I’m a man on the move.
And by ‘on the move‘, I mean, sitting the the cursed tomb that is the Denver International Airport for the next four hours, while I write tomorrow’s post, which because time is fluid, and abstract, at the time that I’m writing it is actually today’s post.
“Well, why are you sitting in the cursed tomb that is the Denver International Airport?” you probably didn’t just ask.
Well kind friends, the answer is simple. You see, the lady behind the little desk asked for folks to give up their flights to L.A. (I was flying to Oakland via Los Angeles) in exchange for a $600.00 voucher. Because I’m poor and have to beg, borrow and steal every flight I take, I of course jumped at the chance. At the time, she was almost able to get me out on an earlier flight to Salt Lake City and then to Oakland, but her compensation machine took a shit as soon as I got to her desk.
Computers tend to do that when I’m around. Traffic lights also uncannily always turn red on me as well, but that’s an entirely different story.
So now I go to Salt Lake City in four hours from now, switch planes, and board a first class flight from SLC back to Oakland.
It’s good to be king of the dirtbags.
Hey, and while we’re on the topic of Salt Lake City, you no doubt are aware that the annual Handmade Bicycle and Bicycle Parts Show just occurred in that very town.
If by chance you didn’t read Wednesday’s post, then you might not also know that there were simultaneously occurring conferences of renowned tattoo artists and a bunch of people who hate porn.
If all of that weren’t enough, apparently there also was a nationally attended conference of pre-teen cheerleaders;
Now, I’m not sorry to have missed the Handmade Show. Certainly I would have liked to have seen Peacock Groove’s Best In Show award winning ‘Purple Reign’;
Photo courtesy Bike Rumor.
But correct me if I’m wrong, but between tattoo artists, bike dorks, the profoundly sexually repressed, and overly made up not-yet-adolescent cheer girls, can you imagine the barn burner of the post/article/master work I could have penned?
It would have been my ‘Fear And Loathing’. It would have been my ‘Grapes Of Wrath’. It would have been my ‘Clifford The Big Red Dog’.
Dammit. Next time the NAHBS show lands in a city I really need to find out what conferences are happening simultaneously.
Like for example- Conferences of drag queens, balloon sculptors, fireworks manufacturers, and satanists? I’m in.
So to the committed readers of this site, I have let you down and for that I apologize. I promise to never let this opportunity pass by me again.
Now to circle back around to the meat of today’s post, and the high times I had during the conclusion of my time in Colorado-
I’d initially mentioned in this post that the whole point of the trip was that Soulrun was bringing me to town to race in some kinda fat bike crit that was going down on Sunday. At the fifth to seventh hour I realized that that sounded terrible, and that I’d rather hang around and shoot photos. While I kinda wüssed out, Soulrun Laura did not, and as she was taking up the slack, I ran all over Dog’s green earth shooting photos;
Even with all of those shenanigans displayed before me, I wasn’t sad to not be on a bike. Hanging out on the sidelines with a backpack full of beer is the life for me.
Besides, Laura and I made our way back into the woods for our own private adventure not a day and a half later, and it was awesome;
It was finally at this stage of the trip when I actually found both my legs and my lungs at the same time, and I was feeling my normal self.
Sadly, as I sit here in the cursed tomb that is the Denver International Airport, I can feel any fitness I regained seeping from my skin like so much malt liquor.
I can’t sweat it either way. My week away from the mud pit that is my house, and the disaster zone that is my studio was profoundly needed, and I can’t begin to thank Soulrun Joe and Souldrun Laura for their consideration, support and friendship. My time away, and our time together truly, and uniquely fed my soul like no trip before it.
Now that I’m headed back to the real world, (though by the time you read this, I will have already arrived, because like I said- time is weird and stuff), with any luck, the time will fly, the guy in the red jacket will have boarded his flight, and before long, I too will literally be on the move once and for all.
Wish someone would pay me to ride in first class. 🙂
Kinda see you as a modern Homer, how about your “Odd yssey” or your “Ill iad”?
how many drinks can a drinker drink if a drinker sits first class on a 1hr 22min flight?
I remember when mountain bikes were fat tire bikes.. but then again I also remember toe clips..
So I think I should share this: I was at a local bike shop here in the LBC, Calif. I’m not going to mention the name because there is an even more exemplary bitchen bike shop right by my house (The Bike Stand on Broadway) but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, the cool young guy behind the counter is all talking bike to me, and he looks down at my “I’m deteriorating faster… ” shirt and states, “Holy shit, that is an AHTBM shirt you are wearing! ”
I have been reading your blog since “How to Avoid the Bummer Life.” I kinda thought this was dope.
I’m a big fan of keeping the club small. Like skateboarding or one speeding once was. You see another person with the socks on or whatever, and you already know, that they know the secret handshake.
doubted for a sec itd be you w the inception level art but then who really uses a canon point and shoot still lollll damn those really are the mf best
I do. Are they passé? I know so little anymore.
Anyone know the builder of that sweet Blue fatbike in the image above? Sano as they (would have) said.