To say that I’m a hoarder would be an exaggeration, but to say that I have hoarding tendencies would probably be right on the money;
(*Note*- This is not my house. You can tell because I don’t own a microwave.)
Going through my various boxes and envelopes and folders, I’ve uncovered a number of treasures. Of course there was the letter from Mark ‘Gator’ Rogowski which I presented on Monday, but that was just a scratch on the surface.
I have magazines, and slides, and piles of the ridiculous, some of which I will present to you now.
Upon opening a large drawing pad, a number of illustrations I’ve done fell to the floor. These were two I did for the 2002 SSWC shirt and poster;
Then there was one I did for a BIKE Magazine ten year anniversary shirt, and one which was done more recently for an article on doping in the first issue of Paved;
Possibly because I knew the irony that it would one day be saturated with, I also kept an actual test that BIKE did of the then revolutionary Shitbike;
I didn’t read the review, but I’m pretty sure no matter what it said, the conclusion was that the bike sucked.
I also found the issue they did on which Big Dave graced the cover;
This was also noteworthy because I think it was the only time a black guy appeared on the cover of any bicycle magazine, ever.
In that same issue was proof of the point I made on Friday that Rick James (R.I.P.) was indeed a fellow disciple of dirt;
Digging deeper I came across the founder and president of The Pretty Boy Modeling Club®, D Squared and his modeling debut;
I think it’s safe to assume he wasn’t wearing any pants.
I then uncovered piles of oldish punk magazines;
I’m still waiting for some tapes and flyers I traded out of the Flipside classifieds.
Discovering the discoveries continued. Cracking open folders of long since forgotten memories I stumbled upon number plates, race medals, and most importantly, photos of toddlers pouring keg beer;
This young man’s name is Tyler, and he’s the son of one of the five Amigos (Northern California’s premiere orange jump suited one speed team, natch). He began attending one speed camps as a bald little grub of just nine months old.
As I stated elsewhere on the interwebs shortly after scanning this photo, you don’t get much more old school than that.
Now at sixteen, he’s followed in his dad’s footsteps and can be found ripping around California’s Gold Country on his own one speed, and making his old man (shown below, enjoying a quiet night of cocktails out with JMac) proud as proud could be;
I found a photo of Ian Marshal and me drinking responsibly and crushing all comers at Schwinn’s Sea Otter Classic Sting Ray race in our lord’s year of 1999 or there abouts;
At the conclusion of this event I did a powerslide under the team Rav4 and broke a rib.
Always profhessianal, never not.
To the winner goes the spoils, and as we all know, the victor of all of the Singlespeed Mountain Bike World’s (and some of the Singlespeed Cyclocross Worlds) walks away with a tattoo. At the event we organized in Downiville in 2000, Robert Ives suggested we mix it up a bit and actually brand the winner.
That year’s race was won by Travis Brown and Ms. Stella Carrey. In my bag of archives I came across the scabs Stella carefully peeled off of her inner bicep and taped to an index card;
Historically significant artifacts don’t get no historicalier.
Funny thing, when I pulled them out I initially thought they were alphabet soup letters until the smoke cleared and I actually remembered where I was.
I also found one of the only known samples of photographic evidence that I was ever actually employed as a bicycle messenger, shot at the 1996 CMWC;
This of course was back in the dark ages when the CMWC was attended by actual bike messengers, not to mention that this was when there was still such a thing as bicycle messengers;
I found an even older photo of me shot at the Berkeley art museum banks;
Both of these images were clearly shot before the advent of color photography.
Of course pulling all of your treasures out is only half of the process. You then have to carefully pack them;
and then seal and label the boxes for safe storage and transport;
As for the random bits and pieces more recently tucked away in my computer, the lot of you no doubt watched the World’s elite men’s race this weekend in Koksijde, (Cockside. Hilarious) which looked more like the Belgian National Championships;
I kept switching back and fourth between the French and the Flemish feeds, all the while listening to the song-like qualities of Peter Webber and Greg Keller’s commentary;
It was an unbelievable race…
Actually scratch that. It was purely believable as the Belgians absolutely kicked the crap out of everyone else who attended, as most folks expected that they would. Sadly, the one favored to win, Sven Nys didn’t emerge victorious, but rather his countryman, Niels Albert held tough with consistent and incredible six to seven minute laps to pull the win and his second rainbow jersey;
Unfortunately my internet connection shit the bed (I believe that’s the technical term for what happened) near the end of the bell lap and I wasn’t actually able to witness the finish as it occurred.
I’ll just have to file my pile of screen shots away in my box of memories.
Though there are many things of both a physical as well as virtual nature I may hoard, it’s obvious I have fairly exquisite taste in inventory.