An old screenprinting project.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Adjustment
I'm still truckin'! I'm already a full TWO WEEKS past the date of when I packed it in last year.
I've been riding in the snow, in the sleet in the sub-zero wind... it's been quite an adjustment, but I feel like maybe winter's already thrown everything at us that we usually get in the wintertime, and if I've come this far, I might as well go all the way.
But yeah. Man. What an adjustment.
It's because I was raised, riding in a car, driving everywhere we went. It's because the childhood stationwagon warmed up for fifteen minutes before anyone got into it. It's because, being cold means you're going to get sick. God forbid you get cold...
This is why riding my bike in the wintertime is such an adjustment. This is why it's such an adjustment for anyone. As a human being and being raised in a culture that values its comfort so much, riding a bike in the wintertime is downright unAmerican.
I'm getting used to the layers and have been trying out different variations of layers of gloves. I use the fleece Bike Winter balaclava on cold days, and the super-space-age balaclava on very cold days. I've been experimenting with different kinds of socks, and as it turns out, one good pair of thick wooly socks beats the pants offa three layers of cotton socks. Go figure.
I love, love, LOVE my thigh-high legwarmers. We found them last year at H&M, and I haven't been out there yet this year to see if they've come back, but they were $5 a pair. Ridiculously cheap and thick and knit and they're really helping me out.
And I've found that I like my arms to be a little cold, but I want my trunk to be very warm. I like my back and my shoulders and my chest to be all nice and toasty, but if I was bundled like that all over, I'd be way too warm. So I purposely dress so that my arms from wrist to shoulder catch just the slightest chill. I think it regulates my temperature well.
I've had a couple skids. Nothing that's put me on the ground or anything, but just a couple little slips, and then I catch myself and carry on. It's so important to stay calm when riding in slick conditions. When your brain knows the physics of the situation, but your reflex is to do something completely different... try to let go and let your brain.
I've been riding in the snow, in the sleet in the sub-zero wind... it's been quite an adjustment, but I feel like maybe winter's already thrown everything at us that we usually get in the wintertime, and if I've come this far, I might as well go all the way.
But yeah. Man. What an adjustment.
It's because I was raised, riding in a car, driving everywhere we went. It's because the childhood stationwagon warmed up for fifteen minutes before anyone got into it. It's because, being cold means you're going to get sick. God forbid you get cold...
This is why riding my bike in the wintertime is such an adjustment. This is why it's such an adjustment for anyone. As a human being and being raised in a culture that values its comfort so much, riding a bike in the wintertime is downright unAmerican.
I'm getting used to the layers and have been trying out different variations of layers of gloves. I use the fleece Bike Winter balaclava on cold days, and the super-space-age balaclava on very cold days. I've been experimenting with different kinds of socks, and as it turns out, one good pair of thick wooly socks beats the pants offa three layers of cotton socks. Go figure.
I love, love, LOVE my thigh-high legwarmers. We found them last year at H&M, and I haven't been out there yet this year to see if they've come back, but they were $5 a pair. Ridiculously cheap and thick and knit and they're really helping me out.
And I've found that I like my arms to be a little cold, but I want my trunk to be very warm. I like my back and my shoulders and my chest to be all nice and toasty, but if I was bundled like that all over, I'd be way too warm. So I purposely dress so that my arms from wrist to shoulder catch just the slightest chill. I think it regulates my temperature well.
I've had a couple skids. Nothing that's put me on the ground or anything, but just a couple little slips, and then I catch myself and carry on. It's so important to stay calm when riding in slick conditions. When your brain knows the physics of the situation, but your reflex is to do something completely different... try to let go and let your brain.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Clothes for Cold Commuting
Yesterday, I had a 17mph headwind. The official temperature was 16 degrees outside, the windchill was 6, and I was riding headlong into that.
I was sleepy, grumpy and whining to David in the morning as we were both getting ready to ride off to work. He told me about the weather and I told him that I was sick and tired of the chilly NW winds in the morning. He told me that if they were coming from the other direction, then it would mean it's getting warmer... but in Chicago, during the first week in December, it's all downhill from here.
Here's What I Wore:
Here's What I Wore:
Over the knee cotton socks, two pairs
Fluffy, stretchy, microfiber crew socks (Three pairs of socks, total!)
Moon boots (My favorite pink ones!)
Cotton, capri-length, stretchy leggings
Long jeans tucked into boots
Knee length cotton/lycra skirt
Bra
Camisole top
Long sleeve ribbed shirt
Awesome orange knit wool hoodie (Very warm!)
Synthetic-fill puffy vest (Yellow for visibility!)
Ski glovesSki goggles
Scarf
Earwarmers
Fleece balaclava (courtesy of BikeWinter.org!)
Oh yeah, and underwear.
This sounds like a lot of stuff, but if I were to go out in this and stand around, I would get cold. Consider that my arms have only a layer of ribbed cotton shirt and knit wool hoodie. When it feels like 6 degrees out, I'd want to be wearing more. But when riding my bike, warming up, this is perfect.
Also, please note that I was wearing a skirt. I'm headed to work, and this is part of my work outfit. The jeans are not, the orange hoodie is not... a lot is not. But I was already wearing most of my work clothes.
What my work outfit was, was the boots, the socks, the leggings, the bra, the underwear, the camisole and an extra knit hoodie stashed in my bag, one I didn't sweat in and possibly stink all up. I keep a plain, black pair of mary janes under my desk for days that my outfit would clash with whatever boots I'm wearing.
I used to bring all new clothes. All new socks, separate pants; I would stash my skirt in my bag. I wouldn't really attempt to integrate my work clothes with my riding clothes at all, but I would curse the inconvenience of changing. I don't wear a special sport bra. I don't wear special riding pants. If I sweat, I'll dry off. If my deodorant is good, I won't stink. It's really not a big deal.
People think it has to be a huge production, with a shower and fresh underwear and all, but it really doesn't. And with this setup I've got going on, all I have to do when I get to work, is take off my gear, jeans, vest, fluffy socks, hoodie, long-sleeved shirt... and put on the fresh jacket. I can do all this in the coat room. I'm never once naked or "indecent."
You really just have to be creative, and remember that tights ARE layers, and your underwear WILL dry. Winter riding to work, and just riding to work in general, isn't half as icky as many people think. If you are dressed just right, snug as a bug in subzero weather, the bulletproof feeling is exhilarating and well worth the effort.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Scared Straight
First, I just want to say, are they seriously paying over 3 dollars a gallon for gasoline? My god, really?
I just drove more this past week than I have in months, back and forth to the suburbs for one reason or another and I have learned that people around here are paying upwards from 3 dollars a gallon, in the cheap areas, for gas.
Yes, sometimes there's the need for a good, reliable motor vehicle. I recognize this, but there's a thin line between responsible use and abuse. And when it gets to be that gas is costing that much, there's the question about who's abusing who.
When you're lost in the haze of an addiction, whatever it is, there isn't much anyone can say to you to get you past your perceived need. Whatever it happens to be, it has a hold on you. It has convinced you that there is no way you could function day to day without it.
My mother, who lives almost a thousand miles away, went to the hospital earlier this week because she took some cold medicine (no, not the speedy kind) and her heart rate spiked to 170 BPM. They kept her for almost two days. I beg my mother to take better care of herself, but her dysfunctional relationships with food and exercise have been a lifelong battle. A hurdle like that is hard to get over. She gets stress fractures from every day activities. She has high blood pressure and is borderline diabetic. If I was as unhappy a person as she is, I would get panic attacks, too.
So, I called my mother in the hospital and we spoke, and she told me that I'd better call my father, because he'd been in the hospital that (first) day too. Also, his heart.
It's almost storybook.
So I drove out the next day to visit him. My father, I'm convinced, has a death wish. They wanted to keep him for observation, but he left because he has a dog to feed. I used to beg him to take care of himself, but he has proven over and over that he's just not willing to try. A couple simple changes in his lifestyle and so much could turn right around.
But he doesn't. And he won't take the medications to make him better. And he won't make the changes that will improve the quality of his life. He just doesn't want to.
I'm not posting this here to cry about it (that's what LiveJournal is for), but the point I'm trying to make is, this is what happens. Both of my parents are obese to the point that they would hurt themselves if they tried to exercise. That's gotta be a pretty scary corner to paint oneself into.
I have to say here that it's been a pretty depressing few days, but it's also been inspiring. For a long time now, watching my parents deteriorate has been morbidly inspiring. Watching my mother go on one crash diet after another, watching the scale, beating herself up, making a career out of sitting on her ass, collecting diagnoses which are mainly attributed to her obesity, has been inspiring. Watching my father, sitting in his recliner, watching cable TV, eating ice cream, cookies, potato chips and stocking up on 2-liters of sugary sodas, has been inspiring.
I really wish that they wouldn't go out that way, but I know that I won't. I want to be a spunky, energetic 50-70 year old. I want to be a spunky, energetic 90 year old.
I am so grateful that I have found joy in riding a bicycle. That I have escaped the hereditary and societal addictions to cars, television and the general notion that one must eventually settle down and become sedentary. I am so proud to be a bicycle commuter. I am proud of my life that keeps me up and running. I'm more glad than frustrated that sometimes I find it difficult to relax and be alone. I'm out riding my bike to work. I'm out riding my bike with people I love. I'm riding my bike, miles away, in order to meet people to go on bike rides. I'm eating more fruit and nuts and home-cooked meals than I used to over half my life ago when I was a child and my family was whole. I'm worried when I get fast-food pangs, and I'm conscious of my meat consumption.
I don't look down my nose at them, and I don't look down my nose at anyone else who has become sedentary and have "let themselves go." I remember what was like to care about how fat I was, but never once care about how fit I was.
I eat sugar. I eat meat. I smoke. I drink. I'm still overweight, but I am more fit and more happy today than I think I have ever have been. That might just be proof of how out of shape I was before, being that I'm not in awesome shape, but I'm on the right path. I just keep getting better. Tangibly and intangibly, I just keep getting better.
I owe it to the people I love. I owe it to my parents, for scaring me straight. I owe it to my husband (my ex and my friend) for getting me to Chicago where the bike culture is fun and thriving. I owe it to my lovers, for getting and keeping me on a bike, and I owe it to my friends who keep inspiring me to do new things and proving to me that cycling isn't owned by the stuffed-shirt, suburbanite "weekend warriors" and the jerky hipster snobs.
I love my life. I think I'll keep it.
I just drove more this past week than I have in months, back and forth to the suburbs for one reason or another and I have learned that people around here are paying upwards from 3 dollars a gallon, in the cheap areas, for gas.
Yes, sometimes there's the need for a good, reliable motor vehicle. I recognize this, but there's a thin line between responsible use and abuse. And when it gets to be that gas is costing that much, there's the question about who's abusing who.
When you're lost in the haze of an addiction, whatever it is, there isn't much anyone can say to you to get you past your perceived need. Whatever it happens to be, it has a hold on you. It has convinced you that there is no way you could function day to day without it.
My mother, who lives almost a thousand miles away, went to the hospital earlier this week because she took some cold medicine (no, not the speedy kind) and her heart rate spiked to 170 BPM. They kept her for almost two days. I beg my mother to take better care of herself, but her dysfunctional relationships with food and exercise have been a lifelong battle. A hurdle like that is hard to get over. She gets stress fractures from every day activities. She has high blood pressure and is borderline diabetic. If I was as unhappy a person as she is, I would get panic attacks, too.
So, I called my mother in the hospital and we spoke, and she told me that I'd better call my father, because he'd been in the hospital that (first) day too. Also, his heart.
It's almost storybook.
So I drove out the next day to visit him. My father, I'm convinced, has a death wish. They wanted to keep him for observation, but he left because he has a dog to feed. I used to beg him to take care of himself, but he has proven over and over that he's just not willing to try. A couple simple changes in his lifestyle and so much could turn right around.
But he doesn't. And he won't take the medications to make him better. And he won't make the changes that will improve the quality of his life. He just doesn't want to.
I'm not posting this here to cry about it (that's what LiveJournal is for), but the point I'm trying to make is, this is what happens. Both of my parents are obese to the point that they would hurt themselves if they tried to exercise. That's gotta be a pretty scary corner to paint oneself into.
I have to say here that it's been a pretty depressing few days, but it's also been inspiring. For a long time now, watching my parents deteriorate has been morbidly inspiring. Watching my mother go on one crash diet after another, watching the scale, beating herself up, making a career out of sitting on her ass, collecting diagnoses which are mainly attributed to her obesity, has been inspiring. Watching my father, sitting in his recliner, watching cable TV, eating ice cream, cookies, potato chips and stocking up on 2-liters of sugary sodas, has been inspiring.
I really wish that they wouldn't go out that way, but I know that I won't. I want to be a spunky, energetic 50-70 year old. I want to be a spunky, energetic 90 year old.
I am so grateful that I have found joy in riding a bicycle. That I have escaped the hereditary and societal addictions to cars, television and the general notion that one must eventually settle down and become sedentary. I am so proud to be a bicycle commuter. I am proud of my life that keeps me up and running. I'm more glad than frustrated that sometimes I find it difficult to relax and be alone. I'm out riding my bike to work. I'm out riding my bike with people I love. I'm riding my bike, miles away, in order to meet people to go on bike rides. I'm eating more fruit and nuts and home-cooked meals than I used to over half my life ago when I was a child and my family was whole. I'm worried when I get fast-food pangs, and I'm conscious of my meat consumption.
I don't look down my nose at them, and I don't look down my nose at anyone else who has become sedentary and have "let themselves go." I remember what was like to care about how fat I was, but never once care about how fit I was.
I eat sugar. I eat meat. I smoke. I drink. I'm still overweight, but I am more fit and more happy today than I think I have ever have been. That might just be proof of how out of shape I was before, being that I'm not in awesome shape, but I'm on the right path. I just keep getting better. Tangibly and intangibly, I just keep getting better.
I owe it to the people I love. I owe it to my parents, for scaring me straight. I owe it to my husband (my ex and my friend) for getting me to Chicago where the bike culture is fun and thriving. I owe it to my lovers, for getting and keeping me on a bike, and I owe it to my friends who keep inspiring me to do new things and proving to me that cycling isn't owned by the stuffed-shirt, suburbanite "weekend warriors" and the jerky hipster snobs.
I love my life. I think I'll keep it.
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