This week finds me housesitting, and propped up in the kitchen of my former home, while my cat circles my feet telling me all about his world, and man, is that so much more bittersweet this time around.
I’ve been back couple of other times, both of which were shockingly manageable, but this trip is proving to be a challenge.
They say healing is cyclical, and nowhere have I ever experienced that so profoundly than since being told that the life and path I was on was no longer the one for me. First it’s day by day, then weeks go by and you feel like you can breathe a little easier, then maybe a year passes and you really see making headway, then, as if out of nowhere, the weight of your heart increases, the air escapes your lungs, and the loneliness is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Nobody ever said being a person was easy however, I don’t think I’ve experienced the challenges anywhere so brilliantly than in my serpentine attempts at falling out of love.
So that’s what’s going on, on this end. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.
Unrelated with either punching at butterflies or matters of the heart, it was a few weeks ago when Mike reached out and had some info regarding an event of a single speed mountain bike nature which he wanted to share here;
Well, I did his bidding, and sent him an assortment of stuff with the simple request that he clue me in on how the event went down after the fact (a thing that is mystifyingly difficult for people), which thankfully;ly he did, and it reads something like this;
Here’s a few words about our past weekend (im not good at this writing thing)….
The 2nd year of Single Speed Texas went off without a hitch! This year up in Dallas (last year Austin) hosted by Black Cat Bicycle Club with Austin single speeders co-hosting and Chumba Bikes sponsoring.
Vagabonds from all over the country came to enjoy random dip-shitery and Texas dirt therapy. We started the weekend on Friday with a bar/brewery crawl, only a few police were involved near the end of our tour but all stayed out of jail;
Saturday started off well enough at the trailhead gathering, and a random overnight vehicle with unconscious naked patrons inside (more police involved) the ride was underway and the party commenced out in the middle of the trail system and much merriment was had by all! Sunday started mellow enough with coffee and a gravel ramble near downtown;
Bridge beers were had and pooping in a river before finishing up the weekend….. Although not quite, no single speed Texas event is finished until at least a few people get tattooed before going home!
I’ve mostly given up on helping sponsor events to any degree due to the fact that I think sending a basic report on the event in question is the least an event organizer could do in exchange for a bunch of goods.
You’d be surprised at how rarely people maintain contact after I send them product, and after one occurrence when the organizer said I could find all the info I was looking for on Facebook, I gave the whole process the Gas Face™©®. I knew Mike was different though, and in spite of the fact that he said he didn’t think he was capable of penning a short breakdown, I think we can all agree that he was and then some.
I thank Mike for keeping the one speeded fires burning, and for letting the internet know that there’s more to life in Dallas than the enduring mystery of who shot J.R.;
I also realize that if you’re under 40 years old, this reference might be lost on you.
Moving on to a thing that irks the shit out of me, which I get onto a soapbox about, around every six to twelve months.
American artist Jean-Michel Basquiat was foundational in the New York art scene’s reimagining of the region’s Pop Art movement a decade earlier. Peers Keith Haring, Kenny Scharf, CRASH, etc. were all integral in establishing legitimacy to graffiti as high art in museums and galleries and museums the world over;
Taylor Phinney is a retired American bike racer-turned celebrated artist;
Should I state the obvious, and the fact that not only does the latter have gallery representation, but is heralded as a particularly creative mind in the bicycle world?
If I cast aspersions, does it come off as (at best) sour grapes or (at worst) jealousy, or am I the kid in the crowd declaring that the King has no new clothes, but is in fact naked, or do I just sit in wonder at the commentary of how the bike world ignorantly turns a blind eye on the fairly egregious style biting of a well established (and dead) Black artist?
Maybe I don’t do any of the above, let sleeping does lie for another six to twelve months, and just let the pictures paint those thousand words.
Personally, if I were Phinney, I’d be embarrassed, but then again, I have a modicum of shame and self awareness.
Nothing has made sense since 2015. I don’t know why I keep holding out hope that eventually something will.
Now in the conclusion of today’s effort, as I have done every week for the last 102 weeks, it’s my great pride to present the 103rd episode of Revolting;
For funsies, try and figure which one of us is Ponch, and which one of us is John.