This morning on my way down Mass Ave, rather than potbellied cops on motorcycles waiting to give mild mannered cyclists unnecessary tickets, I came upon  some kind of huge DPW truck siphoning water from the nearby hydrants. The truck was in the left lane, across the road from the hydrants, and the 3″ thick hose was unavoidable. They expected traffic to go over it.  Yours truly, assuming they had taken ‘bicycle traffic’ into account when setting this up, expected the hose to give even just a little, allowing me to stay with the flow of traffic. Nope. It rolled instead, causing me to capsize in the street, completely wracking my left elbow and knee and smooshing my bike bell beyond repair. I guess my five mile run is out of the question now, as is going more than 8mph on  my bike for the rest of the week. Thanks a bunch for thinking of the cyclists, City of Cambridge!

Dicks.

So yesterday I made a post, and while putting on the finishing touches (after-post typos), it inexplicably disappeared into the ether. This has happened with a few of my posts here, which is one of many reasons I haven’t been committing my experiences to blog post in a while. Happily, I was able to salvage the text of the post via my Greader. Sorry if this post is a repeat for those of you with a feed. It wasn’t my fault, blame the gremlins!

Gloves. They’re fucking everywhere in the winter. I have many fantasies in which I pick up every glove that I see lying in the road or snugged over a fence post and open a small warehouse (sort of like the Garment District’s Dollar-A-Pound) where people can come hunt for their long lost glove or mitten. Or in some less frequent instances, shoe. Sadly, I am too lazy. However, I do feel as if there is some kind of mystic force that keeps me from ever having to buy a pair for myself. My last pair was given to me by my mother, who found them in a snowdrift by the side of the road in Gloucester, MA last year. They are now however much the worse for wear.

Exhibit A

If you think the outside looks bad, you should feel the sticky, shredded inside. Yeck.

So for a few weeks I have had my eyes peeled for a stray pair in need of a new home. I had decided, literally TODAY on my ride to work, that I would have to suck it up and buy a pair of new gloves as no karma gloves seemed to be forthcoming, when these beauties appeared on the sidewalk between my office and my cafe in the little village of Brookline.

I looked around but there was nobody in sight. Just me, and my new pair of cosmically bestowed handwarmers.

Thanks, universe!

Greetings, dear readers. Sorry I left you stranded for so long. It is once again September, which means another summer is over, I am a year older, and the Burning Man cycle has drawn to a close. It’s been alternately a very fun and exciting year and a slow, stressful, painful one. I’m happy to say that I learned a few things, though I won’t bore you with the details. What I will do is show you some pictures from the Burn. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep up this blog a little more consistently this year. I’m still working on the same activism issues I was last time around, but at this point bureaucracy has ultimately failed me. You may be seeing fewer interviews or email correspondence and an increased number of mug shots. I’m sure there won’t be any complaints. Anyhoo, let’s roll this pumpkin!

This was my favorite Mutant Vehicle - a giant scorpion with flame-throwing claws and stinger.

This one isn't bigger on the inside, but it was big enough for our purposes.

Reunited with the kids of Camp Here. You can't find a better group of people on the playa.

Reunited with the beloved hammock where Crash and I fell in love. <3

Squirt gun: check. Boffer sword: check. Bring it.

Gutternaught the chopper returns to the desert in all her creaky, badly lubed glory.

This year I camped with some of my old friends from SCUL. This edifice is the brainchild of MegaSeth, second from the left.

I truly wish that the Hero video camera I was trying out to document my commute had been powerful enough to take quality video/audio for more than 20 minutes at a time. I see some weird shit on my daily journey, and it’s inconvenient to whip out my cell phone, since weirdness is fleeting and phone cams take forever to boot.

On Monday, I believe it was, I nearly rolled over a hand grenade lying in the middle of Mass Ave between Porter and Harvard.

This one, to be exact.

I didn’t think much of it beyond, “oh hey, that’s a hand grenade. It’s probably fake”.  Apparently more cautious folk reported it as ‘suspicious’ later on.

A day later, while cruising through Harvard Square, I witnessed a dogfight. Not that interesting except that the dogs in question were in two separate cars, stopped side by side at a red light. I laughed my balls off at that one.

Today wasn’t very interesting aside from the caravan of entitled asshats who were parked in the bike lane outside 65 N. Harvard St. in Allston. That’s right, the causway of death, which even on a good day is lousy with giant, jangling trucks, speeding yuppies and oblivious Harvard jaywalkers.

This is the last car in a line of three parked in the bike lane waiting to pick up their special snowflakes.

I had a bit of time to kill, so I spent it calling the BPD and reading off make/model/plate, while the drivers berated or begged me. My favorite was the european woman in the gold Toyota minivan, who shrieked, “Yes, yes I was in the wrong but I see that now, I won’t do it again. I swear I won’t do it again!”. Adorable.

I waited for a good ten minutes, while the traffic beeped and cursed around these model citizens (I blocked them off so they couldn’t leave, and why not, they blocked me first.) but when the police hadn’t shown up by then, I gave up. I’d say “There’s never a cop around when you need one.” but that is entirely untrue. Just last week, on this same stretch, a man got out of his car to rant at me and call me a prick for calling the cops on him. As we were shouting at each other, a calm and collected Harvard cop strolled up next to us to observe. During a break in our diatribes, he simply stated, “Sir, she’s right. Please move your car.”  I could have hugged him, I was so happy. But instead I thanked him profusely as the gentleman went on his way. Small miracles, right?

I’m not sure how to ultimately combat illegal parking on this strip aside from constant diligence and aggressive vigilantism. It won’t work, because I rarely see the same drivers twice, but at least it gives me something to look forward to during my commute.

Just when you thought it was safe to have a nice day.

This is hilarious. At my favorite intersection, where I have almost been flattened on numerous occasions by MBTA buses running red lights, and where every day I watch conga lines of motorist blatantly ignore their signals, there is a new billboard.

Is this some kind of subliminal message to motorists? As if they need another reason to blow through this light.

I’m at work for the first time in three weeks. This year so far has been … annoying. Broken toe (incident with a shopping cart).  Frozen pipes, exploding washing machine, kitchen fires, oh my! The Black  Plague (or tonsillitis, I’m not sure) paid our friend group a visit. On top of it all, the death of our sometime friend Eric the Red (see posts from last summer) has Dadoo Climbout in an existential crisis. Oh, and DEAR BABY JESUS WTF SNOW!?

I know, I know. I talk a big fat streak of piss about how I loooove to ride in the winter. Seriously though, kids? I can work from home, and when the roads have three layers of sky diarrhea in various states of frozen covering them, I will do so.  So in bed I have been for the last four storms, and all the clean up in between. As much as I am very appreciative of this opportunity to out sloth the entire community, I was starting to get really bored. So here I am at the office, blogging for the first time since  August. (Sorry guys, shit happened.) Oh, I should blog about the shit that happened.

Ok, here we go.

I woke up in a funk after a long morning discovering that Justin Mattarocchia’s snore can persevere through poking, kicking, punching, pillow smothering, verbal abuse, underwear snapping, and various chokeholds. Apparently the only thing that works to wake him is the Disappointed Look, which can transcend space, time and human consciousness.

We got back from Gloucester on the commuter rail at about 11pm Sunday night, exhausted. We had taken the T to Beverly in the early afternoon, after outfitting Justin with one of Jordan’s tertiary bikes – a huge  monster of a mountain bike. Calypso just wasn’t really up to the task of taking 180lb of man thirteen miles on finnicky terrain. Krankenberry, and BananaShark, Jordan’s new SWOBO single speed, had no problems.

Once in Gtown, we met up with Dadoo Climbout and his new roommate Eric and proceeded to cruise around the shore, ultimately ending up at Crane’s Beach for some swimming and much drinking of Boat Beer (see: Buttweizer). There simply is no better swimming spot in the North Shore area – the water is warmer (and saltier, for some reason) than at any other beach I’ve set foot on around here, and while clear, it boasts an abundance of life – skates, flounders, crabs of all type, various shellfish, even LIVE sand dollars! We didn’t really take the time to explore all the sea life this time, but in my youth I spend almost every weekend there, harassing the indigenous animals. They have lately fenced off all the interior dunes – a fact which has me conflicted, since while I am 100% behind the preservation of the natural state of Crane’s Beach, many of my fondest memories of childhood took place in those dunes.

Photos C/O Jordan

I’m still trying to put together a larger Phillips 3Speed for Justin, but at this point I’m wondering if the cash I’d spend on it would be better spent on a newer, less heavy, but ultimately still used single speed. I’d love to check out what they have at Bikes Not Bombs, but I’m always working during their hours, and also transporting a bike with another bike is a little tricky if you have to trek from Somerville to Jamaica Plain. I hate admitting to the need, but I may have to rent a zipcar for this journey, and that might just negate the money I’d save by going there. Bugger arr!

this was a Powerthirst weekend.

I hate energy drinks, I really do. Too much sugar. The shakes, the crash… ew. Let’s not even talk about the taste. But when that’s all you have to mix with your liquor, you make do. And thus began the weekend of Energy Legs.

My friend Justin and I checked out Post Prosperity featuring Sean Stevens’ Pedal-Powered Dance Party and Sustainable Sound at the End of the World on Saturday. Lights, mixing table, and speakers were all powered by dynamo action and the Menergy or Womanergy of the participants.  Justin got to run the dynamo for a while, but I was too far back in line and didn’t get a chance to take the reigns.

Sunday we took the hated MBTA Commuter Rail into Newburyport and spent time cruising around the New England Serengeti – or the Green Belt. Red winged blackbirds trilled around our heads. Chubby-cheeked muskrats scuttled through the grass. Turtles sunned themselves on rocks. I was too preoccupied with the joy of riding to take many pictures, but I did take this one of Calypso enjoying the day under Justin’s buttress.

The only tarnish on this otherwise idyllic weekend was the ride home from Newburyport on the Commuter Rail. I assumed that since the Rockport branch allows bikes on the first train of the day, the other branch would as well. I got up in the wee hours and went to the train, to be faced with a little trollish woman with cheap butterfly earrings offsetting her ill-fitting uniform, telling me that no, despite the fact that this train is almost empty and I could have ridden on it if it’d originated in Rockport, I would not be allowed on. I would have to wait until after 9am, the very hour I am supposed to report to work, to board the train. I told her what I thought about the MBTA’s policies, and her own level of compassion for her fellow man. I waited for the 9:36am train and boarded it. And proceeded to sit for an hour in the station because the train was having ‘sticky break issues’. Ultimately, the train did not arrive in North Station until after 12:30pm, once again proving to me the fallacy of putting any money or trust into this most ill managed establishment.

In synopsis, an amazing weekend; easy on the senses, hard on the legs, and only very predictably disappointing. Hopefully there will be some swimming to report in the near future.

For the last two days I’ve been only one of a veritable love train of cyclists commuting during rush hour. Not all of them obey the rules or wear helmets, but they all seem to  be respectful, and all wear that beatific, peaceful look that says, “I am outside on a beautiful day, and my heart is beating with mild exertion – life is good.”

Obviously, life isn’t ALL good – we still have to contend with yawning potholes, stressed out or ‘attention blind’ motorists, and the occasional bike falmunction. I saw a woman lose her lunch yesterday, literally, on my morning commute. I guess her backpack had unzipped, releasing a large tupperware bowl full of delicious looking salad. If you read this, I feel for you miss. That’s some rough luck on a Monday morning.

Speaking of falmunctions – apparently Krankenberry’s issue was with the hub after all. Luckily it is totally fixable and I should be hearing back from Ace Wheelworks today at some point. Kranky has  certainly been living up to her name in the past few weeks. Hopefully this is my last fix on her for a long while.

Calypso has been a lifesaver. I had a little bit of work to do on her before she was rideable as you can see:

I love riding vintage bikes. The weight and the feel of them actually force you to slow down and chill out, making for a ride that is the embodiment of leisure. It’s not something I’d want to do for my commute every day, but it makes a great change of pace. Also, it’s nice to know that with a minimum of upkeep, I’m going to have this lovely lady to fall back on for as long as I can find room for her in my basement.

It looks like SeeClickFix.com is getting more and more traffic every day (pun? sure why not). I’m excited that this is taking off, and that people are posting more than just potholes – mistimed traffic lights, dangerous intersections, hanging electrical wires, and bike lane necessities have made it on to the site in the last few weeks. Now if we can make sure all these notifications are going to the right people, we should be in business. Also, I want a cellphone app for this. For Android, of course 😛

ride on, my lovelies.