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My mom will tell you stories about my early athletic days, which generally involve me avoiding getting hit by soccer balls while picking flowers and searching for lost dragon treasure with my invisible fairy friends. My approach to athletics hasn’t changed much, but now my fairy friends have to fly a little faster to keep up with my bike.

Believe me, I’m as equally surprised as you are when I tell you that 20 years after my abortive soccer career I own more than one bike, that I commute by bike almost daily to work, and that I actually enjoy mountain biking (although a decent part of me is constantly frustrated that when I’m hurtling down a trail I can’t stop to look up plants in the rather heavy books I insist on carrying whenever we’re out taking in nature.)

My mom will also try to show you pictures of some of my more peculiar style choices as a kid. She taught me to sew, but I suppose only I can take responsibility for what came out of my sewing machine. Lately I’ve spent most of my time hunched over the handlebars of my lovely Kona, over the keyboard of my work computer, or over my trusty Singer. When I’m not doing any of these things I like to write fiction, cook excessively elaborate meals, and read books. While I’m doing most any of these things (except for the part where I’m at work), I like to drink well-crafted IPAs and cheap bourbons.

I live in small Seattle apartment with a husband, 5-8 bikes, up to 50 yards of fabric, and, sadly, no cats.

You might be wondering—what’s a “bicitoro?” Well, you can see him in my logo: he’s part bike (bici), part bull (toro), and all joyful quirk.