This one is a full on road machine. Aubergine refers to the color, and has just a lovely sound to it.
Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.
Archive for August, 2007
Many months ago, we found ourselves sitting in our accountant’s office feeling kind of nervous and humble. We build bikes. We don’t profess to be experts in accounting. (Which is a scary thing to admit.) When you are in situations like that the mind works overtime; I think we were half expecting him to say “Well, it looks like you owe the government a lot of money, and because you are a manufacturing operation you fall under a special category requiring you to work off any debt during the night shift at a nuclear power plant. I am required by state AND federal law to escort you to jail now.” I took Natalie’s hand in mine, and we sat patiently awaiting our verdict.
He looked over our documents slowly interpreting the numbers on the page trying to understand the story that they told, and after a long silence asked “What’s this two hundred bucks for marketing?” “Mostly website stuff,” I answered.
He took off his glasses and looked at us. “Can I offer you a free bit of advice?”
“Kids your age feel comfortable doing everything on the internet. But a lot of people my age need something to touch. You know, something to hold in their hands. You guys need to spend a little money and get some brochures or something.”
It was like the Zen Master had hit us on the head with a stick.
At that moment, we saw a glaring weakness in our kung fu fighting style, but didn’t quite know what to do with it. Something to hold and touch sounded right. But a brochure sounded boring. We had a solution in front of us, but just hadn’t discovered the problem yet.
Months later it hit us. We have a wait list.
The 8 or so months from placing an order to receiving your Sweetpea doesn’t have to be a desolate trek across the desert. It could be fun. Or at least interesting. We got to thinking about college admissions and those lonely months between the “You’re In!” letter and actually showing up for the first day of school. I remember anxiously awaiting any word, and devouring the mail as it came in reading and re-reading everything. Maybe we could do the same.
Around the same time we got a call from HP. There was a Top Secret Project, and they wanted us to be involved. The end result is the “What do you have to say?” campaign and the HP Small Business Community. And for us, it’s a way to develop ideas and make the process of buying a custom bike easier. Think of it as “What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Sweetpea.” Watch this space. More details to follow.
(Photo courtesy of BikePortland)
Ladies: What’s the last social function you attended in which a muu-muu, a skin suit, and a fluffy red ball gown were all appropriate attire? If you are taking longer than a second to answer this question, you weren’t at the Fourth Annual S.S. Pussycat all women’s alleycat race.
The S.S. Pussycat is not the typical allyecat race - that stale formula of bros, beer, and balls to the wall bravado. Nope. This is a race in which all types of fun loving, two-wheelin’ women can fiercely compete in the category of their choice: spirit or speed.
This year’s race was organized by last year’s champ Bethany and the amazing Tori. The theme of the race was Portland Fountains taking us all around town; spirit racers competing in challenges including boat races, fountain Twister, rescuing baby dolls adrift in the water, and the soulful rendition of sea shanties (graded on style). This year, I did the speed category which included the same checkpoints (sans shenanigans), but included a brutal hill climb to Council Crest.
Highlights included:
- Two Tandem Teams.
- The pre-race revelation “I really should have a tutu on standby for this kind of thing.”
- Asking for directions in Spanish at the (almost) top of Council Crest.
- Security guards kicking hapless racers out of the mall (for the authentic messenger experience).
- Swapping stories and drinking beer with the ladies after the race.
- Kind of, um, winning the race.
(Photo on loan from the Rachel Red Riding Hood Center for the Arts)
The Big Winner gets two special things: custody of the S.S. Pussycat trophy (which I have been tasked with welding back together) and the job of organizing next year’s race. So rest up, take your vitamins, and start getting pumped for next year!
On the way. If you are interested, drop us a note!
I got on the train yesterday afternoon, put my bike on the hook, and sat down on a free seat across from a young woman. She looked at me and gently started to cry.
Its summer. Please take a minute to wash your helmet straps. The non-biking public appreciates it.
The idea was pretty straight forward. We were going to run from one end to the other.
In the years that Natalie and I have been together, we have seen just about every mile marker on the Wildwood Trail except for one: Mile Zero. And so this weekend we decided to check it out, but we decided to see all the other mile markers first. So we piled into a cab and trucked the 31 miles out to the end of the trail with the intention of running the whole thing to zero.
We passed a lot of things on the trail. We jumped over roots and fallen trees. We ran over bridges. We interrupted an owl in the middle of lunch. We enjoyed the quiet togetherness sometimes talking and joking around, sometimes going long stretches without saying anything. We pointed out banana slugs so that we wouldn’t step on them. We talked shop and about the Sprockettes.
But as we went on, we started passing a lot of memories we had left by the side of the trail. We passed by our first long run together where Natalie stoically marched on to the finish. We passed a killer 18 mile run that we did before the Big Sur Marathon a couple years back. We passed countless jokes, a couple of fantastic arguments, and we passed by the memory of some great ideas that we accidentally left out on the trail. We passed by thousands of miles of training in all sorts of weather and by a few dramatic sprained ankles. We passed by the spot where we got engaged.
The plan was to run from point A to point B. But every couple of miles the trail would split and we would branch off into memories of our life so far, so together lived. We finished at Mile Zero as planned, went home, made pizza.
