We will kick off today’s post with an email from Cory. Cory makes Dank messengers bags as well as astroturf cüzies, cüzies for 40s, and of course my beloved ‘Beernet helmet’, depicted below resting atop the head of one M. Case;
Anyway, not only does my man spend a ridiculous amount of time behind a sewing machine, but he helps keep the city of Seattle functioning as one of the hardest working messengers in the biz. Even with all of this on his plate, he still finds time to write me an occasional postcard, or drunken, and barely decipherable email;
Almost forgot why I was writing this. Now I remember, I think-believe it or not I really am that fucked up right now-Oh yeah, just wanted to say (like most likely a gazillion other people) wish I had more dough for the kits, wicked bad.
Anywho been staying in the penthouse suite(aka the dank bags joint) for the last two days and yes I really am this fucked up right now. Going to the post office to ship some bags out to Australia for the acmc. Thats right no link, thats how rad I am on computer.
Check out Pilder’s page from March tenth. that really is one of his shirts, that really is some random dude. All this typing has almost made me sober. What’s your tshirt size?
It’s the kind of poetry that could make an angel cry.
Dutch sent some very sad news out of Charlotte. I tend to try and steer clear of using this forum as a bulletin board for fallen cyclists, as my OCD wouldn’t let me include one without attempting to include them all, which would bring me down to the point that I would maybe not want to leave my house, though in Adam’s case I have to make an exception;
I really hate to put such a big damper in your mailbag, but the Charlotte area cycling community lost one of its own today. I can’t imagine how tough it is for Adam’s family right now.
If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask everyone out there in Black Market Land to keep Adam in their thoughts (and yes, prayers, if that’s your thing). Be careful out there guys.
Here’s a link to the story.
This whole thing is a tragedy. For Adam’s family and friends, it of course is an indescribable loss, and if there is a shred of human decency in the young woman who was behind the wheel, her existence will be forever changed as well. Unless it was an intentional act, I don’t hope for harm or hurt to someone in that position, and her conscious is hers forever. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
It’s horrifying to me to imagine what Adam’s community must be going through, though even more so that there are actually people using this to fuel the ‘bike’s don’t belong on the road’ crusade.
See, this is why I avoid the topic. As I read the articles, and type the commentary, I just fall farther down the rabbit hole until I find myself sitting and staring blankly at the computer screen with watery eyes and a frustrated heart.
Yeah, like Dutch said.. “Be careful out there.”
Keeping Adam and his people in mind and dedicating today’s post to them, let’s get back on course.
Spring time has arrived and with it, sweet smelling Jasmine, longer, sunny days, and in some places, only more and wetter snow. The disadvantage of not living in a place with the latter is that I can’t afford to buy a home, but the advantage of living in a place with the former, is that I don’t have to contend with the latter, so it’s a trade off.
Recently I got out in the non-wet snow for a ride with my old pal Tim. You see, when I was on the road for Tioga with this guy;
Tim was working for Trek, and we spent hundreds of miles caravanning back and fourth across America together. Once we were off the road, winds blew us in two different directions until fate finally found us in the same place.
That is to say we’re same place physically. Professionally Tim is a fireman now, and of course I still spending my days drinking.
Anyhow, between surf breaks and saving beautiful women from their toes getting stuck in bathtub faucets, I was able to twist Tim’s arm into taking a ride with me;
Lugging around a hundred pounds of coiled fire hose at a time must be good for my man, cause off the couch he barely broke a sweat.
My tap shoes had hardly hit the floor before the announcement was made for a Mr. Blacksocks birthday ride extravaganza. (Truth be told, it was the following day. Please forgive the fact that maintaining a fluid time line is nearly impossible for me). Never one to miss a chance to be in the woods, I made a rapid disk brake adjustment and was out the door.
I should mention as a side note that growing up in a place that wasn’t California, I became accustomed to showing up when I was told.
When someone said “let’s meet at 5:00 and then go to Matt’s to play pool” this meant that you would meet at 5:00. It’s taken me nearly twenty years to understand that when someone in California says it, it actually means 5:15-5:45. This has been an infuriating lesson to learn as one of the top pet peeves on my list is when people are late. That tells me that they feel their time to be more valuable than mine, and due to this, I often times will leave out of spite.
When the call came in for a 10:00 meeting at the place where people on mountain bikes meet, I made haste when getting out the door. Of course I did take time out to stop, eat a bagel and a coffee, and make 20 phone calls to people’s cell phones, only two of which were answered, or even responded to. This is another confounding issue, which I won’t get into now.
I finally made my way to the place just in time to catch the ride leaving, so I strapped all of my accessories on tight and dove headlong into the woods to play bike games;
These were good times. I rode with the group, got separated from the group, met up with a couple people, rode down the hill, met up with a super straggler, rode back up to meet up with some other stragglers, rejoined the group, rode back down the hill, and iced the whole cake with burritos and beer.
I have to mention this photo though;
This is Garen. He and I used to work together. Garen is a young man but due to his history of dirt jumping and simi-pro trials riding has already undergone two back surgeries. He rides a Hunter cross bike almost all of the time. His bars are freakishly wide and the tape on them is tattered. He has a rack on his seatpost that I’ve never seen anything strapped to, the zipper on his pants, if not always down by accident is so because it’s broken, his patch kit is attached to his bike with electrical tape, though I doubt there are any patches in it, his socks never match, he has no internal dialog, as every thought that crosses his mind becomes a verbalized exclamation, his dog rides around with him on a cargo bike and he has an artichoke tattooed on his leg.
He’s like a cross between a rodeo clown and a homeless person.
I mention all of this to paint a mental picture, so that I can then say that never, in all of my years of riding bikes with every kind of walk, have I ever ridden with someone who can ride a cross bike down hill as fast as he can.
It’s truly the kind of experience that leaves you shaking your head days later.
Not alot unlike this crash sequence that I found recently while perusing the interwebs.
Oh the humanity.
Drink it up, and go back and fourth though the sequence. It becomes not terribly dissimilar to watching a Benny Hill skit.
As long as the nice weather is here, or at least nearly on its way, I will button this post up with a tribute to all things summery with a sequence of JMac getting crafty;
As I’ve stated before, JMac is like MacGyver when it comes to canned beer, so it should be a shock for you to know that I only just this moment came up with “Jay MacGyver”.
That’s how crappy my brain muscle works.
Finally, I leave you with an email from Jeffers of YATE fame;
I’m about to post this, but I thought you’d find it telling. Though I don’t know you beyond what I read at AHTBM, I couldn’t help but think that someone must have purchased the life rights from your blog and turned it into a pretty awesome movie. The English title is “The Misfortunates,” although the French title (La Merditude des Choses / The Shittyness of Things) is way better. Anyway, the film is making the festival rounds. I assume you’ll be suing.
As I responded, with the exception of the mullets, it’s like looking in a damned mirror.
Now that Monday is in full swing, take a bite out of it and do something nice for yourself.
Speaking of which, I’m gonna be out of town for the week.. Chilling somewhere in the Southland and wandering around getting laid like Hank Moody.
I trust that you all will plod along without me, and until out paths cross again, don’t forget about the rad getting.