In regards to doing this ‘job’- That is sitting at my computer day in and day out, scribing posts, editing photos, and so forth- I’ve become quite comfortable over these last nine years (three with Swobo and six at All Hail The Black Market, if you can believe that). Dare I say I’ve even gotten adept at it.
But these last three weeks have thrown such a tremendous monkey wrench into my works, I developed a level of stress that actually caused three different bouts of spontaneous and insanely intense vertigo.
These untethered feelings, (and my attempts to avoid them) remind me of my days spent as a bike professional bike mechanic. Every tool had its place, and I very much thrived on a standard ritual. I work at my maximum efficiency when I know where everything is, and I’m as familiar with my work space as I am my own hand’s back;
This has not been the case to any degree these last fifteen or so days. Not only have I been dealing with my continuing post-op healing (which means basically living with clipped wings), but my entire professional life has gotten rearranged. “Suck it up, buttercup” is most likely the preferred response to my dilemma, and that’s what I’m doing in spits and spurts.
I simply wanted to plead my case, and let folks know that the learning curve over here is a steep one. At times I feel as though I’ve been immersed headlong into studies of Chinese mathmatics. My whole life I’ve been a fairly mediocre student, and trying to retain the abundance of new information that has been dumped in my lap recently shows not much has changed.
The spontaneous joy of assembling a post has been, to a degree anyway, sucked out of my ‘job’ and I’m working hard to regain my rhythm. To the sponsors and readership alike, I would like to extend my appreciation during the transition from free wheeling, devil-may-care bike blog douchebag (same diff), to ball of unhappy stress, and back again.
So as I shake off the frustration of not knowing what the hell I’m doing at every single turn for ten to eighteen hours a day, let’s get back into matters that matter.
Firstly, I have a collection of images that have been sitting, and accumulating on my desktop for months. I don’t know what else to do with them than to present them as a collection of leftovers, or as I’ve heard them referred to in my past, ‘must-goes‘.
Worse case scenario is you can simply mush them together, melt cheese on top, and cover them with hot sauce.
First up- Clearly an example of tolerance, with a pinch of complete insanity;
-And clearly an example of anatomical confusion;
A cop wishing he’d hit the snooze button a few more times;
This next one is a good example of ‘to each their own’, but really, road bikes with disk brakes just irk the shit out of me;
Of course what we have right here;
-is the original rendering that Chris Wright did for my incredibly fetching turn table mat, which, if you have even an inkling of love for your records, you will buy one of;
Moving on… Here is an image I scanned from an old issue of Freestylin’, that some time ago I posted on my Instagram feed with the attached caption;
“I’ve always loved curbs. While my friends were toting jump ramps around with them in the back of their trucks, or meeting at the neighboring elementary school for a session of street plants and cigarette smoking, I was blissfully happy to be alone in a darkened corner of a parking lot.
Around the time that I was a wee tot of 15, being raised by wolves in the mountains of Colorado, I heard tell of a curb at the post office in Huntington Beach. It wasn’t legendary in its configuration so much as who’d done the skateboarding upon it.
It was finally two years later when I got to have my own private dance with the slab, and it was good. HBPO curb. Gone, but not forgotten. Pic. Spike J.”
Whatever you do, don’t call and heckle them.
I suspect that as you gaze upon all of these images, it’s becoming increasingly clear why I’ve kept them at the ready, lo these many moons.
I swear if more people could more easily be appeased by the wonder of a tree top mini ramp, the world would be a much more peaceful place.
Anyhoo- As we continue to shake the sheets, I find this image I took a bunch of years ago at a Sea Otter Classic Celebration Of The Bicycle®™©. What we have here is a photo of gale force winds blowing a bounce castle full of children away;
My hysterical laughing, and the little tots’ screams of terror could be heard for miles.
Then, I have this here shot of bike racing back when the entire peloton was blown out on ether and cocaine, and everybody was cool with it. Some refer to that time as ‘The Golden Age‘;
A couple weeks ago a fellow named Michael got in touch and threw together a graphic for me.
Michael isn’t just some random fellow mind you- He is the exploding mind behind Pfaltzgraphics, and is most likely responsible for design work in your very home.
Let’s see… What else do I have here? Ah yes… In closing, I have this image I came across at some point, and eventually somehow came to find the owner;
His name is Dakota, and thankfully for all of our envy, he documented the entire build out here.