I am but a humble junk merchant.
I don’t have any false notions that anything I provide here on the AHTBM web project is especially worth anyone’s time, but just like Fred Sanford before me, I understand that sometimes one person’s trash is another person’s treasure. What might look like a big hunk of useless metal to one person might actually be a highly sought after right front quarter panel for a 1972 Buick Electra.
I use this particular car as an example, as in 1992, my buddies Adam, Jay and I drove from Denver to Kansas City, and then back to Oakland in one, with my mountain bike, an acoustic/electric bass, and an additional fender jutting out of the trunk. I was never exactly sure why, but Jay needed it, and so it was.
I say all of this at the outset of today’s post because I finally figured out how to link my Revolting podcast from its home on iTunes;
So now, not only can it be found at The Cycling Independent, but on iTunes as well, which I think is pretty neat.
I definitely can’t go back and listen to earlier episodes, due to the fact that I have a hard time listening to myself clearly not know what the hell I was doing, but as we’ve gone along, things are getting a bit more streamlined.
Listen if you like, and if you don’t, that’s ok too.
Now let’s get into something that is perfectly unacceptable to not like, and was brought to my attention by Matt Lolli hisself.
All hail Mother Iron Horse;
Holy Mother of All Cats, that’s a tasty sausage;
They say you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, but between just us goats, I’d trust at least a couple of those fellas to do my taxes.
Anyway, just as I knew it was gonna be when I debuted Red Fang all those years ago, hitch your wagon to Mother Iron Horse’s star, ’cause they’re gonna be real huge.
In news of finding/creating community, I’m gonna double dip a little bit and check off some stuff I already have over on the IGs. In my time here in the PNW, I’ve met a few folks here and there, but as time goes by, more and more people continue to cross my field of vision. One person/group in particular was/were responsible for a local trail called Whoopsie Woodle, which passes by the most beautiful little kook shack my eyes have ever seen. It’s the best trail with the best views, and the best place to sit and eat some candy and drink a beer, if those are the sort of sports you’re in to.
Well, the other night while on a drop bar ride with Joe, Craig, and Donkelope Greg, we happened upon a number of the people responsible for said trail as they were finishing up a trail work day. They invited us to meet them at the aforementioned kook shack for some hot grub, and cold beer, and after an absolutely grueling climb (said trail is super fun to ride down, but as it turns out, not so super fun to ride up), I got to not only meet the people who’ve helped create so many good memories for me;
-But even created a few new ones with them.
Life is pretty cool sometimes.
And from doing fun stuff on two wheels, to doing affirming stuff on four, Zac, who is the impresario of the local skate shop called Unknown and I have been planning various capers for about a week involving the liberation of several parking blocks, but in the midst of those plans, he asked if I’d be interested to helping to resheet the mini ramp at the local junk park.
And when I call it a junk park, I mean it as a term of endearment, and also because it features golden opportunities for tetanus like these;
Anyhow, we got after it, and after a few hours and several dead drill batteries, we made some headway;
One of the folks who met up with us was a cat from Alaska named Patrick. After chatting for a bit, he told me that he was actually living at the mission, and was working construction jobs so that he could get his truck fixed, and finally be able to live in it. He was a super valuable part of our crew, and because his board was one he yoinked out a free pile (ie, the trash), when Zac headed back to the shop to get a couple fresh batteries, he also grabbed one of my new decks from stock, gripped it up, and brought it back to the ramp for me to give to him;
He mentioned as he set it up that he’d never had a new board before, and pardon my French, but just that fact alone made me feel pretty damned good about the world.
I guess the upshot of this is that investing in your community, to however small a degree, can have a huge impact in countless directions. As I’ve said many times, one small kind gesture might have lasting effects of which you’ll never even be aware, which to my mind is positively magical.
Whoopsie Woodle! Haven’t though about that trail on very long time. Back in the mid 2000s I would make the trip from Vancouver down to Galbraith as often as I could. Park down by Lake Padden and pedal on up. Cedar Dust on to Family Fun Center and a bunch of trails whose names elude me right now then make my way up to the Arsenio Tall Trees and ultimately down Whoopsie Woodle. Then back up and do it all again. So good! The head downtown to Banditos Burritos.
Some day I’ll ride them again. When the pandemic is done with and if my passport hasn’t expired.
that part in #12 was so good. You know the part.
I wish to be the Grady to your Fred.
Mother Iron Horse is rad.
Giving is so rewarding that it can feel even a little selfish. If you’ve got it share it. If you need it be deserving of it.
never seen you ride a ramp. sounds scary?!
Nice. All of it.