You should really go here and do this:

Random Update

I thought I should at least say hello and waste a few minutes of both our time...

And yes, I have been riding. Mountain bike rides mostly, with a concentration on the Dale Ball Trails. You have to love a 30-mile trail network that is (mostly) within the city limits. And now that we have had some rain, they might not be so dry.

Mellow Velo continues to grow and improve, but our slacker webmaster is more interested in the height of his handlebars than finishing the new website, so you will just have to believe me.

In other news, I cut off all of my hair, and haven't had a cigarette in 30 months (today)!

Education

Today there was a Bicycle Summit in Santa Fe, with representatives from three independent shops, a distributor, and several local clubs in attendance. The purpose was to round-table some ideas for our local reps to take to the National Summit in DC.
The primary concern of the 25 - 30 people there was, naturally, the streets of our fair city, and the conditions under which we cycle. While it was agreed that compared to 15 - 20 years ago things are immensely better, it was obvious that there is a long way to go. There are still certain arteries that a cyclist takes a higher risk using, but are really the only option.
The other main concern, and one that can be addressed at a national level is education for both motorists and cyclists. My own example to this was the motorist that thought my left-turn hand signal meant for them to pass me. Yeah... you do the math.

If you are interested in adding a voice, or helping out, there are meetings on the 3rd Wednesday at rob and charlie's, and you can watch the NM Bike Coalition site for info. I think the SOB's update for advocacy too.

Props to Lisa and Nathan from BTI for putting it together.


(and for those still watching; 2 years, 1 month, 25 days)

View From the Streets

As I rode into the downtown/old town section of Santa Fe, more commonly referred to as the Plaza, I remembered the day; last Saturday of July. An icy shiver ran down back as I found myself being surrounded by the land whales, skateboard cars, and duelly trucks. San Francisco Street was a parking lot, and I used my mobility to reverse course and search for alternate routes. I swung around a back route, turned at the barricades, and went far enough nothing should have been there... wrong. Even Lincoln Avenue was barricaded, three-to-four deep on each side. It looked like Berlin in 1962! The only thing missing were the Soviet weapons; they use Israeli here.
I slid past one stormtrooper by rolling up the sidewalk before the wall, effectively confusing a seventh grade education. Two down...
The gates at the street weren' the problem, it was the sea of humanity flowing in both directions. Bad economy? The thousands upon thousands of souls I saw buying "art for art's sake" didn't seem to think so. Patiently, I awaited a Moses-like moment when all the random streams aligned just right and I could roll across the road. Leaving walls of barriers is quite simple; you roll through. No one even notices you, and if they do, your out before they can say, "Bicycles are not..."
Literally twenty minutes later than expected, I arrived at my destination. Had I been in a car, I would have had to park a mile or so away and walk in.

And in other news... no, I still haven't had a cigarette. One year, seven months tomorrow.

A Poetic Interlude

In another of my blogs I am attempting to keep up with a poem-a-day as put forth by Poetic Asides. Of course, a couple of the poems ended up being bicycle related, and rather than force you to wade through a half-months verbosity, I thought I'd just drop them here, and give myself an excuse to update.
Now, these poems are based on "prompts;" subject tidbits. This one was a result of the prompt "hobby"...
the view is endless
the air thin
ravens circle doing tricks
as deer watch through
thick rows of trees
tracks cross the trail
several sets
all moving toward
the stream I crossed
sunlight fills me
after dappled canyons
of aspen and pine
and I breathe
deeply of the mountain air
before dropping off the
other side
to dance my bicycle
through the trees

This one was from the prompt "clean"...
tight line, steep approach
loose rock, a root, shift
weight
don't touch the gears
jerk left, slip, recover
mad scramble, more roots
shale drift, not as steep
low branch
switchback
cactus reaches, hungry
pull up
push down
burst through the claws
momentum
before the wall, the lip
pedal, timing, approach
yank, pedal, weight, lunge
crest, hold, grin
cleaned it

So there you have it. Save your flames, I am certainly my own worst critic.

Fixed Gear Corruption

Yes, it's true, I'm actually posting something. And yes, it's true, fixed gear bicycles have corrupted me.
Ask anyone, I used to be the epitome of bicycle manners. I obeyed the traffic laws better than most drivers. I always waited for lights, kept to my lane, signaled and made legal turns. I didn't mind stopping, putting a foot down, scanning the car next to me for interesting occurrences.
Then one day I'm waiting, realizing my trackstand skills are not up to par, and run the red through an empty intersection. I found myself going the wrong way in traffic, cutting corners and running more lights, riding through pedestrian precincts...
I had basically become the rider I had always shaken my head at, cursed for making it bad for all of us.
And I remembered how much fun it was to take the street for my own purposes. Subversive purposes.

I'm still a generally respectful rider. More often than not I'll follow the spirit, if not the letter, of the law. But sometimes I have to follow the path less traveled. Against the arrows.

and for those still counting... over 15 months.

Or Not

The level of apathy in this town...

shouldn't be surprising, since I know I've ranted about it before.

There will not be a Segundo, at least not this year. I am as guilty as the others of lack o' enthusiasm. It's hard to create something when no one really cares. It's the true meaning of trickle-down economy.

On a brighter note, my little birthday bash at the shop was, from my perspective, actually sublime. I can never thank David and Lisette enough for all they did. And no, I really can't tell you what it feels like to be fifty. That's right; 50. L.
And the bottle of Caol Ila was over the top. Damn, I'm a sucker for an Islay malt.


Oh, and I just remembered, I've been off cigarettes for 42 weeks. I had to check the calender.

Noché de los Muertos

Last year I decided that I was going to put on an alleycat race, that it was going to be different than the usual fare, and that it was going to be fun. Noché de los Muertos was born. It was certainly different, a bit of fun, and the impetus for the creation of this very journal.
After the race was over, many of the people present spoke of putting on other, equally interesting events. There was talk of near-monthly possibilities. We all went our ways with the glow of enthusiasm, occupied barstool's as the competitors regaled each other with the blow-by-blow, and I was content to believe I would get to participate in the next fiasco.

It was never to be...

Now I find myself planning the El Segundo Noché, the first race since the last one, with excited people who say they're willing to help. What the heck, says I, it's not as off the cuff as last year. I've already begun to bug sponsors, scout possible checkpoints, and set the media airships into action. I'm also thinking of ways to keep it somewhat different, a bit esoteric, but not quite a far-gone as last year. I can disseminate clues at my leisure, without the fear of my blog address offending anyone's sensibilities.

I have several "theme" possibilities going through my head. Originally i had intended to do shrines... but there's the Victorian thing... or haunted...

haunted victorian shrines...

wanders off mumbling to self

La Gazza Ladra

So I finally got what I consider to be decent shots of LGL. And she was actually clean (ish).

Here's one of a little number that Mellow Velo just put together... one sexy old Peugot, kids.

duck and cover

the soldiers of the nationalsocialisthomelandsecurity have discovered the cogs of subversion and the wheels have multiplied exponentially...
resistance is not futile, we will not be assimilated

passsed the 8-month mark

returning to the steam-tunnels...

...

And I must commend Victoria Pendleton for her success. I can think of no athlete this quad who deserved it more.

Victoria...
the Queen...
small machines wander the halls of my reality...
heroine's on wheels...

the steam is beginning to fill the room...

only the Colonel's Seven-Jewel Rotating Cavalry can save the day...



8 months without a friggin' cigarette!
Hear me, oh doubters; I will not be assimilated!

Le Fini (almost)

For the first time in years, I find myself glued to the tube, watching (or at the moment, listening) to the final time-trial of Le Tour. Seconds count, and I honestly believe that tomorrow's ride into Paris will be a race. The time difference is small, the key players all worthy. When was the last time they actually raced to the Arc?
The doper's have been caught, and if the Cobra ever joins the peloton again, he will probably be nudged over a guard rail. How many people did he put out of work?
I digress... cycling is exciting, and the nay-sayers can ride without a saddle for all I care. I'm glad I watched Le Tour this year.

Oh yes... 7 months without a cigarette today!

D-lusion

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!

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

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.

Memorable Day

The joy of three-day national holidaze; I can have a great weekend and still have a day to write about it and have more fun.
Yesterday I rolled off my porch (literally) and headed into downtown. First thing was a quick visit to an outdoor shop, and a new reservoir for my pack. From there I rolled down to the Santa Fe River (which was churning along nicely for a change)and what I lovingly refer to as the Ho Chi Minh Trail. This is a cut in the vegetation on the flood-plain of the river, mostly used by old, homeless vets (hence the name). It parallels one of the more expensive shopping streets and is basically in the heart of downtown, making it doubly fun.
When the river trail ended I was back up on the Alameda and on around to Upper Canyon Road. This is a warm climb surrounded by centuries-old adobe's, many being refurbished. At the end of this road are a couple of trailheads; some for hikers only, some fair game for all. I went left on Cerro Gordo and picked up the Dale Ball Trails on it's eastern edge. This is the biggest little trail network around, weaving in and out of the city limits, rushing beside and around private homes. And it's about as much fun as is legal here.
One of the highlights of the system is the fact that every junction is marked with a number and a mini-map. Most of the junctions are merely two ways to get to the same place, but those two routes vary greatly. You can form odd loops, figure-8's, or "try to get them all in" rides. Sometimes you'll go down one fork only to turn around and do it again just to see what the other fork was like. The terrain is a typical "high sierra" mix of sandy soil and rock, slipping into near-alpine forest at times. It can be brutally hot on the open cuts, and chillingly cool in the shade.
The vegetation is almost entirely coniferous, so you don't get much color change through the year, but the shade stays the same. It also turns into a quagmire in the rain, so be warned.
I ended up doing a big sweeping loop, meeting back up with Cerro Gordo at a different trailhead. It was a mostly downhill ride into town, giving me a few moments to cool down before turning onto Delgado and dropping back into the river to finish the ride on the same track as I started. Locals and tourists alike were enjoying the river, and they all smiled as I flew past, my own smile glued to my face.
I finished the afternoon at NMAHA getting a deep-tissue massage. $25 dollars for an hour of muscular ecstasy can't be beat.

Oh, and I dare not forget to mention... five months without a cigarette today!

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...

In General...

For those of you under a rock somewhere, Issue #7 of Urban Velo is available. I mention it specifically because there is a Spokepunchers ad in it featuring a couple of prairie dogs.
"Yeah, so?"
Santa Fe is big on it's prairie dogs, or meeper's, as some of us call 'em. We relocate them before construction, we build them village's, we ship 'em off if no one has a spare acre (or 20). For many of us, they are the true sign that Winter has passed. They hibernate, so if you haven't heard "meep, meep, meep" as you're rolling past the park, you will see another snowfall, you will have a number of freezing mornings. That's important to two-wheeled folks, because we need to know when to change wardrobes. Okay, fine, we all need to know when to plant the 'shrooms and spinach.
I dig hearing them as I ride past, and meeping back at 'em.

La Gazza Ladra

A few images of the latest project, the continued obsession...











So very fun to ride, a great way to get around Santa Fé.
One of these days I'll do a parts list here.

Late Weekend Review

A wonderful hour of spinning La Gazza Ladra Saturday morning before rolling into the shop for a full day of wrenching. A decent flow of folks with the usual requests, as well as some heinous DOT4 brake work. I understand why Hayes uses it, but I still don't like it. That stuff is the most vile fluid known to mankind. You want to talk "carbon footprint?" How about carcinogenic footprint? Forget it, I'm not here to rant today.
Saturday was beautiful; warm, light breeze, perfect Spring weather. The usual cast of suspects rode by to say hi, and we shop-rats enjoyed the sunny bliss of the back "porch" for all it was worth. And even though our fearless leader bailed before noon to go ride, he returned with a delivery of fine pizza, and more malted barley beverages. And we actually get paid for this...
More fun on the fixed was to be had after the shop closed; laps around town searching various shrines, and other points of interest for future alleycats.
Sunday was lazy, playing with the irrigation and getting the indoor bike hooks rigged. Have to keep at least a couple of my bikes indoors...

125 days!