Showing posts with label i like to ride my bicycle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i like to ride my bicycle. Show all posts
20.10.10
how to: i love playing dress-up
rule 1: find an excuse to clothes-swap regularly. this weekend, one of our friends is going to new york and one of us is going to melbourne for a snazzy wedding.
rule 2: make a night of it. make sure your wine is chilled and ready to serve, your dinner menu is new and out of the ordinary, and the stereo is set the band your partner doesn't usually let you listen to.
rule 3: get the kids involved. make some score cards ala australia's next top model--rate your favourite outfits and invite the kiddies to score (and dress-up!) too.
rule 4: girls just wanna have fun. be slightly loud, tell stories that make everyone giggle, dance around a little, splurge and let yourself have that cheeky ciggie, and stay up too late on a school night.
rule 5: ride your bike. eliminate the issue of finding a sober driver, but make sure to have your helmets handy. get your heart pumpin with a lovely ride home with your friends through late-night deserted streets.
rule 6: chronicle your occasion. photograph your borrowed items in action like crazy. because photographs are as central to special occasions and travel as souveniers and hangovers -- but also because its nice to give your friends the pleasure of seeing where their clothes have traveled and how you styled them.
rule 8: come shop with i love lamp. we play dress up too. i wanna annoy you readers more than the shitty advertising that interrupts your free iphone aps (honestly, dishing out the $1.19 for the full version of angry birds will change your life.) non-stop, shameless plugging is the name of our game--yes, come shop i love lamp at our happy yess market stall the last sunday of every month.
11.10.10
bitchin'
hey deuteronomy,
(I figured I'd punctuate my first lamp post [har! har!] with lame biblical references no one will get).
if bostonian is making literary love to her bike i think i should do the same. in the form of a proper bitch--not about the beloved bike itself but about the parking situation at work. because bitching on a blog is fun.
Ruby Belle Coen has only been a Coen for one week and already I've had an 'incident.' and no, I'm not referring to my numerous crashes/fall-overs/near-hits/stuff-ups--which I openly advertise with pride (as a novice rider). I'm bitching about the individual who found my vulnerable, new treasure in the carpark, tampered with my lock and broke it, presumably to steal the brand-new, retro-reproduction, [new] oldtimer easy rider.
who could blame them? Ruby Belle is a burgundy beaut, with tan leather handles and white-rimmed wheels. And a wire basket on the front that holds a smaller wicker basket that will get stolen if I ever actually try to use it. And a clamp-style storage space on the back that the bike shop shopkeeper assured me would surely crush my veggies on the way home from the saturday markets.
In short, my adorable Ruby Belle (came with that name) is a golden-flecked (made-in-china) vehicle of perfection that get's me from A to B, is fun to ride, looks cool and makes me happy.
it's all perfect except for two issues. (1) I thought that with the onset of the humid wet it would be more comfortable to ride around and feel a breeze rather than walk, like how a dog sticks his head out the car window to let the wind run through his hair, except that i was wrong; this town's wet season is hot no matter how you get around. And (2) whoever tried to steal Ruby from the exposed, makeshift bike rack in the car park at work busted the lock-combination-mechanism and left me no choice but to cut it free. the lock is broken but luckily bike is intact. so really i shouldn't complain. but like i said, complaining is fun.
next stop is u-lock city, and no-more-complaining town. since I've still got this fantastic new ride that makes me super happy. bottom line is
(I figured I'd punctuate my first lamp post [har! har!] with lame biblical references no one will get).
if bostonian is making literary love to her bike i think i should do the same. in the form of a proper bitch--not about the beloved bike itself but about the parking situation at work. because bitching on a blog is fun.
Ruby Belle Coen has only been a Coen for one week and already I've had an 'incident.' and no, I'm not referring to my numerous crashes/fall-overs/near-hits/stuff-ups--which I openly advertise with pride (as a novice rider). I'm bitching about the individual who found my vulnerable, new treasure in the carpark, tampered with my lock and broke it, presumably to steal the brand-new, retro-reproduction, [new] oldtimer easy rider.
who could blame them? Ruby Belle is a burgundy beaut, with tan leather handles and white-rimmed wheels. And a wire basket on the front that holds a smaller wicker basket that will get stolen if I ever actually try to use it. And a clamp-style storage space on the back that the bike shop shopkeeper assured me would surely crush my veggies on the way home from the saturday markets.
In short, my adorable Ruby Belle (came with that name) is a golden-flecked (made-in-china) vehicle of perfection that get's me from A to B, is fun to ride, looks cool and makes me happy.
it's all perfect except for two issues. (1) I thought that with the onset of the humid wet it would be more comfortable to ride around and feel a breeze rather than walk, like how a dog sticks his head out the car window to let the wind run through his hair, except that i was wrong; this town's wet season is hot no matter how you get around. And (2) whoever tried to steal Ruby from the exposed, makeshift bike rack in the car park at work busted the lock-combination-mechanism and left me no choice but to cut it free. the lock is broken but luckily bike is intact. so really i shouldn't complain. but like i said, complaining is fun.
next stop is u-lock city, and no-more-complaining town. since I've still got this fantastic new ride that makes me super happy. bottom line isBIIIIICYCLE, BIIIIICYLE! i want to ride my bicycle, i want to ride my biiiiiikkeee!
(and god said let there be bikes. and there were bikes. and he saw that they were good.)
10.10.10
a new way to fly
The biking revolution is finally here! I have only been riding around for over a quarter of century waiting, watching, biding my time. 26 years of pushing a bike, two wheelin, perfecting my roll. The wind in my hair, the scenery swishing past. The feeling of freedom is not unsurpassed on a bike. Push bikes to me are like an old friend that turns up in every city I have ever lived in and offers me a ride.
It was the summer of 1984 when my sister grew out of her BMX and it was begrudgingly passed down to me. A beat up black beast with fluro quicksilver stickers, reflector pedals and spokey dokeys on the wheels. I had just mastered the training wheel and was ready to take the next step. I was, at the time, more impressed with the bike she’d just inherited from our elder sister. An ocean blue cruiser with a sparkling blue/silver banana seat with a tall back rest, long flashy handlebar streamers and white wall tires.
I was used to the concept of ‘hand-me-down’ by this stage of my life – toys, clothes, doona covers, unwanted pets, old tennis balls. I was also quite familiar with the ‘hand-me-up’, which involved something in my possession an older sibling desired and then promptly taking it from me.
Resistance was futile. Even if I rallied the parents, who obligingly insisted the return of my prized possession, victory was only short lived. The scorn and exclusion of my siblings was much more painful than initial disappointment of losing my last Easter egg, bag of marbles or the best seat on the couch. Pecking order, or as I remember it – punching order. The only thing I could do was try to negotiate – ‘You can have it and this one if you take me roller-skating with your friends on Saturday. Please. Please. Please. I promise I won’t talk to you’.
Some items didn’t make it all the way down the chain, especially after contact with my direct predecessor. She was leaps and bounds ahead of me in the bike stakes. She pelted the streets with a crew of biking kids jumpin curves, skidding up the church lawns, fanging down the lane with her hands in the air screeching like a banchee! She was a bruiser. Coming off a BMX onto a cruiser is a big transition. The cruiser won’t take the tight corners, jump the curves or skid out like a BMX will. You are supposed to sit back, take it easy, roll with it. It was a graceful machine built more for appearance than speed, style than performance. Seeing my sister bash round the side of the house on that beautiful blue bike broke my heart.
She once tried to teach me to ride with no hands. “It’s just like skiing with no poles” she teased knowing full well how that lesson went – I still have a scar. Her lesson involved riding around me in circles with no hands on the bars saying “do it like this, like this, see its easy”. I never got it. I wanted desperately to get it. I promised myself that one day I would succeed. I would ride around with no hands for all to see. Hopefully I would also have a walkman and Rebok pumps, then I’d show her.
As predicted by the time I acquired the once premium piece of equipment it was a little worse for wear. She had completely knocked off the streamers off one of the handlebars and the other side was like a mangey dog’s fur – thin, uneven and scruffy. The seat had strange punctures in it which not only ruined the sleek shiny gleam from the sun, was also rather uncomfortable to sit on. I decided then and there that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow I would buy my own bike, a new bike, the best bike.
Throughout the rest of my childhood and my travels I still had never bought a ‘new bike’. It usually wasn’t a budget constraint holding me back, it was more of a long engrained notion that bikes were a second hand purchase. New bikes got stolen, they were tinny and flashy, they had no character, no-one had pre-loved them.
Moving to Darwin changed all that and I found my new best friend. A single speed Trek Soho S series, matt black lustrous finish with puncture-proof racing tires. It was designed for couriers in New York and (perhaps by accident) communication professionals in Darwin – just a few peddles on this puppy and you’re hauling! Everywhere in Darwin is too far too walk, to quick to drive and just perfect to ride. Work, supermarkets, pubs, ukulele practices are all excuses for me to ride my bike. AND everyone’s doin it ma, everyone!
Not long after I arrived I was peddling home after a few cheeky sunset beers with an old mate. He rode ahead, threw his arms in the air and said ‘Look no hands’. This was it! This was my chance, the conditions were perfect. A few beers for Dutch courage, empty suburban streets, a new bike – I got nuthin to lose. I controlled my speed and rolled into the middle of the road. I leant back a little into the saddle and straightened up. I took one hand off, then the next and stuck them straight out the sides for balance. I wasn’t only riding with no hands – I was flying.
Bikes are the new black and my bike is black so that makes me pretty hot shit. But regardless of colour, age, shape, size, new, old, found or stolen embracing the biking revolution is hugging life. So get on it.
I present my friend – ‘Alchemist’
Ding ding!
It was the summer of 1984 when my sister grew out of her BMX and it was begrudgingly passed down to me. A beat up black beast with fluro quicksilver stickers, reflector pedals and spokey dokeys on the wheels. I had just mastered the training wheel and was ready to take the next step. I was, at the time, more impressed with the bike she’d just inherited from our elder sister. An ocean blue cruiser with a sparkling blue/silver banana seat with a tall back rest, long flashy handlebar streamers and white wall tires.
I was used to the concept of ‘hand-me-down’ by this stage of my life – toys, clothes, doona covers, unwanted pets, old tennis balls. I was also quite familiar with the ‘hand-me-up’, which involved something in my possession an older sibling desired and then promptly taking it from me.
Resistance was futile. Even if I rallied the parents, who obligingly insisted the return of my prized possession, victory was only short lived. The scorn and exclusion of my siblings was much more painful than initial disappointment of losing my last Easter egg, bag of marbles or the best seat on the couch. Pecking order, or as I remember it – punching order. The only thing I could do was try to negotiate – ‘You can have it and this one if you take me roller-skating with your friends on Saturday. Please. Please. Please. I promise I won’t talk to you’.
Some items didn’t make it all the way down the chain, especially after contact with my direct predecessor. She was leaps and bounds ahead of me in the bike stakes. She pelted the streets with a crew of biking kids jumpin curves, skidding up the church lawns, fanging down the lane with her hands in the air screeching like a banchee! She was a bruiser. Coming off a BMX onto a cruiser is a big transition. The cruiser won’t take the tight corners, jump the curves or skid out like a BMX will. You are supposed to sit back, take it easy, roll with it. It was a graceful machine built more for appearance than speed, style than performance. Seeing my sister bash round the side of the house on that beautiful blue bike broke my heart.
She once tried to teach me to ride with no hands. “It’s just like skiing with no poles” she teased knowing full well how that lesson went – I still have a scar. Her lesson involved riding around me in circles with no hands on the bars saying “do it like this, like this, see its easy”. I never got it. I wanted desperately to get it. I promised myself that one day I would succeed. I would ride around with no hands for all to see. Hopefully I would also have a walkman and Rebok pumps, then I’d show her.
As predicted by the time I acquired the once premium piece of equipment it was a little worse for wear. She had completely knocked off the streamers off one of the handlebars and the other side was like a mangey dog’s fur – thin, uneven and scruffy. The seat had strange punctures in it which not only ruined the sleek shiny gleam from the sun, was also rather uncomfortable to sit on. I decided then and there that one day, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow I would buy my own bike, a new bike, the best bike.
Throughout the rest of my childhood and my travels I still had never bought a ‘new bike’. It usually wasn’t a budget constraint holding me back, it was more of a long engrained notion that bikes were a second hand purchase. New bikes got stolen, they were tinny and flashy, they had no character, no-one had pre-loved them.
Moving to Darwin changed all that and I found my new best friend. A single speed Trek Soho S series, matt black lustrous finish with puncture-proof racing tires. It was designed for couriers in New York and (perhaps by accident) communication professionals in Darwin – just a few peddles on this puppy and you’re hauling! Everywhere in Darwin is too far too walk, to quick to drive and just perfect to ride. Work, supermarkets, pubs, ukulele practices are all excuses for me to ride my bike. AND everyone’s doin it ma, everyone!
Not long after I arrived I was peddling home after a few cheeky sunset beers with an old mate. He rode ahead, threw his arms in the air and said ‘Look no hands’. This was it! This was my chance, the conditions were perfect. A few beers for Dutch courage, empty suburban streets, a new bike – I got nuthin to lose. I controlled my speed and rolled into the middle of the road. I leant back a little into the saddle and straightened up. I took one hand off, then the next and stuck them straight out the sides for balance. I wasn’t only riding with no hands – I was flying.
Bikes are the new black and my bike is black so that makes me pretty hot shit. But regardless of colour, age, shape, size, new, old, found or stolen embracing the biking revolution is hugging life. So get on it.I present my friend – ‘Alchemist’
Ding ding!
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