I went, no kidding, probably a solid 2 years where nearly every single weekday I ate a water bottle full of spaghetti for lunch. Once in a blue moon I’d go to Proper Eats up the street, but otherwise spaghetti. Spaghetti and nothing else. Sauces varied from time to time, but for the most part I stuck to the red stuff. Red sauce, white noodles; it’s a combination that so rarely fails.
Anyway, I bring up spaghetti – this delectable, floppy treat from the heavens – for a couple reasons.
The first is, I left spaghetti right about a year ago, and started going with bagel sandwiches, but today me and spaghetti got back together. A large part of the cause for that was convenience, which I realize isn’t the most romantic of reasons to restart or continue a relationship, but it is a reason, and nothing beats spaghetti for convienience. Allow me to explain.
My place of employment has lockers in the bathroom, so I stockpile my nicer t-shirts and most intact pants and underpants there, and as a result I don’t need to carry much back and forth. In fact, the only reason I ever really need to bring a backpack of any sort, at least during the summer, is to bring food there and empty containers back. I don’t know about you, but I am a total nancy when it comes to backpacks. I’d tell you that it’s because the straps hurt the bad spots on my lumpy ass collar bones, but I’d mostly be lying, because the real reason is that my back and shoulders get all sweaty and gross, and, you know, bummer. I’ll go to great lengths to avoid a backpack; I’ll leave things behind that I probably need, I’ll stuff jersey pockets until the tortured seams look about to burst, and I’ll gladly host a back-baby so big that it constantly tries to deliver itself onto the roadway, as long as it means riding backpack free. My method works fine for things like clothing and phones and keys and such, but sandwiches don’t usually come out so well in the deal… And that’s the beauty of spaghetti, and why I think I’m ready to admit my love and settle down with it for good.
See, my morning commute is only 7.62 miles (+/- .02 depending on how straight I ride my bike), completely flat, and happens at 7 – 7:30 ante meridiem, and as such I never ever get thirsty enough to drink water during it, so I have free bottle cages. One small water bottle packed to the neck holds the perfect number of noodles, and then the leftover volume up top is a fantastic, if maybe borderline excessive, space for sauce. Sprinkle some red pepper flakes on top, screw the lid down tight, pop it into your Zipp water-bottle-cage-that-doesn’t-actually-hold-water-bottles-all-that-well-but-damn-it’s-light, and roll out, backpack free! BAM, convenience time ten.
Pro tip: Put clif bars or your butterfly knife or Red Vines (or red wine) into the other bottle for a super prepared packless morning trip!
Now with that out of the way, I’d like to talk about the second reason I chose to write a post about spaghetti. I think that spaghetti – spaghetti with red sauce in a water bottle in particular – is very much like a good steel bike. They both make a lot of sense. You can use both as intended every day for years on end, and not get tired of either. You can fancy either of them up to great effect, but both work beautifully when left quite plain. Both have… round parts? Both can be green, if you buy spinach noodles. Do people ever buy spinach noodles? I don’t. You know, damnit, when I started this I feel like I had a lot more figured out here, I swear. In my head, the comparison was lengthy and brilliant. Point after point would have you saying, “this dude’s got spaghetti and bikes all figured out, for reals.” You’ll just have to take my word. I promise it was great.
Who’s crittin’ this weekend? We’ve got Swan Island on Saturday, this time around formatted as a points race, which I personally think adds some fantastic spice to an otherwise less-than-interesting course. I’m really looking forward to it because it gives multiple opportunities to practice positioning and timing for sprints, which is something I’ve been sorely missing with no track racing in my legs this year. I’m also looking forward to it because it’s close to my house, so I can stop watching TV later, and resume watching TV earlier than with other races.
On Sunday, there’s the classic Vancouver Courthouse Crit, which comes complete with bad roads, bump reflectors, and fast downhill-ish corners! I promise I’m not being sarcastic there; I love a crit with a few extra elements thrown in to think about. It helps weed out the people who have normal life priorities, you know?
Anyway, If you have a bike, legs, and an OBRA number, you should come out and do both, and we can hug or high five each other, whichever your personal boundaries allow! Complete germaphobe? We can exchange knowing winks, then. We’ve got options.
OK, I think that’s about it for me. Seeing as it’s Friday and I’m so very obviously out of things to do at work, I’m about to dress out, ride home, and settle in for some pre-race-weekend Pimp My Ride viewing. Nothing gets me pumped up like watching Ish stitch up some ill tweed while Mad Mike puts a TV in a trunk or something. I sincerely hope (but sincerely doubt) all of you have Friday plans even more wonderful than mine!
The Tiniest Sprinter
PS: Xzibit on the brain!
PPS: That made me think of this, not sure why. When the music pauses and everybody’s teeth twinkle for a second? Amazing.
PPPS: And any time anybody raps fast, it puts Twista in my head, and then I have to hear this one.
PPPPS: More rap! Rap Friday! Rap rap rap! If you only watch one of these, make it this one.