Bikes: December 2008 Archives

I sometimes think that everything, absolutely everything, takes place along a continuum. That is, at one side of the spectrum - or some place in the middle - a quality is positive. It helps you to navigate the world, it allows you to do meaningful work, it tells you what your own particular shape of human life is about. Or maybe it simply keeps you sane.

On the opposite end (and for some things, at either extreme), the same quality has a deleterious effect on you or those who have to be in the same room with you.

Today's example: focus.

I have this in spades, as does my dear adorable brilliant brother. We are both hugely creative people - great big engines of ideas. We never, ever run out of things we want to do, try, or make, nor of the underlying impetus, which is something we want (or rather, need) to say.

That's great, right?

It is. But...we can both veer off into the extreme of focus, which is obsession.

A certain amount of obsession can be good - it provides the necessary drive to get things done.

On the other hand, it can lead one to do something stupid, like, say, get on a bicycle and ride up an uncleared bridge or three before the ice has sufficiently melted to be safely traversable, resulting in broken collarbones and wrecked bikes.

Now before y'all get upset, I did not do this. I had a little Yoda-like talk with myself and amped down the level of urgency and took myself for a brisk little slidey-ice walk instead. No major mishaps.

Not as good as the bike ride would have been - by a factor of about 2,000 - but I don't have a big bloody smear on my chest requiring X-rays and tape and 8 weeks off the bike, either.

Tomorrow it's gonna rain cats and dogs, and I am gonna ride my little ass off in it. Because the temp's going up above freezing and staying there for a few days. Patience, grasshopper.

Okay, here we go. After two lyrical, stream-of-consciousness posts, you're in for a rant, my friends.

I have been trapped, bikefree, for four days now. Not because of my usual assortment of injuries. Not because there's anything wrong with the bikes themselves. Not because I haven't had time.

Not even because the weather's been bad (I have plenty of gear - I can be toasty and dry in most any weather).

The city of New York has, in its infinite insanity (with apologies to Hawkeye for the phrase pilferage), decided that an appropriate place to save money is by eliminating the use of salt, sand, and plows on (apparently) all bike and pedestrian paths on all bridges in this fair (but fairly impossible to deal with, sometimes) city.

I got on my foul-weather steed last night in a desperate attempt to ride somewhere, anywhere (lack of exercise = bad, bad, bad, bad), got 15 minutes away from home, started to go up the first of my two habitually navigated bridges, and got exactly nowhere.

Wheels spun and spun and spun. I put my foot down, carefully, since there's even less purchase on a cycling shoe than there is on a bicycle tire. SHIT. No chance in hell. The thing was a sheet of ice, and the temperature was only just beginning to drop below freezing.

Turned around. Went home. Spent the whole night looking for studded tires that would fit my road bike. (There aren't any. And my mountain bike requires a new set of cranks, possibly chainrings, and a new saddle to be rideable by me. Not to mention the studded tires, which are $150.)

Today I texted a messenger friend: "How's the bridge?"

"Bad."

"Crap. Thanks."

So here I am, hamstrung, because of two bridges. And before you ask, 15 minutes on a bike is roughly the equivalent of having the prettiest boy or girl (whatever your preference) in the world stick his or her hands down your pants and then instantly pull them out, saying, "Oh wait, I forgot. I'm gay/straight (whatever the opposite of your preference)." Except I think I'd mind that a lot less. I mean, at least there's a little momentary thrill there before your hopes are dashed.

So I rode home in an ice storm last night, and when I arrived, there was so much snow and slush and road grit in my drivetrain that I thought, "I have to take pictures!"

Of course, by the time I'd de-Gore Texed myself sufficiently to pad over to where the camera was, half the gunk had melted off the bike. So just mentally double what you see here, and please, be impressed.

There was nearly an inch of untreated, unplowed snow on the bridge. I cycled up it, and down it, reminding myself of the strategies I use when driving a car in snow. They apply quite similarly, except that for "use your gears to slow you down," you substitute "use your legs to slow you down."

I would not have wanted to be on a freewheel that night. It'd be skid city.

Also, I heard later that the ice storm that started to kick up about 20 minutes from my house eventually laid down some serious black ice. And that would have been a problem for me, controlled-skid neophyte that I am.

Anyway, it was quite an interesting experience to ride in unplowed snow. Not as difficult as I would have expected, but the slushy bits were more difficult than I would have expected. Turns out you don't want to ride in the tire tracks of other cyclists; you're better off choosing the pristine snowfall - it gives you a bit of traction.

I got more yarn for gifts today - family gifts. From here until deadline time it's all about the family gifts (and has been, for a while now).

Wow. Cold out. Big tiring day. Rode into city, very very gingerly and carefully, and knees only hurt in last five minutes, as if to say, "don't get too comfortable, sweetie."

The skyline was so gorgeous in that clear, cold air that I really wanted to take pics for y'all, but I wasn't exactly certain where my pocketcam had got to. It's either hiding out in the bottom of my bike bag, or I've put it someplace I can't recall.

Must invent that handlebar cam.

Apart from the nervousness about how my body was going to treat me and the fact that my fingers and toes kept going alarmingly numb, it was beautiful to be on the bike, smoothly moving through relatively deserted streets, looking at the twinkly skyscrapers over the bridge and the homier Christmas lights of Brooklyn.

I got home weirdly tired despite not really having put forth much energy, and promptly (okay, after a nice warm shower) fell asleep on the couch, sitting up, with the cat snoozing on my lap putting forth all eight cylinders of her soporific energy.

Okay, so I made the damned bread. And it was okay, I guess, except for the fact that I was so daft and unfocused that I left out a key ingredient, and accidentally made it fat-free. Which is not such a good idea, breadularly speaking.

It tastes better than it ought to, but I had the devil of a time getting it out of the pan, and I fear for its long-term survival. I mean, it's all well and good and has a nice texture now, but once it's a day old or so I wonder if it will dry out prematurely.

Pleh. All that work. And vacuuming. And climbing onto a precarious tall stool with wounded knees to unscrew my overly conscientious smoke alarm from the ceiling. And climbing back up to screw it back in.

Knees still cranky. Probably have to stay off the bike tomorrow too, damn it all to hell. Plus, it's going to snow and be very windy out - not the greatest weather for cycling when one has a trick knee or two.

Watching Butch and Sundance shoot guns in Bolivia. Took pictures of most but not all of my unfinished knitting projects earlier today but thankfully many of them didn't come out well so I don't have to unveil that particular part of my life for your amusement.

This one of Kitwich being in love with the Malabrigo silky merino I bought for my sister's gifts did come out, though. Looking back over the blog this past month it's been a very heavy dose of cat pictures, which suggests two things, to my mind:

a) I'm not bringing my camera with me when I'm out and about, and/or
b) I'm not having a very good month.

Both of which are true.