Saturday, June 21, 2008


Increased speed, stronger muscles, better control.
These are all subjective neurons in a grander, more realistic scheme. What feels amazing to the person experiencing it may not reflect, in any way, shape, or form, the comparison to a baseline of other humans. You can feel like you're smoking the streets with your flash, your turns so low the pedals are saying the word "strike," but when another rider cruises past you like he isn't worried if the last Times has sold or not, your reference is shattered, as is your stride, and your fantasy.
It's good that we can be superheroes in our heads, just as it is good that mothers have perfect love of their children. It keeps more of us alive.

While I'm here; go check out Swrve clothing. I met the powers that be, and got to fondle the samples. It's nice stuff, made in the States, with a good bit o' style, and a lot of "made to ride in." I know I'm wanting some.

drumroll please... Thursday will be 6 months to the day, while Wednesday is 26 weeks. Six of one, half dozen of the other? No Cigs!

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

5 does not equal 168

I've done some rides since I quit smoking, but I've done them solo, with no one to pace, to judge, to "set an example." Tonight I realized how painful keeping up can be. Everyone said, "no problem, there's a slow guy with us. We'll be rolling mellow."
Yeah, right, bite me. Mellow is a shop, not a style of riding. At least not where my lungs are concerned.
So I was off the back, pushing climbs that made me feel like I was sucking a cigarette as I went. But I kept going. It wasn't a long ride, it certainly wasn't anything major for the boys. Hell, it was the second ride of the day for some. But they reeled me in, waited at the junctions, and gave me the option of the return. I took the "one more climb because it's more fun going down" route, and enjoyed it to no end. Pain can be fun when it's shared. Even when it's shared with others who aren't feeling, but know, your pain
No, five months of non-smoking doesn't equal fourteen years of chemical addiction, but it helps. It's a start. And if I go out and try to follow my friends again, it will be another pedal-stroke in the right direction. And another layer of crap shredded from the inside of my lungs.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008


A typical afternoon at Mellow Velo; drinking IPA, visits from dirt-jumping fools and a former World Champion, broken bikes to be fixed, fixed bikes to be broken, an '80s Univega in mint condition to be assembled...
Yeah, I'm occasionally jonesing for the full-time gig. But not that much.
For the Wester Ross fans, I'll be riding 035 in on Saturday to get it pimped for commuting. Chatter around the shop says a number of old-schooler's are going to stop in to see it. It's not every day a 30-year old British touring bike roll in to the shop. Hopefully the boys will have a camera going.
Now if Pi would surface and let me know what country she's in...

And no, I still haven't had a cigarette.

Sunday, June 1, 2008


Part of me wants to flay the skin off the "cyclists" that only acknowledge their own, moreso the ones in cars, driving to their trail, or starting point.
Today, I rolled down the hill, in search of music, and malted adult beverages. The Cowgirl was celebrating 15 years with a dozen local bands, and I had a ticket to Cowboy Junkies at the Lensic. Memories of the Really Posh Guys almost crushed me, but that's another story.
As I rolled down said hill, a car with a couple bikes came up. I waved. I was ignored.
Perhaps because they were transporting mountain bikes, and I was riding La Gazza Ladra, perhaps they didn't notice me in the hundred yard visibility. Perhaps they were self-absorbed pricks who felt adding $3,000 of wind resistance to their car was cool.
It really doesn't matter after all... whatever rant I built on the way to town was washed away by the days events.
And perhaps that is the lesson. To me, to the pricks, to the people who make music for us.

And I signed a marriage certificate Saturday. No, it wasn't mine.
And I can't remember how many days it's been since I had a cigarette. More than five months...