H.Swift

Today’s post requires some traveling. Head over to the Light & Motion blog to read “Going Places“, a short rumination on the beauty of bike rides that actually take you somewhere.

End the circle cycle!

This is the third post in a four-post commuting series I am doing for Light & Motion as part of a product trade.

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Background and disclosure

Indie Bike, a cycling apparel shop (they’ve got a real, live store in addition to their web presence) based in Indianapolis, IN. contacted me to see if I would be interested in reviewing some gear in exchange for telling people about their wonderful little shop (free shipping on orders over $65!). I’ve been super curious about the higher-end women-specific bib shorts that have a clasp system in the front and claim to be easier to negotiate under overlayers when nature calls (and more comfortable all around). I agreed to test and review the Assos FI 13 Lady S5 Bib Shorts.

The Scoop

Retail: $339.00

Everything about these bibs feel premium: from the fabrics to the construction, presentation and packaging. When you open the box, you know you’re holding something special. The mesh panel in back is comfortable and the straps are wide and soft enough to stay comfortable for long rides. The 6-panel construction is top-notch and the bibs have a second-skin feeling that is super cozy: chafing is a thing of the past. The fabric is lightweight and super breathable and they feel noticeably cooler than some of my other standard issue bibs (great for warm weather).

Fit

The Assos fit is euro-lean, so I went up a size and ordered a large. (For the record, Assos urges you to asses fit from the tucked riding position, rather than a standing position. They claim that the bib was designed specifically to fit best while on the bike.) For me, I believe the large was the right call for overall fit, but it resulted in a bib that was designed for someone perhaps 3 inches taller than me. The front closure ABC-M (Assos Buckle Closure Mechanism) is adjustable (the adjustable buckle slides into any one of three loops in front), but even on the “shortest” setting, I found the straps were longer than I would have liked. On a traditional bib, this isn’t as much of an issue, but with the single-strap-down-the-front setup, it meant that the top of the front strap showed underneath my jersey when it was unzipped. I unzip my jersey a lot.

Beyond the strap length, the fit was fantastic: the bibs are very compressive with a nice mix of textural panels and flatlock seaming. The leg grippers do trend a bit into sausage zone (they’re very secure) but it’s not at all uncomfortable.

The Chamois

This is a substantial chamois but not overly built. I most often wear custom kits, which tend to have lower profile chamois, so it always takes a little getting used to when I get something that actually has a little more cushioning (I had the same experience with Rapha’s short). That said, when I was heading out on a longer ride this fall, I consistently reached for these bibs. They’re super comfy.

That strap

I was fairly underwhelmed by the front center strap construction and ABC-M (Assos Buckle Closure Mechanism). As far as I could tell, it did not offer any significant comfort advantages and introduced a number of problems:

1. As I mentioned, it’s visible under my jersey when I unzip for ventilation. And I LOVE to unzip. It kinda messed with my mojo.
2. I didn’t find it very easy to unlatch and pull over my head while wearing a jersey. In fact, it felt a little like a contraption. I’d rather stick with a traditional bib and full zip jersey. I don’t mind undressing a little to take a pee – I guess bike racing has taken the modesty out of me.
3. The fabric opening that the plastic piece hooks into in the front ripped after just a few wearings (there are three of these, so I simply started using the other two, which meant the straps were essentially longer). I believe that Assos has addressed this issue for future products.

The strap, I believe, is intended for a more secure, comfortable fit for well-endowed ladies. I’d love to hear from them, because unlike the half-naked Assos girl on this page (by the way, she has a Facebook fan page), I do not fall into that category and can’t comment on whether it’s better or worse.

Bonus

Assos goes over the top with presentation and packaging for this premium bib: the box arrived with a small container of Assos cleaning solution and a small tub of Assos chamois cream (my favorite!!) as well as a wash bag. Classy for sure.

Main takeaway

I personally prefer a standard bib strap, but for those who like this center-strap design, these bibs are the mega-jam: they feel amazing, look great and are – most importantly – mind-bogglingly comfortable. That said, $339 is a lot of money. According to my personal value (purchase justification) calculator, I’d have to wear these 452 times in order to get my money’s worth.

Feedback

Have you worn this bib? Do you have an opinion on it? I’d love to hear from you.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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It’s pissing rain in Portland. This shouldn’t really surprise anyone – it IS January after all. But there’s something about riding 3 or 4 hours in a torrential downpour and 39 degree weather that has a distinctly soul-sapping effect.

It was particularly hard to motivate this morning as I laid in bed listening to Biblically large drops crash into the roof above my head. Then I got up, checked my email and found a note from my friend Jodene, who’s been reading my blog – in one iteration or another – since 2002.

The subject line was “cold weather biker” and there, right on cue, was a link to Winnipeg CycleChick, a fun, snarky, inspirational and funny blog (Her about statement: “Everyone needs to believe in something. I believe I’ll go ride my bike.”) written by a woman in Winnipeg who commutes in all kinds of crazy fucking weather, including their recent -29C (-20.2F) days.

The post, called “Dressed to Chill” documents her patented Honey Badger Winter 2012 Collection – a home grown layering approach that keeps her rolling in the Arctic-stupid conditions. Her humor, along with her bundling creativity, were enough to make me end my Portland pity party and head out for a roll-about.

Thanks, Winnipeg CycleChick, for keeping it real and keeping those of us down here in the temperate PNW honest.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

I’m frequently surprised by what stays with me over the years. In this case, it’s a simple nightly ritual – the idea of expressing gratitude each night before sleeping.

We weren’t a particularly religious family though my parents both believed in God. We never went to church together as a family (my sister and I often went with friends) and when I was asked to say grace before meals (it fell on the shoulders on the youngest) I routinely just said, “Grace” and waited for everyone to laugh. Then we ate.

Most nights before bed, I said my prayers with one of my parents. It was the standard-issue kiddie prayer that started, “Now I lay me down to sleep…” I recall being mildly uncomfortable about the “If I should die before I wake” part, but I didn’t spend too much time worrying about it because I was always excited to get to the end.

At the end, I endlessly cataloged everything I loved under the “God Bless” clause in this arrangement. To my mind, this was my opportunity to safeguard what I loved against possible harm:

God Bless Mommy and Daddy and Heather and Shady Lady [my dog] and Mama Kitty [her given name] and Herschel [another cat, named after a football player - my mom was a Cowboys fan] and chocolate and ice cream and Sharon [or insert name of current BFF] and legos and my science kit and our house and our yard and allllll the ducks and my tree house and the Kishmars and the Kishmars’ parakeets and Jenny and Julana and all of Jenny’s barbies…”

On and on and on.

These days my list is a little less exhaustive and, because I’m no longer religious, I don’t direct it toward anyone in particular. Most nights, I write the list in a big journal I keep in my nightstand. I use a Sharpee pen and keep things short and sweet. What I’m thankful for varies from day to day, but things like family, a place to live, food to eat, health, safety, clean water, warmth, security and a rad romantic life partner-in-crime are always in the mix. Sometimes I also add bourbon, pork belly, coffee or cyclocross. You get the gist. When I’m really tired, I skip the book and just write my list mentally as I fall asleep. There’s something about dozing off in a haze of gratitude that always sets me up for a decent morning.

The point is simple: pause, think, express gratitude, recognize what you have, acknowledge what is good. Even on the worst days, my lists are long.

Is this some hippy new-age feel-good shit? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all.

It helps me live a better life.
I’m rolling with it.

And, while we’re on the topic. Thanks for being here. Thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting. Thanks for participating. Thanks for sharing.

You being here makes this worthwhile.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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I’ve been sick for the better part of a week. I slept through the entire three-day weekend in a fever-induced haze (dreams about waking up with Thor Hushovd’s legs again), then spent the week sleeping in the guest room so I wouldn’t keep Sal up with a never-ending chorus of hacking. When I got on the bike yesterday, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

The Sicilian and I went out together with an agreement to take things nice and easy. Two things happened: first, I stopped coughing and felt amazing. My head cleared up and I blew snot rockets like my life depended on it. Who needs that brain-eating Neti Pot anyway??!

The second thing that happened was that Sal rode too hard. I was super grateful to have his wheel in the first place, but I couldn’t hold it. When he dropped me the third time (always sitting up politely to wait when he noticed I was off the back), I rolled up beside him and asked him to hand me his Garmin 500. I could tell we were both a little frustrated. He wasn’t riding fast, I just didn’t have anything to give. He wanted to ride together and he wanted to put his face in the wind for me, but he didn’t know how slow he had to go. Luckily, with power, there’s an easy way to communicate such things.

I set the display to show average lap power, hit the lap button, handed it back to him, and gave him an target number: one that I knew would allow me to ride in my low-endurance zone on his wheel. When we started off again, I watched as he struggled with the low number, switching to easier and easier gears so he could spin.

It worked.

In fact, I went from feeling like I was going to have to turn around after 45 minutes, to being able to put in a 4-hour ride that I rather desperately needed. The rain rained, the sun shined and the rainbows, they did their rainbow thing. We laughed and waved at baby cows and battled headwinds and split a cheese-and-chicken sandwich at the end of Sauvie Island Road. My cough all but disappeared and I felt almost human again.

That cycling stuff? Magic, I tell you.

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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As one commenter notes: “only a badass motherfucker uses a broom for a brush…. pure awesome.”

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Holy smokes! Where has the time gone?

I could tell you where, but that would be boring. What I can tell you is this: my blog had a really bad tummy ache and had to take some time off to get well. Now that it’s all fixed up, we’re super jazzed and ready to go again! (If you ever need a WordPress guy, let me know – I have an awesome one!)

There are all kinds of neat things in the works, including a couple working trips to Europe this year and some good adventures here in the USA. I’m also waiting (a little impatiently!) to announce a super-humongous-extra-radical project that is going down this year – one that will consume most of my time until August. I have to wait until the detail people get all worked out on the details, but there will be more on that later. Promise.

For now, I’ll leave you with a few photos and some links to some recent (and not-so-recent) stuff that I’ve been up to:

• I wrote a story about Gary Bonacker for Switchback Issue 02. He rode a cruiser bike down Mt Bachelor in the 70′s. That’s crazy talk! He’s also an amazing soul and true adventurer and he’s battling brain cancer with the heart of a champion. Issue 02: get your hands on a copy and check it out.
• I went to Japan in November with Dan Sharp, Molly Cameron and a few other awesome kids to race cyclocross. It was amazing! There are lots of fun photos here and here. I wrote a piece about our adventure in Issue 09 of Peloton Magazine. Lots of thumbs ups, peace signs and gratuitous food images!
• In December I joined Specialized-lululemon at their training camp and helped craft the introduction for the team. There are photos from Michael Robertson and some awesome video, too: check ‘em!
• I’ve been guest blogging for Light & Motion about bike commuting. Check out Part One (A “real” Job Ride) and Part Two “Like Coffee, But Better”. Parts 3 and 4 are coming in the next two weeks.
• I’ve been tweeting my face off.
• I’m also posting images to Tumblr every now and again.

Pretty Pictures Because I Love You

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Pre-dawn wake up call.
Strong coffee.
Good music.
Quick drive.
Electric seat warmers.

Eagle Creek Trail to just shy of Tunnel Falls:
11 mile round trip
2 boys
1 girl
Countless quiet vistas

Post-Hike Celebration
5  local craft beers
1 large pizza
3 fat smiles
2 long naps

Gear of Note
Columbia Reach the Peak Down Jacket (perfect. impressed.)
Old ass running shoes (worked surprisingly well)
Canon S100 (super happy with this new addition to the ultralightweight adventure camera brigade)
Double layer of 3-year-old Icebreaker wool (This is the good stuff, people! Pretty sure it will last forever.)

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GNG HOME DELIVERY

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It’s not true what they say. You actually do not have to become your parents.

The thing is, there’s might be a point where you realize it wouldn’t be so bad.

My mother was a journalist. She worked in newspapers for more than 35 years. This is how I attained my extensive swearing vocabulary (sleeping under news desks when you are sick with flu will yield some very entertaining eavesdropping sessions). She’s finally retired after much cajoling and persuasion. She didn’t like the stress or the pay but she loved being a Newsie. I know this for fact. It’s who she is. It’s in her DNA. (It’s not at all in mine.)

She came home every night and took a bath. I’d often draw it for her having memorized the exact position of the hot and cold levers that would yield the perfect tub. She liked them hot. Once she was settled in, I delivered a Diet-Coke-on-Ice that I’d prepared 10 or 15 minutes prior. She liked her Diet Coke watery.

She read the New Yorker in the tub, which is a habit that I now emulate. (Truthfully my favorite tub reads are The Sun Magazine, The Paris Review, ZoeTrope and The Tin House, but my mother could not afford such luxuries – the New Yorker was a yearly Christmas gift from her aunt.)

Sometimes she was inexplicably tense, a trait which I now attribute to several things (strained finances not withstanding) but most often to the threat of the deadline. I never understood this until I experienced myself: the deadline will make you great, the deadline will make you homicidal, the deadline will strip you down to a single, pulsing nerve. The deadline owns you. The deadline is everything.

And then when you hit it, there’s the waking up in the middle of the night. My mother did this often. I remember her curled over our rotary phone in a bathrobe placing frantic calls to the copy desk, “Did I spell this correctly? Did I reference this that way?” Her robe was aqua blue. She smelled like Noxema. Her hair cut in a short brown pixie. When I woke up to these calls I snuggled into her and she placed a gentle hand on my back while she spoke into the receiver. Then we laid in front of the fireplace on the sheepskin rug until I fell asleep again.

I wake up sometimes now in the middle of the night wondering what I’ve gotten wrong. Most often, editors make us better. Way better. They push us to be more critical, to ask more questions, to kill our darlings, to write with intention and precision. But every so often an editor butchers a piece with nary a call or consultation and I have to swallow back a little rage and take it like a big girl. Sometimes something goes wrong and it’s nobody’s fault – just a simple mistake – but it compromises something you worked hard on. Something you cared about.

When the words hit the printed page, nothing can be taken back. Everything is forever. Permanence that is occasionally imperfect. Print is brutally physical. It won’t change. It is unapologetically what you made it, good or bad. In the new world of 140-character fluttering personal whims and snarky or sarcastic editorial, it grounds me in a way that I crave.

I called Mom last night to unload. I was tense and irritated and ready for a hot bath with a magazine. Her voice conveyed, as it has since I started writing in a professional way, an unmistakable camaraderie. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but there it is. If she were here, she’d bring me a watery diet coke (with vodka?), no questions asked.

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