Gear

Geez, with this crappy weather, I found myself like this little bird today, hunkering down in head-to-toe flannel and socks.  I did walk to the market in the rain, with a hoody.  I swung my folded umbrella, to alert people that I was in fact enjoying some rain, rather than forgetful of said umbrella.  Stupid decision, since I went from not feeling well to feeling worse.  I watched Broken Flowers when my work was done.  Drank too much coffee, too.

Did I mention that I learned how to use a sewing machine?

[This is from three years ago, when I had a balcony on which I hang stuff like birdhouses.  I didn't move.  Again.]

We were out riding Saturday, hitting Lake Roland at Robert E. Lee Park. We were blowing down Bellemore Road in North Baltimore, a super drop. I mean, you’re running at 25 mph pounding the brakes, and you get back up 10 more miles per hour inside twenty yards if you let off the brakes. It’s not a drop for a problem. Toward the bottom, something sounded like it bounced off of my bike, my helmet visor and my glasses. Dan turned around. We stopped at Falls Road, and I wanted to touch my rims, to see how hot they were. Dan said he thought he snapped a brake cable, that something shuddered through his entire bike. I was like, “Yeah, you hit me with a rock!” I was thinking of how crappy the situation would have been if it had hit me in the tooth. We stopped for coffee drinks, hit the lake, chilled, cleaned out our brake pads and got moving.  A nice, relaxing ride.

Dan’s wheel was wobbling and hitting his brake arms. What the frikk?

We decided to walk the four miles home, rather than risk an injury or further damage. Dan was afraid that the heat of the descent warped his rims. I thought maybe he snapped or bent an axle. I mean, I can true a wheel like a sumbitch (for not getting paid to do it and having very little experience, that is). But I didn’t have any spoke wrenches on me.  We got home fine, though, and all was well.  I ate half a pizza for dinner.

Talked to Dan Sunday, and he found the problems. Bent axle, but also a snapped spoke. It was still attached to the nipple (huh huh huh), so we didn’t see it. No prob! We hit the shop, bought a spoke and went about getting it on. The freewheel was being a bee-otch and had to go into the bench vise.  The lockring tool had to, that is. That took a while. But then it came off, got cleaned up, Dan put the spoke on, and I got the wheel nice and trued up.  Working on bikes is a hell of a lot of fun.

Also, I was introduced to Lava Soap. Awesome.

[Also for Photo Friday: Professional.]

You a damn fine freewheel,
Won’t you back that axle up?

I was in Memphis two years ago on Earth Day, during a blogging hiatus. Scored this awesome pin at the Hardrock Cafe’ because I am sometimes a terrible tourist, and I love to hit those joints. A lot has happened since that Earth Day — in my own environmental endeavors and the world’s. Too much to write about.

I mean, the whole “green” thing was hot last year. It’s hotter this year. Like a lot of people, I was worried that it was just a fad. That the fixie crowd would ditch their bikes, that organic food would dwindle again, that hybrids would get fewer and uglier. But it seems like it’s either a long-living fad or becoming the norm.

My initial concern is that I’m losing some cool factor. Recycling and buying recycled goods are getting mainstream enough that I’m not that awesome for wearing a recycled steel necklace and junk. Lots of people in Baltimore brave the traffic and the hills to cycle now. But this is something I’m happy about. I mean, “the more, the merrier” applies here as much as it possibly can. With my windows open on University Parkway, I constantly hear freehubs and old freewheels clicking by. I want to cheer everyone on, but there are too many. So I stick to yelling at joggers who ignore the empty sidwalk to run in bike lanes.

My other concern is that we’re all going to half-ass any green efforts. Ooooh, there are some recycled Coke bottles in my shirt. BFD — what are your jeans made of? Too much of the green craze revolves around buying shit, which is largely how we started messing up the planet so much anyway — material showing-off. [My TV is on because I wanted to hear a weather report and not get too into NPR to do what I need to do this morning. Ed Norton just said that plastic bags are the stupidest things we are doing. Hey, dude. Yeah, you. Heard of cars?] I know; I do that, too. I’m just saying. Driving a big SUV pretty much cancels out most of what else you do for the planet, doesn’t it? I mean, seriously, look at how much of your carbon footprint your car is, even hybrids, which are made of the same junk as any other car before you even buy them.

Off my high-horse now because everyone I know has a car. So at least I retain some of my awesomeness, being the only (aside from my wife, of course) intentionally car-free person I currently hang out with or am related to. [Though Mr. D has gone mad car-light with The Mule and pedals around town constantly.] And I don’t pretend that environmental issues are the only reason I went car-free, either. A large part of that decision was my own neuroses.

I don’t mean to insult anyone, and I totally get some bummed rides all the time. Don’t send me hatemail because you love your car. I realize that my bike was made overseas, that my pedals, lock and tools are covered in vinyl, that the metal and plastic on The Duke didn’t grow on trees. I know my own shortcomings, too, like non-recycled, imported notebooks, my fleeting weakness for French bubbly water, my Tevas, my fondness for cheap pens in spite of my collection of Goodkinds, my failure to remember travel mugs, etc. Very verily etc.

But I’m not the only one with a long way to go.

I have been on a tea kick again lately. I have not had coffee today at all and have not had any large amount of tea — just a few cups. The dry skin on my hands is healing, and I swear I have more energy. Maybe I’m sleeping better. It’s nice to be getting a handle on my caffeine addiction, at least a little. Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

At the risk of sounding like a complete jerk, what’s up with some cyclists around Baltimore who tote around like seven pounds of safety gear but don’t wear helmets? A guy just rode up University Parkway with bright dayglow gloves, jacket, hat and pannier. But no helmet. He had a half-dozen red lights, including one on his hat.

I suppose one could respond that the nature of his gear was to prevent a wreck, not to protect himself. Maybe he likes his bike a lot and does not want a crash. Maybe he likes cars and does not want to mess up people’s cars that might hit him.

Or maybe he thinks that getting hit from behind by a car that does not see him is the only way he’s going to get smashed. Not the Door Prize. Not jerk-ass joggers who avoid empty sidewalks to walk swiftly with jaunty hips in the bike lanes, with traffic, not against it. Not holes in the road or old storm drains with grates that run parallel to the street. Just saying.

I’m genuinely confused — not trying to start a helmet vs. no-helmet fight. I’ll cop to riding sans helmet during the two months in 2005 between when I bought my bike and when we sold our car.  I’m confused most by folks who clearly have safety in mind but still don’t wear helmets.

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I’m not certain how useful/effective my chain cleaner was for chain cleaning because, frankly, I waited too long to clean our chains and over-did the lube last time i put it on — and used too-sticky lube.  The jury’s out, though it is fun to use.  But this cog brush worked great for getting the crud out of our cassettes, chainrings and pullies.  It looked like it got run over by a greasy truck when I was finished, but, hey.  It took one for the team.  It cleaned up pretty well, too.

For Photo Friday: Found Object.

So I pretty much swore off the LBS when we moved to Baltimore for things like tune-ups. In Carbondale, there was a bike shop called Phoenix Cycles that we went to regularly, with an owner and employees we really liked. Hell, I remember going in once to buy a thin cable for locking up my helmet when I got too lazy to carry it around Carbondale and staying for an hour talking to the owner/manager. We always got a wave when we walked or rode by the store on a busy corner, and I think we even sent them a Christmas card. It was a nice relationship, and it was easy to bike to. To boot, the people there seemed genuinely interested in “bike culture” and getting people out of their cars. The selection of bikes and accessories was nice, too, but the people were what I liked.

Where I live now, it is a different story. We have some chains like REI and Performance Bike. Some local chains like Princeton Sports and Hudson Trail Outfitters (where I bought my bike). A few truly local bike shops, yes. But the only one close to me is really devoted to “raceheads”, and I am not walking in there with my hybrid full of heavy utility accessories like lights, rack, fenders, bell, etc. No offense if you’re into racing or that un-named shop. It’s just not my thing. Enough people have made fun of me for me to not want to that particular shop for anything. I know, it’s my issue, in my head, etc. Okay.

Which brings up not going to the LBS anymore except for parts. When I bought my bike last fall, it came with free lifetime tune-ups. Lifetime. That’s sweet. It’s a little far to ride to on a damaged or needs-tune-up bike, but free is free. However, they have a 5-7 day “turn around.” Only owning one bike right now, I really prefer to, you know, have it. I have a membership there (which actually has paid itself several times over in the form of awesome sales and free online shipping), but they said there is only so much they can do to rush, even for members, especially during “bike season.” I decided I’d tune my own bike up and stop being so afraid of messing something up and/or getting very dirty.

I learned to do the most frequent things you get for a standard tune-up. It’s nice to be self-sufficient in small ways with such a self-sufficiency-inducing machine like a bike. I mean, part of the freedom of cycling is that you can do almost everything that needs to be done to it yourself, if you’re a commuter.

Lately, Mr. Dan Dan The Gih-tar Man and I have been learning the harder things to do and about the finer details of our bikes. Cranks, bottom brackets, cassette removal, etc. I have not touched a headset yet, but that’s coming soon. I’m still nervous about some tasks and probably take a long time to do them, but there are some things I am getting good at. I can clean a mean drivetrain. I mean, seriously, I got my chain down to the bare metal a few weeks ago, and it was black and sticky from neglect. Given the dirty streets around here during the dry summer and the fact that I used crappy lube (and too much of it) last time, this was an accomplishment, I tell you. I can get brakes perfectly adjusted. I am developing my wheel-truing skills, too. I totally have a fantasy of being the best non-shop wheel truer in North Baltimore, who will true wheels in the summer for the price of one six-pack of local beer, in the winter for one cup of Dunkin Donuts or Zeke’s coffee.

In fact, I am going to help Dan with The Mule tonight at his house, with my folding truing stand.

“Are you gonna ride down?” asked Dan.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because then you’d be a service bike! Coming down on a bike with tools to fix another bike, that’s awesome!”
“Holy shit, you’re right! I’ll get that sumbitch on my rack one way or another,” I declared.

So if you see a dude on a Giant hybrid with a wheel and truing stand mounted to a bike in North Baltimore tonight, ding your bell at me and meet us at Dunkin Donuts later. The one on 41st. You know.

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Along with the small spending limit for gifts, we thought we’d have fun with V-Day this year with the help of homemade cards. I pulled out the Moleskine watercolor book a friend sent me a year ago and a watercolor set I got for Christmas in 2004 and set to sketching. What I wound up using for the card was a roughly-brushed heart and wash deal that I almost tossed. This is the corner of a bad little woods and sky sketch that my wife stole and took to work, only to return it when I had a hissy fit. A total hissy fit. I don’t think I can paint like I used to be able to.

I was, however, happy with the Moleskine watercolor paper. The original sketch books just let the water run and never soaked anything up, at least in my experience. Which is not to say that I don’t like that paper for making cartoons about funny things I read about and people I don’t like. The color and texture of the Moleskine watercolor paper are both just right for some quick dabblings. The pages are cut at the edges for removal, too.

Especially considered the sketch/notes nature of Moleskines, it was nice to have paper so welcoming to the watercolor. Regular Moleskines don’t take thick inks very well, but I always assumed this was because of their origin as notebooks, where ballpoint ink or pencil makes the most sense, on the go, in a pocket, waiting for a train or a lover.

Photo Friday: Art.

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Do not adjust your screen. That is in fact a photo of two copies of the same book. Baudelaire’s Intimate Journals. I received a copy of it in June 2003 when I finished my MA from an old friend. I was excited about getting to read what I wanted to read between grad programs and was generally giddy about starting my PhD program. I finally read Kerouac that summer and listened to a lot of great music.

I was in a funk often during the school year of 2002-2003 wherein I was feeling very shallow, materialist, boring and cold. I worked too hard (really, I used to do that), lusted for things like more jeans than a person can actually wear and an army of coffee cups. I tried a number of things to get myself more, I don’t know, more alive.

One of these things was that, during the spring of 2003, I read poetry every single day. I found those cool little Pocket Poets series books at the Harvard Bookstore (no relation to the school) for like $4 and built a stash. Perfect for taking on the subway, when I was underground with no people and spring to look at. I read Whitman because I always liked his work. I was enjoying Rimbaud’s younger verses, perfect for April and May. I got into Baudelaire at the recommendation of a friend, and I found something very moving.

I’ve talked about Baudelaire before.

One day, I swear I will learn French. I have that software; you know the one. I will tell everyone that it is for my eventual trip to Paris. But it will largely be so that I can read Baudelaire in French. Rimbaud, too. And watch Amelie.

Anyway, my favorite passage from this book made it’s way into my dissertation, during the chapter on enemies bringing out the best in us:

A man goes pistol-shooting, accompanied by his wife. He sets up a doll and says to his wife: “I shall imagine that this is you.” He closes his eyes and shatters the doll. Then he says, as he kisses his companion’s hand, “Dear angel, let me thank you for my skill!” [Baudelaire, Intimate Journals, pg. 37.]

With spring coming, you might want to pick up some of the books I was talking about and which I wrote about very shortly after I began blogging. Read it here. You can sometimes find them cheaply at the physical locations of Daedalus, if you’re in the Baltimore area.  My stack has grown to around twenty volumes these days, though I don’t get to read much poetry lately. Don’t get to because I’ve been reading a whole lot of fiction. I’ll dig into my tiny poetry books soon, though.

By the way, my blogging history turns four tomorrow. Make me a cake please.

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I really like using the cargo rack on my bike. My frame does not have the holes for the top attachments (the 2005 and the 2007 both do, but mine’s the 2006), but I got it on in a sturdy fashion with the aid of something a biking friend of mine sent me, some electrical tape, and patience. I use my rack whenever I can. So when I had to take a stack of boxes to the post office last week, I was stoked. I rolled up with four packages, paid less than five bucks and left with an empty rack.

Sometimes, with large loads, I get stares and weird looks. I think it’s funny. I could not sit on my seat, though, with that many boxes, and it hurt my knees for the mile up to the post office. Then I got from the post office in Roland Park (near Eddie’s) down to Charles Village to have Mexican food for lunch with Mrs. P in ten minutes flat. Which rendered my pinkies numb, despite my sweet new cycling gloves that I got for Christmas. But I was in a good mood for all the errands, all of which were made more fun on two wheels. I remember what a chore going to the post office in the Dale was. I enjoy it now.

I have had some low-cut Chucks since 2004. They are black, since they match my favorite socks, which are puke/lime green. They were super dorky and too-clean for a long time. Then they got broken in a little. I discovered that they are the best cycling shoes; at least, that I like them best. This year, finally, they were awesome. Falling apart and beaten-up just right. But the week before last, I realized why my feet were so freaking cold. A big ole’ hole in the back of my right shoe.

So I started all over and bought some new ones. I kicked around a dozen colors, from red (”chili”) to tan to green. I picked grey. “Charcoal.” I debated tying them to my bike and running them through some mud and road dirt, but that just felt kind of inauthentic and stupid. And that I might rip them and have to buy more. The color makes them look almost faded already, and I’m not one of those dorky dudes with shiny Chucks. Plus, they totally match those socks.

Dan, F and I took a nice long ride Sunday for the North Baltimore Bike Brigade’s first ride of 2008. We met at the Watertower after F and I exchanged something at Atomic Books and headed down University Parkway to San Martin Drive, to Druid Hill Park, around the park and neighborhood and then through Woodberry and up the long hill to Roland Park.

On University Parkway, there are bike lanes where I live and new ones in front of the stadium at Hopkins. Between 40th Street and the new lanes past San Martin Drive, there are bike route indicators. I was feeling good about this as I rode over one. While they are not as nice as bike lanes, they raise awareness. And now the wanker that gives you shit for being on the road can be reminded that cyclists in Maryland are afforded the right to be on the road — though not to hog it, you asshole tight-pants weekenders riding three across because you’re scared of the big bad city. Anyway, I was admiring the raised paint when some jackass almost hit me. He wanted to make a right onto Tudor Arms, and he/she was not looking at me and almost ran me over at least a hundred feet from his/her turn. I gave him/her the extended, full-arm and verbal single digit salute, once I realized that I almost got run over. I was in the front, and Dan and F yelled, “John[ny]!!” I could have keyed his Volvo, he was so close.

Hmm, maybe I should make a Freddy-styled pair of bike gloves with old keys on the tips for such bad drivers who deserve their precious paint on their cars to have F. U. C. K. U! scratched into the side.

Wait, that might be hard to scratch while riding. But I could at least pay them back for their almost flattening me with something to remember me by, in addition to the bike fat finger.

Anyway, we had a great ride. The part of the city we live in is one of the highest points in Baltimore, so there are lots of hills to race down and to muscle up. It all, all of it, the whole thing, builds character. Despite the cold, we were sweaty and thirsty at the end. So we celebrated in my apartment with some Brooklyn Brewery Black Chocolate Stout.

Moleskinerie is four years old on the 12th and going strong. Four years — that translates to what in blog years? Like sixty? Congrats to Armand, with thanks for such a wonderful site.

So I woke up Monday from a busy weekend to a warm morning. My window faces East, and I greeted the sun with a big streeeeeeeeetch. And I pinched/pulled/tweaked something in my neck and back. I was planning on being productive that day, maybe doing some cooking, a bike ride. Instead, I was down all day, then most of yesterday. Aleve did not work at all. All the warnings kind of freaked me out, too. You’re supposed to drink an entire glass of water and call your doctor if you feel like the pill is stuck in your throat. Ick. I took four Advil with dinner yesterday before band practice. Four is the same dosage I know I can take safely, from what they gave me when I had a tooth accident fixed once. Anyway, those huge blue pills didn’t do anything and just got me weirded out.

Or maybe it’s just the first time I actually bothered to read drug warnings.

It still hurts today, but I can keep my head up straight and was just in a good mood anyway. Took three walks, went shopping made a batch of burritos, did some birthday shopping for the Mrs. and took care of a job application. Much better.

I did have a good weekend, too, with a lot of good food. I will get some photos going soon, mostly at Flickr.