Lull Bye Bye

February, like togas, was created by somebody in Rome who appreciated sensuality, flexibility and freedom of movement. Sensual because every fourth year it becomes the suggestively named bisextile. Flexible because depending where you live, in this month winter either keeps going or sort of slows down...or both. Like yesterday, how it was sunny and 45 degrees out, then today, how it wouldn't stop snowing :



February is unique also because it fits symmetrically into a calendar (just look at those full weeks!), but most importantly: it is lacking two to three days, and thus deserves special treatment. This final distinction is what makes this month so urgent. If you fall into a winter slumber, before you know it March comes and you haven't time to think or plan or even properly apply trousers. You may find yourself slack-jawed at the corner store, fogging the ice-cream case, wondering just why exactly it feels so cold.

During longer, more generous months, I could evenly spread my time-wasting, (or life-enjoying as I refer to it) over multiple days. In particularly life-enjoying times, I could have put aside a block of a couple days to simply fester in my pajamas, consume only animal crackers, and never actually leave the house. Yet, like my long underwear, these precious, stinky hours have been mercilessly stripped away, and so I find myself uncharacteristically motivated and uncharacteristically free of odor.

With exactly zero time to waste, on Sunday, Camp Cupboard set up at the re-scheduled and new-venued R5 flea market. Lets just say that we started the day with copious hats, many pouches, a plethora of neck-warmers, and an unnecessary surfeit of business cards; and ended the day with only a bunch of hats, a few pouches, a slightly smaller stack of neck-warmers, and still a surfeit of business cards (we ordered 500, after all). In short, it was quite fun and successful, with Dan and I spending the day meeting a bunch of awesome people, seeing good friends, and drinking free pots of delicious coffee. (Thanks again Brian and Laura!)



Typically, such a successful day would obviate any need to leave the house for weeks, if not longer. But again, this month can't get stifled, so the very next day I went on a 45-mile bike ride- outside. Now, riding is fun and recreational and all, but in the winter it's more of a chore that needs to be checked off a to-do list at least a few times a week, like showering. However, getting chores done is considered an accomplishment, and accomplishments deserve rewards. (Last night it was coconut curry and beers.)

And now, with a more dire event creeping nearer, my winter training has taken an embarrassing, exhausting, and painful turn. I've recently begun a particularly heinous athletic phase: weight training. And as if it couldn't get worse: I have to do it at a gym, with people around- including male people. It might be the most uncomfortable few hours that I willingly engage in per week (this should carry weight coming from someone who can sit on a bike saddle, or essentially a 3-inch-wide piece of leather, for hours at a time).

With February 14% over, I now have the weighty task of keeping the remaining 7/8ths of the month as fever-pitched as possible. Wish me luck. And go buy a hat, it's cold out.

Happy Riding,

It's always slushy in Philadelphia

Alone in my chilly house, I often ponder not questions for the world, but four word questions. Today my question, "Where has January gone?", actually has the same answer as any would-be planetary pondering: Huh?

Because I'm wearing four shirts and two pairs of socks, I can admittedly tell you this month has been a wash. Literally, as at this rate I've had to amplify my laundry-doing ten fold to keep up with my ill-planned winter attire. Behaving like I'd imagine a mutant marsupial of academic pursuits (or scholarly wallaby) would, this semester has left me pocketing posts and studying in lieu of maintaining my likely huge and gigantic Internet fan-dom. So to this corpulent fan-dom I say, "Sowwee" for the lack of winter wonderland-y blog posts.

(Take this not as an apology, as I'm never wrong, but as an adorable and personable method of fault evasion coupled with a fragile pun on corpulent and sow:)


As a further act of pseudo-contrition, I will now proceed to take you on a virtual walk down my street to show you the highlights so far of this January.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


This is from a week ago, when it snowed and then melted rapidly:




Then the other day, where the same thing happened:





And finally this is from tonight, where the snow + rain slush has yet to completely recede:


(This concludes our walk, as my feet are becoming virtually damp.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So you see all I've been up to amounts to....not very much. All the bike riding I haven't been doing, the leaving the house I rarely attempt, and the early nights to bed rarely make for points of deep contemplation and philosophical critique (the mainstays of this blog). I've fallen, albeit not completely against my will, into a seasonal lull. It should melt away soon enough.

Happy riding.

Its official

The world has often tried stifling my attempts at greatness by typically requiring asinine amounts of paperwork to legitimize said efforts. The world apparently knew how lazy I am, so these attempts usually worked. Because I have become buddies with a little thing called the internet (that along with my two dogs raises my friend count to a boast-worthy three), I no longer have to go anywhere, write, turn in, or really do much of anything to sign up for or officiate various endeavors. And good thing, because my John Hancock would be limp by now with the amount of productive signing up I've been doing lately.

Doughnuts and dollars aside, I've made the horrible and possibly life-threatening decision to race the Tour of the Battenkill. While the name may suggest, this is not a baby-seal clubbing contest, but instead something possibly more inhumane: a 62 mile bicycle race with major portions being on dirt roads. The race is isn't until mid-April, but my terror and anxiety have prompted me to begin serious training now. My regiment is so serious in fact that it is completely embarrassing, and thus worth a separate posting altogether. This is the first legitimate race that I'm planning to ride in, and I have learned that apparently I need some kind of license to participate; I'm guessing in the same way that gun owners, medical doctors or fashion police need licenses to practice. Basically I have to pay money to have my name on a rectangle of polymerized tree pulp, of which there are two options: a one day or an annual license. Since I'm still mulling over the math, I've decided to further practice non-committal avoidance by not purchasing one yet.

What I have purchased lately are as follows: Wool, thread, hot dogs, and a full table for February 1st. The punks at R5 finally made re-arrangements for the winter Flea Market, and unlike my riding speed I was quick to act. Dan and I, along with a mountain of hand-made goodies, will be present and representing our business empire, Camp Cupboard. The hot dogs are not for the sale, I was just hungry now.

To further solidify our attempts at computer commerce, I also signed up for a domain on the world wide web. Now the Camp has moved from the free, yet cumbersome-to-say-out loud campcupboard.bigcartel.com to the more official and dignified www.CampCupboard.com (the capital Cs command respect). Currently my website building skills fall somewhere between my ability to scuba dive and my knowledge of post-colonial naval ship reproduction, which is to say they do not exist. Fortunately for me and perhaps unfortunately for military reenactors, free online CSS tutorials abound, so I have no doubt that within the next one to six months I will become effortlessly adequate at bettering the site.

And finally, what can legitimize a business endeavor more than business cards? Sure- one can attempt to build a brand, design goods, grab market share, and sell quality items for profit, but all of that is worthless without a card. This is because the business world is a lot like elementary school, with all the cutting and pasting and glue eating, and business cards are like Valentine's Day cards for grown-ups. Giving out cards gives hope. A special, tingly hope.


Hope that perhaps the exchange isn't just an obligatory ritual or an attempt at networking, but that maybe- just maybe- you really do think of them y'know, like that*.

Happy Riding.



*For future reference, I think of everyone like that.

Spooky time.

A while back I attempted to win a competition using only my natural given talent, spunk, and not a small amount of moxie. I lost, leaving me to ponder: what is moxie, and why did I feel that I needed to use it? So maybe I went out on a limb, but at least I learned from it- next time I won't attempt to stand on one leg the whole time. That was silly.
For once I'm not referencing any sort of scrappy, unsanctioned bicycle race, treacherous trail ride, or any sort of athletic masochism. I'm referring to that t-shirt competition I entered a while ago. The winning entry was cautious and conservative, including both bicycle imagery and the magazine's title. At least the shirt was printed on a dainty and dreary purple, the newest color of fast (white was the old one).


But I'm not sore about losing, as I have had ample practice failing at just about everything up until now. However I did receive a flattering comparison to the sorta-famous and totally weird-tastic frame builders, Spooky Bikes. As they are only sorta-famous, and as I tend to live in a weedy, candlelit hole (not unlike the Wissahickon's prayer hole), at first I didn't understand the association. Then I visited their website, where immediately it became obvious:


The same love for cycling, cartoon gore, and pastels coupled with a shared disdain for unicorns? Be still my heart, Spooky Bikes. As of yet I must swoon from afar, as the prohibitive price tag prevents me from owning one, no less the six to seven that I want.
As a dedicated follower of this blog you might wonder why I would bother to mention this revelation, as it really is quite petty and took place nearly a month ago. It's because while vacationing in Gainesville, I visited the best bike shop in Florida, and was lent a mountain bike to take up to San Felasco. It happened to be a purple (re:fast) rainbow-sparkled Spooky Darkside, and after riding it my gooey bicycle-company crush set like a gelatinous dessert parfait.

Sadly, the inability to afford a 75$ jersey makes purchasing an 850$ frame a foggy and distant fantasy, complete with headless galloping unicorns (it is a fantasy, after all ). Fortunately I read my 2009 astrological guide in the free paper, and I vaguely remember a mentioning of '09 being the year of the glittery object.

Happy riding.

Everyday I'm tusslin'

Cycling has many unforeseen social side-effects. The bicycle enthusiast stands to seriously alienate non-cycling peers with constant ride stories, shop talk, and bicycle jargon. An obsession with body weight, macro-molecule intake, and frequent hypoglycemic grumpiness can dampen dinner dates. Waking up at 5:00 AM and going to bed at 8:00 PM typically do little to ensure the faintest semblance of a social life. However, one positive unintended consequence is making friends and acquaintances with a diverse group of people who share the same energy, dedication, and time constraints. Fortunately for me, the friends I've made here have more energy, better ideas, and slightly less schedule restrictions which enable them to put on fantastically fun and well-organized impromptu bicycle events.
Last week, some friends coordinated a competitive grass-track and cyclocross event (or, tussle) held on a neglected patch of green below the Walnut Street bridge (or, trestle). A decent gathering amassed with all sorts of bicycle riders present. Often times organized events cater to a specific faction of riders, but at this race the only line that was drawn was between those who wanted to ride and those who didn't. While the soggy grass was most apt for a cyclocross bike, nearly all denominations of bicycle were in attendance: fixed-geared road bikes, town bikes, mountain bikes, cyclocross bikes, commuters, and a glorious tandem.

The races were divided into a set of track-inspired events with a 'cross-race finale. The racer categories were split into varsity and junior varsity; considering I'm a pimple-faced, screechy-voiced freshman in the high school of the cycling world, I opted for JV. The grass track races involved varied combinations of a bell and going in circles, such as: hear the bell, then go faster, hear the bell and that signifies the last lap, and the classic: hear a bell, and then you're out.
I'm rather unfamiliar with traditional track racing games, but I caught on quickly as evidenced by the results.

Strangely, I won most of the track events, and was crowned homecoming queen of the JV.


I graciously accepted my golden crown and square, plastic scepter:


..which I promptly added to my new collection of unattractive prize caps:

A poor breakfast decision on my part (leftover fried seitan and brie sandwich and fries) inhibited me from participating in the cyclocross race, but watching it was immensely entertaining. The race course was set up with barriers, flats, muddy corner-rounding, and a menacing, tightly twisted spiral. The day concluded with a "BSO" race (bike-shaped-objects), which was rife with sass-laden finshes:
Hopefully we can all get together and kill some more grass next year. Maybe I'll be Varsity by then.
Before & After:


(Most photos shamelessly stolen from McGet- Go here for more!!)

Happy Riding.

Holiday (Celebrate)

I don't celebrate Christmas. Firstly, let me clarify- I'm no Scrooge. Scrooge had money. I'm no Grinch either- the Grinch was so obsessed with the holiday that he stole it; while I'd rather not get that close. I treat this day in a similar manner as my dog does- I wake up, eat, sniff around some, and nap frequently. I'm not so into shopping, decorating, giving or getting, and am far fonder of alcoholic spirits than holy ones. That said, methinks Santa worked some magic today and surprised me with a shiny new unseasonable high of 45 degrees combined with some rare sunshine; thus inviting me to spend the afternoon winter-wonderland mountain biking through the Wissahickon.

The Wissahickon park, or simply "the Wiss" (if you're down), is a protected forest in North Philly with miles of dirt roads, hiking/biking/horse trails, and a picturesque creek of questionable contents.


The trails are rocky and have introduced me to a method of bicycle riding that I was previously unaccustomed to : Climbing.



There is also a carved out BMX bowl/jumping area, or simply "the jumps". As it is winter and everything currently is a graded shade of beige, it is difficult to make out the various hilly lines. Topographically speaking, this area starts from really high and goes to really low, with lots of mounds to "get air" over.


Also, if you find yourself needing to dig a clandestine pit and bury something illicit, the BMX area supplies you with shovels and rakes to do so.


And lastly, a trip to the Wiss need not be a totally sacrilegious affair. The park has preserved this old and creepy prayer hole for such activities as devout worship, animal sacrifice, seances, and other means of appeasing gods and the like.


Happy Riding.

Race Rapport

Much like eradicating world hunger or running for the presidency, deciding to open up to the world and declare a serious dedication to amateur recreational cycling is an inspirational event. It inspires fellow cyclists, friends, family, acquaintances, on-lookers, passers-by, and any and all other witnesses to your attempts at athleticism to ask inappropriately pressure-filled and probing questions about intentions. Inexplicably, one can't just spend tens of hours per week and tens of hundreds of dollars per year on a personal hobby without first explaining clearly defined goals. Yet the explanations given rarely ever suffice, as non-cycling laypeople often have zero interest in everyday enjoyment or prosaic practicality (because if they had an interest, they would start riding bicycles). Instead these spectator-tots only wish know about the political, sexy and controversial side of bicycle riding: racing.

The problem is that racing has never interested me, because I lack a competitive spirit, drive, and physical ability. However just last weekend I gave in to the lure of the racing spectacle, and sacrificed my commitment to purely recreational pursuits in order to compete in the 2008 Bilenky Urban Junkyard Cross race. I follow quite a few cycling blogs, so I know that it is now that I should give what is known in the cycling world as the race report. However I typically find these reports boring and difficult to follow, so first I'll post pictures of my intimidatingly aggressive and powerful riding:
Ramp:

Mud:

Underpass:

And now for the full report:
The high that day was in the low 30s, and the ground was muddy and slushy from an ice storm the night prior. The course was narrow, windy and delightfully muddy, and contained one set of barriers, one set of ramps, one underpass, one stretch of pavement, and multiple risks for tetanus infection. The mud puddles were mercilessly deep and twinkled with psychedelic oil swirls. I got a good start and proceeded to ride my usual medium to fast-ish pace, and to my surprise even passed a few people. This took the sting out of the group of riders who ended up lapping me... twice. I did manage to accomplish both of my two goals of not falling and not getting last place, and thus I considered it a rather successful first race. In fact it was so successful that I won 2nd female, and was awarded what I surmise to be some kind of fleece cycling bonnet:



Dan did very well also, and was awarded the Cover Girl shot on Bilenky's website.

Now the question remains of whether or not to compete in a real race. There happens to be a 60-something mile race held in upstate New York: The Tour of the Battenkill that may or may not have piqued my interest. This race has won the hearts and crushed the spirits of many of my friends, as it traverses through some fabled scenic northern hills. Most enticing to me however is that it seems sadistically grueling and happens to contain a whole bunch of dirt roads- my favorite. Since I'm young and easily swayed by peer pressure, I'm going to leave this up to you, dear readers, via a blog poll I put in the sidebar. The fate of me on April 18th, 2009 lies in your hands. (And don't bother choosing "Doughnut" as I will eat plenty in the next few months anyhow.)

Happy Riding!

Camp Collabo!

If sigmoid-Freud were in observation of my present predilections, he perhaps would mention I am of a panicky, plan-laden persuasion; likely the result (from his totally academic and scientific point of view, mind you) of something like playing with my feces too much, or maybe not enough (it's been awhile since Psych 101). As I'm not one to direct erect and dirty digits, the true cause of my perpetual planning/cramming regiment need not be determined nor even addressed. In fact, often times overworking and under-appreciating life have their benefits, as evidenced by my rather spectacular end-of-semester GPA.

Successfully ending the school year did not diminish my appetite for constant work, misery, and placing myself under unrealistic expectations; as after completing hours of testing I immediately began sewing for the R5 Flea Market. R5 is a group here in Philadelphia that aim to put on independent and often all-ages shows. Semi-annually they host a flea market/craft fest to help raise funds for the upcoming year. I took part in the Spring version in June, and with a little help from friends, cheese fries, and a bottle of Crown Royal, I had a rather fun and financially beneficial time. With the looming possibility of a repeat reaping, post-finals I dutifully locked myself inside to endure a rather epic five-day stitching session. Now along with the finest lock-securing waist-cases ever created, I also fashion woolen winter hats and neck warmers:



Saturday morning I arose early to tend to typical morning minutiae: print last minute price tags, pack my goods, eat a balanced breakfast, satiate my Internet addiction, and have my morning coffee. It was then that I discovered this blisteringly boring, wordy, and ultimately bummer-inducing email directly from the powers that be at R5:

"I cant quite believe it myself but it comes with great disappointment that I have to send out this e-mail. Early this evening the Philadelphia Police Department and The Department Of Licenses and Inspection visited the The Starlight Ballroom to dispute provisions in an agreement arranged with the City Of Philadelphia. The full story is pretty boring and is not very scandalous but it does greatly effect our Flea Market scheduled for tomorrow.

In short - the Starlight can not host any events this weekend till the meet with these officials on Monday morning. Unfortunately there was nothing we could do to facilitate this meeting earlier (we found out about it from the owners after city offices were closed). We attempted to re-locate the venue to multiple nearby halls and locations but with this short notice and an event this big - nothing could be worked out. We have no other choice but to postpone the flea market till after the holidays. At this point it is what makes the most sense rather than try and cram it into an already busy holiday season.

No one is more bummed than us, as we count on this fundraiser to pay our annual insurance policy (which we are a bit screwed for now). Full details regarding the new date and possible new location will be released in the next few days. For those who had table reservations - we are very sorry! We know many of you prepared for weeks to have goods ready to sell just in time for the holiday season. This is our biggest event of the year and takes about seven days to prepare for. We know first hand as to what's at stake and the potential income that you were counting on. Again the Flea Market will have a new date shortly after the new year - all existing reservations will be honored and carried over. If for some reason the date does not work for you - we can fully refund you including all service charges. Once the refund period is over - we will turn over any available tables for those who requested a table after they sold out.

So once again Tomorrow's Flea Market is Postponed. A new date announcement will be made in a few days. We lost more than anyone in this mess...

Signed,
The Saddest R5 Staff In The Land.
=( "

Apparently this ballroom was found lacking in both boring and un-scandalous obligations, what I can only imagine to be two very serious infractions. As my life thus far has been pretty full of boring, unnecessarily verbose let-downs, I was able to handle this situation like a professional. I simply redirected the leftover anticipation and coffee-induced energy into merging my design empire with a co-conspirator, and by creating a shop website. With Dan's talents of athleticism, aesthetics, and pattern-making coupled with my ability to use the Internet and type fast-ish, we plan on greatly elevating and expanding the current Camp Cupboard catalog. (Check back soon for our latest in-the-works projects, included but not limited to: cycling shorts, bibs, tights, and skin suits. I can't guarantee when they will be up on the site, but I can guarantee that they will be useful, well-designed, not exorbitantly-priced, and likely libido-enhancing.)

Hopefully R5 can find a decent locale for a January market, until then the web shop must suffice.

Happy Riding.

Please Hold

I've been very busy sewing wool hats, wool neck warmers, and standing longingly in alleyways.

Camp Concentration!

In the past few months of describing my riding, designing, and social schedules I may have conveyed that I lead a life of extemporaneous, philosophically-driven glory. While this is mostly correct, this week I am begrudgingly engaging in obligatory academic assessments (translation: it's finals week). As I must thoroughly apply my genius to preparatory pursuits, there is little left of me to adequately and entertainingly update this here blog. As consolation I have uploaded some photographs of interest that perhaps If I find the time later I will explain in full detail.
Enjoy.