October 24 was a day of deluge. The rain would let up every fifteen minutes or so, only to rush back in stronger downpour. My first trek into the wetness was to print out letters to our neighbors from George, telling them that we had the appropriate permits for the show and promising that we’d be finished by 12. Huddled under an umbrella, I shoved the damp papers under fancy doors bordering the west of Hudson Street. And then the craziness began.
Clean off the display case, rearrange the helmets, line up the show bikes. Shawn and Nick crouched up on the elevated catwalk, powerdrilling wooden panels into the floor. Steve cleaned off his workbench, flipped it over, and cleaned it again. “Look at that,” he said with a laugh. “One, two, three, and we have a bar.” Lindsi sat at the front of the shop on her black Macbook, typing out the program for the night, calling to me occasionally to check the model list for what someone was wearing. Matt taped together bamboo poles to create the ‘mirror’ that each model would pose in before descending the first ramp. George was everywhere. The HUB was in a state of cacophony. The mechanics already moved all of the bikes into the basement next door the day before, but there was still a lot of work to be done before the HUB would be transformed into a venue worthy of New York’s first bicycle fashion show.
Around five, things were starting to come together, and the rain had fallen into one of its lulls. George handed me the key to his flatbed and gave me the address to The City Bakery on 18th and 6th. It was time to pick up the catering. Maneuvering Ge0rge’s extended tricycle through Manhattan’s cutthroat streets is never anything short of exciting. To a road bike gal like myself, mounting the flatbed is like moving to a Mac Truck when all you’ve ever ridden is a motorbike. Instead of worrying about getting thrown off of my wheels, I had to be careful not to sideswipe SUVs or plow down pedestrians. And the flatbed has a tendency to take on a mind of its own.