We in the Burgh were kindly reminded today that spring has not sprung.
The snow started later yesterday evening. Big fluffy puffy flakes began to innocently drift down to the streets of Pittsburgh. I don't know if anyone was prepared for the blizzarding mess that ensued into the early morning. 8 inches of mess. Come 7:45 last night, I decided that getting to my evening yoga class was an impossibility, and so I would have to wait till 6:15 the next morning.
I currently cannot decipher how I came to this conclusion, but I swear it was quite logical last night.
Come 5:45 this morning, I realized I would only make it to my class on time via bike. I layered up, and carried my bike one block over to a well traveled road, which was wet and sloppy, but the conditions certainly looked manageable. As my bike slid into the intersection at 44th and Penn, I realized how effin wrong I was. To my good fortune, no one was nutzo enough to be out on unplowed Penn before the sun came up. Which is also quite convienent seeing as my rear light was stolen last week. Halfway down Penn I saw a shadowy figure walking towards me. As I got closer, he glared straight at me and grumbled, "Whats with the front?" to which I throught, "Really? I am not fronting I just look goofy because I am trying to keep balanced!" Well, upon looking down, I realized my front light was out of batteries and so in retrospect he probably said, "Where's your light?" Whatever. Why are you walking in the street, man? Who effin knows, it's 6 in the morning asshole.
Nothing like starting a day with a little light-less off-roading.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
We're not in Pittsburgh anymore
I hope everyone got out today and enjoyed some serious saddle time in the nice weather. This can't actually be Pittsburgh, can it? Happy Thursday!
Order of Operations
Whether the common cyclist likes to admit it or not, there are most certainly laws in place that dictate the hierarchy of right-aways. Put simply: cars yield to bikes yield to pedestrians (or as my driving record would indicate: cars yield to squirrels but DO NOT yield to telephone poles 10 feet from driveways). I tend to agree with the common laws set in place by the forefathers of traffic, but for my very own reasons. Allow me to introduce Cait's Order of Operations: A cognitive approach to traffic right-away hierarchy.
This theory follows one very simple idea: whomever has to withstand the elements the longest, gets the right-away. For example: its misting, and you cycle up to a wonky intersection (you know, the kind that aren't labeled and will forever remain a black hole of signage) and are received by both a car and a pedestrian. Clearly the pedestrian is the poor sucker who will have to deal with the onslaught of moisture the longest, and so to shorten their suffering, they get to cross first. The cyclist (you) goes second, because although you do have to deal with the rain, your commute is assumed shorter (yes, I realize this may not be the case, but I don't want to hear your stupid argument supporting the notion of biking 2 blocks and so on and so forth. Suck it up!) The car goes last, because not only do they not have to deal with the wind and rain on bare skin (yeah, it's windy too!), but they also get to listen to loud music.
So there you have it. It's a simple theory, but text-worthy. Feel free to disagree; we'll just settle it at the intersection!
-The Velodict
This theory follows one very simple idea: whomever has to withstand the elements the longest, gets the right-away. For example: its misting, and you cycle up to a wonky intersection (you know, the kind that aren't labeled and will forever remain a black hole of signage) and are received by both a car and a pedestrian. Clearly the pedestrian is the poor sucker who will have to deal with the onslaught of moisture the longest, and so to shorten their suffering, they get to cross first. The cyclist (you) goes second, because although you do have to deal with the rain, your commute is assumed shorter (yes, I realize this may not be the case, but I don't want to hear your stupid argument supporting the notion of biking 2 blocks and so on and so forth. Suck it up!) The car goes last, because not only do they not have to deal with the wind and rain on bare skin (yeah, it's windy too!), but they also get to listen to loud music.
So there you have it. It's a simple theory, but text-worthy. Feel free to disagree; we'll just settle it at the intersection!
-The Velodict
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Bike, the Baguette, and the Almond Croissant
I've always been a major carbs person. I can remember my dad telling me when I was 12, "If you keep eating loaves of bread for meals, you're going to get a belly like this [he then would point to his jolly beer gut, which, lets face it, is really like a liquid bread gut]." He may be right, but after I found La Gourmandine, a French bakery in Lawrenceville, I don't give a flying eff what kind of belly I get.
Now I don't want this post to be about food; this is a cycling blog for peter pan's sake! But, I do have to just take a bit of time to rave about THE almond croissants. I have never eaten something so perfect in my life as those little crispy, chewy, fluffy, dense, buttery, sweet melty-shmelty bundles of joy. Put simply: I teared up the first time I ate one.
The ride to work is always a treat. It's all downhill, and dodging potholes and riding on cobble makes for a fun terrain course. As an added bonus, the pastry shop is just at the bottom of the hill, after a good workout of coasting. Lately I have been visiting Le Gourmandine on my commute to work, oh say, 2 or 3 times a week. That probably totals 3 cups of butter for breakfast in a week, and not shmear less. I usually also grab a baguette while I am there, because who knows, I may feel the need to eat more bread during the work day. Here comes the dilemma: the 5 blocks between the pastry shop/bakery and work pose quite the challenge.
There is no way in almond-pastry hell I am not enjoying my croissant post-bakery doorway. And I am usually running a wee-bit late for work at this point in time. I also have to carry this silly baguette under my arm pit. So this is probably the scene for any other pedestrian on Butler Street around 10:30 in the morning: Girl in helmet awkwardly struggling to fiendishly eat her croissant, carry a baguette under her armpit, and balance her bike, all while walking to work. I haven't quite figured out the balance to it all yet, but maybe by the time I do, I can just balance my bike under my french-fueled pot belly. Once the walking is mastered, I should learn to juggle all these tasks while riding; upon which time I will probably qualify to join a circus.
But seriously, if Le Gourmandine was any more authentically French delicious, the damn bread would be subsidized.
-The Velodict
Now I don't want this post to be about food; this is a cycling blog for peter pan's sake! But, I do have to just take a bit of time to rave about THE almond croissants. I have never eaten something so perfect in my life as those little crispy, chewy, fluffy, dense, buttery, sweet melty-shmelty bundles of joy. Put simply: I teared up the first time I ate one.
The ride to work is always a treat. It's all downhill, and dodging potholes and riding on cobble makes for a fun terrain course. As an added bonus, the pastry shop is just at the bottom of the hill, after a good workout of coasting. Lately I have been visiting Le Gourmandine on my commute to work, oh say, 2 or 3 times a week. That probably totals 3 cups of butter for breakfast in a week, and not shmear less. I usually also grab a baguette while I am there, because who knows, I may feel the need to eat more bread during the work day. Here comes the dilemma: the 5 blocks between the pastry shop/bakery and work pose quite the challenge.
There is no way in almond-pastry hell I am not enjoying my croissant post-bakery doorway. And I am usually running a wee-bit late for work at this point in time. I also have to carry this silly baguette under my arm pit. So this is probably the scene for any other pedestrian on Butler Street around 10:30 in the morning: Girl in helmet awkwardly struggling to fiendishly eat her croissant, carry a baguette under her armpit, and balance her bike, all while walking to work. I haven't quite figured out the balance to it all yet, but maybe by the time I do, I can just balance my bike under my french-fueled pot belly. Once the walking is mastered, I should learn to juggle all these tasks while riding; upon which time I will probably qualify to join a circus.
But seriously, if Le Gourmandine was any more authentically French delicious, the damn bread would be subsidized.
-The Velodict
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The Pant Eater (Sayanora)
"Tragedy occurred in Lawrenceville, Pittsburgh a few days ago. Pants by the name Navy McCorduroy lost their life to a bagofpotatosteadying-low squat. McCorduroy is survived by its loving yet sometimes neglectful owner and an identical twin named Gray McCorduroy. You were my friend since high school McCordy; I'll miss you dearly."
This is not the first pants-centric obituary I have felt obligated to write. In fact, ever since I became a cyclist, I have lost more pairs of pants/shorts than I can bear to think about. I have asked around, and I am not the only person who feels this way. Bicycles are serial killers of pants, and I haven't figured out whether to classify these selfish crimes as manslaughter or murder of the first degree. I don't have a motive yet, but I am convinced my bike feels some enjoyment out of thrashing holes in the inner thigh of every thing I wear.
The serious question becomes, is there a fund that supports grieving victims of lost pants, because I haven't been replacing the casualties and I am running out of bottoms.
Naked bike for life?!?!?!? (ouch)
-The Velodict
This is not the first pants-centric obituary I have felt obligated to write. In fact, ever since I became a cyclist, I have lost more pairs of pants/shorts than I can bear to think about. I have asked around, and I am not the only person who feels this way. Bicycles are serial killers of pants, and I haven't figured out whether to classify these selfish crimes as manslaughter or murder of the first degree. I don't have a motive yet, but I am convinced my bike feels some enjoyment out of thrashing holes in the inner thigh of every thing I wear.
The serious question becomes, is there a fund that supports grieving victims of lost pants, because I haven't been replacing the casualties and I am running out of bottoms.
Naked bike for life?!?!?!? (ouch)
-The Velodict
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Oops
I swear I was a goldfish in my previous life, and my ancestral memory is still seeping into my present day ethos. No matter how many times I tell myself, "Now Cait, see that [insert any item]? Now don't forget it! You set it in plain view to specifically not forget it. Make mental note!" (yes I talk to myself in diatribe format). ANYWAY no matter how many times I tirade, I still go all space cadet on myself and forget!
Inevitably, my forgetfulness kicks me in the tookus. Just earlier this week, I propped up my bike for a little maintanace and set my lock on the living room table. I went through the whole ordeal of noting its location and importance. I proceeded to clean out my chain and bundle up (I swear this place doesn't get warmer than brutally cold). I walked out the door and made my way to Oakland's fantastic Carnegie Library. I don't want to sound like a wimp, because the place is only a few miles from my house, but my toes turned into ice blocks on the way. Upon arrival, I was overly relieved to see the mountainous majestic that is the Carnegie, knowing well that it housed nice warm nooks and crannies for me curl up in and get work done. I even looked forward buying a strong coffee to expedite my thawing. I walked over to the bike racks (only two there...so sad!) and then it hit me...I forgot my damn lock! Effin goldfish!
Naturally, in my mind, my ride back was much colder and windier than my ride there. Perhaps even more tragically, I had no coffee at home meaning hot tea to drink instead. Great. Earl effin Gray. (Again a dramatization, I really do like earl gray).
Happy February everyone! One month closer to spring weather!
-The Velodict
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