The After Hours

______THE MOUNTAIN is home to a formidable road with a terrifyingly steep climb on one side, and a long, winding climb on the other. I had heard rumors of cyclists adventuring their way up and down this epic landmark, but had never imagined myself being able to tackle such a challenge. To me, it was mere folklore: I heard whisperings of it but did not necessarily believe it to be real.

______That being said, when the local bike dads decided to take a naive little Ali up it one day, you could say I was rather wide-eyed when I saw it looming in the distance.

______As we approached it, the clouds became heavy and dark, lightning cracked across the sky like a whip, and an eerie witch's laugh echoed from the top of it. The blackest crow swooped before us carrying the limb of a man, cawing menacingly as it disappeared into the forested edges of the road. I glanced to my left and saw "REDRUM" carved feverishly into a tree. A suffocating fog began to permeate the area...

______Totally not exaggerating. You should have been there.

______The five of us approached the hill, ignoring the sinister skies and symbolic foreshadowing that only I apparently remembered. We were ready. Or maybe we weren't, but we had no choice at this point.

______And so the journey up THE MOUNTAIN began.





______One of the bike dads mentioned his need for motivational music to cycle his way up THE MOUNTAIN: specifically, jamming out to the Rocky theme. This bike dad is who I like to call Papa John's, for the first time I met him he donned a white, green, and red bike jersey that screamed "Italian carb wheel." Pizza stylin' to the nth degree. In his younger years, dear old Papa John's ran carrying the Olympic torch, and because of that I feel kind of terrible demoting such a patriotic citizen to a chain pizza joint.

______He's even got a tattoo on his arm of a torch. Hashtag just dad things.

______Traffic Cone was following Papa John's in another one of his terrifyingly bright neon jerseys, and the Terminator was huffing and puffing right next to him. The Terminator was aptly named due to a tiny mirror that stuck out from one side of his shades, almost as if it could be moved over his eye so he could see through walls, zoom in on enemy targets, and shoot lasers to heat water and prepare pasta al dente. I like to think it's used for good. Good meaning pasta.

______So there we all were: me, Northern Lights, Papa John's, Traffic Cone, and the Terminator. Cycling pals for life.




______The base of THE MOUNTAIN is likely the most strenuous, not only because you know you're about to bike up a most dreadful hill, but also because the hill starts on a flat surface and immediately rises to an incline, giving you no momentum with which to begin. After climbing up this initial incline and managing to cycle around an awkward road curve, the grade gets a little less steep and you've got one thing in your mind: just keep peddling.

______Just.
______Keep.
______Peddling.

______For a solid two miles. Your legs burn like they're being pricked by hot needles on the inside, your shades get fogged up from body heat, and you intermittently stand up and sit down so your rear end doesn't go numb. You become interested with the trash on the side of the road as well as wondering the story as to how a couch became wedged in a rocky crevice. You look at your speedometer and note you're going a wimpy nine miles-per-hour; the recorded distance increases in sluggish increments of 0.01 miles.

______But eventually you reach the summit, de-mount your bike, and stretch your jellied legs: the hill overlooks a valley of trees, homes, and even part of the city. You admire the view while adrenaline rushes through (what feels like) your ripped calves.

______And then, you have done it. You have evolved into a true MOUNTAINeer.



Jacket: Forever 21 (similar)
Top: Charlotte Russe (similar)
Skirt: similar
Bow choker: Valfré
Heels: Jeffrey Campbell
Studded bracelet: Charming Charlie
Rose Earrings: Charming Charlie

Embellishments

______A few weeks ago, I ended up joining a gang of local dads who bike on the weekends. But how did this come about? Ah, but it is time for the final tale of the mysterious Northern Lights... gather 'round now.




______It was a Sunday morning. The asphalt below my tires was slowly warming from the rays of sun that creeped through the foliage above. My bike whizzed along at a comfortable pace that even an infant could manage. My headphones were in and a user-created playlist on Spotify appropriately named "Middle School Punk Rock Boner Jams" was draining nostalgic angst into my ears. It didn't give me any boners, but man, it was good stuff.

______And in the distance, like clockwork, there he was.

______I clicked the tab on the cord to my headphones to pause "Paralyzer." There that cyclist was, making some gesture that resembled a cartoon cactus with one arm up and the other down. Another man rode alongside him--wearing a jersey the color of a blaring orange traffic cone--making for a curious couple. Northern Lights and Traffic Cone, two cycling bros on a mission.

______I'll have something to blog about next week, then, I thought selfishly. 




______"We just finished the mountain!" Northern Lights shouted. Disappointment drenched his shrill voice; he was clearly distraught that I didn't wake up earlier that morning to somehow know how to join him and his friend on their mountaineering escapade. The man in the orange jersey ignored Northern Lights' shouts, clearly immune to his domineering nature. Rather, he looked at me in confusion.

______"Are you Tracy?" Traffic Cone asked. I employed the swiftest U-turn I could manage on a bike and rode wobbly alongside the two, circling them like a shark. A really dorky shark that was probably just a fish trying to act cool. Okay, okay, a weak little minnow. 
______"What mountain?" I asked. "I'm not Tracy."
______"You look a lot like Tracy."
______"The big mountain!" Northern Lights said. "I'm gramps' cheerleader here when we go up it." He gestured to Traffic Cone, who admitted it was quite the climb. There were a lot of words being whipped around.
______"Tracy must have slept in this morning," Traffic Cone murmured.




______When we collectively scooted our bikes to the shoulder of the road, I expected Northern Lights' handlebars to erupt with flames, shoot him toward the stratosphere like a rocket man, and explode into an array of glittering stars that spelled, "I AM NORTHERN LIGHTS HERE ME ROAR" until they fizzed and faded. Alas, he remained grounded and not did self-combust: he was as human as I with not an ounce of extraterrestrial blood in him.

______But then again, I tend to romanticize things, embellishing them with googly eyes, glitter, and rhinestones when necessary to pretty 'em up.

______After some discussion, I learned that they (along with a few other guys) biked up an enormous mountain occasionally, as well as throwing some easier 30-mile rides in. Which peaked my interest because I had been looking to bike longer distances and take on new roads. It's surprisingly difficult for me to bike more than 30 miles on my own, even with good music, solely because, well, it gets boring. It's more fun when puns and insults are being thrown around.

______And so with that, I became an unofficial member of the local dads' cycling club: all that's left to complete my initiation is to wrap a red bandana around my head to match the others. Done and done. Stay tuned for more chapters on these shady characters...



Dress: TJ Maxx, eons ago (similar)
Kimono: Charlotte Russe (similar)
Heels: ASOS
Ring: local jewelers, from dad
Necklace: only God knows

Cotton Candy Mermaid

______Yesterday I turned the ripe, senile age of 22. Which means that besides beginning to grow fond of those who share inspirational quotes plastered over idyllic landscapes on my Facebook feed, I have decided to dress as mature as possible, donning myself in clothing fit for a cotton candy mermaid...

______My day was fairly eventful. Other than buying four pairs of shoes from dee interwebs (my god, Ali, you materialistic piece of poo poo pie), baking myself a cookie cake and eating far too much of it in the process, I went on an extra long bike ride, even managing to cross paths with the eccentric cyclist you may remember me writing about months ago, the one called Northern Lights. When I run into him, I always tell myself I'll turn around and get back at him for all the times he's shouted incoherent ramblings at me, but I've never quite managed to put that plan into action when we actually do cross paths.



______When he approaches, I can't help but grin because the whole ordeal is just so stupid. His entrance is always the same and always comical: he spots me from afar, jerks his head around to check for oncoming vehicles, and immediately veers to the yellow centerline like the hungriest of sharks as he hunches protectively over his road bike. I always know it's him because the instant we become aware of each other his demeanor changes as if he is a piglet who has suddenly discovered a mud puddle.

______I like this guy. I am entertained by his presence. I feel we've developed a sort of kinship, like two frat bros who both have red trucks and nod coolly as they pass on campus. We don't know each other's names, but I feel like we'd have a thing or two to discuss if we met in the grocery store.

______But back to the story.

______This time, Northern Lights puffed his chest out and pulled his shoulders back, hands balled into fists on his hips as he rode toward me. He screamed something which, as per usual, I could not quite comprehend, and in response I shouted, "BIKE HIGH FIVE!" because it's a game by now, you know, and we did try our very best to high five one another but failed by a shameful amount of yards. It's strange how distance can be so distorted when you're biking opposed to driving or walking on a road.

______Immediately after the unsuccessful bro-five, blinking lights man shouted, "Wake up earlier!"



______Wake up earlier? Was he implying that I should wake up earlier to join him in his biking shenanigans? Usually he's riding the opposite way, so if I timed it right, we could ride the same way... And with that, possibly gain entrance into the unofficial blinking lights biker cult. Yep, I think that's exactly what he meant. And I think it's a challenge. A challenge I will accept with utmost fervor, ferocity, and... f... f... ferocity again.

______Yeah. So ferocious.

______Hope you all are having a great start to your July. And I just want to say that I'm gleeful as ever to be back in blogland communicating with you all. Your meaningfully written, novel-worthy comments mean the world to me!



Top: Lotus Boutique (similar)
Skirt: c/o ForElyse (exact)
Heels: Jeffrey Campbell
Bra: Victoria's Secret (exact)
All jewelry from Charming Charlie (yes, it's ridiculous)

Oxford Scholar

______I won these snazzy oxfords the other week from a DuoBoots giveaway; they're an astounding company in the UK specializing in leather shoes that are absolutely gorgeous and I feel compelled to tell everyone about them. Plus, these oxfords smell great. After unwrapping them from their smokey purple box, I spent a whole minute pressing them to my face and inhaling their dusky, rich scent like I could experience hallucinogenic side effects.

______(I didn't.)

______I had another encounter with the mysterious Northern Lights biker, too. He came zipping along, a symphony of blinking lights as was his surefire signal, and I prepared myself for some raucous vocals and blatant arm flapping. As if on cue, he immediately veered to the center of the road at the sight of me and lifted his arms like a poised eagle atop a totem poll.

______This guy. Seriously.

______This time around, instead of letting Northern Lights have the first word, I was going to be the one to break the silent hum of cicadas that infested the area. I lifted my arms into the air, made magic finger motions, and sputtered, "You're going to the wrong waaaaaay!" like the insolent little turd I was.

______He guffawed at my taunt, but did not reply to it. Rather, he shouted back completely unfazed, "You've finally got a light on the front of your bike! I CAN SEE YOU!"

______Northern Lights bellowed a deep laugh and zoomed merrily past me. He carried on with his ride as if he was a very satisfied father who just witnessed his adversary neighbor trim too much off a hedge, thus rendering him cul-de-sac's yard champ of the week. It was true what he said, though. I always have had a light on the back of my bike, but now I had one on the front, too. It blinked just like Northern Lights' did to warn cars that I was present and vulnerable on my bike. Was that what has been bothering him all along? It surely couldn't have been, because long ago he was shouting at me for going the wrong way. Or was he merely furious that he was the one going in the opposite direction this time around?

______The world may never know.



Top: Target
Skirt: Charlotte Russe (similar)
Earrings: SteinMart
Necklace: vintage
Socks: Target (similar)
Ampersand ring: c/o BornPretty
Shoes: c/o DuoBoots

The Sky is Artificial Butter

 ______This is a tale of the Northern Lights.

______Oh, no-no-no. Not those Northern Lights, mind. Not that shimmering light spectacle that dominates the night sky like cosine and sine waves interwoven in some prismatic mating ritual. Surreal and mind-blowing as that is, I'm talking about something completely different. I'm speaking of a befuddling person who I've dubbed "Northern Lights" in my head.

______You all know I'm an avid road biker. I bike each morning when the sun soaks the land with its citrine light, just before the humidity has time to saturate the air like a sweaty herd of wild armpits. On my rides, I often stumble across the same few folks: there's a trio of greying men who sport slick neon shirts and cheerily greet me with, "G'morning, girl!"; a serious young woman who whizzes by with nothing but a curt nod; and a few friendly dudes with excellently rendered butts who usually pass beside me from behind (which is why I know of their top notch man-buns.)

______However.

______There is one particular person, one man who I have yet to comprehend when our paths intersect. His approach is signaled from afar by a blinking light on the opposite side of the road. A blinking light that conjures the flickering patterns of the Northern Lights.




______Blink-blink-blink, his light flashed to an invisible tune. Blink-moth-er-frick-in-blink-hell-yah-blink. This light is totally in tune with this dude. This dude is totally in tune with the light. There is a lot of tuning going on.

______The northern lights were flashing and moving closer. The man upon the bike sported dark shades and a spotted helmet that boasted years of road biking experience, and his tires spun confidently along the pavement. As he neared, he immediately turned his head toward me.

______"Good morning!" I instinctively hummed, waving an arm and tipping my helmet down and up in a swift and scientific biker nod. However, this man did not return my kind greeting with a head nod or friendly hand gesture like the other bikers; rather, his only response was to spread his arms to his sides. It looked as if he was preparing to lift from his bike and rise into the hazy blue stratosphere. What, was he some sort of bird man? I was equally parts amused and bewildered.

______He said something incomprehensible to me. Wind sloshed in the tunnels of my ears like thick soup in cans and cars zipped by noisily, and all I knew was that Northern Lights resembled a hawk with his outstretched arms. I could not hear him. As we passed one another, he shook his head dramatically, almost disappointedly. I delivered an incredulous look. What the huh? was all I could think.

______I gave him a snappy, "What?!" and he swerved toward the middle of the road, biking right between the yellow striped centerlines. He stuck out one finger and waved it back and forth in a deliberate "uh-uh-uh!" fashion. The kind that adults do to children when they've done something horrible, like scooping their sticky fingers in the bowl of raw cookie dough batter. Yet again, the man said something that I was unable to hear. I saw a flicker of a mouth that was partially grinning. He was smiling as he said this?

______The man biked back to his side of the road. I guffawed. What the heck, what even, who is this guy and what? was all I thought. There was no reason nor logic to his actions, and yet they seemed consistent. I was absolutely perplexed.



______It was another week or so until we met again. Being an early Sunday morning, there was absolutely no traffic. I saw Northern Lights heading in my direction quicker than a famished trout toward a juicy worm. All right, I'll decode him this time, I assured myself.

______"What do you want?" I roared, not being able to help but grin at how ridiculous this entire scenario was. I intently strained my ears for a response.
______"You're going the wrong way!" Northern Lights shouted back to me. He only raised one arm up this time. Perhaps my shouting rendered his birdlike motions weak due to some sort of fear, or so I liked to imagine. Nonetheless, that was the first time I actually understood his words, so I choked on a reply.
______"I am not!" I said hastily, knowing that I was traveling in the proper direction: with traffic, not against it.  That was the way of the bikers, the rules of the road. So why would he point that out? He was just being silly here. I mimicked a frustrated version of his signature eagle arms, mocking him a little.
______"Well," Northern Lights retorted, perhaps sardonically, "You should be going this way!"

______He cycled past me for good and I turned my head as he flitted past, almost curving into the ditch as I did so. It was my first mini-conversation with Northern Lights, and I know there will be more as this summer progresses. Stay tuned and stay cool, folks.



Dress: New York and Co.
Denim jacket: Kohl's (exact)
Heels: Jeffrey Campbell
Necklace: Charming Charlie
Earrings: Charming Charlie