First thing’s first, I’m gonna submit the order to my screen printer for these this morning;
Want one? You know what to do.
Which might be wholly underwhelming.
So lean back, unbuckle your belt, and dig in;
While shooting somewhere in the neighborhood of approximately 1,000 photos tonight, I got hit in the head with 1 (one) soccer ball, and wound up with an equal number of partially useable images. Thanks for being all photogenic and stuff, @mercifulskate. It’s gonna propel my career into the realm of fancy cocaine (the kind that doesn’t have the flesh eating bacteria in it), and all you can eat pizza buffets.
This human being put on a humdinger of an event this weekend with the 2017 Westside Invite Bicycle Messenger Freakout. Today, I got looped in to take those who weren’t completely wrecked from the previous days’ activities on a paved/dirt/whatever ride. We ate sandwiches, and drank beer, and told jokes, and laughed, and got lost, and it was awesome. In order to find their spiritual center, and general sense of happiness, some people go to church. Personally, I prefer to go to the woods with friends.
Riding my own hometown trails is always a super heavy experience. Really, doing just about anything in my hometown is a super heavy experience. I’m nostalgic to an almost paralyzing degree, and when I refer to ‘visiting ghosts’ it occurs here most profoundly. Everywhere I look, floods of memories come rushing back, and I instantly become overwhelmed with entire ranges of emotion. This particular stretch of trail is one that’s so entrenched in my subconscious, I have dreams in which it’s featured with some regularity. Thomas Wolfe famously said you can never go home again. I reckon the fellow was on to something. ? @indianpeaksjoe
What would lazy ninjas wear? They would wear this 100% Merino jersey made from the wool of happy, and humanely raised Kiwi sheep. The preorder blew out way faster than I expected it to, and I have just ten, (*re-re- re-edit- ZERO) more orders available before the train leaves the station. Want one? Best get to stepping. Don’t want one? Then please send a postcard from Lonely Island of you with your sweet Primal Wear flaming skeleton gear. Link is in the bio. SORRY CHARLIE. IF YOU MISSED THE PRE-ORDER, YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO STAY WARM BY CUTTING OPEN YOUR TAUNTAUN…. AND YOU THOUGHT THEY SMELLED BAD ON THE OUTSIDE.
I’m utterly heartbroken. I never had a big brother, but for a whole lot of years you filled that role perfectly. Whether we were racing mountain bikes, cyclocross bikes, or recklessly through traffic to kill time between tags, you raised the bar, and made for a pretty amazing hero. As I write these words, I’m sitting in the middle of a crowd, yet am feeling completely alone. I loved you dearly, and will miss you to an even greater degree forever.
There’s a long story behind this short story, but the short version of the long version is that as of today, it’s official that this wee little fanzine I made will live out its history within the collection at the Smithsonian’s Institute. There are a multitude of people to thank, and decades of various relationships that landed me here. First and foremost however, (though certainly not most importantly), to my middle school counselor who said it was more than likely I’d never amount to anything, I would like to offer a heartfelt and resounding ‘FUUUUCCCKKKKK YOOOOUUUUUUU’.
I give people in Boulder endless grief for, (among other things), their compulsion to document rainbows. So it would be a bit hypocritical of me to post this one, where it not for the fact that riding the wave just below it is Marc Babus on the 50th anniversary of his birth. Typically I don’t jive with rainbow documenting or flip flops, but for Babus I happily make an exception.
The phrase ‘legendary status’ gets thrown around a lot, but it doesn’t begin to come close to describing these two. The literal decades of badass Northern California history not only regarding bikes, but art, and music, and skateboarding, and ultimately, examples of lives lived to their fullest that were represented at yesterday’s memorial ride has left me flattened. Its an absolute honor to be in this set, and one I doubt I’m worthy of, yet never for a second take for granted.
This year’s Hairnet Ride started with a smattering of hearty souls and ended up with fewer than that. Rolling out at 10:30, and returning home many hours later, we committed at least a dozen misdemeanors, and potentially one felony, during which time it was never not raining. Heckles, high-fives, and headaches. “My body is so wet, my butthole’s wrinkle’s have wrinkles.” Let’s never do this again, until next year. Namaste.
I have many nemeses in my life. Some living, breathing beings, and some inanimate objects. Here is but one of them. Too much speed and you overshoot the lip, and/or get your feet all tangled up. Not enough and you either flaccidly carve along the bottom, or come to a dead stop upon re-entry, both of which I’m maddeningly familiar with. Some days you’re the hammer, and others, you’re the nail. I’m usually the nail. At the end of the day, ‘they ain’t too many 47 year olds who can take a punch like I can. ? the ever-talented, youthful, energetic, handsome, enigmatic, humorous, positively positive, and endlessly patient @emptyqueue_ #imnotaonetrickponyivegotatleastthree
And just as I said last year, this pretty much brings us to where we are today;
How boring was that?
It’s with that, that I whole-heartedly wish that 2018 is less of a hellscape than 2017 was.
If not, then we always have here, until that’s taken away from us as well.