In the land of ice and snow

Over a year ago, I made the decision I was going to move from Lake Tahoe to Minneapolis. Now that winter is quickly approaching, I’m wondering what the heck I was thinking. Why in the world would I leave my snowboarding heaven for the land of ice and snow?

Maybe I missed the subzero temperatures. Or could it have been the thought 4 months in, it’ll never going to be sunny again? Or was it to prove that I could snowboard on an ice rink? How about being so white I’m reflective? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t any of those reasons.

Don’t get me wrong; I think Minneapolis and Minnesota are great. I use to brag about Minneapolis while living through out California. Minneapolis being one of the greatest hotspots for graphic artists and the boyishly handsome boyfriend of my mine were enough to bring me back. However, I definitely was trying my hardest to block the bitter cold winters far from my thoughts.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I was thinking, “It won’t be that bad. I grew up in it. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t listening to the rest of my brain saying, “YOU ARE NUCKING FUTS! -40! It’s been 8 years since you experienced -40!”
When I woke up one chilly October morning to discover snow sticking to the ground, I just wanted to hide. Usually, I’m the one jumping up and down at the first snowfall especially if it comes in early 'cause that means a longer snowboarding season. All I could think was “NOOOOOO! NOT YET! We don’t even have the heat on!”
I kept thinking back to the Halloween blizzard of ’91. I’m not ready for that! I’m not ready! I don’t even have winter boots!
Sure, I can close my eyes and dream I am back in Tahoe. But no matter how much I try and dream away the Minnesota winter, I can’t get away from it. I can only figure out what to do in the land of cold and snow. Like sledding at 2 am in the park down the street from your friend’s house cause there is a few inches of fresh snow. Or waking up just to stay inside and watch movies, drink schnappy hot cocoa, and stare outside as it snows another 6 inches.


I may not have moved back here for the winters but I’m sure somewhere in the middle of putting on that third layer before heading out the door to go shred on the ice or shoveling a path to my car, it will all make sense.

Top Reasons Why Winter in Minnesota Isn't That Bad

+ Yes it does get dark very early but you look better in low lighting anyway.

+ All the winter layers can be an effective way to contain body odor.

+ Dogs carrying barrels of whiskey around their necks finally has real applicable value beyond encouraging alcoholism.

+ Dry, flakey skin is a great conversation starter.

+ A bearded man breaks into your home, leaves gifts, then helps himself to all your food... got to admire that kind of moxie.

+ Car driver's road rage is magically transformed to car driver's road rage... on ice! How enchanting!

+ Unfortunately it is not as easy and sometimes even (dare I say?) impossible to get around on a bike... but don't worry. You'll make massive, uncontrolled weight gain look good.

+ I hear snot pooling on your upper lip is the new black.

+ It's that chance to really dread going outside that you've been waiting for.

+ It's a lovely change of pace... for 5 soul crushing months.

+ You can take in the stale, vaguely rotten smell of your trapped breath that only a balaclava can provide.

+ Swine flu!

A Bulldozer's Finesse

I'm afraid.

Much of what I've written in this blog (and hope to continue writing about) focuses on the changes in mind, body, and spirit that I've undergone the last few years. It hasn't always been easy. It hasn't always been fun. But it has been undeniably good. And even though the line between smug self-glorification and helpful advice can be difficult to pin down, the underlying message-- that anyone can take control of their own life at any time-- is an important one to keep pounding away at.

That being said, I'm still haunted by the fear that writing this you-can-do-it-because-I-did-it blog will invoke such a swell of hubris that fate will have me lose sight of all I've accomplished and I'll find myself fat, alone, and living in a bug-filled apartment that overlooks a Thai Restaurant's garbage chute all over again.

But I digress.

An overwhelming part of the American dieting industry is focused on date-specific success. Lose a full dress size in 48 hours! Lose 10 lbs in 2 easy weeks! Lose 3 inches from your waistline in just a month! But there is little to no mention of what happens when the 48 hours, 2 weeks, or month time allotment has come and gone. What is a person supposed to do after success? How can they maintain fitness goals long term?

... No, really... I'm asking because I don't know. By Thanksgiving last year I had already gained back about 10 of the 15 lbs I shed by commuting. I kept telling myself that after such an active summer I deserved a good rest. I deserved to put off Pilates for yet another week. I deserved to upsize to the bucket of tater tots.

I thought that was how one handles success: with rewards... of inactivity and overeating. As the winter months wore on, I was devastated to realize that I'd completely unraveled the previous summer's benefits. I was weak, flabby, and unmotivated... again.

At the time the solution was clear. Since I'd had such a difficult time limiting rewards, I denied myself everything my instincts told me I deserved. Ha! That would show em! I didn't just fight inactivity, I fought inactivity with a bulldozer's finesse taking out anything and everything that slightly resembled laziness, sloth, or, well, relaxation. While it did work wonders (have you seen my Michelle Obama arms recently?) it also created a large gap between extreme leisure and extreme training where I have absolutely no idea how to handle myself, what I can allow myself, and what I should feel guilty about.

And therein lies the fear: I've achieved my goals but I don't know what to do next. How can I be sure that the one extra thing of string cheese I devoured this afternoon won't lead to one extra Whopper Value Meal which will lead to acne, which will lead to low self-esteem, which will lead to a complete desertion of goals, which will lead me back to the Thai-Restaurant-Garbage-Chute-Apartment?

Yes, I'm being serious. A dash of neurosis is yet another one of my charming character traits.

This winter, whether I like it or not, will be a crash course in balance. I want to rest. I want to relax. I know a certain amount of that is healthy... yet... how do I stop once I've started?

I'd like to offer up a thoughtful analogy about how fitness, dieting, goals in general are more about the process than the product, but I can't think of any I truly believe in when I'm so unsure of myself and what I'm doing.

Ugh. Winter.

The Beginning of the End

Before I started commuting, Fall was my favorite season. The trees burst with vibrant reds and oranges, the smell of sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie drift through the streets, and the air is refreshingly crisp and clean. How could anyone not love a time of year that so blesses the senses?

But I thought that sentimental crap before I understood what Autumn really is: the beginning of the end. A slow countdown that, day by day, takes the carefree fun out of cycling and replaces it with snow drifts, frost bite and the sour smell that happens when sweat freezes and then thaws again.

It isn't impossible to keep commuting through a Minnesota winter but it takes a lot of effort. Thick gloves. Warm coats. Goggles. Balaclava's. Studded tires. Alternate routes. It's tiring just to think about.

So the other morning when the temperature dipped to 45 degrees and I had to spend my normal-sipping-coffee-time on digging out my warm leggings I wasn't in a very good mood. When I had to locate long (matching) socks I started mumbling curses. By the time I found my fat jeans-- the only pair that fits over all that warm layering I was beyond words. The effort had officially begun. Soon I'd be waking up an hour earlier and struggling to plow my bike through snow drifts just so I wouldn't have to face swine flu infested public transit.

As I put on the first leg a tiny spider fell out and ran across the carpet.

Perfect. I hate spiders. There is nothing more disgusting... more terrifying than a close encounter with a spider and this one was brought to me exclusively by fall. Nature's gateway drug to winter. Gross, gross, gross. I pulled on the other leg. There was a small white patch near my knee. Weird. I didn't remember a patch being there last year.

Two baby spiders fell out of it.

It wasn't a patch. It was a pouch.

And if that wasn't bad enough, I could clearly make out something moving inside of it. Something big.

A large leg pushed through the side of it. Then another.

No amount of Fall Foliage on the way to work could erase the image from my mind. Or the image of me screaming while jumping up and down trying desperately to kill any other creature that made their summertime home there.

Fall blesses the senses my ass. How long until summer again?

“Be a dumbsaint! A Yeatsian visionary. Take control and let loose. Discard pretense. Make speakable the unspeakable. Throw away the misthought that you have nothing to say. Defy fear. Like Proust unlock time and sense. Find your Madeleine. Or like Alice, eat the mushroom. If you tell a true story, you cannot be wrong. Lose inhibition, grammatical, syntactical, and all other straightjackets. Make love to your life. Experience it, the radiant orgasmic highest high/ lowest low of consciousness.”

-Jack Kerouac, You’re a Genius All the Time

Pre-Race Prep (first draft)

It's going to be difficult to explain that my dog Evey has taught me incredible lessons regarding competition, positive attitude, and perseverance without sounding drippy but I'm going to try anyway.

At a certain point this summer (I'm not sure of the exact date) I realized I have no idea what I'm doing. Absolutely none.

I had participated in team sports (B-Team sports) in the past but that just gave me experience in how to play games: hit a ball, run the bases. Serve a ball, score a point. It's not really a background that could give a person the tools necessary to succeed in a solo, multi-sport event like the Iron Girl Duathlon. Run 2, Bike 22, Run 2.

Anyway, I did the only rational thing I could think of to do. I signed up for a triathlon as practice.*

The tri was in Chisago Lakes, a small town just about an hour from the twin cities. It was billed as a "Swedish themed triathlon through the beautiful roads of Chisago County." Perfect. Who doesn't love Swedish culture? It would be a great no-pressure venue to gain experience in transitions, bike racing, and running. While I hadn't ever actually swam in a lake before, I had been going to St. Kate's about once a week and knew I was buoyant. How hard could a quarter of mile be?

The days drifted by and slowly but surely my excitement turned to nervousness which turned into worry which turned into dread which turned into stomach wrenching diarrhea and fear of death. What the hell was I thinking? A triathlon? Lake swimming? Commuting to work is not the same as racing against 1,000 other people and running around the neighborhood is not the same as running in spandex and getting your picture taken.

Following the golden rule of competition I gave myself a few total rest days before the big event... but I couldn't sit still. I decided to take Evey to the dog park as a distraction. Sitting at home, staring off into no where and imagining my sad little obit would only drive me more crazy. The Fort Snelling dog park sits on the banks of the Mississippi and encompasses about 10 acres (?) of forest. The fact something like it can exist in the heart of Minneapolis is yet another testament to what makes this city so incredible.

I walked along the shore throwing a stick into the water for the dog.

The scariest part about the swimming aspect was that I could no longer put my feet down. I would be out there, in the abyss, with no where to go. If anything happened, if I went under no one would be able to see me in the murky brown lake water... especially with all the other people wearing the exact same tri-suits and swim caps. And even if I did make it, I knew it would be at a embarrassingly slow rate of speed. And as we all know, the only thing worse than death is humiliation.

A high pitched yelp echoed through the trees and shocked me back into the present. There Evey was, standing in the river looking at me to throw the stick. I looked at the stick and I looked at her. She yelped again. Clearly she had waited long enough and was demanding that the stick be thrown again immediately. She didn't have time for this. She wanted to be swimming and fetching...

Because it's fun...

Because swimming is fun...

I had forgotten that swimming is fun!

Come to think of it, riding a bike is even more fun! I love to ride my bike!

Not only that, but running is... well... running was also an event!

How had I so completely and utterly loss sight of what mattered most? I threw the stick far out into the river and Evey crashed into the waves. No hesitation. No worry. No fear. She ran back onto shore and dropped it at my feet, ready for another round.

Yesterday I took Evey to the dog park again. Sunday is the Duathlon and I found myself having the same inability to focus, the same fear, the same worry about future situations that may never happen: What if my chain breaks? What if I get a flat? What if my knee hurts in the middle of running? What if I'm not the fastest? Will it disappoint the other members of Team Angry Catfish? How will this cold I have affect my performance? And like clockwork came the high pitched yelp, echoing through the forest trees. There she was, months later teaching me the same lesson: just throw the damned frisbee! Running is fun! Activity is fun! Being around people is fun! Just go!

Which is why this blog posting will remain a first draft. The same little doggie who has taught me so many life lessons is currently looking at me, desperate to go outside on this gorgeous Saturday afternoon. And I know without a doubt she is right. The best thing to do is get outside and enjoy the day.

I don't know what I would do if I didn't have her to remind me what matters most.

*The exact point at which at least 75% of the people reading this stop reading and think I'm crazy.

Art for Bikes Sake

WOO HOO!!

On Oct. 24th, 2009, yours truly will be involved in the Art Crank Poster show.  I can't tell you what a honor it is to be in this show.  I am STOKED AND A HALF!! 

However, with Art Crank SF quickly approaching, I need to find a solid print shop or the such to make my posters come to life. 
You see these aren't just any posters! 
Oh no!
These are one of a kind.  Well, 30 of a kind...made special for you to take home and love. 
And I want to make sure that these suckas last and look ultra RAD!  After all Rad is in my name! 

So if you can help, LET ME KNOW.  I need to get them printed ASAP with extra special love!


P.S.  They are kind of an odd size (30 x 12) so...specialty printing is needed.  THANKS!!!

An Open Letter to Car Drivers

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am a cyclist, not all cyclists.

So when you hear that I ride two wheels to and from work each day, please suppress the urge to tell me stories of every rider who blew through a stop sign, didn't use hand signals, used confusing hand signals, wasn't wearing a helmet, was wearing a funny helmet, was slowing down the flow of traffic, was going dangerously fast through traffic, was riding on the sidewalk, was riding on the road, or had their butt crack hanging out. You need to stop and think about what you are doing. I am a cyclist. Not all cyclists. We don't get together the last Tuesday of the month to discuss what's been going on around town. No one keeps minutes. There is no secret handshake.

Due to this, there is no possible way I can convey your accounts of woe to the people who happen to be behaving badly on bicycles.

Here, let me put this in perspective. When I find out you drive to work each day from some suburban nightmare, I don't regale you with stories about the idiocy of car drivers-- how terrified I was when a sport utility vehicle passed me at 40 mph with no room to spare. How I got honked at for actually stopping at a 4-way-stop and then taking "too long" when it was my turn to proceed. How I've made it my personal battle to make the phrase "Get on the sidewalk!" legal grounds for manslaughter because it is so fundamentally ignorant...

Telling you all that would be silly! Because you are a car driver, not all car drivers. You have no association with the person next to you on the freeway other than that you are both people, alone in a car, coming from a similar direction and going in a similar direction. That's it.

The same is true for me. I am proud of my bike and the miles I put on it. I'm proud of my friends who actively and enthusiastically put miles on their bikes. But I honestly can't account for the actions of every hipster on a fixie, no more than you can account for the actions of every Escalade with spinning rims. I am my own person with my own story and my own love of cycling. Don't try to group me with those who don't know how to ride. Furthermore, don't pretend like you've never rolled through a stop sign or forgotten to signal. Please.

Does this make things a little bit more clear for you? Do you understand? Good. I hope this little talk comes in handy the next time you have the opportunity to meet a commuter.

Sincerely,

Me, just me, one cyclist among millions, Antonia, doing her best against these waves of constant stupidity.

"Run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up."

-Dean Karnazes

The Agony and the Ecstasy

In March I started a fear-based training program after signing up for the Irongirl Duathlon (taking place September 27th). First and foremost, my goal was to not die/ faint/ lose bowel control at the event. It's good to have goals.

The course map looks a little something like this. Run 2, Bike 22, Run 2. Because I started commuting to work over a year ago the riding aspect didn't really intimidate me. I know my legs. I know my bike. And I know both can do the job without falling apart. But running was a different matter. I hadn't run since high school and that incident consisted of an inglorious 14 minute mile that both my butch gym coach and wretched classmates laughed at. Openly.

So I did the best thing a terrified beginner could do: I got advice from someone who knows what they're doing and followed it.

I spoke with my best friend/ pilates instructor, Anna. "First," she told me, "get good shoes. Skimping on shoes just means foot, leg, back, muscle pain down the road." Check and check. I went to Sports Authority in Richfield and tried on every single pair of women's and men's shoes until I found a pair that was like stepping on clouds. Don't limit yourself to a certain brand or even style. Try it all until you find a pair that fit perfectly.

Next Anna said, "start slowly with interval training. Run a block then walk a block. Don't expect to run a marathon right away. Building up to 2 miles will take a lot of time and effort."

With those words Anna set me free. It had never crossed my mind I could allow myself to walk in my running training. Everyone I have ever seen running, was, well, running. I thought walking meant failure and ridicule (thank you high school!!) but in reality, walking is an important stepping stone to building enough endurance/ muscle strength to run.

So way back in March, when the sidewalks were still wet and partially covered in ice I set out on my run 1 block/ walk 1 block training program.

I ran 1 block!

Then I laid down in a random yard and rested.

Then I ran 1 block!

Then I puked blood in the street.

Then I ran 1 block!

Then I tried to flag down passing cars for a ride home.

It was agonizing. My insides felt like they were sloshing around and painfully bumping into each other. I was water logged. My lungs were angry and my muscles felt like they were tearing off my bones. I wanted to quit... But I didn't quit. I got really really pissed off instead. There I was, a 25 year old woman who couldn't move quickly under her own power for farther than 1 damned block. Come on. So I fought back. The next day I ran 1 block and 3 steps. The day after that I ran 1 block and the entire intersection. Every single time it got better and I went farther. I forced myself to continue on through stubborn, begruding determination.

If you are struggling in your fitness routine, the best advice I can give is to make it personal. Get angry at the distance that has conquered you. Whether it's 2 miles or 20 you must under no circumstance be defeated. With that in mind I plodded on. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. It happened so slowly I honestly didn't realize a change had taken place. Yesterday I decided, quite spur of the moment, to take the long way home. 4 hilly miles. And it didn't hurt. To my utter and total disbelief I actually enjoyed myself.

I guess the moral of the story besides achieving goals, feeling good about yourself, and conquring what you used to think was impossible, is really that everyone from my high school can suck it.

Cranking it out.

Currently working on artcrank SFO poster. woot woot!

"Fancy a lady riding a thing like that. With a leg on each side, disturbing the traffic."

-John Galsworthy, The Forsyte Saga

Update in Leaving Behind My Personal Glowing Screen

(Scroll down or click here for previous post)

The best way I can describe it is this:

When I first moved to Minneapolis I liked driving. I liked listening to music and rolling the windows down and cruising around with friends. I thought it was fun. And then I got on a bike. And the more I rode the less I could stand being in a car. The freedom. The power. The exhilaration. There was simply no comparison. It started to mystify me why anyone in their right mind would ever choose a vehicle over a bicycle for any trip short or long, near or far. And then it expanded even more. I started to dislike cars I wasn't even in. Cars just driving down the road. Cars honking at each other. Big cars. Little cars. Fast cars. Slow cars. All of them became... grotesque and uncivilized.

The same thing has happened with my little facebook experiment. At first, I remember, thoroughly enjoying facebook. It was fun-- frivolous and fun. There was a satisfaction in seeing what friends spread to the far corners of the world were doing at any one time. Susan was riding the subway in Japan! Ida was attending her first year of college in Denmark! Saba moved to New York City! Wow! Look at all of them go! The thought of giving up all that knowledge and entertainment was a bit hard to swallow.

But then I logged off. And my time went from being devoted to what other people were doing to what I was doing. Me. Myself. I. I ran four miles and didn't tell a damn soul. Come to think of it, I also pre-rode the duathlon course and really enjoyed myself, I decided guacamole was my absolute favorite food and Duluth was my absolute favorite place. I did a thousand things all my own property. And after experiencing life like that, facebook just seemed... a bit grotesque and uncivilized.

Now how do I balance this with a growing blog? I want to go on twitter. I want to promote Sad Tan. I want to write and research bike related topics... and yet... the more I'm away from my personal glowing screen the more I want to stay away from it.

Laws of Simplicity

"Reduce: Small is beautiful, less is more. Reducing consumption is the keystone of sustainable living. If there is a single trait that defines North Americans, it is out love of purchasing things: all too often, we are what we buy. Altering these purchasing habits has a powerful influence on our collective future. The easiest way to do this is to reduce the amount of things purchased, and simplify our lives."

www. lawsofsimplicity.com

[Click here for the full article]

Leaving Behind My Personal Glowing Screen

One of the important gems of wisdom I picked up from watching Mad Men besides that men from the early 60's were philandering assholes, is that human beings have survived in a world almost completely devoid of computer technology.

Hard to believe, I know.

The reality of people without computers seems obvious, and yet seeing it played out on tv presented a novel, if not foreign ideal. For 8 hours a day I sit in a chair and stare at a glowing screen. Sometimes I read off of the screen and sometimes I type things into it. Then I come home and stare at my personal glowing screen. If I had a good commute I type "I had a good commute" as a "status update" in hope others will see it. They will ingest the information I presented and regurgitate a "status update" of their own about whatever inane thing they happen to be doing.

Does any of this strike you as odd? 50 years ago people A) wore fancy gloves to parties and B) did things for the pure sake of doing things. They lived one life. There was no internet persona to worry about. No message boards. No twitpics. If you took a walk in the park it was to experience a park, not to type something witty/crass/ironic/sarcastic/enlightening in the desperate hope someone out there who happens to also be staring into their personal glowing box finds you witty/crass/ironic/sarcastic/enlightening.

Inspired by the show I decided to try to live a simpler life.*

My incredibly wise and beautiful sister in law sets goals a month at a time. One month she will go gluten free. One month she won't watch tv. One month she'll go to sleep at 10 every night. It's both a way of testing herself and freeing herself.

So this months goal? Not to be a slave to the internet, and facebook more specifically. I'm going to live one life and enjoy every second of it. Might even have to buy one of those crazy "notebooks" I hear people used to type on... err... write on... err whatever.





*And I'm posting this proclamation on a blog website. Please click here for details.

Come Alive

"I've seen women who've gotten into mountain biking who really come alive after just a few months. They're radiant, they've lost weight, their shoulders are back, and they're no longer taking any crap from their husbands."

-Carol Waters

A Little History for Your Reading Pleasure

No matter how much it pains me, this blog is about to delve into the dark, embarrassing annals of my past. Normally I wouldn't spend very long focusing on a time so entrenched in Cool Ranch Doritos and reruns of the People's Court, but it's become apparent that before Sad Tan© goes any farther we need to look at where we've been.

I have to make one thing perfectly clear: two years ago (almost to the day) I knew nothing about cycling. NOTHING. I hadn't even been on a bike since the age of nine. I participated in some high school team sports, but then I went to college and my favorite activity quickly became seeing how many pizza rolls I could eat in one sitting.*

I was overweight, unhappy, and completely inert.

Which raises a good point. Those who ride, for commuting and/or sport are not a different species. We are not doing anything that you can't do. We made the effort to map a route, we woke up early, and we rode. That is it. The truth of the matter is that we all had to start somewhere and often that somewhere was not particularly pretty.

And yet... I do understand the trepidation many would-be beginners feel. I remember all too well that I couldn't run because my shins hurt. I couldn't ride to work because traffic was scary. I couldn't go to the gym because it was boring and smelled sour. Excuse after excuse filled my brain and stalled my action and it took months... years, really to fully comprehend that they were just excuses. Maybe I rationalized that if I didn't ever try I wouldn't ever fail. But I was wrong. If you want to change something about your life you have to just change it. That's it. That simple. No excuses. Here, let me say it again, this time in italics:

If you want to change something about your life... just change it.

It may not be easy or even pain free. Hell, have I mentioned that I got hit by a car last week? But if I can do it, anyone can. Which is both the miracle and the inspiration behind Sad Tan:

Anyone can.



*Answer: Many

Oh, just hold your horses.

Writing about having an active life when you lead an active life is proving a more difficult than initially expected.

For instance: yesterday I rode my bike to work (5 miles)
Worked the ol' 9 to 5
Rode home (5 miles)
Ran with the dog (2 miles)
Rode to Pilates (5 miles)
Pilates it up (What is the past tense of Pilates?... Pilatazed? Pilateed? Pilated?)
Rode straight to a friend's house to try on my new cycling kit for Angry Catfish Bicycle and Coffee Bar (6-7 miles)
Rode home (3-4 miles)
Made enough guacamole for at least 4 healthy adults to consume
Consumed all the guacamole myself
Showered
Collapsed

Now. Where exactly would you fit in writing? If one were feeling sassy, one might say something like "you could just cut out one of the billion physical activities you've got going on and replace it with one mental one... like writing." But it really isn't that easy. The Duathlon is one month away. Just one. I've worked damn hard every day molding myself from a depressed, overweight, out of shape heap of excuses into a determined, strong, healthy young woman. And I'm not about to stop now.

So, the moral of the story here is that patience is character building. Something of quality will be posted soon enough. Right now, I've got to run.

Safety is Sexy

Of course. This was bound to happen.

Here we are trying to start up a blog about how fun and enjoyable cycling in the Twin Cities is and I get hit by a car. "Ooo, welcome to Sad Tan! Cycling is soo gratifying. Now here are 800 plus words about how easy it is to die. Thanks!" Doesn't exactly make for a lighthearted reading experience. But, the bottom line is that an accident did happen (see full story below) and no matter how "uncool" these topics may be to discuss, they still need to be discussed.

Luckily I was wearing a helmet. I'm one of those people who should probably wear one just walking around in every day life, let alone when rocketing down a hill at 25 mph perched on top two wheels. It just somehow seems to make sense. And yet people come up with all kinds of reasons not to wear them.

1. Helmets make me look funny.

BS! Well, that's a lie. They do make you look funny. But they make everyone look funny. It's like a club. I've been riding full tilt in 90 degree weather, red in the face, hair sticking straight out from under the straps, and I see another cyclist who looks the same. We always smile and wave. Or at the least smile and nod. Look! I made a friend. I wouldn't have had that camaraderie without my funny looking safety hat. And the best part is, it doesn't take long before you see another person and another and another all protecting themselves in the same way. So please, don't take yourself too seriously and get a helmet. In 20 years you'll think everything you were wearing, saying, doing, and thinking when you were "at this age" was cosmically dumb. The helmet is probably the least of your fashion worries. (Nice skinny jeans by the way.)

2. They cost too much and there aren't any cute styles.

BS! Put the same effort you put into making your facebook status updates clever and I guarantee you'll have yourself a stylin, pocket-book friendly helmet in under 24 hours. Every bike shop in town has a wide variety to suit every personality. And if they don't have just the right product, I hear there is a crazy invention called "the google" that might be just the thing for you. Ask around about it. I hear it's the latest rage.

3. Well, I am a very safe cyclist and don't need one

BS! You can be riding with as much cautionary prudence as Mother Theresa and if the fat bastard eating a cheeseburger and texting his baby-mamma in the SUV behind doesn't happen to see you, you're done. DONE. It is the other guy you need to worry about. So often car drivers don't even notice cyclists. Did you hear that? They don't even notice you. You can literally be obeying every rule in the book (as I was last Friday) and still find your head scrapping pavement. This isn't a game. These aren't matchbox cars and you are not invincible. It's two tons of suburban road rage against 25 lbs of LeMond. Why not do everything you can to protect yourself? It's not exactly the time to be all la-tee-da about it.

Of course, I'm not saying helmets are some miracle product that could levitate you at the moment of impact and prevent you from getting hurt. I wouldn't be talking about helmets anymore, I'd be talking about The Matrix. But, if you know of any other golden excuses please, by all means, email us or post them as a comment. I'd love nothing more than to prove you wrong with the same snarky tone I've been using this whole time.

A little education goes a long way. Take the time to know the rules. I cannot stress this enough.
Please click here for the Minneapolis City of Lakes website that offers plenty of *official* information including cycling 101, detours and maps, bicycle and transit tips and much much more.
The Minneapolis Metro Transit Website is also helpful.
For more of a bike-community feel complete with advice, recipes, reviews, and forums, Bike Radar is most excellent.
Come to think of it so are the 17 additional websites listed here.

It may come as a surprise, but some car drivers are actually doing their best to be safe and cautious but if you're riding down the wrong side of the road with no lights at night, you're making it a little difficult. Especially when "the google" (there it is again!) makes it so easy to be knowledgeable.

The number one rule I can honestly recommend is not to make this into an "us" vs. "them" issue. That's right. Here I am, a proclaimed cyclist, honestly suggesting we all just start to be nice to each other. Many car drivers have never commuted and have no idea why cyclists do so many "strange" things (Cuffs rolled up? Track stands? Rolling through stop signs?)... it's enough to send them running scared back to Edina. So, cut them a little slack. Every time I've allowed a car to take their turn at a stop sign or waved apologetically when doing something stupid I am rewarded with equal amounts of understanding and kindness. Allow for some human error. We all make mistakes. No reason to get all bent out of shape about it.

And yes, I will totally understand M N Rad's shock at reading this since the only addendum to her telling of the accident was that I screamed the "F" word over and over and over again at the car drivers the rest of the time I stood there... buut hindsight is 20/20 and I can write whatever the hell I want on this thing.

Ride safe out there folks. It really can be a lot of fun :)

Car 1, *ants 0

Unfortunately, we all here of people getting hit by cars, trucks and other moving vehicles that are bigger and stronger than us. We put blinking lights on the front and backs of our bikes so we are seen. We wear helmets so that the off chance someone takes a dive or worse. You never think it is going to be one of your friends or someone you know but on Friday night, it was.

A group of us joined up to go for ride going from pub to pub style. So through the streets of St. Paul we go, pedaling along. For those of you unfamiliar with St. Paul, its one hilly city! Nothing compaired to San Fran but when it is your first "RIDE" let me tell ya...its rough at times. Anyway. Back to the story!

On our way to our third destination for the evening, a car suddenly pulled over and struck *Antonia. After some serious rage of realizing that she had been hit, an ambulance, fire truck, and two cop cars showed up rather quickly to make sure my fair companion in blogging and adventures was okie doekie. I think my favorite part was when she was yelling "I HAVE MY BLINKY LIGHTS AND EVERYTHING SO YOU CAN SEE ME!" (I may have misqouted) and the picture I have of the ambulance dude looking like he is copping a feel. Luckily, there was only minor damage; some road rash, a broken shoe buckle, little bang up job on the Klauck, and a sore wrist. However, it didn't take away from the horrifying site of my friend lying in the street, writhing in pain and not knowing if she was going to get up.

I can only imagine the absolute fear that was running through the guy that hit her. And it absolutely scares me to death that people don't pay attention. Many bike riders try to pay attention for both cars and themselves, but they can't all the time.
PLEASE look for blinky lights.