Thursday, March 27, 2008
NBX blog
Adam offers some good advice on bartape, "Looking good makes you faster. White tape is the fastest." Read more at nbxbikes.blogspot.com .
Embrocation
Embrocation is the warming salve cyclists slather on their legs to protect them from chilly weather and accentuate their physique. It is also a magazine (designed and printed with coffee-table-book quality) that could titalte any cycling enthusiast. Read their blog, order a copy, or flip through one at the HUB (or NBX?).
Friday, March 7, 2008
and when I'm not baking
I've been in the studio drafting a design for a print to be in this show in Mineapolis.
My Dad was in town from Washington state last weekend, and he helped me print the first color.
when I'm not bikin' I'm bakin'
"How is my cake coming?"Adam asked me a few days before his birthday.
"In my imagination, very elaborate..."
"How are you going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting elaborate?!?"
"Ha! You'll have to wait and see!" I retorted, hoping that my first foray into frosting flowers wouldn't fail.
It is well known that Adam Sullivan is "pretty much the best ever"; his birthday cake, however, is pretty much the best thing; ever (oops). He didn't seem to mind that I screwed up his catch phrase.
"In my imagination, very elaborate..."
"How are you going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting elaborate?!?"
"Ha! You'll have to wait and see!" I retorted, hoping that my first foray into frosting flowers wouldn't fail.
It is well known that Adam Sullivan is "pretty much the best ever"; his birthday cake, however, is pretty much the best thing; ever (oops). He didn't seem to mind that I screwed up his catch phrase.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Nostalgia; a long ride in the rain, and the same old story.
Nostos: homecoming. Algos: pain. Nostalgia: the pain of coming home.
On the East Coast, where I live, rain falls in heavy drops for a few hours at a time. On the West Coast, where I grew up, the overcast sky seems to spatter almost constantly. But people don't use umbrellas, because the rain won't soak, just dampen them. There is a joke about Dublin,"It only rains twice a week: once for three days, and once for four days." The same could be said of my hometown at the base of the Cascades mountain range.
I spent four hours today riding in spitting rain showers. This uncharactaristic weather brought me home–to running in soggy fields and cycling muddy gravel roads–to always being wet. If I still lived there, most days would be like this. In spite of foggy glasses and puddles in my shoes (all athletes must have at least a touch of masochism) I was enjoying my ride.
Out two hours and near nothing but trees and water, I remembered that my seat bag was on another bike; I had nothing with me to fix a flat. I hoped for good luck.
I got a flat. A doozy. I felt really stupid.
But by that time I was passing through a town with a bike shop. I called my GPS, by which I mean my roommate who is never far from the internet, and she gave me the shop's address and hours, and walking directions. It was less than a mile. I bought a tube, did the change with numb wet hands, and was on my way home–lucky after all.
On the East Coast, where I live, rain falls in heavy drops for a few hours at a time. On the West Coast, where I grew up, the overcast sky seems to spatter almost constantly. But people don't use umbrellas, because the rain won't soak, just dampen them. There is a joke about Dublin,"It only rains twice a week: once for three days, and once for four days." The same could be said of my hometown at the base of the Cascades mountain range.
I spent four hours today riding in spitting rain showers. This uncharactaristic weather brought me home–to running in soggy fields and cycling muddy gravel roads–to always being wet. If I still lived there, most days would be like this. In spite of foggy glasses and puddles in my shoes (all athletes must have at least a touch of masochism) I was enjoying my ride.
Out two hours and near nothing but trees and water, I remembered that my seat bag was on another bike; I had nothing with me to fix a flat. I hoped for good luck.
I got a flat. A doozy. I felt really stupid.
But by that time I was passing through a town with a bike shop. I called my GPS, by which I mean my roommate who is never far from the internet, and she gave me the shop's address and hours, and walking directions. It was less than a mile. I bought a tube, did the change with numb wet hands, and was on my way home–lucky after all.
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