How I met Betty

April/May 2006

Years ago when I was making too much money, and had plenty to burn, I was talking to Skippy.  Skippy knowing everything that is cool, while also being my bike guru (Second only to Mr. Skippy) starts telling me about track bikes.  Track bikes are the super cool bikes that bike messengers ride, and are super simple, no gears, no brakes etc.  This makes them easy to maintain, and a lower price point to get a decent one.  For weeks, or months I kept procrastinating spending the money while emailed Skippy 5 times a day with links to different ones, and basically being a pain in his ass. 

A few months later Skippy was back in town, I think for a long weekend, from NYC.  I got out of work early that Friday and called seeing if he wanted to go to a bike shop, for no real reason than just something to do.  Reluctantly he agreed and we went to Providence Cycle, where I met in the Celeste colored steel Betty Bianchi.  I had been eyeing the Bianchi Pista for a while, and there she was taunting with her subtle lines. It was nearing closing time, and Betty is closing time pretty any day of the week and those sober ones.

Skippy has a great knack; he is a voice of reason… most of the time.  He is the first one to tell me I am retarded, that I can not resurrect the mullet back from the 80’s, or that opening a bar is not a god idea for me.  Sometimes though he just loves to see me spend money, this way he doesn’t have to spend his.  He starts in with I should buy it, saying he is sick of hearing me talk about track bikes for months that I should finally get one.  His true inspiration was to shut me up, which is most peoples hope.  My final excuse was I did not have the money on me to make the purchase.  I thought I was in the clear when, he responded with he would purchase the bike until we get home when I could pay him back.   I finally break down and get the bike which we were both very excited to ride. 

We get back to his house and try riding the bike which is a little odd since track bikes are different.  Track bikes do not have a mechanical lever brake, you can slow and stop, but it’s not by simply pressing a brake.  As you turn the pedals the chain turns the rear wheel, but they are directly connected if you pedal backwards, you go backwards.  They only a single gear, and if the wheels are turning so are the pedals, there is no freewheel you always have to pedal.   To stop quickly you have to skid which takes a little learning.

How to skid:

To skid takes some practice, and is a touch unnerving. You put all your weight forward, basically putting your crotch on the stem (the piece connecting the handlebars to the fork) and lock up your legs, thus locking the rear wheel. If you do not lean forward the momentum of the rear wheel will lift you up and down with the pedals all the power of the gearing that propels you down the road is now working against you.  This is why you lean forward to un-weight the rear wheel; with little to no friction on the rear wheel you can stop it from spinning.  As you put weight back down on the wheel your locked legs keep the wheel from spinning thus the skid.

 Over the next few weeks I practice skidding, and track standing, when you balance without going forward or backward, but use the chain tension to stay on two wheels.  It’s super cool when you are at a stop light to just balance and wait out the light.

 Two weeks or so later I am riding home and I have maybe a quarter mile left.  I am riding up a small hill at the end of my street, and since I only have a single gear when hills come up its either ride hard or start walking.  I am heading up the hill and as I pull on the upstroke I begin lifting the rear wheel off he ground, which I think is really cool.  The next stroke I do so with more gusto and lift the wheel a few inches off the ground, super cool right?  No, at this point I am a unicycle throwing all that weight forward and lifting the rear wheel unbalances me, and the handlebars turn, not a subtle turn, a 90 degree turn.  What happens when you are going 15 miles an hour and your front wheel in essence stops?  You go over the handlebars.

 Now one of the first rules of cycling is if you fall never take your hands of the bars.  Why? So you don’t dislocate shoulders, or get road rash on the palms of your hands (also the argument for wearing gloves).  Being the cyclist I am I keep my hands on the bars going 15 mph to 0 via my face.  I lost the pictures, it was not pretty, and I hop up feeling like and ass.  I go to ride home when I notice the front wheel is destroyed.  I hop of and start walking when my neighbor who was pulling up the street stops and gives me some napkins.  I carry my bike the quarter mile home with blood pouring from my face.  I pass a neighborhood kid who says “ouch.”  Yes he now goes to MIT because he clearly is a genius.

 I get home and survey the damage. I have road rash all up my face, am missing a big chunk of flesh from the bridge of my nose.  Apparently my sunglasses are stronger than my skin because they were unscathed.  I wound up with road rash on my shoulder, tore my jersey, and random on my arms scrapes.  Not having health insurance, and thinking stitches may be in order I call my mother who was then working fort the Fire Department to see if I can get a consultation.  I drive to the Fire Station, and they put me in the ambulance and start patching me up.  After some discussion about the stitches it is discarded I am given me some bandages and sent home. 

 The next day I have a date, date number 4? Or 5?  In talking that night I am torn if I should say something regarding my fall, I don’t and figure we will go for the surprise angle.  The date we have planned is an adventure race through Boston basically you are given clues run, bus, subway to various locations and take your picture in front of what you think to be the correct answer.  We show up, and here I am puss all over my face as the road rash tries to heal itself. 

 We go through the race finishing next to last but it was a ton of fun.  On the way home we stop for dinner, and go to the bathroom.  I nearly vomit looking at myself; I was a nasty specimen puss al over, covered in sweat and grime, just nastiness all over my face.  I wash up in the sink but anyone who has had road rash knows the puss comes back. You can actually feel it forming, growing and it’s a terrible feeling when it’s on your face, at dinner, on a date.  I return to the table and muster up the words “you are a champ.”  She asked me why, and I explained anyone who can sit across from my puss spewing face, and eat dinner deserves a medal.