The Ink-Pot and the Palette

( Sartorial )

I'm really having fun. And I'm working on some actual pictures of myself before and after Dressing Your Truth.

After discovering that the Interim Holy Grail jeans fit today, I got really daring and decided to try on some other stuff from the back of my closet.

( I found a whole outfit! )

What a day! What a day!

The sun came out. The temperature rose. I feel fantastic.

( Summer! )

Laundry's on the line and drying fast. My sister's honeybees are buzzing. I'm heading back out now for seven more sets of flowers. Man, *these are the good old days.

When I bought Clyde, there was no question in my mind that I would get a helmet at the same moment, and wear it every time I ride. I'm not so vain, nor is my hair so beautiful, that I can't bear to wear a dorky-looking hard shell on my head while I'm out on my bike.

It turns out that helmets are a wedge issue in the bike world. Some cycle-chic and slow-cycle advocates claim that helmets are a deterrent to appearance-conscious people (women and girls are usually mentioned) who might otherwise get on a bike. Fear of mandatory helmet laws drives a lot of your more gung-ho cyclists to hate helmets on principle.

There are lots of arguments out in the bike blogosphere about the relatively minor statistical value of helmets in preventing injury in bike accidents. In my mind, even the slightest statistical benefit makes the helmet worthwhile. This ain't Amsterdam. Even in Portland, bikes are in the very-small minority on the streets. Safety from automobiles is a BIG concern.

And yet.

My route to work is 75% on traffic-free neighborhood streets or bikeways. And it's spring. So today I rode 3.25 miles without my helmet, and three-quarters of a mile with, and I have to say, the helmetless part was awesome. I felt like people could see me. I was more part of the scene. People on foot--even other cyclists--smiled at me more.

And my hair was dry when I got to work, too.

Two brand-new cycling experiences today, and one yesterday.

First, in my push toward a bit of cycle chic, I wore a skirt. It's a straight but stretchy number, quite long, so the getting on and off the bike was awkward (Clyde is not a skirt bike), but the riding itself was fine. Wore tights and wool leggings and a fur-collar wool jacket in the very chilly east wind we've got going, and was comfy and warm.

Second, there was some construction on the Eastbank Esplanade, and they had a flagger/traffic control guy there just for bikes! The flagger waved me through (when a space about 2 feet wide opened up behind the truck) with a kind of embarrassed "Yes, we really need to do this" little half-wave. So I threaded through and said hi to the crew, and a little farther on I saw what they were doing: they were planting new trees!

So it was an awesome ride to work.

Oh, and yesterday I gave my monthly bus pass to my nephew. My December one went entirely unused, and it seemed lame to waste the January one. I'm paid up through May, so he might as well use it to get to school. After May, it looks like I might be saving $300 a year.

I used to be fashionable. Despite needing bigger shoes and wider, longer clothes than ever went on sale at Nordstrom, I used to be a sharp-dressed woman. In the periods when I managed to diet myself into the normal size ranges, I was killer. Take my word for it.

But a job not requiring dress-up, and passing the age-45 mark, and losing what little ability I ever had to diet myself into the normal size ranges have all conspired to reduce me to black pants and a selection of jackets, and the removal of full-length mirrors from my house.

One of the coolest things about riding Clyde has been that I've taken an interest in my wardrobe for the first time in YEARS. Riding around town on an upright, comfortable bike is not only something a gal can do in fun clothes: it makes a gal feel like she deserves them again!

( I won't be visiting Abercrombie & Fitch anytime soon, but hey, it's a start. )

Next up: helmets, lights and reflectors: trying to make safety attractive.

There's this Tweed Ride that started in London last winter. They wear tweed. They ride in London. Down Savile Row where the tailoring comes from, and twice across the Thames, and through Hyde Park, and all around. And they give prizes: Most Dapper Chap, Most Dashing Dame, Best Mustache (open to all genders).

And maybe it's just me, but this fabulous photo from the event is just...*guh*...and makes me want to write early 20th century bicycle slash.

And anyway, we're going to have a Tweed Ride in Portland! In January. So I'm going to start hunting for something tweed to wear. This could make me get out my sewing machine again. It really could.