Bikes: November 2008 Archives

I liked this idea, and when I went to do it myself, found something equally funny. Claudia's randomly chosen pic was of sheep, which figures. My randomly chosen pic was of this darling girl and her equally darling bicycle. Which also figures.

I guess whoever we are, we leave a trail of imprints from our obsessions wherever we go, like breadcrumbs to find our way back to ourselves if we should get lost.

That's the second time in a week that I've used that phrase or something close to it - I think I must be feeling a little lost, wondering where my inner lounge chair is. It's a bit fluttery in here of late. Not sure what to do about that, other than just to hold on and wait it out.

Anyway, it was a beautiful day here, and then turned far colder than I'd expected. All I really wanted, at the end of it, was a hot shower, with this. I'm sure a visitor (not that I have any) would find it odd that I have three different soaps "going" at once, but I'm a fickle girl that way. I want what I want when I want it. And so, at least in the realm of soap, I give it to myself.

Would that other areas of life were as simple.

And then there are days when I manage to accidentally (or instinctively) give myself exactly what I need.

Laundry: check. A chore, make no mistake, but laundry is much like writing - I hate writing but love having written.

Ride into city and go to favorite tiny yarn shop, where the elbow room is minimal but the selection very nice. And the lady at the counter gives me the approving smile and compliments me on my choices (I love that). Buy beautiful Malabrigo Silky Merino in cloudy sky, for my sister's holiday presents. A cowl and fingerless mittens, I think - my two "everyone must-haves" of the moment.

Also buy the yarn for mittens for he who shall not be named but who may at some point be hugged. They didn't have any more of the Jitterbug I'd planned to use, but did have an astonishing array of Koigu Painter's Palette. And I know some of you will fall off your chairs reading this, so steady on: I've never before knitted with Koigu.

Magically, there was a colorway that contained all the colors I've ever seen him wear, in a delightfully harmonious blend. So the choice was easy.

Then, ride to bike shop and have impromptu dinner with several of favorite people in world.

Then, beautiful ride home in clear, chill night air. Not the kind that freezes your limbs off - just the kind that wakes up your whole body and makes you happy.

I really like having seasons; you know what I mean?

I went to the therapist today, to do some of that old work I've alluded to. And I was complaining to her that I hadn't managed to run into you-know-who in weeks.

And she said, "Well, maybe the universe is protecting you."

To which I immediately shot back, with the rapid-fire delivery of a 1940s film heroine, "Fuck the universe."

And we both exploded with laughter.

Fuck the universe indeed. I saw him. Instantly after he arrived, he got a message requiring him to dash off on a run (messenger-speak for package to be delivered). He spent the next ten minutes trying to get someone else to do it, to no avail, and packed up and left.

Fuck you, too, universe. Kiss my stellar muscular ass, you shithole.

Ride fast, take chances. That is all for today.

Today as I was packing up my bike bag, I made sure that pocketcam was stowed in there, safe in its little pink pouch, so that I could take some cityscapes for the blog.

But that was before I realized how finger-numbingly cold it was out.

It's the kind of cold that catches you unawares, the kind where you think you have enough clothes on, only to realize, after the frail sun goes down (at about 4 pm), that there aren't enough clothes in the universe to keep your extremities from turning into ten tiny blocks of ice, and - um - ten other tiny blocks of ice.

So instead I took lap-pictures. Here's the view from my lap, five minutes ago (now the view from my lap would just be a shot of this here computer screen, with this very post on it, like that room full of mirrors stretching endlessly and self-referentially onward).

Exhibit A: I wanted applesauce. It was too late (and too cold) to go buy some, but I had two oldish apples kicking around the fruit bowl, so I made some.

Exhibit B: Sleeping cat. Big surprise, I know. But hey, it appears to be her job. That and a lot of licking herself (and my head after a shower - ewwwww), and a certain amount of decorating the apt with cat-hair.

Exhibit C: Cowl-on-needles. Why? Because I need something I can yank over the bottom half of my face on days like these, and the balaclava I cast on for last night is gonna take too long. So this might be called The Interim Cowl. I made it in this pretty pretty hand-dyed lilac yarn that I bought at last year's Rhinebeck, to match the little earflap cap I'd already made out of it. Which he who shall not be named has dubbed the Little Blue Riding Hood. (After which I promptly removed it, since I hated that moniker) (But it was not as cold that day) (And I still haven't seen him - it's officially been a fortnight, if I am remembering the vague definition of that term correctly)

Anyway. I've got so little to report that it hardly seems worth mentioning. Clearly, I've fallen off the daily posting bandwagon, due firstly to illness and then to exhaustion and persistent malaise following illness.

I coulda beena contenda. Maybe.

I guess I just get tired of hearing myself talk about nothing, too.

I mean, I'm knitting (mostly gifts for fellow cyclists, since everybody's cold). I'm still on a bland awful American-type diet. White bread, for pete's sake. Chicken soup. And I hate eating chicken. I hadn't eaten a piece of animal flesh in maybe eight months, but I was starting to get faint from lack of protein, and my stomach will not allow me to ingest any of my normal sources of it yet.

Where are my vegetables, my glorious fruits? I looked at a bottle of guava juice yesterday and nearly cried. Okay, that's an exaggeration; it was more like a wistful sigh, but still. It was sad.

No guava. No Boy. Sigh.

Boywich is here. He likes his new gloves.

I'd been knitting them in secret because he reads the blog. They're simple stockinette fingerless mittens done in Jitterbug Toscana. Nice colors.

On me, of course, they reached almost all the way to the fingertips.

I'm exhausted for some reason; half asleep, even. Spent most of the day doing errands and laundry and stuff. Then we went into town, and he met a few of my cycling fiends - I mean friends - I mean fiends.

Kitwich has been very happy - it took her a few hours to remember who he was, but I fancy she's especially content at the moment because all the people she knows well are here.

I'd really like to tell you some kind of scintillating story, but it's mostly hangin' out here right now. Boywich may have had the idea that it'd be all dance parties in the big city, but I suddenly realize that I live a pretty quiet life most days. And that I'm pretty okay with that most days.

PS. He just read this and said, "I knew it wouldn't be all dance parties. I just came to hang out."

Well yes, I did have a nice day yesterday, thank you very much. It was not without its degree of emotional fraughtness, especially during the time when I found myself unexpectedly in crush-boy's company, but that went rather well, too. I don't think it was my imagination that he looked at me starry-eyed a few times.

Which just goes to show that these silly people have a point: one does feel better about oneself when dressed well.

Boywich arrives tomorrow, so I finally called my super about the electricity (or lack thereof) in the bathroom, after some gentle chiding by Special J over margaritas (her) and sangria (me). We had a lovely, lovely time together, by the way, getting our faces scrubbed and smoothed and lavender-oiled, and then having our feet made pretty. Sigh. Wish I could do that more often; there's nothing like having someone massage your arms and hands with lavender oil. Though I did wish I'd been able to book the woman who did it last time; I wanted to marry her by the end of it. (You think I'm joking, I know, but a facial involves a chest massage, too, and really, I lay there thinking, "Maybe I should be dating women." But no, it's just her.)

(Okay, I'll shut up now before this deteriorates into the kind of thing that sends the Google web crawlers into apoplexy)

Where was I? Oh yes, boys.

Damn his pretty, pretty eyes. Not really, I love those eyes.

Anyway, it's all as relatively copacetic as it could be, and now I can entertain myself with lurid fantasies involving him falling madly, desperately in love with me (because I am so wonderful, no?) and - well, we won't go into what happens next.

Let's just say that it's a good thing I have a sweet cat (for the snuggling) and a lot of these (for the other).

And two bikes, for the working off of all that extra energy, er, tension, er, you know what I mean. Ooomph.

Okay, full disclosure: I could fall in love with this guy at the drop of a hat (I can hear them all falling off the hatpegs on the bedroom wall, now - 23 of them), and it will be interesting to see what happens. It may well just dissipate - other crushes of mine certainly have. Or it may not.

And now, to bike. Perchance to pick up some more Dr. Bronner's and such, so that even if Boywich has to shower by candlelight, at least he can be immersed in lavender while doing so. We love Boywich.

PS. The toes, by the way, are fairy-blue.

Feeling unaccountably better this morning (and yes, it is actually morning; I know, you're aghast), because I am young and strong and beautiful - well, pick two.

Or perhaps because the sky looks like this today.

And my only plans are to cycle into my bike shop, where the owner has brought me a present (is it a hot boy?), and then to go to a spa with Special J, where we will have our faces and feet made very beautiful.

What color shall I have put on my toes, I wonder?

Oh god, do I have to? If I'd known the month would be like this, I never would have pledged to do a daily blogpost.

Had an exhausting day, what with the emotional work in the morning, the massive bike rides all over the city in the afternoon, and the big embarrassing risky conversation in the evening. I'd talk about it, but for the fact that I really don't want to talk about it.

And then, of course, there's nothing new to tell. I seem to have undergone some sort of transformation of speed level in the last week, though it only (sadly) applies to one bike and not the other. I apparently am going to be the hottest, and least kissed 41-year-old girl on the block, since I can't seem to do anything but cycle and not be hungry. I'm sure the latter will wear off in a few days.

And yes, it was indeed a false alarm, and I ought to have known. Well, I was dreading it, since that is always how my life works out - the answer is always no, I never get what I want, unto the ending of the earth, and yes, I'm feeling sorry for myself, and no, I don't care if it makes me sound pathetic. Men: can't smooch 'em, can't shoot 'em. (don't really want to shoot this one, of course - what I want to do is sneak him off to some island where he isn't hampered by various legal, moral, and emotional obligations and tear his fricking clothes off.) Did I say that out loud?

No, I didn't think so.

Here's a blast from the past for you. Some of my longer-term readers may remember these charmers from the blog in its previous incarnation, prior to the Great Movable Type Crash of 2007 which rendered my older posts inaccessible.

I was sifting through some photos on my Other Computer last night, looking for ones I'd like to get enlarged for my living room (gotta have the Smoothies, right?), and came upon these fellows, and thought you might enjoy seeing them again (or for the first time). One of my favorite pics ever.

Anyway, several things occur to me this morning, so in no particular order....

It would be really swell, some days, to have a stainless steel heart.

It's not that everything (or maybe even anything) is irretrievably vanished into hell-in-a-handbasket territory - perhaps far from it (fucked if I know - I can't see clearly). But damn am I tired of having that wrung out feeling, like somebody's been having at this ol' heart of mine with a mess of 60-grit sandpaper.

And I had the ill fortune to end up being designated photographer last night, so now I have a series of horribly charming photos of the boy in question all over my computer like a lust-inducing infestation.

Got on my fast bike last night and rode faster and harder than I think I've ever ridden in my life. It was like I'd suddenly become a racehorse and HAD TO RUNNNNNNNN.

Couldn't help it. I was actually delighted when I was finally alone so I could peel out and ride as fast as I wanted to. Rainy empty streets, the sound of chain (time for a little lube, I think), my legs yanking the pedals around so hard I could feel my tendons pulling. I growled and roared as I went. I'm sure the spectacle was on the hilarious side, who gives a damn, really?

One block away from home, I have to wait at a light for traffic to clear and start to fall asleep sitting on my top tube. Then I start out again, and suddenly it's as if someone's thrown a brick wall in front of me. All of it catches up with me, the wrenching exhaustion, the frustration, the anxiety. Get home.

Photos, cat. Big noise right at our open window and both cat and I rush to it and stick our heads out, together, heads bumping into each other, "What's that? what's that?"

Then she head-butts me, as if to say, "Oh, you're helping me guard the castle tonight? I'm glad!"

Me too, sweetie, me too.

Okay, this daily posting shit really bites.

Apparently there was a false alarm in the "getting everything you asked for" department. Whatever. Much, much too tired to examine, parse, slice and dice, fold, spindle, mutilate, index, brief, or debrief it for you.

Seriously. Grand total of 8 hours' sleep in last 3 days = Lizbon must become horizontal.

Miracle I didn't get killed on way home. Still not sure how I managed to ride in that state, much less ride so frickin' fast. Maybe bike has built-in homing device installed in headset. That's why Chris King costs more...

And then it all went to hell. Just about literally.

A very dear friend of mine spent 20 minutes this afternoon face down on the pavement in handcuffs, being harassed by two police officers.

He hadn't done anything; simply walked out of an office building after delivering a package, went over to unlock his bicycle, and was accosted by them. They said there'd been a burglary nearby. They said he looked "suspicious."

I saw him a few hours later - he looked neat and tidy, clear-eyed and sober, dressed for his messenger work - not at all scruffy, not smelling of any illegal substances, carrying a messenger bag and an iPhone - the tools of his trade. The man has a master's degree, by the way. Not that that should make a difference, either, but I am just trying to give you the complete picture.

They threatened to give him a ticket for bicycling on the sidewalk (he hadn't even unlocked his bike yet), and he said Yes, do that. That way I'll have your badge numbers.

They let him go after that. Twenty minutes in handcuffs, face to the pavement, for walking while brown.