Wheel Goes 'Round

There are a number of reasons why I am enjoying my "wee dip" back into the shop scene, the boys at Mellow Velo being several, the addition of Art - an exponent. But the customers are a kick in several directions. Many are new to me, just folks and tourists, but occasionally I'll hear something to the tune of, "JC? You came back to the bike industry?" That usually gets a shy shrug from me. Something to the tune of 'busted.' (For the record, I'm only a hanger-on that gets paid to stop drinking. Any skill-sets I still have are a bonus.)
Today was one of those flashbacks, as well as a reunion with a family from Skate School, and some of the random "past life experiences" that inevitably happen when I spend too much time in any bike shop here.

And then there was an attempt at "arté"...










Late edition edit:

Wester Ross Update

As I have Monday off, and 'the boys' have so kindly (and foolishly) decided to open, I will be resurrecting Wester Ross 035 JSC on Monday. My own stand, my tools, off the clock, but in the view of the populace and tourons...
What a classic commuter; a touring bike from another age, another generation. A machine already filled with history.

Spring Rain

The constant and continuous flow of intelligent prose is difficult for newspapers with one-hundred years experience, and far more overwhelming for a human with half that life, and a tenth of the journalistic experience. So yeah, it's been a while since I've updated.
When I rode every day, for every trip, I had tales. When I combined that with a full-time job in the 'industry' I had more tales. Now I'm a guy that's been off my bike for too long, with a real job, working one day a week at a shop. There will be tales, they'll just be further apart. Like last weekend when I had the keys to the shop...
But that's a different tale.

Lately, my life has been focused on the fact that I don't smoke cigarettes anymore. That has led to several epiphanies dealing with personal health. While these moments of auspicious glory are intense in their own right, they all help me come full-circle to the fact that my bike is the best thing that ever happened to me. A large part of my smoking history was 'on my bike'. I actually had a smoke at the top of climbs, during rest stops. It took me years to realize why my legs turned to stone after.
Now I have to relive some of those rides, do them (albeit weaker) without that chemical, shred the crap in my lungs. And enjoy some simple things; like a barbecue with fam this Saturday, a massage this Sunday, and a free Cowboy Junkies show next Sunday. At the Lensic, no less.
Now, if a certain little pvnp frame-builder would get her butt back home, life would improve exponentially.

As for future alley-cats; there is a map at Mellow Velo to stick pins into. The theory is "only in Santa Fe" and local weirdness is requested. Like an escalator that only goes up...

Relocation Update

As I have mentioned, Mellow Velo is relocating to somewhat larger, considerably swoopier digs. Your erudite reporter managed a quick tour today, and with a secret decoder ring and a trophy-buckle camera.

Virtual tour in subdued hues...

From across the street, heading north on Old Santa Fe Trail...


Behind the hedge awaits the entrance (for a few)...


Most will sweep around back and stumble in the door on the right... and yes, Pi, the "beefsteak" is on the road again


Inside the back door. The "stone" bench will be to your left...


With a bathroom, then on to the kitchen (yes, a kitchen) on the far left...


Art's bench, and soon the "fridge" bench (mine,mine,mine), in the grotto on the right...


Moving forward to the back of the front door, we find the beginning of the espresso bar...


And to the left of that is Bike Mike, and the clothing room...


Which has some shelving, nice lighting, and a ladder...


Then on through the doorway to David and the New Bike room...


Turning left yet again to the lounge area, and Brian (who will probably be in the same spot when any of you actually set foot here)...


Beyond which we find the kitchen (yes, a kitchen), and at the end of the maze, the door we came in. Or was it the bathroom window?


Outside, on the right side of the building, is a strip of yard that is perfect for cleaning and prepping the rental fleet. Gravel, faucet, shade...

This is a delicious space, and perfect for a shop that does rentals as well as sales and service. The separate rooms, the old world / old school feel of the building, historic 'hood... it's going to be a great home base.

52 days free, by the way

Project Death

It is interesting how a slight shift in one's life, or thought processes, can alter the course of your momentum. A few days ago I couldn't wait to continue hammering out the latest project, and even though the frame has arrived, I really don't care anymore. My motivation has been sucked dry. Parts lie in random locations, collecting dust. A wheel with little or no tension hangs in the stand, looking nearly as forlorn as it should.
Presently, I would rather curl up with a book than write one, rather watch a video than star in one, rather drink single-malt at the bike shop than actually build a bike.
It is curable; I know this. Time is the prescription, though a healthy dose of warmth wouldn't hurt.

And I'm still not smoking! Fifteen days!

Quitter Update

Nine days and holding, urges are almost non-existent. I am beginning to remember what certain things actually smelled like. And I love what cold air smells like, though I am already finished with serving Her Royal Majesty, Winter. The riding I have accomplished has been painful, and the desire to ride has been bitten at every turn. It is good fortune that my 'project' is evolving slowly; it would drive me nuts not to ride it, were it finished.
So instead, I ponder the year gone by, and a year to come, with the help of a fresh point-of-view, a new friend, a fresh set of lungs, a new ride, and far too many directions to take the Center's new Department of Projects. Subversive Projects, that is.

Quitter

The cessation of hostilities 'between governments' is not the same as if the sentence read 'between cultures,' or 'between tribes.' Nor does the cessation of chemical input equate physical dependence to psychological dependence.
Stepping away from a physical addiction is similar to a government cease-fire; easy to enforce, easy to follow. Until emotions get in the way. That's when the tribal, ritual, cultural dependence comes into play. Expressions like, "It's always been that way," "That's how we do it," "Gimmeafuckinsmokenow," become the mantra of the defenders of the faith. Ritual memories boil forth, tethering the want-and-desire to the psyche of the victim.
Once the rebels have access to these memories, the struggle becomes harder. The physical body, chemically clean, must suddenly suffer the manifestation of the tribe's pain. Physical discomfort coupled with the psychological attacks threaten the government stronghold, the capitol, the palace.

"What the hell does this have to do with bicycles?"
Not much, except that I quit smoking about four days ago, which will improve both my cycling, and my enjoyment of cycling. Not to mention the air around me, the way I interact with people, the number of years I get to ride my bikes...
...but which has also got me eating most everything I see, squirting herbal remedies reminiscent of the ass-end of an ashtray in the back of my throat, and chewing on a meerschaum cigarette holder in a pale mimicry of Hunter S. Thompson.
My next post will probably be a detailed description of the dead, black cells I cough up when I ride.