commute

Too few of the "wearing today" photos include the bike, hmm? Well, likely because what I wear to work is not exactly bike-friendly clothing, and though I have no qualms about riding around the city in a skirt that becomes just this side of obscene when worn to bicycle, it's probably not best to immortalize that for the internet.

But! It's Bike To Work Week (though every week is pretty much Bike To Work Week for me), and in commemoration, I wore clothing that might actually be considered practical for biking.

V-neck, Old Navy; circle skirt, Calvin Klein via the Lady of Lacquer;
peep-toe flats, Steve Madden; watch, Nine West; helmet, Trek.

Wear your helmets, friends. And yes, I am talking to you, ahem.

(Also: World Naked Bike Ride, Chicago edition! No, I was not there. And duh, "naked" = nsfw.)

two wheels good

Some rat bastard stole the light right off the front of my bike this week- ingrates! heathens! savages!- so I stopped by the new bike shop in my neighborhood today to replace it with something more powerful/eyeball-searing. Between Working Bikes, Boulevard Bikes, and aforementioned The Bike Lane, I think I'm well overdue for a new bike.

I am aware that my current bike, although well-loved and highly useful and in rather good shape, is a little ridiculous for everyday Chicago commuting, let alone the three-state bike ride I want to kick out sometime very soon. A) it's incredibly heavy, and thus, slow. B) it's a mountain bike frame. Silly. C) that frame really, really doesn't fit me.

And then thanks to Minnesota nostalgia and a particularly bad influence, I start perusing the Surly Bikes website and I fall straight in love with the Surly Pacer.

none of that fixed-gear/single-speed shit for me, thank you.
I am a snob about having gears, and will remain vocal about this til the end of my days.

Dammit. Why do you have to be $1175? Why can't you, like my current bike, be priced at "free"?
(Also, why must you taunt me by being under a 5 lb. frame, when I'm certain that sans tires and seat and everything, my current frame is more like 15 lbs.? Think how much faster I could go!)

I suppose now is when I make small steps toward compromising my new road bike dreams and call my parents to see if the old Schwinn road bikes from their pre-children years are still kicking around the basement, and if so, exactly what it would take to schlep them to Chicago for me. For safety and efficiency in transit, Mom, I swear!

hot hot heat

It is a gloriously sunny eighty-six degrees out right now, I have steak marinating in the fridge for afternoon grilling, and I have stocked my freezer with a fresh batch of Otter Pops. Memorial Weekend is in full swing.

Waterfall tank, Development by Erica Davies; tube bra, American Apparel;
pencil skirt, American Apparel; heels, Urban Outfitters.

"What to wear under this tank?" has vexed me for some time, so today I'm testing out the tube bra option at a friend's barbecue. Also, I realize, as I am biking to that barbecue across town, I will be testing out this bra's ability to not slide down my torso while I am on my bike. I apologize to Belmont Avenue in advance for the awkward shifting-around I may have to do.

redlegs

This outfit is basically pajamas. What of it? It looks respectable for public wear, and I'm only leaving the house today to bike on a quick errand to buy thank-you notes and another pint of half & half. (Coffee + honey + half & half: my preferred beverage to take me from waking up through 2 p.m. or so.)

Grey sweatshirt hoodie dress, Delia's; tights, DKNY; boots, vintage.

You know, for all the noise I make about riding your bike wearing whatever you want (for me, that's generally a too-short dress and a devil-may-care attitude about the whole thing) and wearing your helmets, I've been incredibly lax in actually taking photos in bike mode.
Thus:

Navy side-button gloves, Tulle; helmet, Trek; bike, Trek 800,
courtesy my little brother, who said "well, I never ever use my frame,
and yours is broken, so just go ahead and take it." Thanks, man.

as if my brain were a maraca

The poky bits that are sticking out the ephemera right now:

1) For the seventh (!) time in two and a half years, I moved. Again. And for the seventh time, moving has eaten my brain whole and left, in its place, a bag of burnt microwave popcorn to rattle in my skull.
1a) I really need a bed. And a filing cabinet. And a couch. And some shelves. Let's amend that: I really need some furniture.
1b) The gas in my new apartment is not turned on yet, so I am cooking sans oven or stovetop. Which is to say that I'm cooking only with a microwave and a crockpot, which isn't really "cooking" so much as "trying not to starve to death by making more instant oatmeal".

2) I am wholly unimpressed with the Anna Sui for Target collection. Ugh.

3) Is it just me, or is "Gossip Girl" getting bad-worse with each episode, and not good-trashy-worse? I need someone to get legitimately blackmailed, or sexually harassed, or something. And Little J, do we need to have yet another talk about eyeliner?

4) All of Chicago cares about the Olympic bid. Except me.

5) You have not lived frustration until you've had the phrases "you are ridiculously overqualified" and "you really aren't qualified" lobbed at you back-to-back and in rather rapid succession, and for several days at a time.
Yes, I am still looking for a job, and no, none are forthcoming, and yes, this is making me crazy and unbearable. Chicago people: call me. Seriously. I will work for you, and I don't care that I'm overqualified on paper.

6) Still thinking about that tattoo I want.

7) Halloween costume preparations must begin post-haste.

8) Bless you, Skinny Bone Jones, and your bourbon slushies.

9) I got hit by a car on Saturday. Yes, I am fine, and yes, the bike is fine too. But for the five thousandth time, people: CHECK YOUR BIKE LANE/WEAR YOUR HELMETS.
I was riding in the Milwaukee Ave bike lane, and you decided to pull over into a parking spot along the side of the street. You didn't check to see if anyone was in the bike lane while you did so. I, being clipped into my pedals, knew that I could not swerve into the curb without smashing my body into the pavement at a high speed, so I chose to lean hard into your car upon impact.
You felt appropriately awful, I think. But if you think that hitting a biker gave you a scare, please consider what the effect might be upon the person you hit. You know, the person who is not surrounded by a nice metal and plastic and airbagged cage, and who has no health insurance, and who has the right of way.
That is all.

two wheels, unlimited excellence

You don't know how many really heated discussions I've gotten in about fixies lately.
Physics and science gave us gears and efficiency, people. To discard gears and brakes is to mock science, and reason, and all intelligent life.

I got a word of advice for all you hipsters: go and get yourselves some brakes and some shifters.



I pedal to the beat- how you think I made this?

baggage

I've been looking for a good biking-friendly purse for a few weeks now: I've got only one cross-body bag, which I adore, but it's brown leather and I'm weird about (read: practically compulsively allergic to) wearing brown with black. Tote bags are ok for a leisurely cruise to the beach, but when I'm scooting several miles to dinner on my bike, I want to be able to ditch the messenger bag and carry a purse that doesn't look quite so bike-messenger-casual.

Refinery 29's featurette on the Cambridge Satchel Company pretty much solved this problem for me (well, except the "how to get one without having to pay $85+?" issue). Nice leather, cross-body adjustable strap, classic look, snob appeal ("oh, I just ordered it from England!"): score on all counts.

Seriously, how do I get one of the satchels (11" or 13". I'm not picky.) for free? Because that needs to happen.

bicycle girls

Thursday, Ruth emails to say we are doing this. "This" being a bicycle scavenger hunt with the Bicycle Film Festival. The web details are few and far between, so I throw on some flats and meet up with Ruth, expecting some sort of "find a misspelled street sign! find a Running Blago piece of graffiti! find a empty 40 oz. on the street!" type of scavenger hunt.

Not quite. We biked to the start location, and we are confronted with a fixed-gear bike messenger brigade in Toms and skinny cutoffs and actual team cycling gear.

I, meanwhile, am wearing a dry-clean only tank top and some leather peep-toe flats.
Everyone has waxed-canvas messenger bags. I'd considered bringing my messenger bag, but figured "eh, I don't have that much stuff- better off leaving a bulky bag at home".
Oh, the looks we got.

Teams were to be of three or four people, so Ruth and I were looking for a straggler to appropriate. Anthony fit the bill: had a bike, was not there with anyone, and was willing to follow our (opinionated) lead. We set off on a ride to various West Side parks, with challenges at each park: cut your hair! take off your pants! lipsynch! attack another team with squirtguns! take a shot of water from Lake Michigan (seriously)! paint your face like Braveheart!, and points for each completed satisfactorily.

We were on the way back from the last park in our time limit, when: crackle, crackle, pop POP POP FSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH goes my back tire. Hell. I'd run over a patch of glass, and it instantly took out my tube, so I was demoted to walking my bike back while Anthony, our third-man-addition, went ahead of us with our scorecard to relay the news of my temporary crippling.

Ruth and I finally get to the park to tally up our (considerable) points and challenge the Serious Bike Crews in this scavenger hunt, but... where's Anthony? Where is our team member with all the points and the scorecard and the official complete tally? He, in lieu of meeting us at the park as agreed, has punked out and gone home, leaving Ruth with a dead cell phone and me with a flat tire as dusk falls over Chicago.

WE COULD HAVE BEEN A CONTENDER, ANTHONY.

Lessons?
1) carry a patch kit and a pump for these sorts of occurrences
2) just because I'm wearing a skirt and nice shoes doesn't mean that I can't blow by you in a bike race
3) Ruth or I need to be in charge of things
4) shots of water from Lake Michigan aren't as bad as you think they'll be.

helmet hair

...speaking of helmets (in which I am a total killjoy!), I've realized that my lovely trusty Bell helmet is probably more than due for a replacement: it's been 6 years, and one of the interior straps is sort of making a move to un-attach itself.

So: new helmet time! They're not blingy, or pleated, or ruffled, or any such fanciness, but they will aid in keeping my brains inside my head and off the sidewalk.

Yeah, I'm thinking of spending $100 on an accessory that isn't shoes. Commence shocked inhales.
Or, the slightly lower-priced cousin:




(psst: there's a secret, pre-adolescent part of my brain that really enjoys the futuristic/superhero aspect of bike helmets.)

head case

I feel like there's a critical mass of chicks-on-bikes pretty photos swirling around my head lately, and that's both great (because: BIKING! yay!) and worrisome (why is no one wearing their helmet?). Yeah, I've harped on this before, but after seeing umpteen earbud-wearing, fixed-gear-riding, helmetless riders on my street today, I had to go back and rant further.

Look at the "bicycles" section on The Sartorialist, for example. (Yes, that interview he gave to The Globe and Mail made me shudder, but I still think the blog is a great place for pictorial inspiration.) Only one of the photos shows a helmet. Or Garance Doré's "Me and My Bike": helmet-less, all. Sure, some of these photos are simply posed sitting atop a bike, but several of them are purportedly moving shots. And I do love Painfully Hip- especially Amber's exhortation to ride wearing whatever the hell you want (skirt, wedges, a dress that is technically too short but I don't care)- but c'mon, whatever the hell you want should include a helmet.

Let's Go Ride A Bike recently put up a series of scans from Bust, and one of the added captions struck me: "obligatory helmet shot".
None of any of the other photos in this article ("Sweet Ride") involved a helmet. I'm going to cut some slack on the off-the-bikes shots- it is a fashion editorial, after all- but as much as I will ignore the wrongness of both riding on the sidewalk and riding four abreast on the street in this spread, I can't get behind the idea that while bikes are cool, helmets are somehow optional. One photo involving a helmet is not a bonus point for safety.

My friend Ruth is now biking to work most days- a good five-ish miles each way- and she rocks a cherry-red Triple Eight helmet that I think looks way cooler than my old Bell helmet. Is she going to fret about her helmet not matching her pants? No. Am I going to eschew my helmet when I ride because the model-types on The Sartorialist never wear helmets, and nothing bad ever happens to pretty girls, riiiiight? Hell no.

I'm lucky to have never (yet) been doored or otherwise injured while biking, but that's due to luck and not any particular skill on my part. And though I might have the vain little voice in my head sometimes that says "what if you have a weird lump in your hair when you take your helmet off?", I'd rather show off an odd bump from my helmet than show off the inside of my skull to the pavement.

So, Scott: when are you going to start taking photos of cyclists who can accessorize their heads with something other than a kicky headband?

waterworld

Dress, Shipley & Halmos for Uniqlo (I am fairly sure that
when Uniqlo makes clothes, they ask themselves “what would
D want to wear?” and design accordingly); shoes, Seychelles.

Winona of Daddy Likey would tsk-tsk-tsk at me for this, I’m certain. “Have you learned nothing from Don’t Show-cha Your Chocha?”, she’d ask. But I am known to wear things that tiptoe along that border between “rather short” and “ridiculously short”, and I tend to do so without caring one whit.

She’d further disapprove of my decision to bike to dinner in this dress, and she might have a point there. I was going to layer shorts under it for the bike trip and remove them when I got to the restaurant, honest: but then I realized that I’d have nowhere to store those shorts upon arrival, so shorts were out. In a nod to practicality, I did change into flats for biking, rather than wear these 4 ½” heels for my night out.

I desperately wish that I’d had my camera at 11 pm, when this outfit went from “nice dinner out with friends” into “I biked several miles through a rainstorm and arrived at the bar soaked to the skin and dumping water out of my shoes”. I have never appreciated the quick-drying properties of polyester quite so much as I did last night.

freewheelin'

So Working Bikes is not exactly free, but they are awesome.

When my beloved bike was deemed "unsafe at any speed" last week, I panicked. I don't have the money to shell out for a new bike, or even for a new frame to build on, and I'd much rather bike than shell out $2.25 per trip for public transit while I can. Working Bikes came up in conversation with about three different people as I told my bike-less sob story: they take donated bikes and fix them up for sale three days per week at super-cheap prices. They then take the proceeds from the bike sales to send more fixed-up bikes to developing countries with a need for affordable transportation, as well as giving bikes to social service agencies in Chicago to help clients who might also need an affordable form of transportation.

I ended up getting a hand-me-down bike from my brother this week, so I didn't need to go buy a new one at Working Bikes, but I now had a full frame and a bunch of parts that I could either scrap or donate. I went to Working Bikes today to see if they'd take my structurally-compromised frame, or if I should just scrap it. Not only was the staffer the nicest possible guy, and assured me that my frame and parts could be put to good use, he then got me lunch at the seafood place next door as a thank-you. I want to write love letters to Working Bikes and post them all around Chicago, for real.

crash test dummies

I feel like Jan Hoffman has been biking with me on my daily trek to work. I believe this article should have been published in the Health, Safety, and Why Can't You Fucking Yield section, and not Style.

Now, I'm not a perfect biker. Nor am I a perfect driver. No one is. But when I'm nearly doored twice in a single mile of bike lane (bike lane! not just biking on the street! designated bike lane with lane lines and "bikes only" graphics!), I tend to get a little defensive about my safety as a biker and some drivers' ridiculously aggressive attitudes towards cyclists.
For example, if you are parking next to a lane of traffic, perhaps you'd like to CHECK TO SEE IF THERE IS ANYONE SPEEDING TOWARDS YOUR DRIVER'S SIDE DOOR before you open it and send me veering into traffic and to my death under the wheel of a Lincoln Navigator.
Also, if you are driving on the left side of a bike lane and must make a right turn crossing the bike lane, PLEASE MOVE YOUR EVER-SO-IMPORTANT HEAD SLIGHTLY TO THE RIGHT TO CHECK BEHIND YOU to make sure you don't cut me off and send my front tire spinning directly into your car because my brakes, like all bikers' brakes, are controlled by my hands, some tiny cables, and four pieces of rubber. Your brakes are controlled by a highly engineered machine, and I promise, your life will not end if you must brake and wait for the bike traffic next to you to clear before you can pull into Walgreen's.

Fun fact about those funny-looking two-wheeled contraptions that are moving faster than you during morning rush hour: yes, we have our own designated lane. This lane is designated for bicycles, not scooters, not rollerbladers, and not motorcycles. This lane is designed to keep bikers out of your way, so we don't slow down your lane one bit!

Not-so-fun fact about biking: the only thing between me and the skin-shredding, bone-snapping cement (or the front wheels of your car) is a bike helmet and, on most days, a dress.
So, for the love of $4.57/gallon regular unleaded, please attempt to obey the laws that say "yield to bikers". Or I'll leave a gigantic, oddly-shaped dent in your passenger-side door, and a nasty stain all over your grille.