What you missed...

Oh my, so much has happened in the month that I haven't been able to sit down and write. I don't even know where to start. I have one of my gigantic Claire compositions marinating in my head. But now that I FINALLY have a day off with no riding or commitments, I feel like I should at least give an update on some of the highlights of what's been going on over the past month. Two things changed to keep me from my computer: one good, one bad.

The bad news first: Work. No two ways about it: Work. Was. Nuts. What would have normally been a 3-month, 20-page-per-day-per-editor job, we had to crank through in 5 weeks, tearing through over 40 pages per day per editor. I was going in early and leaving late every day, and forget about lunch breaks. Once April rolled around, I was so stressed out that junk food had made its way back in to my diet. So, while the detox was making me feel great, it was no match for 50- to 60-hour weeks.

Nutella was my release for the first 2 weeks in April.

With the crazy schedule, though, I began commuting to work on my Phyxie. I just couldn't count on the train to be ready to leave when I was, and there was no way I was going to find time to ride my bike otherwise. So in the past few months I've become an urban bike lane warrior, terrorizing the 11 highly congested miles between my house and work like I was in a turf war. I even got a few notches in my belt with minor accidents and lived to tell the tale:

The first Incident:
Where: Downtown Boston
Who: A whole family: Father, 5-year-old, mother, and baby in stroller
What happened: I came up to a 5-way intersection. There were walk lights on all sides, so I went (because no urban cyclist can realistically stop at every light). Right after the intersection was a small hill, so I was pedaling hard to build up momentum for the incline (I was riding a phyxie, remember?). I had built up to maybe 15 miles an hour, and was nearly across the intersection, pulling back over onto the right side of the road, where a UPS truck happened to be parked right in front of a cross walk. Suddenly, with no more than a foot between us, a father stepped out into the intersection holding his 5-year-old son by the hand. I didn't even have time to yell, let alone find my brake. BOOM! I plowed right into them, and they went down. No sooner did I see them hit the pavement, when the stroller followed them right into my path. CLATTER, BOOM! I took mom and the stroller out next. Everyone hit the pavement but me. Thank goodness everyone was alright, but there was a scary moment where they thought the little boy's arm was broken. I've gone over the accident over and over in my mind, and there was nothing that could have been done to avoid it. For several days after that, I was pretty gunshy in the streets, but realized that the more I stayed in my lane, and the more I rode the brake, the more I almost got hit. It is actually safer to ride agressively on buisy city streets than to ride defensively. At least if you plan on riding faster than 5 miles per hour.

The Second Incident:
Where: Central Square, Cambridge
Who: Me and a beat-up early 90's Subaru
What happened: I stayed late at work, and before I left my coworker said, "Be careful, it's raining out there." Aw crap! I thought. Now I'm going to get damp! Damp? Ha! When I took my bike out the door, it was pouring buckets and I think I heard thunder. I put on a pair of pants, and just planned to ride over to the train station a block away. But by the time I got to the station, I was soaked to the skin and it would still be another hour before they would let me take a bike on the train. So I just kept riding. There was thunder and lightning, and in many places I was riding through puddles that were several inches deep. People were driving like idiots, pulling over without signaling wherever they could to drop off passengers, and I almost got doored or floored several times. I guess mirrors and blinkers stop working in the rain. All I wanted was to get home in one piece. A third of the way into my ride, where there is a traffic light every block, I was riding through a narrow passageway between the stopped traffic and the parked cars. I was half way past a bus when I saw a car gunning a left turn right in front of the bus. I squeezed my brake for all it was worth, but it was wet; it did nothing to stop me. I realized that I was going to hit him, and time slowed down. I thought about going left, but the bus was there. I thought about swerving right, but the cars were parked there. I squeezed my brake harder, it didn't do anything. I did my best to stop pedaling (phyxie, remember?), but you need more space to stop than half... no a quarter bus length. I leaned back, in case that does anything to slow you down. SMACK! I hit the back side of the car, about where the gas tank would be. It slowed me down. I couldn't tell you how I stayed up, but I did. And then the second was over, the car cleared the 3 foot gap I was riding through, and the path was clear. I could stop and chase the guy down, but it was a thunder storm and I was cold and wet, and no matter what happened, the accident was his fault anyway. I was fine, so I just kept riding.

The Third Incident:
Where: Arlington Center, 20 feet from the turn onto quieter streets
When: 20 minutes after the last accident
Who: Me and what lies beneath a puddle
What happened: It was still raining like crazy, and now I was freaked out and pissed after hitting one car and almost being hit by a dozen more. I had just passed some guy on a $70 mountain bike who had been driving me nuts taking up the whole bike lane and going about 10 mph. It is just HARD to go 10 mph on a bike that only has one gear, no freewheel, and with non-functioning wet brakes without falling under a bus. I got around him and was passing a taxi stand where the ass of one taxi was sticking out really far. I was going to have to ride through a DEEP puddle to get around. I was riding along, slowing down for the turn when suddenly, SMACK, WHOOSH! and my bike was gone. I was flying over the handlebars in Super Man position with my bike still attached to my right cleat. My left thigh jammed into the drops before I cleared the bike, and I did a giant belly flop into the puddle. I skidded about 5 feet, face-down in the puddle, still dragging my bike from my right foot before I came to a stop. All I could think while I was dragging along the road was, I can't believe my tit is in this nasty puddle right now. When I came to a stop, I did a quick body scan. Can I get back on my bike to get away from all these people that just saw me go down? I can!
"Are you alright?" asked the guy on the $70 mountain bike as I re-mounted. Damn, I hadn't dropped him yet?! I was fine. My bike seemed to be fine. I told him as much and rode away. I had bruises all over my legs, and a small scratch on my hand, but I was fine. After that I got sick again, though.
The next day on my ride home I looked at that section of pavement. It's clear and smooth, with one giant, 8 inch deep divot about the width of a dinner plate.

Other people I saw on my commute: The guy riding the foldable bike just fast enough that I just couldn't seem to pass him for miles.
The guy on a bike that was uglier than my Phyxie, with a rusted-out chain that sagged a good inch on both the top and the bottom who managed to suck my wheel for a good 2 miles as I sprinted to get away from him. His bike was so shitty, that when he shifted I turned around because it sounded like he'd fallen over. "You've got some fast legs, lady!" he called after me as I made the turn off of Mass Ave. Why is it that the guys who are all kitted out and riding nice bikes can't hang for a block, but the real riders are on the shittiest bikes?
The female bike messenger with the pink bar tape who thought she could drop me. She almost lost me in traffic, but I was right behind her all the way through Cambridge. I wanted to pass her and say, "Nice gears," (because she had them and I didn't), but then she turned off.

Other rides you missed: There was the 200K windy brevet that I only wrote a couple of lines about. That one may never make it out of the filing cabinet of my memory, but it was an epic one. After the guy busted his face on the pavement in the first 15 miles, a Straight Man Over 40 and I were the last to stick around and make sure the ambulance made it. Afterwards, all the faster riders were long gone, and we were left alone to stick out the 20+ mph winds for the rest of the day. It would have been fine, but I kept losing my cue sheet, and homeboy kept bonking. And yet he STILL rejected gels that someone offered to him that weren't the right flavor. I swear, sometimes I hate cycling because you have to be so dependent on other people; and people are exasperating. The newest member of the Straight Men Over 40 Claire Fan Club was great for the first 90 of the 110 miles we rode alone together, though.

I planned to ride up Mt. Wachusett one weekend, only to show up and find that even though it was nearly 60º outside, there were still people skiing on the mountain. So I rode a hilly 50 miles instead and felt like total ass climbing. Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass. The end.

I set out to ride a 120-mile rout by myself last weekend. The forecast called for some scattered showers that would probably peter out by mid-afternoon. I set out from my house and headed up into New Hampshire. I felt great, and my bike felt like it was pedaling itself. And then I hit the New Hampshire border. Then it started to rain. I was fine, though. I had expected some light rain, and I was dressed in my new water resistant bright-as-the-sun day glow jacket. But over two hours later, when it was still pouring buckets, I was soaked to the skin, and freezing to death, I reached my breaking point. That's the way it is for me on every ride, I'm doing great, and then my mood just CRACKS! I could miss a green light, a car might not yield, the pavement might be particularly bad, or there could be just one more hill than I'm willing to deal with. This time I missed a turn and that was the end of it. I was standing on the side of the road, looking like a drowned rat and screaming "MOTHER FUCKERS!" at all the cars that had the audacity to keep driving when I so clearly wanted them to give up their right of way. I kept riding for about 15 more miles, to total about 80 miles, some 50 of which were in the rain. But I was so cold that my reaction time was getting fucked up. I had hardly sipped my water bottle and hadn't eaten anything in about 40 miles. I still had 40 miles to go and couldn't imagine how I'd get there. I wasn't bonking, I was just freezing. So I had to do something that I hope I never have to do again. I stopped at a sub shop and called in a favor. If you don't read Michelle's blog, by the way, you should. Not only was Michelle a rock star driving 40 miles to pick my ass up in "Where-the-hell-is-Georgetown?!", but she brought me a towel and a dry change of clothes when she did it. We should all be so lucky as to have friends like Michelle.

... and the good part...

The mechanic. Yes, she has pink handlebars and pink cable housing as well as some girly leafy design on her mountain bike. But other than these glaring personality flaws, I'm loving hanging out with her – which pretty much all I've been doing in most of my (little) free time this past month. And as far as the pink bike goes (it's not pink! It's just got pink handlebar grips and cable housing!), she borrowed my road bike to ride to work one day... and suddenly she's in love with the roads and buying a road bike. It's blue. No pink. At all. And since I don't have a mountain bike, I never have to worry about being seen with a girl on a pink bike. So everything's good. Take down the red flags, we can proceed.

She did put a pink computer on the bike she's borrowing, though. We'll have to do something about that when I get it back...

If the bike shop were a sitcom, I would already have been a regular character, but now I might have made it to the regular cast. Of course the whole thing is the juiciest of gossip among the guys that work there as they make lewd conjectures about what they think might be going on behind closed doors. But in the end, everybody loves lesbians, so it's all been working out alright. It has been suggested that I have ulterior motives in dating my bike mechanic. Let me just say this right now, no. Okay? Have we got that out of our system? Good.

It's not as fun as you would think getting your bikes worked on for free. People who actually care about me are much more likely to politely point out that I have no clue what I'm doing. I thought I was pretty bad ass for being able to change a tube, pump up my own tires, and lube my chain. When someone who knows me does work on my bike, have to listen to comments such as these:
Oh my god, your headset's so loose! Have you been riding on it like this the whole time? (yes... What's a headset?) Did you even notice? (No. What's a headset and why do I need one?) If you hit something your fork could come right off. (...)
You know your bottom bracket's completely shot. (What's a bottom bracket?) Bikes aren't supposed to creak like an old boxspring, you know. (They're not? I just thought that was a sign of an aluminum frame bike!)
And did you know that your pedals are shot? The plate almost fell out of them when I took them off. (There are plates in pedals?!) And your brake caliper snapped in half when we tried to take it off... but that may have been my fault... (No, probably not....)
And I re-wrapped your bars. Whoever did them did a shitty job... (heeeeey! I wrapped my bars!)
If I thought I was a rock star for figuring out how even ride a phyxie. It turns out that it's such a piece of crap that nobody who knows anything about bikes would pay more than $20 for it. So even if I thought I was a badass, my complete inability to fix my bike, or even figure out that it needed fixing was enough to cut me down to size.

So that's what I've been up to. More cohesive posts will be back soon. In the meantime, drop a comment. First comments will be the first people whose blogs I catch up on.

It's good to be back!