Bikeshop

Welp, Pittsburgh officially has the coolest bikeshop....ever.

So in devoted laziness, I have been riding my trusty Surly with a sole break for the past month (not so trusty Oryx cantilever breaks. Don't ever buy them!) Needless to say, I have been able to make all required stops...except when it's raining out...or I'm on a really steep hill. I live on a really steep hill. I knew it was time to change out the breaks when my routine homecoming campaign consisted of coasting past my road, making a right into the next street down, and then turning around and biking back up to my street (yeah it got that bad).

I decided to get new breaks from this crusty old bike shop down the road from my house: Kranx. From the exterior, the place looks like it has been out of commission for about a decade, but inside a cyclists paradise awaits. Kranx stocks troves of new/new retro frames, wheels, seats, chains, well basically anything a bike shop would typically carry. And the creme on the berries: an entire room outfitted with tools and bike stands available to fix and tune for hours!

And that is what I did! You don't get much help/advice on fixing your bike, so be prepared to learn everything there is to know about the mechanics of a bike. Which is probably the coolest part about Kranx. A few hours there, and you will be stripped of your nincompoopsy and revel in divine self-cultivated cycling wisdom. Ahhhhh, them some sweet berries!

-The Velodict

MacGyver

I love being resourceful. There is nothing more satisfying than using the tools in the immediate surrounding to rig up little solutions to life. Cycling often presents opportunities to demonstrate the inner MacGyver (a show I've never actually seen, but now feel I should).

A few days ago my roomie and I were high on springtime, and decided to do our grocery shopping on bike. This is normally not a problem. I can't really afford more than will fit in my panniers, and so cycle-shopping typically balances my inner urges to buy unnecessary groceries.

While browsing the aisles (no harm in looking), I remembered that our house was down to one roll of TP. Excited with my efforts of pro-activism, (I can think of no better area to display pro-activism about than bathrooms) I grabbed the mega pack of Scott TP. Is it one t or two? The brand doesn't really matter. ANYWAY.

The roomie and I made our purchases and began stuffing them into the panniers. It quickly became apparent that the baby-elephant size package of TP was not going to fit in the saddle bags prompting operation MacGyver. We rounded up some extra plastic bags, and strapped the package onto the rear rack of my bike. I can only imagine how I looked cycling home, a block of TP weaving throughout the streets of Bloomfield.

Also: cool article. Take note Pittsburgh.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/18/most-new-yorkers-support-_n_837751.html

-The Velodict

Party On Thor

Gosh darn we are so close to spring! All signs point towards better days: more daylight, temperatures above freezing, birds-a-chirping, and thunderstorms! The burgh experienced its first thunderstorm the other day, and of course I was cycling in the thick of it.

I awoke nice and early (time doesn't matter, all you need to know is that the sun was not up yet) the other morning to some misty weather. The air was thick with heat and moisture, and despite the fact that I can't drink coffee before yoga (no bathroom breaks), I was super energized to bike. Luckily I was so excited for the exterior conditions, I decided to deck out in full rain garb, you know, the dorky rain pants over real pants, swishy jacket, and, as little cherry on top, a plastic bag over the saddle.

Upon exiting the yoga studio exactly 1 hour and 15 minutes later, I was surprised to find the heavens had opened up into a typhoon-ous downpour of blustery soakage. If you can't tell by now, I like to be a bit melodramatic about the weather. ANYWAY. I could barely see anything, the wind prevented me from moving but a mere few millimeters forward with every pedal. Oh yeah, and it was LIGHTNING! This may sound like a complaint, so let me stop and correct you right here. I effin love lightning. Maybe not while mounted atop tubes of metal, but at this point in the year, I'll take whatever Papa T-Storm bolts at me.

Happy March Y'all!

-The Velodict

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

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

The Negative Files

So we are living in the negative, temperatures that is. My poor long-haul is not looking her best. The snowy/salty/dirty roads have done quite a number on the frame; rendering her a ghost of her former self (seriously she is all white with salt...spooky!) I vow to dedicate part of my day to some genuine maintenance time with her: grease the chain, clean out the gears, wipe off the mucky muck, and pick out all the shit in my tires. Speaking of gears, I recently encountered my first gear freeze up. I think all the shit in the road and the cold totally effed with my back derailleur. Thanks Surly for my sweet convertible shifters ( When your shifting goes awry: simply convert to friction shifting!) I once heard freezing gears is the only good good utilitarian excuse for riding a single speed, but who needs an excuse to ride in the cold?

Due to the frigidity yesterday, I decided to take the bus to the Pittsburgh Center for the Arts. I assumed my commute would be much warmer if I took public transportation. WRONG! The bus only runs every hour on Sundays, so while I barely waited for the ride out, I just missed my ride back and had to wait 45 minutes until the next tropical paradise on wheels arrived. I went into total cold shock, and frantically called my mom begging her to look up the next bus time. Somehow knowing the countdown of icy doom was better than no knowing. I even started to get all irrational, envisioning my toes were actively chilling into a frost bitten state. I guess this is what you would call a break down, although I 100% defend my state of panic.

Lesson learned: It is to best bike in the cold than wait around in the cold. Thus, I vow either:

1) continue biking everywhere or I go

2) not go anywhere when the wind chill is -2

-The Velodict

But Baby It's Cold Outside

According to NOAA (the best weather source ever!!!) all of Pittsburgh will be spending the next week in a apocalyptic freeze intermittently disturbed by the occasional accosting of crystallized dihydrogen oxide and putrid street slush. I freakishly love this!

I need to save some money up for those nice studded tires, but in all reality, by the time I actually have the financial means to pony up the cash, the temperatures will read sweltering. Such is life. ANYWAY. I decided to brave the cold around midnight last night. Carefully considering the temperature, I figured I had to bundle up nice and good like. A poor man's blanket, so to speak. After two glasses of wine, I ventured out on my 3 mile trek. The ride was fun, exhilarating really. I swear my feet were warmer than usual, and my legs pedaled with an unusually sound cadence. By golly I felt fucking great!

I arrived at my house safe and sound. Peering into my mirror, I noticed my bright pink and white facial features. My face seemed frozen in place. Seriously. Try as I may, I could barely furrow my brow. My glasses quickly fogged up in the warmth of the house, and in my balanced state of mind, I cracked up. I can still picture myself, tipsy, unable to see, laughing, and then laughing harder because my face wouldn't allow me to actually laugh. Nix the studded tire idea, I should really save up for a face mask instead.

Slipp'n and Slid'n

Sometimes, we all just have to learn the hard way. No better teacher than good ol' fashion pain, the bitch. Just when I was getting commuter cocky (I've ridden roads just about everywhere, no road can surprise me!), Pittsburgh sprung a little life lesson on me. Slapped me down a notch, and left me wimpering with my tail between my legs, so to speak. Okay, enough euphamisms and onto the carnage!

I always find winter weather to be most pleasant during a gentle snow: the air seems peaceful, sounds insulated, motions cushioned. Real poetic stuff that gentle snow is. And it was during a billowy dusting, that I learned a little physics lesson.

Thanks to Surly, I felt well equipped to ride the glistening streets. Sadly, Surly did not ensure proper brain function. As I pedaled along in Oakland, I became lax in my attention to the snowy road, or lack of road. It turns out, all manholes and street grates are made of steel, which provides much less traction than our dear cobbled streets. My elbow, knee, and ego can attest to this fact, as they are all deeply bruised, if not shattered (please heal dear elbow!) One little mispedal, and I found my backend slipping left, my frontend slipping right, and my body slipping into, well, gravel/scarf/handlebar/pedal/dirty snow. Luckily, my elbow was there to break my fall.

In valient and heroic speed, a noble man swiftly yelled down the street, "Are you okay?" "Haha, sure am" I replied, hobbling off into the tragically poetic snowy night. I never liked poetry much anyway.