i've been getting ready for my bicycle trip. as i think of something i'll need, i put it in a cardboard box in my room. it's up to the top now with bicycle shirts and jerseys, ziplock baggies, a first aid kit, raincoat sweatpants bathing suit beach towel, sandals, little plastic vials of sunblock and peppermint soap and bug spray, and so on. this evening i went up to the roof to test out the alcohol stove my parents lent me. i tended the blue flame, lighting it, adjusting it, putting it out, and heated up a pan of water. in the kitchen i've been making energy bars. two successful recipes out of three isn't so bad. i've been laying off on the bike riding, and so of course we're now into our second week of perfect weather. it's making me anxious, and i sleep in and stumble off to work with no breakfast. now i'm writing to try and settle down enough to go to bed early, do some laps in the morning.
on the subway in the morning and evening i'm reading short stories from bard's literary magazine. this issue is full of stories of the slightly fantastic. like magical realism, but reined in a bit. so many of these stories are about longing and loneliness. it's all very self-indulgent and lovely. they suit my mood.

so the goat and i had our first race saturday a week ago on a sunny morning in central park. while it wasn't quite a triumph, it wasn't a totally shaming experience, either.
as they say, the memory of the pain is the part of the experience that fades quickest. i know there was a lot of the race where i felt miserable and sick and full of despair, but the parts of the morning i remember the clearest are riding across the w-burg bridge in full darkness, sailing up there all alone with the twinkling lights below like wynken, blinken and nod, and the very beginning of the race when the sun had come out and we were working our way up to full speed, sizing each other up, and i felt like i was riding the crest of a wave and my sick fear turned into excitement.
this was before i fell behind on the big hill and watched them all steadily pull away from me. i spent the rest of the time fighting and gnashing and trying to catch up again, just falling short.
so it was with a spirit of hopeful determination that i set my alarm this morning for 5 to go riding before work, but i was woken instead by a spectacular booming thunderstorm and bucketing rain. i slept and woke and slept and woke, and it kept up until it was time to go to work.
we'll see what happens tomorrow morning!

the windows are open, despite rain all day and promises of more rain. i got soaked again on friday morning, soaking sopping wet and filthy from all the grit thrown up by my tires. i was so wet it didn't matter anymore. the rain was warm and i let it drip in and out of my mouth, playing leapfrog with the buses.

i'm still probing out to find the limit. the long ride this weekend was hard. i fell behind the group, last but for the co-leader acting as sweep. getting father back, i struggled harder and got more scared and angry and frustrated and the pain became a barrier instead of a challenge. the sweep pulled in front and let me draft behind her till we caught up, and after that i fought like the devil not to fall off again. so now i know what it feels like to ride when i'm tired and hurting and still keep up for 60 miles.

we ate lunch at a harbor park in westchester. there were two huge swans. i watched one awkwardly lower itself into the water, clumsy, wiggling its butt for balance and pushing its belly forward until it was able to paddle, smooth and dancer-like again. juvenile seagulls tussled and screamed at each other and the swans went by worrying patches of muck with their bills. i ate my lunch savagely with both hands, picking up the lumps of egg salad that fell with my fingers. i kept apologising for my manners, but i couldn't seem to stop. the days i go out with the group are complete: morning, noon, afternoon. when i'm riding in the line my thoughts don't stray far from the moment, and when i make it home afterwards the hours that remain in the day are a gift.

the pleasant light misting of the morning ride turned into a steady dripping rain for the way home. all the clothes i wore today are hanging here and there from beams sticking out of my bed, grit and gravel ticking off of them onto tax documents as they dry out. jon and i inadvertently got tipsy on the excellent mezcal ed gave me. it's as clear as water and has a gentle fiery kick that lifts you over to the other side of sobriety like a baby in a bassinet. i've only had mezcal a couple of times since i was in mexico because the only kind i've seen is the states is that crap monte alban. this stuff came in a woven basket, sealed with beeswax and a warning on the label: sip this. do not shoot. i've been sad this week, but it takes so much energy to be sad and not care for oneself and then climb out of the hole again. so i take myself in hand and turn away from that. as i've grown more used to the new bike i find more joy in cycling. my torso parallel with the frame, the messenger bag tucked into the small of my back, i scoot between waiting cars. time slows, i lean away from the first rear view mirror and then opposite for the other. i'm learning how to float through crowds in the crosswalk and hop the bike over bumps. sooner or later i'm going to miscalculate something, it's always a hairsbreadth away. i've never been a risk taker, and i'm certainly not as reckless as a lot of cyclists i see, but i'm trying to push closer to my limits. to this point i haven't found them; my whole life my mind and my will have limited me but in cycling i find myself free and open and without fear that i will fail. and not concerned with where i am going. so springtime will blossom and i will feel sad and wild and not know what i'm doing with myself but through it i'm going to keep my chain oiled and my tires filled and eat enough food and get enough sleep and not smoke cigarettes because i can't trust my heart but i'm learning to trust my will.

on sunday for the first time i tried that insane practice of fastening the feet to the pedals. wow. i didn't think it was possible for me to love cycling EVEN MORE, and especially after the disheartening experience of chugging in vain after the racers i was riding a little less joyfully. but that's all different now.

and tonight i took the goat up to the roof and cleaned off the caked on salt and dirt and unmentionable substances and greased the chain and just spun the wheel musing, listening to that comforting patient clicking sound the freewheel makes.

and i feel calmer and steadier and more satisfied than i've been since the weather grounded me, so i celebrated by signing up for the new york cycling club's ten-week training program. i am clipped in and locked on, baby! the goat and i are not stopping for nothing. riding laps around the park i started speaking to it, which i hope turns out to be more endearing than disturbing, but that and trying to outrun my cycling buddy were the only things keeping me up to speed, so that creepy habit is here to stay.

the site has been woefully low on, well, content lately. the reasons have been alternately that my life was too dull or too interesting for me to bother with writing about it.

one high point i don't believe has been mentioned yet on this blog is the new bike! that was an '08 purchase made with the funds i was saving for a new computer, the reasoning being that i can continue to get by with the old computer and that the bike will bring me more joy. of course, to date it's brought me more frustration. two days after i triumphantly (and very carefully) rode it home winter arrived with a mind to make up for lost time. i don't particularly care to learn an entirely new riding style in slush and ice. i'd like to think that cold isn't a factor, too, but when the cold is cutting through 5 thermal shirts it's difficult to muster enthusiasm for a long workout. so i've been mostly grounded, or resigned to using the hybrid to get around. it's not nearly as sexy as the new bike, but i can roll through pretty much anything on it and when i can't, well, what's another scuff or scrape on the frame?

the new bike was chosen while i considered joining a racing team. seemed like a good deal: the team is for new racers and they were recruiting women. i spent hours combing craigslist and going out to test ride bikes before finally deciding to get one new. doing all the research on the used bikes was super helpful, though, so when i went into the shop i knew at least remotely what i was talking about. when i told the guy i was looking for my first road bike he pointed vaguely at some on the wall. "these are for women. they like the colors." i told him i wasn't so concerned about the color as i was about the component group, at which point he actually looked at me for the first time and said, "well, you'd probably fit better on a men's frame, anyway." it was gladdening, because despite what i said about the color, i'd much rather NOT have a bike with little flowers painted all over it, which was the case with all their womens' bikes. what is the deal? i don't understand why there are so fewer women cycling regularly/seriously than men, but of those that do, is it really true that most of them want frilly flowers everywhere and pastel-painted frames?

in any case, we moved on. the image i kept returning to during the bike search was of a gazelle, as opposed to the draft horse of a hybrid i've been trundling around on. however, the bike i brought home was christened "the goat" for its color and its nimbleness and its curly horns. perhaps i should have been more ambitious and less self-effacing this one time, because when i finally rode it out with the racing team i couldn't stop thinking i was the goat in a herd of gazelles as they left me in the dust. ultimately that plan was shelved. '09 is instead going to be the year for pleasanter rides with the freshly-formed south 4th cycling club.

on that note, here's the quote from bikesnobnyc that i promised thomas to repost, in which he is actually not cynical at all:

"One of my favorite things about cycling is that it can reward suffering with joy. Another thing I love about it is that it often rejects those who don't understand this. Cycling teaches you that there's such a thing as necessary suffering and such a thing as unnecessary suffering, and that sometimes a short cut is a dead end. I'm sorry the hardships [nytimes blogger] Mackey encountered while cycling and blogging made him "feel awful about the world." If he'd looked at them differently, they would have made him love it."