Thug Lite

Dear Wannabe Thug,

You oughta stop listening to your friends now. They were egging you on to race me after I almost clipped your ass this evening. See, that's what happens when you ride out in front of someone thinking, "oh, she'll stop." No. No, they won't. Seeing that I didn't care, they were yelling, "race! race! race!" so you struggled on your too-tiny bicycle that looked like you outgrew it five years ago.

Here's what's sad. You were winded, huffin' & puffin', and still couldn't keep up. I was in a medium gear, riding uphill (not my favorite), my heart and respiration rate were normal, I was wearing three-inch heels, AND I have about fifteen years on you.

Go home to your mama!

-Schleppi Read more!

Topsy Turvy World

Survey says that 73% of women who have a safety concern related to bicycling named "distracted driving" as the concern.

In conversations (that are generally one-sided) with "well-meaning" (re: busybody) coworkers and acquaintances, not a one has asked if I was afraid that a distracted driver would slam into me. No. The fear that they try to transfer from themselves to me is that of being attacked by a stranger. According to the same survey of female cyclists, only 13.1% named stranger attacks as one of their concerns.

In the February issue of Bazaar, Liza Minnelli is quoted as saying, "Keep moving. Always be a moving target. [...] Marilyn Monroe taught me that." Those who have concerns of being ambushed might calm themselves by keeping those words (completely out of their context) in mind. Read more!

Flinging Mud

In the spirit of the Red Sox, I also had a completely bootleg opening day for cycling. Now, it's not that I stopped during the winter. It's just that my cold weather cycling was transportation-only, not joy riding. So, with today's forecast of temperatures in the 50s and sunshine, I was excited to get out and go down by the river, where it would not be flooded anymore.

I loaded up the Jenny, who does not go out when there is snow and ice on the ground. The plan was to ride around, read a book in the sunlight, and maybe stop for coffee before meeting up with friends on the other side of town. Everything is all set and ready to go, and I realize the tires are really soft. I usually make such observations once I'm miles for home. Oh, and I have no idea where my pump is. I had to unload everything and take Starry Starry Bike, which does not have a basket and which still does not have the seat/handlebar arrangement quite to my liking anyway. I like to sit upright, not hunched forward.

Since the tires are all inflated and I needed to get out for fresh air, I was not going to be too annoyed about it. Anyway, it's got working brakes, which is more than can be said for most local bikes.

The first thing I notice is that everything is out of whack. The shifting is rough. There are three separate sounds coming from the bike that ought not be. But the brakes work and the bike can move, which is all I need for the time being. I just wish it would be a more stealthy ride.

The public path is, of course, blocked with a gate. There's enough room to walk my bike around it, but a cargo bike wouldn't fit. This is total bullshit and there are other barriers that could be put into place that would allow bicycles to go through more easily, while blocking cars. Patrolling of the Riverfront is sporadic -- heavy during the week and less so on the weekend -- which is only a concern in so far as I wanted to immediately complain about the gate to someone.


So, there is a new crop of graffiti, none of which is impressive. Really, if you're going through the trouble of making illegal "art," why not write something worth reading? Step it up guys!

My irritation with how inaccessible this awesome path is continues. The elevators to the elevated plaza were marked "closed for season." It's April, sunny, and warm. What season are they waiting for? So, I have to either go all the way around from the edges of the Riverfront path (which I do) or I have to portage my bicycle up all the friggin steps. I can't walk up half the stairs without getting winded. Those are crap options.

A large section of the path is now muddy from what the Connecticut River gifted us when it overflowed its banks. It ended up being better that I took Starry Starry Bike because the Jenny's tires probably would not have liked it. As sloppy as it was, the mud only got on my boots, thanks to my fenders.

It was fun watching people sliding around on the path. Looked like the MDC trucks had trouble with the path too. Suckers.


When I got to the Riverside Park I saw that there was a festival of fire or something on the East side of the river.
One marvels at the things that go on over there. Fires. Dirtbikes on sandbars. It's comforting to have a river in between us and that nonsense. We only have to contend with uninspired graffiti and drunks passed out on the stone benches.

Like a drifter I was born to bike alone.

When I finally abandoned the riding around in circles aimlessly, I thought I'd stop off for a late breakfast. After manhandling the quaint sidewalk cafe so that I could lock up my bike, someone came over the inform me that the new cafeteria-with-canned goods has a bike rack inside of the parking garage next door. They might want to post signs advertising that. Anyway, I sat where I could see my bike just in case some ironic young professional decided to mess with it. Next time, the bike is coming in with me. If people can bring strollers into stores, I can bring my bike. There's nothing on my bike, after all, that wails or shits itself.


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What's Your Excuse?

On her bicycle, an elderly person was able to escape the tsunami in Japan.

I find it impossible to listen to stories like this without immediately wondering how people in the United States have grown to be so soft. During most of the year, people in Connecticut find excuses for not biking. "It's too rainy. It's too cold. It's snowing. It's dark and someone might stab me. The humidity might make me sweat."

Do you think this woman ever thought for a second, "Oh, I can't get on my bike. I'm too old and it's too wet outside"? Read more!

Bring It!

First off , cuz I gots a p-u-s-s-y you have to disregard all this. It clearly means that I am having a meltdown, and not that I'm a bad boy. Even if I got a pair of tits to prove it, ain't enough-- they gotta be on someone else. There's loads of precedent for this. Lindsay Lohan: meltdown. Britney Spears: meltdown. Mariah Carey: meltdown. Men don't break down. They just be playaz. Don't hate on that.

So, if you wanna ride like Charlie, if you wanna win like Charlie, you gotta have tiger blood. If you weren't born with that, ain't a thing. Substitute vodka on an empty stomach. Stop the transfusion after your face is numb.

Next what you want to do is equip your bike with lights. The idea of this is to get everyone to see who is coming at them. When they see that someone so great and winning is hurtling in their direction, they have no choice but to step aside and kneel out of respect. See the light on the bike in the picture? Ain't no way people can't see that. So, when I hear that my buddy got smacked by a van, and knowing that he shines brighter with truth than this light, all I can think is the opposition be hurling fastballs that we are going to hafta hit right out of the park.

That's right. Bicycle thug gang action. You gotta strap on the biggest fenders you got, exercise that middle finger, and get prepared mentally to cut off transit buses, GTL frat boys, and nervous suburbanites who accidentally stayed inside of city limits past sunset. You gotta be willing to ride through puddles in Bushnell Park that soak through your jeans up to your knees even with those fenders. Riding and winning like Charlie means rolling on ahead no matter how the opposition is creating barriers.

Defeat is not an option, and that's what they are trying to do when they ram into you or come inches away. They're trying to get you to throw up your hands and cry surrender. They trying to put you back behind the wheel or next to the car at the gas pump at six in the morning so that they have company, so that they can look around and still say "Hey, everyone is doing this. There's nothing wrong with my lifestyle." They want proof that the American lifestyle of overindulgence exists and that everyone is happily floating along with it. And they'll keep it up and keep it up until the law enforcement agencies or the vigilantes get to them first.

After you've slapped on some fenders, lights, and guzzled down some vodka, what you need to do is make sure your bike is a total piece of shit. This helps, especially if you are sentimental. You need to be ready to pick up your bicycle and launch it at the opposition. Let's face it. We need something stronger than the tiptoeing around, begging for scraps type of advocacy we've been getting. We need the craziest most balls-out, tits-out kind of show that we can put on because they answering to nothing else.

Asshole drivers-- consider yourselves on notice.


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Incredulity

It was the discussion of banana portaging that grabbed my attention while reading Bike Snob NYC yesterday, but the part of his post that had real staying power was something I had basically buried in my brain as I read it. At night, I went to some semi-glitzy, social networking event, and yeah, I rode my bicycle there. I hadn't ridden in a few months and was tired of that, plus, this event always creates a traffic jam and I have has much patience for sitting in traffic as I do for incompetence in the workplace.

Before even leaving the house, I was hearing how basically I was crazy for riding my bicycle when it was this cold outside. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I've ridden in more pleasant weather, but I have been regularly walking to work, and the cold has bothered me far less than the impending doom promised by uncleared sidewalks. There were days when I would have worried less about such things, but I have a mortgage and no health insurance; I am constantly calculating how much a slip would cost me should I have to go to the emergency room for a broken bone. It's exhausting to feel so much contempt for fellow earthlings who are both too lazy and immature to take care of their shit.

Anyway, what I learned on the route there was that Starry Bike, for the most part, can deal just fine with ice. While I was a bit out of shape and winded, the trip didn't take very long -- much less than it would've if I walked and less than if I drove -- and I never got too cold. I was able to lock up at a bike rack (thanks to Tony for the tip), use a locker inside where to stash helmets and unsexy accessories, and enjoy a child-free event. It's not that I don't like some children. It's just that there is a certain pleasure to be had in cussing up a storm in a space that is usually lousy with youths.

When they turned off the lights and kicked us all out to the curb, it took us awhile to get our bikes unlocked. People were streaming by and some drunk (I'm hoping drunk, because otherwise he is just an ass) guy is all like "Oh my God! She's gonna ride a bike." Now, my response was a passive aggressive comment to Interstatement about how people stupidly don't understand the way sound actually travels, and people who are being talked about can hear the conversation too. In younger days, I would've just gotten up in his face for that spewing of dumb.

That's when it clicked. I remembered a key part from the Bike Snob NYC post:

One of my favorite aspects of any bicycling-themed news report is always the reporter's total incredulity that someone actually rides a bicycle. Note her inflection when she says the following at 44 seconds:

His bikes have more miles than his car!

I love how she says it as though that's the epitome of insanity, in exactly the same way she'd say something like: "He keeps an incredibly rare Fahaka puffer fish in his toilet!"

The intonation of the comment was absolute incredulity. That's the perfect word. If I said I was going to birth eight babies at once without a partner, he may have been less amazed. Out-of-control breeding is more normalized than using self-powered transportation.

This is not the first time I encountered this incredulity.

Months ago, I wrote about (but never published) an account of an unfortunate exchange between some Audi-driving moron and myself. I found myself at an event that had jumped the shark so long ago that simply calling it "tired" will suffice for description. I was jubilant to get the hell out of there but had to fumble with two locks first.

Meanwhile, this uncreative, blonde-haired pustule was standing nearby, trying to get my attention. Imagine his lines slurred:
Audi: Hey Dorothy! Dorothy!
Me: *ignores*

I had gotten the locks off, attached the back light, and had to rig up the headlight. Since there is no proper way to attach the light on the Jenny, this was taking awhile. At some point, I made the mistake of turning around and making eye contact.

Audi: Excuse me?
Me: Yes? [read that with rudeness and annoyance in tone]
Audi: Let me just tell you two things.
Me: *rolls eyes* What?
Audi: That is an amazing dress. Are you going to put that basket on the bike?

It should be mentioned that the basket had already been affixed to the bicycle. Three beers fewer and he might have noticed this.

Audi: Where did you get your basket?
Me: My BOYFRIEND gave it for me, so I don't know where HE got it.

I hate having to do that, but my memories of being a pugnacious youth taunt me and I don't want to wind up with a public defender for kicking some deserving brat in the shins.

At this point another woman walks by to retrieve her bike. He begins to annoy her.

Audi: Hey, how come you don't wear heels and a dress like her?

The woman mumbles something back and quickly maneuvers her bike out of there. The jerkwad turns back to me.

Audi: How're you gonna get home? You're gonna have a tough time riding home in the dress and heels? How're you gonna ride side saddle?

Me: I fucking got here didn't I? I rode here wearing the same thing I'm leaving in.

Still futzing with the light, I gave up and rolled it somewhere away from Audi Guy so that I could attach the light in peace.

This incredulity, as described here, can be rude, but sometimes it's more innocent. Whatever the case, I don't get it. How do these people control themselves when they see something truly amazing? Do they awegasm at the sight of a bear riding a tricycle or while watching a child get born? Do their brains explode on spot at the sight of a Tiffany's diamond display case? I can't even imagine what it must be like to be so simple-minded. Read more!

Blocked

I don't do "heartfelt" or "sentimental," so the plethora of gratitude posts/articles leading up to and on Thanksgiving always infect me with good old-fashioned alienation and bitterness. People who do not have a fractured relationship with their families do not get this; so, it's been a week or so of knee-deep guilt and general annoyance. After all, a lot of these same people who love to talk about gratitude run out the next day to be rude to fellow beings at the shopping malls, nevermind support the Black Friday nonsense that requires minimum wage workers to report in at three a.m., forcing them to leave their own Thanksgiving dinners early so that they can take a nap before work.

What does this have to do with bicycles?

My pissy mood lifted enough today to recognize my gratitude for being able to ride a bike and for owning a decent one. This allows me to ride faster than the speed of street harassment. I can travel more safely late at night by myself. My brakes work.

Recognizing this, I took a shorter-than-expected jaunt down by the Connecticut River. When we begin to get snow and ice, I am switching from my Jenny to Starry Starry Bike, with the intention of maintaining Jenny's good looks and lack of saltiness. I had not even reached Downtown before realizing that I would have been better prepared for the ride with a balaclava and thermos of hot chocolate.

The ride to the river is always interesting. I cut through Sheldon-Charter Oak and South Meadows, which means passing buildings and beings that have both seen better days. The Capewell Horse Nail Factory and Colt Armory are two such places. As for the people, this area has a number of homeless shelters and soup kitchens, and it's along the highway and railroad, which some live along. I guess this traces back to gratitude too, because I live in a community where we actually have services and resources for the hungry, homeless, and ex-offenders. It might be uneasy at times to ride on past, but at least we are not outsourcing our "problems" for others to deal with.

Arriving at the secret creepy entrance to the Riverwalk, I saw the gate was closed and I could find no way around it. I suppose I could have jumped it and lifted my Jenny overhead, but honestly, that was a lot of effort to put forth on a Sunday morning. I figured I'd just ride on the roads further, go into Charter Oak Landing, and hook up with the path there.


What I discovered was that the path was obstructed by construction equipment. My assumption and hope is that they are finally getting around to completing Riverwalk South, the unpaved section of path between Charter Oak Landing and Mortensen Riverfront Plaza. It's never been too difficult to either ride or push my bike up the unpaved part, but as much as I might think I'm the center of the universe, other people may actually want to use this path, including the elderly and those in wheelchairs. What I learned over Thanksgiving vacation is that the elderly do not enjoy off-roading it through any parks. In fact, slightly uneven sidewalks can make them cranky.

I was hoping the Riverfront Recapture website would have more information on the project, but there's nothing more than a vague reference to the plans.

Circling back, I got distracted by something I wanted to take a photo of and ended up heading the wrong way on a one-way street. This would not be a big deal except that after I was halfway down the street, people came pouring out of a Polish church and I found myself standing on the sidewalk, with my bike, just waiting for the street gridlock to subside.

Thinking I'd get something more out of this, I tried to find coffee and a snack Downtown, but unless I wanted a F.B.S. there was nothing for me. The Sunday after a holiday is reason for all the good places (anything but DD) to shut down.

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Bikes Outside: Bike Ballet

Exhibit A: Genderfuck bicycle. Note the bold fuchsia paint job that is paired with a deep blue crate.

Exhibit B: The font is bubbly, script, and ultimately, girly; yet, the tires say "move out the way before I run you down."


Exhibit C: Bicycle parking itself at rack where light pink ballet slippers are tied.

Verdict: Awesome. One fewer student in the Blue Hills neighborhood using a car to transport him/herself across campus.

Read more!

Bikes Outside: There Is A Rose In Spanish Hartford

This Independence Day edition Bikes Outside brings us to the Firebox Restaurant at Billings Forge in NoFroHo. Huffy is an unmistakably American brand, though I'm not sure how late they actually built bikes in the USA. Seeing as our nation has trended away from nuance and detail with regards to just about everything, I say that if its a Huffy, it's American!!!

This Huffy is in decent shape for its 30-something age and has a whopping big dose of utility in the form of a giant front basket. I had a Wald basket like this on my Skykomish in Portland and it was extremely useful. I got so accustomed to using it that the front end of the bike felt disconcertingly light, downright twitchy, the one time I rode without a load. The D-R's owner seems to have run into the same snag I encountered with my big basket: it makes bike locking that much more awkward. That means this Huffy's radical angle of repose is a forced function of utility rather than a hipster high-lock. High-locking does increase visibility as well, and my impromptu photo shoot was noticed by one of the Firebox's employees, who seemed very amused that I was so interested in the old bike, which he said belonged to one of the waitresses.

The Desert Rose exists in a stylistic limbo, having cast off the swoopy lines of muscle bike era frames for a more angular BMX (albeit step-through) form, while hanging on to the banana seat and ape hangers that ruled the youth bike market in the age of Aquarius. It has the requisite color scheme that ranges from pink to pink to mauve, with a bold departure in the form of a splash of maroon for good measure. I think girls' bikes were sort of an afterthought, although "Desert Rose" does sound a bit more rugged than the pretty princess treacle that endures to this day. There's something kind of tough and resourceful about this bike. I like that.

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Stank Locker

In case you're asked to check your bags at the front desk of the oldest art museum in Hartford, you can use this photo as proof that your junk'll probably fit just nicely in one of their complimentary lockers. One locker holds: massive cargo bike pannier, two helmets, and a medium-sized purse. Sure, we could have taken two lockers and not gotten everything wrinkled, but I think the point needed to be made.

Before we reached the museum, we had to do some rush hour traffic riding. Before that, I practically got marriage offers from some dudes in my neighborhood. It went something like this:
DUDE ONE: We need us a simple girl like that.
DUDE TWO: Yeah, all these girls 'round here all they want's for us to get expensive cars and drive them around.

DUDE ONE: (to me) Hey, can I ride wit you? I'll behave.

This was one of the better random street pickup attempts I've been victim to, mostly because I agreed with them. Too many females see males as chauffeurs and ATMs. Relying on a man to supply one with these things is just setting oneself up for disappointment. Thus, I quote Destiny's Child: "I depend on me if I want it."




At the museum, we saw that someone thought himself too good for both wheels.

This is not the first time I spotted a unicycle downtown. Last year, someone sped around Main Street on one, doing tricks and hopping off the curb.

Before hitting the after party, we wanted to ride home to make some wardrobe adjustments. Interstatement picked up a passenger for the back of his bike -- a friend in the neighborhood who was too lazy to walk his self home -- and I once again dazzled onlookers by being able to pedal in heels. Here's a secret: it's really not that hard. In fact, it's way easier to ride a bike in heels than it is to stand still in them. What sucked about the ride had nothing to do with my footwear. The seat on Starry Starry Bike was still at this high, strange angle, and I've been spoiled riding the Jenny, which allows me to sit upright. I have a cranky back and any hunched over posture, if not immediately uncomfortable, at least promises to cause me discomfort the next day.

We rode home and then back downtown, locked the bikes on a random railing because there are no visible bike racks outside on Columbus Boulevard, and proceeded to check out the after party before running into a friend stumbling down from a mere few blocks away. Sure, he left later than we did, but I think this makes a sound case for why he needs a bicycle yesterday.

Also, if you need more information to pull out if the subject ever comes up, bike helmets and panniers were allowed into a swank restaurant in the Convention Center/Science Center vicinity.

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Lettuce Ride

Not all outings threaten to mangle ye olde she-taint. Today's ride was simple -- a very familiar, somewhat short ride to my garden. Another fine use for my basket: carrying a claw and hoe in it makes for easy access to self-defense tools, should they be needed. It also holds less lethal items, like fresh-picked lettuce.

After one of many trips here, I noticed a certifiable bike rack in the vicinity. This means not needing to wheel my bike into the cluttered garden anymore!

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Festival of Smug

Biking in the rain provides many surprises, especially when one is loath to check the meteorologists' predictions for the day. Needing to venture to West Hartford Center to do some banking, I opted to leave the house on the early side. There is an immeasurably unpleasant one-block stretch of Capitol Avenue that is most tolerable when the sphincteral drivers veering toward the I-84 onramp are at an absolute minimum. My timing was excellent and I arrived in the WH Center/ Blue Back Square area with nary a bead of sweat. What's more, I learned that it was the annual Celebrate! West Hartford Festival – which I had always avoided like the plague in the past, only partially because the sloganeers are punctuationally impaired. By the way, I have an amazing track record for avoiding the plague. But this time, on bike, I smugly and gleefully zoomed past the orgy of SUVs and minivans, all bedecked with that annoying WH smiley-face bumpersticker. Sometimes I like to rub wounds with salt. Big chunks of kosher salt. I rode in the middle of Raymond Road and made the traffic worse. This is not something I would do normally, but hell, the whole point, I thought, of a town center is for peeps to mingle. I had a choice spot on the REI bike rack. When I returned to it later, there were loads of other bikes on it. Quite pleasin' to the eye.

After taking care of the necessary errands, I decided to wander through the festivities to see what all the fuss was about. The arts and crafts were surprisingly non-kitschy (as a whole), so I added two photographs to my collection. I was hoping to find a gangsta Star of David belt buckle, but nobody had those. Maybe I need to have a booth next year.

Around this point, I realized how massive an event this was. They had all manner of adorable animals to get bitten by, and trust me, it's an honor to get nipped by a llama. Rides, food, a women's chorus, every bank in creation trying to expand business...impressive. The West Hartford cops were raffling off a “kids bike” which was basically the standard bike that adults in the aluminum returning business ride in Hartford, except that the one they were raffling was new, pretty, and not coated with a layer of beer residue.


Something terribly frightening is realizing that one is lost in Blue Back Square. Once in the middle of all the vendor booths and rides, I could not see a way out. I am forever in debt to the girl pushing the Park Road Playhouse for pointing me in the right direction. Meandered to REI. You are all on notice. Next time I say “REI,” just jack me up and take my debit card away. I don't know what happened, except that I definitely will need to show up for work every day next week to rectify the situation. Around my birthday, I justify a lot of things by saying that “nobody ever remembers my birthday, so I'll just get myself things I like.” On the plus side, three of the four items are completely practical, and the other item is brainfood. I've done worse.

Not planning to purchase every last thing that was not bolted down in West Hartford, it took me awhile to properly load my bicycle. Two minutes into my trip home, it began to rain. No rain gear, no lights, a new book, and two new pieces of art. Nothing much to do about it, so I just pedaled at normal speed and made sure that drivers didn't yank out in front of me. Only had to give the finger once, which is not bad. Lady Gaga needs to learn that the middle finger is a magical sign that should be used only when absolutely necessary. When at baseball games, you give the finger to an umpire who makes a lousy call. Not to everyone who looks in your general direction. The Lady is no Madonna, that's for sure.

As I got closer to home, other cyclists – equally unprepared for the downpour – were giving me the whole “what's up” thing, but had the good sense to compliment Jenny so as not to seem overly skeevy. It was only upon arriving home that I learned that the rain storm had rendered my shirt completely transparent. Awesome. Read more!

I'm Conversating to the Folks that Have No Whatsoever Clue

We're not on bicycles in droves because we're afraid we will muss our hair or get raped in a dark alley.

I don't really believe that hype, but take a glance at the guesses made around the blogoverse about why females are outnumbered by males as daily bike commuters in the United States, and those two items come up again and again.

Help end the speculation. The Association of Pedestrian and Bicycle Professionals is gathering information about what prevents girls and women from biking altogether, or biking more frequently than we do. The survey runs through May 15 and only takes about ten minutes to complete. Even if you do use your bicycle as your primary method of transportation, you should take a few minutes to speak your mind, so that we're not continuously portrayed as shallow or easily scared, unless the results show that we are indeed both of those things.

Gentlemen should not participate in the survey. Read more!