Bikes: September 2009 Archives

I'd say that this is going to be the saddest news in the world, but honestly, given the state of things, it's not even close to the bottom of the heap. I mean, I have three bicycles, an adorable cat, and friends who love me - what more could a girl want?

I don't think I can ride to Rhinebeck this year. What's more, I don't think I can even go to Rhinebeck this year. I sat down and did the math, and poked around on the Internets and found, as Juno had warned me, that the hotels in and near Rhinebeck are already brimful of knitters who planned earlier out than a month. (side note: holy shit, in what weird world is a month ahead of time not enough advance planning for a weekend excursion?)

Any way I crunched the numbers, I came to the same conclusion: too expensive. If I could ride the whole way in one day, MAYBE. But I can't. My bike isn't even ready yet. I haven't trained on it. I haven't tested my legs on the big big hills of upstate NY. I haven't re-learned how to ride a geared road bike, and I've never used the kind of shifting/braking setup I am having made.

The long and the short of it is, I don't think I can go. I thought about taking the train up, riding from the station to the festival and back, but that's a big chunk of riding, and would take almost half the day, and then what's the point?

So I guess I am bagging it. I thought I'd be really really sad and let-down, and I find that I am not.

I will ride the road bike on some long hilly rides into the country, and I might even do an overnight here and there, and I will manage to see some leaves before they all fall to the ground and get snowed on. But the grand adventure will have to be put off for another, more solvent year. Plus, of course, there's the fact that if I went to Rhinebeck, I'd drop at least $100 on wool. I mean, ya have to. It's there.

So, y'all have fun, ya hear? I'm gonna knit from my very nice stash for a while. And maybe ride to the beach and look at the terns and gulls. The beach is nice in the fall. Quiet. Windy. Mmmm.

I lay on the couch and watched V is for Vendetta. I watched the spurts of blood fill the screen. I watched the flames rise around V's upraised arms. I watched and thought about how much that feels like riding in the city.

An idea can't be killed with bullets, he said. Hmn.

Some of my friends ride slowly, and some ride fast, and some suit their speed to the occasion or mood.

One rides likes it's a war, always. Chases down cars and spits into their windows when they've behaved horribly.

Some wear carbon knuckles. One got attacked by a driver wielding a baseball bat. The result: he ended up holding the bat, the driver panicked and leapt back into his car, the friend threw the bat into his window.

You think I am making this shit up, you people who live in the suburbs?

I sometimes think of this language I read on the website of Transportation Alternatives: "It shouldn't require this degree of pluck to ride in the city."

Oh yeah?

It requires a fairly high degree of pluck to live in the city, much less ride in it.

Some days I really just want to go for a pleasant ride. To get on a path, a smooth, paved, quiet path, and ride between green trees.

But you know, those don't even exist in the countryside. I remember riding in the country. It was all about feeling the onrush of air as a car approached at 75 or more mph, and you prayed, desperately prayed that they: a) saw you, b) gave a crap about not hitting you, and c) weren't about to throw a glass bottle at you at those speeds.

You think I am making that up, too? It happened to a friend of ours, Boywich's and mine. Not just one bottle but several. He gave up and began riding only on mountain trails.

Why am I telling you this? Most of the time I never complain about it to anyone who doesn't ride the same streets. I never even discuss it. They say, You must be crazy to ride on these streets, and I shake my head and smile and downplay it and change the subject, usually to ask where we're eating.

The truth is, there's a part of it that's delicious. It's not the danger, I don't think. It's the fire. It's the fire that runs through my veins. It's always there. It needs an outlet.

When I was shopping for yarn to make a birthday hat for a friend, I mock-looked at other colours in the shop, but there was really only one choice. Don't you hear Hugo Weaving's voice as I say that?

1. I cannot for the life of me get enough apples. I bought a bunch at the Saturday farmer's market, and today I had to go and buy a bunch more at the Wednesday one.
2. My bag contains, in addition to its usual complement of snacks and H2O and tools, 1 rain jacket, 1 merino wool sweater, 1 pair legwarmers, and 1 neckwarmer (tight-fitting cowl). Oh, and a change of (wool) socks.
3. I am knitting again(!) Every year I worry that I've simply lost the urge, and every year it comes right back with the first breath of cool air. I've made one hat and am two-thirds of the way done with another.
4. I have cut off two pairs of jeans in the last week. I know, that sounds like a sign of summer, but for me, making new cutoffs is paradoxically a sign of fall, because it means I am in need of heavyweight short pants for cool-weather cycling (see note about legwarmers, above).
5. The boys all look adorable to me again. Well, okay, that may have more to do with having given the one I was non-dating the boot recently, but I also think cool weather makes boy sports more appealing.

I suppose hats are my way of getting the knitting muscles warmed up. What I really need to manage to knit is a fine-gauge sweater to wear on the bike. I had one on needles somewhere, if only I could find it. Much of my knitting is still languishing in cardboard boxes, since I moved during warm weather and can't, as mentioned on many previous occasions, get it up for knitting in warm weather.

The cat would appreciate some knitted toys, I believe. Especially since I killed that very large insect she'd been playing with the other day.

Rice and beans and sauteed greens, that's what little girls are made of.

Well, this one anyway. Then of course, I had to have a second dinner a few hours later, which consisted of oatmeal and apples. Before you get on your aghast horse about the apparent healthyness of all that, know this:

a) I had a little dark chocolate, too. (Green & Black's 85%)

b) If you ever want to improve your eating habits, just become a serious (or even quasi-serious) athlete. You'll have no trouble at all, because your body will be constantly crying out for high-quality fuel, not junk.

It's been quite a week or two hereabouts. I have had bad days and good days, and bad hours and good hours. On the whole, I think things are fine.

A friend who's in a position to know remarked to me today that it was a neat trick of mine to only date men who are past masters in the art of mixed messages, since it helps ensure that I won't be trapped in a relationship that makes serious demands of me.

I laughed and laughed. Genius, ain't it?

And I instantly had an image of Thomas Crown raising a glass to his female toxic bachelor counterpart, Catherine Banning, saying, "Here's to the fear of being trapped." Oh yes, my darling, oh yes.

I rode brilliantly, smiling all the way, in bright sunshine and hefty headwind, and stopped and ate an apple (thank the gods it's apple season once again), and ran into two handsome fellows of my acquaintance (no wait, three), and generally enjoyed my beautiful bachelorhood. Sometimes it's fun to know what you're doing, under all that uncertainty.

"If it comes down to you or them, send flowers." - Robert Redford, as Nathan Muir

Oh goody, it's....still not Friday.

What a weird week this has been. Every day I think it's Friday - not just think, but am convinced, utterly and completely. And then I'm very frustrated.

I want Friday!

I want to play!

I want to ride to the beach!

I want! I want! I want!

I want to have not spent $4 on a single heirloom organic tomato at the damn grocery store, which then turns out to be all mushy and disgusting.

I want to ride my bike every day for hours, with no ill effects on knees or any other part of me.

I want something delicious. Preferably fruit or this dark chocolate.

I want that mouse under the stove to stay where it is and never come out. No wait. I want it to go away, far away.

I want pineapple.

I want some snuggling, with a cute boy, please. Nowish would be good. Or at least Friday.

I want all my bikes to be done and ready to ride soon soon soon yippeeeee.

I want to tell you a secret:

I am riding my bicycle to Rhinebeck this year. Yessiree. And ye shall know her by her wobbly legs and chain grease.