.

2007-05-28T13:49:00.000-04:00

We might as well take a moment out of our otherwise busy lives to say that Team Wreck Stuff tore shit up at the Bicycle Fetish Day Alleycat on Saturday, May 26th, 2007. TWS finished First Team, placing 4th (me), 6th (Jeremy), and 7th (Dan Bones!) overall. A TWS affiliate, Brantley, finished 2nd.

We won't get in to how lots of fast racers are out at San Fran for the North American Cycle Courier Championships, but we will get in to how it's great that orgs like the City Reliquary are throwing great, participatory events for cyclists who ride underneath all sorts of flags; how race organizers, bike shops, and bike companies in the scene/community are generous in prizes; and how thanks are due all around to fun times.

This month has been a real nice TWS debut. Keep your eyes open for us in the future. It will be futile and we'll steal your stuff, but keep your eyes open for us anyway.

2007-05-23T15:34:00.000-04:00

I've really wanted to update this blog this week, but I've been running around at work like a busy, busy, bee.

Well, here's a picture of me at an alleycat in New Haven this past weekend. My team went there with the intention of winning - we came in 2nd, 3rd, and 4th. Pretty close if you ask me. 2nd overall/1st out of town is my top finish to date, and a tough one to top.

2007-05-14T16:59:00.000-04:00

New York City is special. You can spend a lifetime traveling and never leave the city limits. You can spend a weekend biking through it and pass through a million different cities. You can be a million miles away and find the green globe of a subway stop lighting up a lonely, quiet corner. You can be in humid midsummer on top of the hill at Sunset Park, seeing Manhattan, the sunset, from miles away.

You can also take repose on a rooftop, maybe when you need it the most. You can watch the people in the building across the street living out their lives, almost close enough to touch, a grid of windows. You can see a world of rooftop terraces, the occasional penthouse, and grey and brown wooden watertowers. They're too numerous to count and from rooftops everything seems close - you want, of course, to be able to jump from one to the next. To fly through, exploring this strange aerial world, all tabletops, craggy summits, smokestacks, and the inevitable crevices between them. You want to be a the most limber tightrope walker, to with two quick paces alight on the next roof, circle the watertower running your palm against its rough surface, feeling the cold iron of the protruding nailheads with your finger before throwing a new line across a gap; in between steps in this brief span you look down to the checkered game of automobiles, to the dancing and woven paths of pedestrians, you hear for a moment a honk, but you take your next step and are on a new roof, a new garden, seeing new buildings - grey, brown, orange, black, or cold impersonal glass - new hard topography.

I cannot throw a line or jump. Not from the window of the kitchen in the office, or from any of the conference rooms either. I can't jump to terraces with sculpted concrete - gargoyles, urns, petric ivy. I have no line. The belief that I can passes, the desire remains.

Last night, for a moment on a rooftop in Chelsea looking north and East, quiet when I needed to be, and thankful that I refused the offered beer. I so rarely take quiet time when there are others around, but I did, and was thankful that my company, my friend among these strangers, knew where I was.

2007-05-14T11:30:00.000-04:00

Oops! I've accidentally been doing way more racing than I anticipated! I even put together a calendar of upcoming races, and I can't believe how much there is to do all through the spring, summer, and early fall. I don't plan on racing everything, but I am enjoying pounding the streets a whole lot.

I didn't intend to race "Three Sparks Night" during the Polo Comp, but got talked in to it. A fun, fast race that was mostly a scavenger hunt. I don't know how I did other than I didn't win, which is fine since I had a blast and also learned that too much Sparks is a very, very bad thing.

I didn't plan on racing "The Angel III," either, but since I was out at Kissena Velodrome watching the racing, I got caught up in the bug. It was a one checkpoint race; the pack hopped on Metropolitan Avenue after a few miles in Queens, and stayed on it till the end. I got out to an early start and kept passing people till I found myself racing with a group of people moving at good speed. Many downhills, easy traffic, some big intersections being blown en masse. At one point I got dropped by the pack. As the distance between us grew to several blocks - and the several more - I began to give in to the fatigue to which the hot, nonstop pace had given rise. Anticipating a red light at an big, tough intersection several hundred yards away, I just began to slow when another rider came up from behind me (in a move known as a Surprise Buttsesh) and said, "Come on! This intersection is important!" We sprinted together, made the light, and I was re-energized. I caught the pack I was with. When we got to the finish, there was a crush to hand in manifests. One of my riding buddies came in tenth; based on that I got my manifest in the collector's hands right afterwards, I figure I came in eleventh or twelfth. The award ceremony was epic - great, generous prizes, which would have been nice to win but ultimately I'm in the racing for the personal challenge and for the fun.

Then I found out about Ghostbusters Race this past weekend. Team Wreck Stuff - a loose affiliation of fun-loving scoundrels - put together a three-person team for this race. It was a 30+ mile, trivia-and-challenges points race that hit some key locations from the film (which I don't think I've ever seen, actually). We rode hard, wrecked a thing or two, experienced lots and lots of close calls on Avenues in midtown, through which we had to ride over and over again between checkpoints and the home base. Finished fairly high - fifth, I believe - but didn't get enough points to place in the top three.

Team Wreck Stuff has made a good showing lately, and we're looking forward to Grand Theft Velo this weekend in New Haven.

There are some sudden/not-so-sudden variables that might preclude my involvement, but if I go, I'm in it to win it - no doubt about it.

2007-04-20T11:26:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I'm going to keep on checking Streetsblog and The Gothamist for some hot news that might be coming from Mayor Bloomberg.

Rumors are flying that an Earth Day press conference will include announcement about a trial congestion pricing plan - basically, a toll for automobile access of midtown and downtown Manhattan.

This goes in line with the perspective, adopted by liveable streets advocates, that charging for things like parking spaces and automobile access to streets - letting the free market limit access to those resources - will both be the disincentive necessary to start a reduction of automobile use, as well as generate revenue needed to expand public transportation service to some of the outer neighborhoods in the boroughs from which lots of new york city drivers drive.

Several months ago, I watched a movie called "Contested Streets," which discussed the rise of congestion in New York City as well as the anti-congestion measures taken in London, Paris, and a couple other cities.

Traffic congestion can't really be dismissed as a niusance; I think of the possibilities that behavior is tangibly affected by the spaces provided for person to person interaction. Streets are bad, and pedestrian plazas are good. There's a reason why Road Rage is not only a common phenomenon, but a common term - we're all familiar with this effect! Furthermore, in the next decade or so, New York City's population is going to grow by an estimated one million people. Where they will go and how they will get around must be carefully considered and planned for - it must be built, now. And it must be built in a way that is going to be safe, healthy, sensible, and sustainable. Cities have an incredible potential for radical sustainability and low resource use - as long as decision-makers are willing to make dramatic changes.

Congestion procing is a good start.

I'll be clicking "Reload" a bunch this weekend.

As a parting image, this is what Park Avenue used to look like. A park. Actually a park - rolling greens and winding brick paths all the way down. How beautiful!

2007-04-12T15:43:00.000-04:00

A foray into reflections on the "blogosphere"? What?

I've been having problems with blogs lately. Some of the fuss over at Tenured Radical gets repeated The Combat Philosopher (who, by the way, has an interesting post about some environmentally despicable things happening - among a host of other despicable things, of course - in New Orleans).

This all seems uncomfortably similar to what happened in Wesleying's post - itself mainly a link to a Wesleyan Argus article - about an incident involving the Middletown Police violently attacking a student of color outside of a party. The comments section was flooded with idiocy from people all too willing to use the internet as a way to shed their humanity and somehow argue that justice has been served with the attacking and pepperspraying of a student who they don't like.

Assholes.

(It makes me glad that my blog isn't heavily trafficked - not that my daydreamy self-indulgence is particularly inviting to inflammatory remarks. Though I have a livejournal that got some idiocy visited upon it by people who chose not to identify themselves - apparently, criticizing racism in the classroom is not good, oh, and something about how liberals are dumb, too. right)

I recently sent an email to The Gothamist, pointing out that while they're a convenient news source, their overall quality goes down as soon as somebody clicks on "Comments" and is exposed to a veritable bevy of racist and sexist remarks, particularly any time Al Sharpton is mentioned, and frequently when he isn't.

Remember when about a month ago, the New York Times broke the news about how people use the anonymity of the internet to act in ways that they probably wouldn't 'IRL'?

It makes me wonder if, as more and more of people's communication and interaction takes place through the internet (as it has for a chunk of people in this world), people just become worse human beings.

Today, it was rainy, and people bumped me in the face with their umbrellas, but I wrote poetry and picked up an Italo Calvino book. Kurt Vonnegut died recently. There - I waxed blogoriphic, as I am wont to do, so as to keep this post consistent with my others.

2007-04-09T11:31:00.001-04:00

Real New York

There's nothing quite like walking through the garment district in the morning. Box trucks are idling while men push racks of clothings around, taking up sidewalk and street space, yelling at each other in classic NYC accents. In these narrow side streets it feels like walking through a New York City that's a little bit more real than some of the cleaner places where the sun shines with more clarity.

Of course, I'm well aware that it's foolish to romanticize some notion of a realer, authentic New York. All that does is play silly games trying to compare New York City to the city that lives in postcards, and movies from the 1990s about people who move here (single, to work for a magazine and think about their love life - heterosexual) somewhat unprepared for life in New York City. Charicatures and fantasies, as if New York City needed to be romanticized.

It doesn't! It just needs a general acknowledgement that everything that happens is real, and that nothing - or, perhaps everything - is just as "so New York" as anything else, to take a phrased that was overused by an intoxicated and somewhat idiotic public commentor on a friend's wedding ("How much you love each other is just so New York, and how you met, such a great story, just so New York, and I see the two of you together for a long long time, with so many stories, and so New York..."). The Starbucksification of New York - damn near all of Manhattan now, not to mention the more profitable parts of the other boroughs - is as real as the interesting pockets full of sweating, swearing, duct tape and tin.

Riding through the Bronx on the MetroNorth - seeing handpainted signs for small auto parts businesses - tagged-up brownfiends behind barbed wire.

Last week, I was involved in conversation which included a short bit with somebody describing herself as a nonhegemonist.

My exposure to all of the spit-and-polish of midtown does strange things for me. I see more suits and taxicabs on a daily basis than I care for. I've actually spent nine dollars on an unsatisfactory lunch, and I've also tried to find food at seven PM and failed. Fortunately there's always the $1/slice pizza place several Avenues over - hmm: in the garment district. Where I stand with my bike, back to the wall, watching the trucks and handcarts.

The garment district really is a funny bubble. Funny like the dirty diner across the street from Madison Square Garden - the Tick Tock Diner, where you can pay a couple bucks for coffee and fries and sit there for an undetermined (unlimited?) period of time withoug being bothered - unless you consider the offer of a refill (free, of course, otherwise it wouldn't be a diner, would it?) to be a bother - which I do not.

I imagine that tourists see the Tick Tock Diner, imagine that it's special because it's a diner in New York City. They have a meal there, and are satisfied, until they realize that they've used up one of their finite number of meals in New York City on perfectly ordinary - satisfied in being unsurprised - diner, just like the one out on county road 141, just outside of town, near the truck stop.

Explanation: I guess I think that every tourist is from a town - not small, but certainly not large, near enough to a large city, but definitely not a part of the city, nor a suburb, a distinct unit - in the midwest.

How right or wrong am I?

2007-04-05T12:00:00.000-04:00

Racin' some bikes!

I took my chances in another alleycat race this past weekend, and rode to a respectable 10th place in New Haven, Connecticut. There's nothing quite like doing well despite a couple of mix-ups and getting lost to make you vow to do a whole lot better next time, especially when it's combined with repeatedly catching up to (and passing) a fast local, only to have them pick a better route from behind you, and emerge in front of you yet again.

On my commute to work this morning I thought a little bit about why I ride in alleycat races. I'm aware of the tendency for bikeishness to lean toward snobbishness and general jockery, and don't want to be a part of it. Bikes are for fun, not status symbols. So it was a funny moment to realize, hey, wait, alleycat races are surprisingly non-competetive. I mean, people aim to do well, but I haven't seen any idiotic cock-measuring of "I'm gonna kick your ass today!" People ride hard, cooperate frequently (I rode the whole race alternating between drafting off of and pulling another NYC rider, and was joined by several CT folks at many points of the race), and are generally out to have fun with the mentality that anything can happen in an alleycat race. It's not about speed, nor is it about geographical knowledge. It's about both, with a healthy bit of luck thrown in - are you going to get a good sequence of lights down that avenue? Flat right after the first checkpoint? Pick a direct route only to run into a devastating headwind? Kiss the hood of a taxi?

I think that a lot of riders know that when they ride, there's a lot that is within their control, and a whole lot that is out of it. The sobering threat of an inattentive driver damaging your frame or your body adds to the mix the knowledge that whatever happens happens, and it's preferable to some of the worse-case scenarios.

Bike races are fun. Before I started doing them, I was pretty convinced (based on slim evidence, mind you) that racers were a hardcore, exclusive bunch. I've since been proven wrong. When you're on the outside of something, it's really easy to be scared of stepping in. When you're inside something, though, it can slip one's mind to reach outside. That's why I like having fun at races, being friendly to bikers who haven't raced, encouraging them to race - to test their limits, improve themselves.

After all, I'm at a point where one of my notions of fun is to sprint my bike around for 20+ miles through traffic, and I can do it well enough, too. It's a physical feat that I never really thought I could accomplish until I realized it was within my grasp.

That was the point at which I thought, I wonder what else I can do - on bikes, and off.

2007-03-27T15:51:00.001-04:00

It's springtime.

Getting sweaty during lunchtime rides in Central Park.

Having a big stupid grin on my face all the time.

It's nice.

2007-03-09T11:28:00.000-05:00

Road rage pisses me off because it's such a damn common phenomenon and I don't hear a whole lot of conversations people who drive regularly - or from the licensing process, come to think of it - about how driving a car is a really dangerous thing, and if you're an asshole, you can kill somebody.

I almost got killed twice yesterday by righteous assholes. Something about bikers apparently makes a fair number of drivers think that it's okay to be really dangerous toward bikers. A righteous driver is the worst, because they think that whatever they do is justified by the fact that you were in their way.

I yelled "Yo!" at a driver who was driving erratically. I had to swerve to avoid him twice, and the third time, he actually knocked in to me with his side. I'm surprised I stayed on the bike.

My "Yo!" prompted a barrage of screams, curses, middle fingers, and insults from this BMW driving honkey on the Upper East Side, culminating in, "I'll take you out!"

That shook me.

Surprisingly, a cop pulled up next to me as the asshole drove off, saying, "Hey, you okay?" Shaken, I yelled, "That guy assaulted me. He was swerving all over, I yelled Yo, and he started cursing like a madman and threatened to take me out." "We'll look in to it," he said, went forward, and turned off of First Avenue - I don't know if he was following the other car. Maybe, because I had lost sight of the car, who had possibly turned.

I'm really sick of this shit. I just want to bike in New York City without people thinking that they're justified in coming far too close to killing me. I'm not about to make idle threats about "the next person who does that gets their mirror smashed by my lock," because that won't stop somebody else from doing the same thing a half mile down the road (note to self: remember this please!).

It's scary, and above all, it's ridiculous. There's no reason why encountering somebody on a street should promp such vitriol, such a willingness to disregard somebody's humanity as to threaten them with such violence.

Safer streets would be nice. It's good to know that Streetsblog, Transportation Alternatives, and everybody associated with Times Up! exist and are doing good work.

2007-03-07T15:44:00.000-05:00

Two things that are really weird are on my mind.

One is my strange desire to get in to altercations with strangers. When I'm crossing the street, I slow down, daring that SUV that's turning through the crosswalk to come too close to me. I stand on the subway platform, reading a book, minding my own business, but expecting or waiting for somebody to brush by me and knock the book out of my hands so that I can let out an exasperated "Excuse me!"

I'm not sure why. Psychoanalyze me.

The other odd thing is walking down a corridor in an office. Doors half-open, doors closed, the clickety-clack of keyboards, murmering of telephone conversations. Always, somebody's disembodied voice trickles from an unidentifiable source, around a corner or through a wall. Somewhere, a telephone is ringing. It's an uncomfortable, hypoxic, hypnotic effect.

2007-03-04T22:40:00.000-05:00

On Friday night, vagabondery brought me to the infamy that is the intersection of Broadway and 7 Avenue at 42nd Street: Times Square. A truly bizarre place, all sailors in white uniforms, and tourists from the midwest vying for room on the sidewalks underneath the big-screen billboards bravely battling the night with absurdly bright advertisements, while cabs screetch to a stop in front of competing hailers, narrowly missing another six-person "party bike." And all around, enormous signs screaming at you to buy things, watch things, demanding your loyalty and obedience. Larger than life, really, and you can't imagine how big they really are until you are there, staring up at them wide-eyed, realizing their enormity, and the extent of their trickery - it is entirely possible to absorb their idiocy without even knowing it.

I was drunk, and relieved to be in the company of "an old college friend."

It's not as if college was so far ago, but the fact that the world around me won't ever be organized as it was in college makes it seem far away, though it's not. It's just a few years away. The distance comes from the fact that it is all undeniably over and changed. So, being able to describe somebody as "an old college friend" is of some comfort, adding a sense of familiarity and, more importantly, continuity in a world where I meet people who have never met me, and I must start drawing my personality out to them in everything I say and do, from the beginning. But "an old college" friend has a foundation for understanding - a dictionary for my vocabulary.

The following night, I found myself engaged in vagabondery again. After a day of biking around, interspersed with a generous dose of the giddy feeling of illegal tresspassing that comes with urban exploration, I headed to a party for Purim. Purim is a Jewish holiday when one is mandated to drink until you can't tell the difference between good and evil, and, like a good honorary Jew (I've earned it, and besides, I was late because I was hanging out with my grandmother), I would observe it.

I walked in to a scene that was more like a college party than anything I had experienced outside of school - a comforting mix of friends, aquaintences, strangers, and people who you haven't met but for some reason, don't feel so terribly foreign.

It was an episode of odd connections. I quickly found a different person, "an old college friend," with whom I could hold hands while getting my bearings. Coming from seeing a play in a dark theater, to a room filled with dance beats and people far drunker than you are, makes for a difficult adjustment.

I was experiencing an odd set of continuities. There, holding me and yelling at me to dance, was a dear frien a few years older than I am who, several years ago, held my hand and helped me grow up. Also there was the person who trained me as a medical activist (prior to accidentally bumping in to her two months ago, I hadn't seen her or heard from her in years), who could be part of the reason that I met this dear friend. A friend who I medic-trained years ago, who I see so infrequently but who always manages to communicate a wonderful familiarity, a sense that we have shared experiences or something else that's hard to articulate. The old college friend from a seperate college world was there, comfortingly. And a newer friend from a more recent set of aquaintances, whose presence in these radical and queer circles always strikes me as discombulating and disjointed. And, my roommate, who makes me want to smile, who evokes a sense of current, comfortable at-homeness. All these emissaries from different times in my life, at one party, getting hammered. And I wound up with a good-night kissing from a recent friend of a friend, who lives in a social scene in far out in Brooklyn that, these past several months in New York City, I have been in and out of.

Surprisingly, I felt more adrift than grounded. It was a confusing way for familiarity to come together in a drunken vortex in a city that offers familiarity as a disguise for layers and layers of strangeness, of strangerness.

I bikes home alone in the cold. Tired, satisfied, confused. Feeling that feeling that something has happened, something meaningful but mysterious and confusing, that renders me thoroughly inarticulate.

2007-02-26T14:25:00.000-05:00

As they say, there's a reason why cliches are cliches. There's a reason why there's a certain mythology about New York City - the wonder, the grandeur, the size, the capacity for adventure. You are young. You move here. You struggle, have adventures, triumphs, tragedies, and somehow a story emerges that contains essence of New York City, like spice in a meal - not the content, but the character.

This column in the New York Times does what the Times occasionally does, which is state the obvious. All of New York is expensive, and Williamsburg is desirable despite everybody else who thinks that Williamsburg is desirable.

It's a scabby, bristling piece about hipsters and how rent is high, as if the author deserves something better. It's smug, obnoxious, and filled with lazy, predictable descriptions of the recent local residents - trust fund babies in stylishly dissheveled clothing, of course, who are not making livings as writers with their vintage typewriters.

I can't be the only person who's bored by demographic speculation about so-called hipsters, can I? Somebody reassure me that this is getting boring.

She even somehow manages to include the men she's dated as indication of the neighborhood's banality, rather than evidence of her own poor taste. Foolish.

I can drop snark with the best of them, but enough is enough! The author of this piece, Abigail A. Frankfurt, does what everybody else does - move from lower Manhattan to Williamsburg, derisively dismiss the idea of living in the other boroughs, and fervently wish that everybody else who's really just like her hadn't ruined the neighborhood.

I'm not defending Williamsburg, gentrification, or the bizarre social dynamics that are established when a targeted influx of monocultural young transplants turns neighborhoods in a vibrant city into college towns for the just-out-of-college crowd. I'm defending writing that doesn't use tired stereotypes and a holier-than-thou tone to describe life in this city. And I defy the uncritical notion that somehow all this is different and worse than how it used to be. As the joke goes, a hipster is just somebody who moved to the neighborhood (or started liking that band, or wearing those clothes, or riding a track bike, or...) just after you did.

She even manages contempt when talking about which books she's leaving and which she is taking with her when she leaves the city - once again, as if she's above keeping those titles. She's matured beyond them.

The tragedy of people who are certain that they have matured above and beyond things is that they can't help but furnish evidence to the contrary when they talk about how much better they are. How past that they are, said with an indifferent flip of the hair and a roll of the eye..

Quite frankly I can't believe that the Times even published this.

Until I write something better, though, feel free to take what I've written here with the grain of salt that should come with being a critic of do-ers. To insist otherwise would be to repeat Frankfurt's failures.

2007-02-18T13:08:00.000-05:00

Monster Track: I spent plenty of time waffling about whether or not I was going to race this. I gave myself plenty of excuses - the weather, my level of fitness, a cold that had been working on me - but something clicked and I got excited. I started riding around and seeing people on track bikes and whooping, yelling, "You ready for MonsterTrack?!" And people were yelling the same at me. Everybody on a track bike in the city got tingley, excited, grinning with anticipation.

Monstertrack 8, a race through Manhattan and Brooklyn in the middle of the winter, for track bikes, gained fame and notoriety through the years due to its intensity, its track bike requirement, and videos like Lucas Brunelle's helmet-cam action of Monster Track V.

I had no particular pretensions of doing well but had plenty of reason to get excited. I'm a solid biker, I told myself. Heck, the night before the race, at one of the pre-parties, I even beat two extremely fast, race-winning messengers in a thirty-second stationary bike sprint. Not the same skills that wins races but enough to raise the excitement level a little bit. A little bit more. To get me thinking, Okay, so, how good can I do?

The start was just south of Delancey - hundreds of people milling around in the cold and the snow, looking at each other's bikes, forming little clusters and shooting the shit, wondering how much later it would get before the organizers give us some fucking manifests and give us the go. When are we gonna start? Everyone's getting cold. The Organizers line us up. We stand around for a long time more. Finally Victor yells GO! and the hundreds of people make a mad dash for their bikes and to get out of the court before a bottleneck opens up - to get out to some open road.

But there were so many people that very few people found any open road, especially with the entire field going up 1st Avenue up to 61st street before splitting. It was amazing. Two hundred riders, yelling and screaming and whooping and going fast, together, tearing up 1st Avenue. Stretching well ahead of me and well behind me. You pass somebody you know or somebody you don't, throw them a shit-eating grin, and head on. At the UN, Nick caught up with me - we rode down to the race together, and he had a helmet cam. "I've been behind you," he said, "I'm getting great footage!" "Then get me some more!" I yelled, and sprinted ahead down into the tunnel. And we went faster...

It was impossible to stay with who I was riding with. After the first checkpoint the field seperated a lot and I went on my own way a lot, meeting up with people here and there along the course. My favorite part of alleycats is seeing people racing, coming from different directions, blowing by you, criss-crossing, riding together for half a mile before going in different directions. Like the whole city becomes alive with whooping bikers.

After two extensive forays to all the checkpoints between SoHo and Midtown, I went back to the base to get the last manifest, hit up the two sponsoring bike shops, and finish hard in Williamsburg. Caught up to somebody I know on the Williamsburg Bridge, jumped on his wheel to catch my breath for a minute before sprinting past me - "Get on my wheel and we'll take the bidge together!" I said - and we passed a group of riders. Then found the finish line, the bar, and dropped off our manifests.

Water. Fruit. Food. Beer.

Tired. Whew! Shit! My pants are wet and the road salt is stinging my thighs. It's dark but it's still early but it feels late.

MonsterTrack... Only a year until the next one...

2007-02-06T13:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening, as I was curled up on the couch with a book, my bike gave me one of those reproaching looks. It's been a while. Yeah, I know that. You know you want to. Yeah, I know that too. Is there a problem? Naw, it's just... it's cold outside. That's never stopped you before. I know, but... Is it me? No, darling, it's not you. There's no other Italian Steel between my legs - just you.

I've spent a lot of time on the subway. It's not too cold to ride, just a little too cold to be motivated to ride. It's just cold enough to make me use a hackneyed conversation-with-an-inanimate-object device.

Anyway, I've been riding a lot of subway, which lets me either curl up with a book for a half hour in the mornings (love it), or press my face against the glass and look at the graffiti as the train tumbles down the tunnel at 32 miles per hour (love it).

I'm getting more tuned in to street art. Not all of it thrills me - far from it - but I've been seeing it, noticing it more often, and it's been making me think about it. How did somebody get up to that billboard? On to that rooftop? Were they speaking in hushed voices when they trotted down the subway track, looking over their shoulder, carrying a backpack full of cans.

Not that all of it is good. I have a hard time imagining the point of venturing on to the subway tracks (though maybe the barrier is a level of risk that's only in my head) just to toss up a scrawled tag; but then again, some of the stuff that Revs and Cost did also elicits some head-scratching, like the billboard-sized roller tags they left all over the city (so odd to see one of those and have my breath taken away from it while driving in a livery cab, too well dressed for my comfort, with coworkers on a work trip...).

I like graffiti because of its low signal-to-noise ratio. Is it art? Yes no and I don't care. Is it vandalism? Yes no and I don't care. Does it require skill? Yes no and I don't care. Is it rebellious? Yes no and I don't care. Is it anti-capitalism? A baffling reversal of advertising? Self advertising? Yes no and I don't care. Graffiti artists, dissatisfied perhaps with the blandness of their surroundings, transform their surroundings. And yet graf has become an easily expected part of the urban landscape - ubiquitous, omnipresent, unsurprising. A tag, a mural, in unsurprising spots. Much of it being absolutly and utterly formulaic, noteworthy only in its mediocrity.

And then, every now and then, something grabs my attention. Sometimes a mural's freshness. Sometimes the curve of a tag. Sometimes something undescribable that makes something stand out. Sometimes, just the color, or the surprising legibility of a word or the vagueness of a phrase or tag. If graf artists are transforming their surroundings, they are recreating a domineering blandness with occasional moments of incredible beauty. How appropriate.

I'm keeping my eyes open a little bit more these days than I have been in some of the recent past, and I suppose it's paying off. Maybe I'll carry a camera more often, and preserve little bits of things that are making me think or gasp.

Image found at ofb.net/~epstein.

2007-02-05T10:59:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've updated this blog, but I still have big plans for it. Consider this time to be a bit of a winter semi-hiatus. After all, it is cold; we are less expressive, insulated among coats and layers. Trees, in the winter, look barren and dead, but it is in the winter that they grow underground, their roots expanding outwards to support the weight that will grow on them in the spring and summer.

That's how it is here at tristatevagabond's headquarters. I've finished building the Pogliaghi (pictured above!) - the right saddle, used, from eBay; wrapped the handlebars with cloth tape; got its own pedals. I took a few minutes on Saturday to take some pictures of it in the sunlight. I wanted to go for a ride, but the cold scared me back indoors, and instead of riding I picked up a guitar and played.

I'm in something of musical crisis, but I have new projects in the works.

I've got big plans for the spring - places to explore, photos to take, even new art ideas that, well, I've been keeping to myself. Growing underground, one might say. Anticipating the return of that exuberant weather, that warmth that makes strangers smile at each other, that makes people flirt with each other, that makes people laugh and dance and make beautiful things.

Planning beauty with secret smiles, while bundled against the cold - New York City in the winter.

2007-01-18T09:25:00.000-05:00

On the fairly rare occasions that I drive a car, I remind myself to be extra careful. As a biker, I've got firsthand experience with dangers of a moment of inattention or a risky lane change - I have been hit by cars and daily I have the opportunity to take evasive action that would be unnecessary were there a culture of safe, competant driving, and adequate infrastructure for bikers. When I'm driving a car, I don't want to contribute to the dynamic that I hate while biking, so I'm extra careful.

When I'm biking, I try to reign in my frustration with pedestrians. We have to share the same inadequate spaces, we share similar dangers from cars, and we stand to benefit most from (and ought to be united by) the Liveable Streets Movement. However, it is extremely frustrating navigating jaywalking pedestrians. Yelling "Heads up!" or "Coming through!" will get their attention, but too often, people just freeze, or the step further into my path in a confused attempt to get out of my way.

A fraction of a second to react.

This morning: kaboom. He puts his arms up, I go flying. A drawback to weighing a paltry 135lbs is that my momentum wasn't enough to knock him over instead of crashing.

So, my first crash on the Pogliaghi. The bike is fine and I'm fine - physically - but I am annoyed, peeved, disgruntled. Five months I've been commuting in this city, 20 miles a day, and I've gotten in to two crashes. That's a crash every thousand miles of commuting, which is a little bit too high for my liking. It's not my riding that's doing it - it's the conditions: manifestly unsafe. The sidewalks are narrow, the avenues are highways in disguise; the speed is low, but the speed limit is high, so if there is a yellow light or an open strip of asphalt, then there's weight on the gas pedal, a revving of the engines.

Expecting safety on New York City streets makes about as much sense as expecting your Cheerios not to bump each other in the breakfast bowl. Demanding safety? This is something every New Yorker should be doing. Anybody who has ever frowned at a delivery truck gunning it through a red light, anybody who has ever had a cab come too close as it's rounding a corner, anybody who grips their child's hand tightly when they cross the street, saying, "Always look both ways!" Anybody who has ever gotten on a bike, and, more importantly, anybody who finds too many reasons not to ride. Anybody who has ever dodged an SUV. Anybody who walks on Manhattan's narrow, crowded sidewalks and sighs as cars go roaring by. Anybody who looks at the incredible amount of space taken up by gridlocked cars and wonders if maybe it wouldn't be nicer if some of those were plazas, with outdoor cafes, vendors, exchange students playing guitar for quarters... the sights, sounds, and smells of New Yorkers interacting with each other, instead of muttering as they push by each other, competing for scraps of sidewalk space, forced to the edges by a culture that's willing to go to any extent - even destroying a beautiful city - so that everybody can drive where they please.

2007-01-16T09:46:00.000-05:00

There's something about Interstate 95 in New Jersey that's magnified by a wet, humid Saturday morning in January - the whole state seemed moody and hungover, the worse for wear. On the way back, the Delaware Bridge was obscured by fog; crossing the George Washington Bridge after sunset we saw the lights climbing the suspension cables before disappearing into the dark fog. Even Manhattan was barely visible.

Several times on the drive I pulled out my camera, but put it away for lack of space on the memory card, and for another reason too. Photographs are just photographs - they can beautifully augment an experience, capture a moment, or the process of doing that can leave you stuck behind a viewfinder.

So, attempts to write the song that perfectly archives this or that Life Experience - with humor, hindsight, regret, nostaligia - can occasionally be detrimental to one's ability to learn from a situation. Archiving life by writing about it is a good idea, but sometimes those songs and stories must remain unfinished, so that I can remember what I carry with me - past, pain, joy, love. Keeping yourself firmly rooted in the past is part of staying in the present.

And, with that said, I'll close with a joke about how coming to visit somebody From The Future is way more of an exciting and terrifying prospect than saying to somebody, "I Am Coming To You From The Paaaaaaaaast!" Because really, that should not come as a surprise to anybody...

2007-01-10T12:29:00.000-05:00

In an odd turn of events, I have a very nice thing. A new bicycle frame, possibly a redundancy in my slim fleet, but the offer was too good to pass up. A classic 1970s track frame, built by an acknowledged master, with a beaten-up paint job and an owner who's too big for it. The price I got was better than good, and so I started aquiring a few parts for it - used cranks, a used front wheel, a cog. I'm still looking for a rear wheel and pedals that I can put on it permanently so I don't have to swap back and forth between it and my daily rider, but quite frankly, since building it up late last week for a weekend's worth of beautiful weather and riding around, I've barely gotten off it. I've even commuted on it.

That, of course, brings up questions in my head about the smartfulness of riding "brakeless" in city traffic, but I consider myself a careful and skilled rider and have geared down, letting me accelerate and decelerate with greater ease. I've had no problems so far, except for the occasional bump of my foot against the front wheel - the frame has significant toe overlap, which takes some getting used to.

Fortunately, I've got the opportunity. Winter has not lived up to the expectation that it would force me from my bike and into moody restlessness. It's been a curious winter. Temperatures in the single digits in early January and nothing bur balmy since. We were all lightly dressed for the Memorial Ride for Fallen Cyclists this past weekend; we all sweated our asses off at the New Years Eve Alleykitten. We sniffed curiously at the gas smell on Monday morning.

Those of us trapped at desks only heard about the brief moment or two of snow flurries that fell this morning, after commuting hours.

Sometimes in the middle of the week, it's hard to stay focused when you're looking forward to the end of the week. My band Maxwell's Demon is playing a show down in Washington DC, and I'm ready to skeedaddle from work on Friday afternoon, have a dinner party in Brooklyn, bike back up for some sleep and leave town early on Saturday morning to turn the amplifiers up. After all... the boys are back in town!

2007-01-02T11:05:00.000-05:00

Back at work, for real this time. I took some time off between Christmas and New Years', but it didn't add up to anything like a vacation. Just some time off, in New Jersey with the family, then back to NYC for a few days of work in a very, very quiet office.

Sometimes breaking the routine can be so tiring it's not that bad to go back into it, for some peace and quiet. Even if the commute is a little bit crazy and you're tired from staying out late at the Metropolitan Opera seeing the kind of odd but pleasant if confusing Magic Flute.

I raced the second annual New Years' Eve Alleykitten this weekend; last year's race was my first race and it was a lot of fun to ride it again. It's geared toward folks who haven't raced before, but isn't really easier than any other alleycat. A huge mass of people and bikes gathered by the bike polo court at Christie and Broome and I walked around saying hey to people I kind of know. I wanted to do well this race, so when I got my manifest I made sure to be thoughtful with my route; however, as with many things, once I lean toward a decision I go full-blast and didn't really pick the optimal route.

However: hammering down Broadway to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, then up Trinity and over to the East River at 22nd Street, where the CPers threw eggs at me as I rode away. I hauled up First Avenue to 86th St where I ate a piece of garlic, then found my way to the bandshell in Central Park (that slowed me down...) to capture a flag. Further slowed down trying to find the checkpoint on the right pier in the Hudson River in the 60s; then down the bike path to pushups across from the Javits Center, down to Trackstar where I had to recover my bike from a "thief" and carry a package to a 23rd place finish at Lakeside Lounge.

Not as well as I wanted to do, so here are some pointers to remind myself:

*sometimes it's good to stick with the pack a little bit, but if you do, you're gonna have to beat 'em to the checkpoint to stay competetive.
*plan a route before the race, duh, but revise it if necessary and consider alternatives. don't just plan a route and stick to it like glue.
*planning a route might still leave you getting lost, not knowing the fastest route way to a small little place like a bandshell or a pier.
*consider going absolutely 100% balls-out in the beginning.

I had lots of fun, though, and enjoyed the after party as I'm getting to know a few more people. I met a few people whose company I really enjoyed, and went with a few others to Punjabi's for dinner after the race - especially important after a handful of $2 pints at the after party...

2006-12-19T10:19:00.000-05:00

I usually am sure to describe myself as a biker, not a cyclist. "What's the difference?" some people ask me. I frown, thinking about it for a moment, and respond, "Lycra."

Though I'll probably get some before too long.

Anyway, I am a biker and a musician. These two conflict sometimes, like on those lazy Saturdays when I do some bike-tinkering and then want to play guitar. I can't get grease on my guitar strings, so I must scrub my hands clean, but that leaves my fingertips so soft. What to do?

In other fingertip and bike/music conflict news, I almost severed the tip of my left index finger. There is a danger (warning, injury pictures) to not paying attention when working on a fixed gear drive train, but we all think, meh, that won't happen to me.

Well, it happened to me. Fortunately, I didn't lose any bits of finger, though I came uncomfortably close. My fingertip is healing back together, though it feels rough and thickly calloused - almost as though I have lost some feeling in the very tip of my finger. I can't fret with it yet, but I hope that I won't have lost anything when I'm able to play with it.

Especially important because I've gotten my low-level (high quality low fidelity!) home recording setup up and running, and I have all these new ideas, and would like to spend some of the winter making records.

In other news, the holiday season has clutched us, which means it's time for another edition of How Can I Put A Long Weekend's Worth Of Clothing Into A Midsized Shoulderbag And Make It To Another Region of the Tri State Area Safely, Soundly, and Well-(enough)-Dressed?

Maybe it's time to not take the bike to New Jersey...

...UGH!

2006-12-14T12:28:00.000-05:00

i was bouncing in my seat all day at work yesterday. a big package had been shipped and i was to pick it up not far from my office after work. a big, exciting package. i tried to play games of patience but they weren't working - by 2 PM i was already ready to bolt, and i'm usually not so antsy so early! i finally left and walked to the pickup address and got a big box, bigger than i thought it would be. it was awkwardly large, difficult to carry; i took it to the subway and had to be very careful - with it hoisted on a shoulder i kept bumping the box against awnings, cielings, and just anything hanging.

games of patience... the metrocard machine wouldn't take my debit card after repeated swipes and i had no cash - what was i to do? finally, another machine accepted it. i got on a train. i got a seat and kept the box close by, with my hand on it, so that it wouldn't fall over. good - my shoulder and arms were tired from the walk to the train station.

my stop. another spell of wrestling with the box, which is like a sail in the wind, hoisted on my shoulder. down the stairs from the elevated train, across the street, and to my apartment.

i set it down on the floor of the living room and look at it for a second, trying real hard to resist the kid-at-christmas phenomenon. i put my keys down and take off my jacket, and i have to go to the bathroom. games of patience. then i take a knife and carefully cut off the tape. games of patience. it takes some wrangling to get the box apart, and when i do, it takes some further wrangling to take out this mass of bubblewrap and paperwrap. games of patience. slowly i unwrap what i can, using the knife where i need to. and then, there, in the middle of my living room, sits a Pogliaghi Italcorse from the early 1970s.

My future Sunday Rider.

aaaaaaahhhhhh.

2006-12-11T13:29:00.000-05:00

on Saturday, i went to a memorial ride for Eric Ng, a local cyclist and activist who was killed a little over a week ago by, outrageously enough, a drunk driver driving on a bike path that is physically and significantly seperated from the road. it was really moving - the quiet, somber procession of hundreds of bikers through the village to the spot on the greenway where he was killed, and then friends saying words to honor Eric's memory. "Love and rage," one yelled into the air. Some stood stoney-faced, dark-eyed; others cried. Eric's friends held each other and sung, "go to sleep you little baby..." in the middle of the huge crowd of people standing around the bicycle, chained to a tree, painted white, adorned with flowers. And the strangers, we stood on the edges, watching.

A news reporter was there, interviewing a few people, and I paniced and edged away, afraid of being interviewed as somebody who did not know the person who died. I didn't want to come across - to other people or to myself - as a consumer of the event; this forced me to confront why I was there, and I did, quietly, to myself.

Brian McGloin has got some beautiful photos of the memorial ride.

2006-12-08T09:16:00.001-05:00

This morning's commute:
19 degrees Farenheit.
Winds at 26 mph, gusting to 35 mph.
1 degree with the wind chill.

Fucker!

2006-12-04T13:27:00.001-05:00

Two items of horror have come to my attention recently.

1. Eric Ng, a biker and Times Up! volunteer, was riding on the west side greenway - considered by many to be the safest place to bike in the city, set apart from automobile traffic except for a handful of intersections. Eugenio Cidron, drunkenly driving his BMW from a Canon Corporation holiday party to his home in the East Village, drove for over a mile along the bike path and killed Eric Ng. I'm tired of reading and thinking about this. Gothamist has the story, and Bikeforums.net has the sad reactions of some in the bicycling community.

2. Jennifer Stark, a nineteen year old girl with an already length history of being an asshole behind the wheel of an automobile, was convicted of "improper lane usage" and fined $1000 for an incident wherein she, while downloading ringtones for her cell phone, drove off the road and into a cyclist named Matt Wilhelm, killing him. Bikeforums has some links and some of the outrage.

Some people use incidents like this to call for the incarceration of automobile drivers who are involved in the death of a cyclist. Noteworthy is Kill A Cyclist, Get Ten Years, which is linked to the Fixed Gear Gallery." But as one poster on bikeforums said, it's a tragedy, not a crime. The underlying issue here is not that drivers have a willful disregard for life, but rather that our economy's development of the automobile as an omnipresent part of life, and our cities' construction around the transmission of people via the automobile (combined with general irresponsibility, senses of entitlement, and extreme reluctance to accept anything less than the pinacle of comfort) constitute a willful disregard for life. We accept a world where people are killed by cars every day, and yet streets are built wider, freeways faster, pedestrian spaces fewer. If ever there was an example of diminishing returns, this is it. All we get is more traffic, more deaths, more pollution, more petroleum reliance - all this much to the detriment of other parts of our lives. Streetsblog has continuing coverage of the movement for a safer, more liveable New York City, and Transportation Alternatives is on top of advocacy for a sensible transportation strategy in NYC; Time's Up! takes care of the bicycling advocacy and community gardens.

I'm really saddened by a lot of the bullshit gets thrown around around this subject, so I want to make some things clear to anybody reading these words:
*This should not dissuade you from riding your bike any more than the omnipresent threat of auto accidents dissuade you from driving or walking on sidewalks.
*Bikers need safe, bike-specific infrastructure.
*Automobile traffic needs to be reduced.
*Promoting pedestrian spaces increases economic activity, happiness, and decreases pollution.

2006-12-04T10:53:00.000-05:00

In an ongoing conversation with myself about how to deal with life and time, I realized that last year, in quiet little Bridgeport, I felt that the days were far too long; now, in the big and busy new york city, they're far too short. my need for private space, i realize, is manifested in how i view the world around me - see the last entry as my moment of finding time, space, and quiet in a city that hides that all very well. In fact, it does more than hide it; sometimes it convinces me that it's not there.

In a state of perpetual vagabondery I seek to create routines; routines become overwhelming and I seek to break them. I feel as though I'm filling up my days, which perhaps should come as no surprise as the days shorten into December. I can chose between being bored and being tired, but boredom is tiresome and fatigue is wearying anyway.

And so the need for vacation, or spring, or both all at once, presents itself again.

2006-12-01T11:36:00.001-05:00

Last night I found myself in the basement of Time's Up, drinking beer and wrenching on bikes a little bit, but mostly hanging out with some other bikers that I know.

The basement is crowded, packed with bikes, parts, and oddities. A bench that looks like it was once a pew is on one wall underneath a dozens of used and worn tires hanging from a rail; on the bench is a large hollow "subway" sign. One end of the room is taken up with bikes, lined up perpindicular to the wall, with many more hanging above. The room has more corners than I first noticed, where odd things are piled and stacked out of the way beneath more hanging bikes. There are a dozen bike forks on the wall, a large tool box, a mildly inexplicable ramp that rises 3" high to part of the cracked concrete floor, and a creaky stairway that rises to a bathroom that's little more than a closet.

While peeing I noticed that two of the bathroom walls were crumbling brick, like an unfinished exterior, which held a backalley magic that jumped out at me for moment, and for that moment I felt very happy. Pleased that there are still old, disreputable corners in New York City - quiet, mysterious pockets set back from the bustle. It seems to me that spending so much time on the crowded sidewalks or the avenues that penetrate the city with the imposition of the incessant automobile makes me forget that there are these out of the way moments that retain the beauty of the unfinished, the unseen, the worn, the entropic.

I don't intend to resort to the cliche of The Fast-Paced Life In The City That Never Sleeps, because it's not about the pace of life in the Big Apple. It's about the spaces that are given over to multiple lane monstrosities as places to wander around on foot shrink and shrink and shrink until you have to be peeing in a bicycle community center to find some small moment of hidden treasure.

2006-11-29T11:07:00.000-05:00

On Monday morning, I hit snooze on my cell phone alarm clock a few times before seriously lifting my head. I muttered to myself and kicked at the sheets, grabbed the string for the venetians that dangled by the head of my bed and tugged the blinds open - not much brighter.

Yeah, it's getting toward December all right.

It's still mild out but I took a look at the bike, and at the clock steadily creeping past 8 AM, and decided I'd take the subway in. It's not really a decision based on how much time I have, because riding the bike is quicker especially when I factor in the walk from MSG to my office, but the later it gets, the harder it is to get going, and something just made me not want to get on my bike that morning.

Maybe there was an accident waiting to happen.

On the subway I got the opportunity to watch people disengage with their surroundings. iPods everywhere, tinkering with cell phones, or just staring straight ahead, numbed out. What a world we live in, where we take every opportunity to shut ourselves out from it. It makes me grateful I don't have an iPod and it makes me grateful that I don't take the subway to work - with fatigue and resign, I too would just look for ways to disengage.

I've spent a lot of time in various parts of my life doing things that have been disengaging rather than engaging. I like to think that biking is a way to engage with the world - I get outside more often, go places I wouldn't otherwise, meet people I wouldn't otherwise, interact with strangers more, perhaps, than I would if I were on foot - but it's a bit more complicated and more dynamic than that, because I'm sure that some people around me may have noticed my occasional tendency to sink into a space where I only think about riding. It's happened. It will happen again. I try to be careful with myself when patterns and priorities emerge in my life. There was a few months last year when I spent almost no money at all, except on alcohol. It's good to track those sort of things, to be clear about how it's choice and not happenstance.

This started with me thinking about how I'm glad I don't have an iPod. But I also have to realize that I've barely discovered new music in the past two years. I can count on one hand the number of artists who have broken in to my steady rotation. So what I really need to do is give friends 5 blank CDs and tell them to get to work on my "New Year, New Music" gift.

I gotta get on that.

2006-11-26T21:32:00.000-05:00

This morning, I met up with another biker on the New Jersey side of the George Washington Bridge. We had organized the way young people these days tend to do, using the internet.

I got there first and watched the diversity of bikers coming and going over the south side pedestrian path. People on high-end carbon fiber time trial bikes and people on cruisers and upright hybrids, and a majority of people in spandex with alu and carbon bikes with Ultegra and Dura-Ace drivetrains. In otherwords, some real bling, and lots of high quality. It should go without saying that there was lots of lycra. Waiting for my riding buddy I must have stood out with my fixed gear, my camelback, my dickies and windbreaker outfit.

My riding buddy showed up and led me around the bridge to River Road, a thin, winding road down the Palisades to the edge of the Hudson. Pictures would be appropriate, but I have none. The road is thickly lined with fallen leaves. In many places there is just a ragged barrier of small, well-placed boulders between the road and a drop to the shallows of the Hudson. We see few other bikers - most are on 9W. It winds past small waterfalls coming down the Palisades; looking out over the river affords a view of the Hudson on a day that's remarkably clear, crisp but bright and warm, for late November; beyond the river, the hills of the Bronx and Westchester County. Greens, greys, and blues...

There are two significant climbs, the second of which takes us back up the cliffs and has us at a snail's pace until we reach 9W again and pick up the pace. Cars hammer by when they're impatient, but most are familiar with bikers on this road. There must be hundreds if not thousands on any given beautiful weekend day.

Up to a biker coffee shop in Nyack--now nice to see a place where bikes are parked without locks on racks in parking spaces on the street and people linger on the sidewalks, sipping coffee at tables, enjoying that last weekend before fall draws itself to a moody close and reminds us that winter is coming in earnest.

And, settling in to a long bike ride back to the Bronx...

2006-11-21T12:25:00.000-05:00

This morning I got hit by a car. The clarity of the slow-motion pre-impact: it's u-turning. I can't stop in time. It's coming closer. The hood is getting larger. I recall people using the phrase, "going up onto the hood of a car" to talk about accidents. I'm about to roll on to the hood. I'm airborn. My helmeted head hits the pavement. Then, of course, everything stops and re-starts and accelerates and before I know it I pick myself up and am sitting on the curb shaking myself off, inspecting myself, trying to clear my head and figure out what I need to do.

Two cops walk over from where they were chilling across the street. Oh good, I think, sometimes cops can be really useful. "Are you okay?" one asks. I answer, "Yeah, I think so." "Good," he said, "Now: what the fuck were you doing in the middle of the road?" I give him the dumbfounded, you-gotta-be-kidding-me look. I drop a couple of sentences about how there are cars, cargo trucks, and pedestrians between the beams of the elevated train and the curb, and how I was riding in the lane safetly. He tells me he saw me riding on the yellow line all the way down the street, and then he challenges me to call him a liar. The rest of the interaction proceeds like this.

After making my peace with the driver - who was in tears and very grateful that I wasn't hurt - and verifying that my bike was fine (surprisingly! front wheel in true, fork undamaged, frame unhurt! go figure!), I take my leave of the obnoxious cops and the rest of the situation, which pissed me off. My leave-taking, that is.

I should have gotten the driver's information, but I didn't. The cop led me to believe that I could file an accident report but that was the only thing I could do, and he wouldn't tell me what would happen if i filed a report. Due process bullshit - I was in a situation where I was shaken and not thinking and planning well, and I'm completely unaware of my rights and options and the repercussions of my choices.

Part of my thinking was about the driver. I felt no ill will toward him and did not want to unleash a world of bureaucratic bullshit for this nice guy who hugged me when he realized I was okay. In the back of my mind, also, was - what if he's got outstanding warrants, or undocumented residency, or something? What's the worst possible scenario? I wasn't pleased with the options, so I let it drop. I was fine, my bike was fine. I seriously did not want the state involved.

Not pleased with being unaware of the processes of accident follow-up as they pertain to police, the law, accident reports, and insurance dealings (what if my bike was damaged?), I'm doing a little bit of research to put together a "What If I'm Hit" document that can be stored between the spokes of just about anybody's wheels, so that they'll be readily available for consult when it's most necessary.

In other news, the South Bronx Greenway Plan is going to happen. The city is finally taking action to address the many environmental justice and public-space concerns that are regularly raised by residents and community groups in the South Bronx. Included in the plan is 12 acres of waterfront space, 8 miles of green streets, greenways, bike paths, jogging paths... this is pretty rad. Finally.

2006-11-20T10:18:00.000-05:00

An odd feeling: relief that Monday morning comes, so you can settle back into a quiet routine for a few days and let the fatigue drain. Cranksgiving was on Saturday and wore me out - the race, the afterparty, and showing up sweaty, gross, drunk and a little bit impolite at a Very Respectable Housewarming party. And then back to the Bronx, where I woke up the next morning feeling like I fell down a flight of stairs: awesome.

Fatigue feels great.

I met up with somebody I've ridden with in the past, at the registration point by the Jacob Javits Center, and we sat around and talked about bikes while an awkward photographer from some newswire - who said he was doing a piece on messengers - snapped pictures and asked awkward questions. More and more people show up, including a bunch of people from Hartford and New Haven, some of whom I know, some I was just meeting. One guy came with a seriously bent fork - an accident about thirty seconds after leaving the train station found him on the hood of a cab, and as we were shooting the shit, five or six guys were standing around his bike offering advice on leverage for cold-setting his fork into something rideable.

We get our manifests. We've got a lot of choice of routes for this race - we need to hit 4 of 8 grocery stores (buying food to donate instead of standard alleycat checkpoints), but we need to hit one in each listed area - east village, battery park city, upper east side, upper west side - and we've got to do them in a figure 8, with a midpoint at columbus circle (where we are told the finish line), which means lots of going crosstown, in nyc, on a saturday early afternoon. Our first stop must be a store in the east, our first option is to go north or south. We decide to go south (a bad decision; 2/3ds of everybody went North, including the winners, who are also faster so that's not really the point).

"Go!" the organizer yells after saying some thank-yous and ride-safes. We break for the crossstreets with grunts and that slight sound that your chain makes when you're accelerating from a stop; we hit the street and immediatly have to dodge a tractor that's rumbling down, and we laugh as we fly East. A sprint over to the East 20's, picking up potatoes at a grocery (a realization: yeah, bad idea to hit up the store where we had to get potatoes, the heaviest item, first). Then down to Houston and over to Broadway, hammering down to a store on South End Ave. Where's that? It's West of the west side highway. Who knew? Then 3 of us in a paceline (riding with wheels so close they're almost touching - you've got to be careful, but it cuts down so much wind resistance for everybody but the leader) for several miles going up the West Side Highway bike path, occasionally yelling to clear the way of pedestrians. One guy preferred to just yell like an animal; I tried the "charitybikeracecomingthroughsorrytobotheryouthankyou!" which was only marginally successful.

A stop at Columbus Circle and then a haul into the headwinds going up 3rd Avenue. A stop, then through the park to the West Side to our last stop, then back down toward the finish, which required weaving through madness on 59th street and a last haul down 2nd avenue, which produced the worst, tightest, most maddening traffic I've ever ridden in. I got knocked down on 59th street (just hit a mirror with my shoulder at moderate speed and couldn't recover), and I lost the two guys I was riding with in the traffic on 2nd. Made it down to 35th street & East River for the finish, and was a little disappointed to see so many finish before me. Oh well.

The course was 20miles, maybe a bit more, with long hauls uptown and crosstown between checkpoints. It was a tough time of day for an alleycat (but really, what's not?), a pre-holiday Saturday, midtown-heavy traffic. I'm eager to see the results, when they're compiled and put out over the internet.

Anyway, after a beer and some snacks at the finish line, I and some others took off to run an errand and grab some bites to eat. Then to Brooklyn to drop off the food - a little odessey of its own - then back to Alphabet City for the afterparty, where I got to recognize people I've never met and introduce them with, "oh, hi, I recognize you from the internet," to which one guy responded, "Oh, awesome! It's always nice to meet people I spend all day at work with," referring to the nyc fixed gear message board. Bike dorks with day jobs and computers...

People also talked about crashes and injuries. There were a few too many for a charity bike race. A Connecticut pile-up (thanks to a pedestrian crossing between cars!) that resulted in a broken Spinergy carbon-fiber front wheel and a damaged keirin frame. One nyc guy got clipped by another rider - knocked down and broke his elbow - and the other rider didn't even stop. That's foul, really foul.

By the end of the night I was tired and buzzed enough to accidently get the name of a friend of a friend Very Wrong (oops!) and generally be socially awkward at this Housewarming party. Left for the ride home to the Bronx, and completely hit the wall on the 3rd Avenue Bridge, absolutely crawling in the face of the cold winds. I fell into my bed - not even late, at 1 AM - but tired as hell, and slept for ten hours.

Anyhoo, woot. Back at work. Time to rest. I'll either boast or swear to improve, publicly on this blog, when results come out.

2006-11-16T11:40:00.000-05:00

This post by Rick got me thinking about some things that I've been thinking about. I used to be involved in a lot of activism, organizing, and radical-style community building and education. In fact, I almost dropped out of school because there were other projects that I spent more time on... anti-war organizing, medic organizing, Food Not Bombs, traveling to protests, organizing health trainings, this, that, and et cetera.

I burned out, a little bit. Then I graduated, took a job at a teensy tiny community-oriented non profit organization in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and sort of stepped back from a lot of organizing, and stepped back from my connection and involvement in a lot of projects that meant a lot to me, that I had put a lot of energy in to. To some extent, I felt that some of them had run their course. I stopped being vegan and started cooking really good meals with yogurt and cheese in them.

A year and a half after getting my diploma, I'm settling into a life that I might occupy for an indefinite time period. I'm feeling really settle-y. I might have this current job for several years, I want to pay off debts, save money, and importantly, I want to live somewhere where I don't have a move-out date in mind. Except for my eleven months in Bridgeport, I haven't lived somewhere uninterrupted for more than three or four months at a time since I was seventeen and moved out of my parents' house when I went to school.

And now as I'm getting kind of settled and Growing Up just a little bit, I'm wondering how I want to re-insert myself into movements for change; how I want to participate in valuable work and projects. Because, really, while it's nice to have a Real Job, it is *not* the thing in my life that I want to take the highest priority. Being employed is a priority. Job = Life is not an equation I'm interested. I want to be a part of a larger community and I want my participation to be defined by doing positive work.

And I am feeling that defining that participation in Change - standing for something larger than myself, as Rick phrased the question - is a long, long way away from how I defined it three or four years ago, when I was all to willing to scream things at the top of my lungs while cops were arresting me. It's a long way away from two or three years ago, when I was interested in teaching people how to be healthy and safe so that they can scream things at the top of their lungs while cops were arresting them.

There's so much room to build infrastructure to ensure that radical communities can support radical change-oriented projects. The question is, how? And, now that I'm in New York City, where do I start? That's something I'm working on.

2006-11-15T14:44:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I had my 30-day new-employee check-in with human resources. It was brief; mostly, the very nice HR lady was checking to make sure I had gotten my medical insurance cards. No, I told her. After saying, "Hmmm, I can't believe that!" a few times (to which I replied, "No, really. I didn't get them. Yes, I'm sure."), she said she'd look in to it. An hour later I got an email from her assistant telling me that she had put them in my box. I replied, "Ah, my box. Great. What's my box, and where do I find it?" Apparently there's an inter-office mail system that nobody told me about. I've got a box.

I had been afraid of getting a job that offers eight hours a day of senses-dulling mindlessness. I don't think this job will offer that, and that's good. Perks include a very pleasant officemate, and a casual dress code. Jeans and a sweater, today. Some days I barely change out of bike clothes. I do add deodorant. It's necessary.

Sometimes it's hard for me to figure out how to interact with people. Nodding and smiling in passing in hallways is a pretty good way but them somebody breaks the I'm-too-busy-for-interaction wall and tries to engage me in pleasantries! What do I do? "Uh, good. How are you?" Good. Passed that one okay. This is not my ideal environment and I think that my ability to demonstrate basic social may suffer.

A lot of environments cause this. Not just for me, but for everyone. Elevators: nobody talks in them. Why not? What's wrong with greeting the eight people with whom you sardine yourself for a vertical journey to your workspace? Why pretend you don't notice them? Why are some people so startled by a simple "Hello"?

Yeah, yeah, I know, I just wrote about how I'm startled by a simple "hello." I'm still figuring out how to behave. Once I figure it out, I'll start disrupting it. Promise.

2006-11-13T12:19:00.000-05:00

"You gotta be crazy." I hear it all the time. Coworkers, the UPS guy who's always hanging around my work building's loading dock, or anybody else I engage in conversation who can't fathom the idea of riding a bike in New York City tell me that I must be crazy.

I guess I am. It's really unsafe out there and it's really frustrating, too. One second I'm flying down Lexington with plenty of space on my left and right and the next moment a bus is pulling out in front of me while a cargo truck behind me lays on the horn. All I wanna do is cruise safely--why is everyone honking at me?

Some days are better than other. Last week was terrible. I had so many close calls--looking down a one-way street at a red light, seeing nothing, and proceeding only to realize that I had looked down the wrong way of the one way. Getting bumped by a minivan going around a cab. Getting threatened by a cabbie in an SUV who pulled next to me (setting off the alarm: danger! asshole is attempting to contact me! i feel threatened!), basically threatening to commit vehicular assault if I continue to get in his way. And a bunch of the usual stuff--getting honked at and yelled at when riding in a lane, which is perfectly legal--just making me a whole lot aggravated, angry, frustrated, upset, and scared. And, also, violent. I've started feeling like it's more necessary to have my u-lock accessible in order to brandish it at an aggressive driver.

This morning I reminded myself that if I take off somebody's sideview mirror (called "u-lock justice" by people who probably talk about it more than they do it and do it more frequently than they should) because I'm pissed at them for driving like an asshole, it's not going to help me a half a mile down the road when somebody passes me on the right and then attempt to turn left across a lane--my lane--of traffic.

Reminding myself of this during my ride to work today helped me to stay calm and remember why biking is fun and that I can chose to have it be more or less fun.

In other bicycle-related news, I've been meaning to replace my chain before it damages my chainring and my cog. See, under stress, chains stretch and then wear down the teeth of the chainring and cog to the point where a new chain won't evenly and smoothely sit on the old chainring and cog. This is undesirable and it means that you should have spent $20 on a new chain several months ago, but now you've got to spend several times that on a new chainring and cog. I've been having odd dreams lately, and I dreamt that I checked my chainring for wear and found it comically, unusably, wacky-in-a-way-that-only-dreams-can-provide worn and destroyed.

2006-11-10T10:56:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my serious blog.

Last night I went to an open mic at a cafe in New York. I was looking forward to it because I want to meet other musicians. I'm part of a small group of musicians who have founded an independant record label called Frictionless Records, which is a member-run musical collective dedicated to artistic and musical cross-pollination--musical mutual aid. We help each other write, record, and perform. We are friends. We are also geographically scattered, and since I just recently settled in New York, I'd like to get my feet on the ground, poke around in some musical scenes, and keep eyes and ears open to how we might be able to expand. Expand in terms of performance and expand in terms of size--we want to find more like-minded individuals with whom to work.

I went to an open mic as a sort of Step One in this process. Unfortunately, this open mic was a serious clique-fest. Some skilled people, some interesting guitar work, some beautiful voices, but there was limited time and the MC let his drunk friends prattle in front of the mic for excessive periods of time. What's with the mentality of not respecting other performers and just waiting for your time to dominate the mic? I'm so not interested in that.

Time ran out. I did not get to play. I biked back home to the Bronx and fell asleep and now I'm at work, tired and a bit grouchy because I got less sleep than I generally prefer.

This blog is about lots of things, and music and bikes are two big things in my life. Music has been in my life for as long as I can remember and I'm experiencing a really serious revitalization. A few weeks ago, my band opened for The Wrens, an older, well-respected, super-talented indie rock band from New Jersey that we adore. It was a pretty big deal for us; I don't go to many shows and I'm completely not down with the tour circuit and who's releasing what new album when, so it was my first musical innundation in a while. The Wrens blew me away with their talent; I got re-inspired and am putting a lot of new effort into my music.

Biking is a more recent love of mine. Two/three years ago I got interested in bikes, and started out by learning the duct-tape-and-hammer mechanic method--not unlike the "shake it until it works" school of home engineering. I borrowed a friend's urban singlespeed road bike and was thrilled at how fast and effortless it was, and needed to have one. Bought a fixed gear beater from a friend for $80 and a spanish textbook. Shortly thereafter I got a job in a bike shop and built up the bike that I've been riding for the past year and a half, an IRO Mark V frame with a variety of random components on it. I commute 20 miles a day, do some casual alleycat-style urban racing, and some long distance utilitarian biking.

There's a bike scene in NYC, too--an urban fixed scene--and I'm not much in it yet. But maybe soon.

Also of note and of excitement is: I might be buying a real pretty classic track frame. It's a possibility, far from a probability. It will be nice to have nice things. I don't own a lot of nice things.