when we make it us versus them, we make it us versus us

It's interesting sometimes to hear people talk about the issues of bicycle riding in traffic. One of the things I've taken note of lately - though it occurs to me that I've probably heard it over and over again in the past - is the way cyclists often refer to drivers. I don't mean militant bicy-fasci-nistas, for whom I've made few-if-any efforts to mask my disdain (Critical mAss, that's aimed directly at you). No, I'm thinking of average, everyday urban cyclists who are simply trying to do their part in sharing the road and improving the neighborhood by keeping one more car off the road and go from where they are to where they want to be under their own power.

If you manage to catch a conversation in a random, public place, you might hear bicycle riders referred to as "bicycle riders" or "bike riders", "bikers" or "cyclists".. but there is - more often than not, anyway - one of those humanizing suffixes tacked onto the end there.. that's the "-ers" or the "-ists". Catch a group of cyclists discussing traffic, though, and you'll very often hear motorized road users referred to simply as "cars". It seems like a trivial-enough point, but think about it with me for a moment.

We cyclists are clearly at a disadvantage on the roads of the US. We're exposed to the elements. We're powered by our own.. well.. power. We don't have safety cages, crumple zones, traction control, ABS, or airbags. We're given the dregs of the roadway and told it's "been set aside" for us.. by some paint.. which is usually the DOT's last priority for maintenance.. somewhere on the list just below filling in the potholes in the bike lane.. which I suppose they can't find.. because the paint's faded.

And so it's not really any surprise that cyclists don't view drivers as peers on the road. Rather, many only see the glazed and glossy, anonymous, roaring behemoth that could - all too easily - kill a cyclist. And so maybe it's not an incorrect response.

If we're going to get the attention of motor vehicle users, though, and get them to understand the challenges and needs of cyclists on the streets, we need to change our collective attitude. We need to address other road users as other road users, rather than as nameless vessels. We need to humanize "them" the way most of "them" humanize us. There are bad seeds of course - the ones we read about in newspapers and on internet forums - but we need to focus our attention on the good seeds - the ones who see us.. and we need to remind ourselves of the fact that that is most people. Because we'll never get anywhere arguing with cars, but maybe - just maybe - we can get a few people to listen.


Don't worry, I haven't gone completely soft.

dumb luck is still luck

Clearly, I've been hiding in the treehouse waay too much, lately. Working on the book has taken over my whole life. Well, except for the occasional Sunday or Thursday when I've stolen off for a few games of bike polo. Man, that's a good time.

Right about now, though.. or maybe more like about this time yesterday.. it's clear that I need to get the hell outta the house during the day. Even if I can just sneak away for lunch or coffee for an hour or so, or maybe for a short ride in the woods.. I've got to do something, though. I've really become a hermit, here.


I did manage to catch a good show at Beerland last night, though. About 10:00, I'd had enough of the house, so I headed out. But instead of zipping down Oltorf to the Horseshoe, which is close and easy, I started rolling up Congress toward downtown. It wasn't a conscious decision.. it just sorta happened on its own. Rather than fight it and make a U-turn, I kept going and minutes later found myself at Beerland. The first act was awful, but I'd already given the guy at the door my five bucks and cans of Schlitz were two, so I figured I'd just suffer through it. I'm glad I did.

Next on stage was this kid from Idaho, Andrew Anderson (heads up: his home page has audio.. not a fan of audio that starts without warning on the internets.. but his music's good, so it's still worth checking out.. ooh.. did I just give something away? shut up already, and let them keep reading..). After just a few licks on his mandolin, I started thinking to myself, "What the fuck is this guy doing playing here? On a Wednesday?" But it seems that's Austin, for you. There's a ton of real talent rolling through this town on any given night - raw, genuine people who just love their music so much that it can't be anything but infectious. All you have to do to find it sometimes, is show up.

..still need to get out more..

And You Will Know Them by the Trail of Yarn

She's peering into your soul,
looking for the weakness

Seriously? Little Stray Cat has decided to go into heat. I know she "decided to" because that's what cats do.. they spend hours on end, pretending to sleep, when what is actually happening is they're entering a meditative dream-state where they can come up with all sorts of surreptitious ways of making our lives hell. Case in point: time I recently spent keying-away at my laptop in relative silence is now filled with howls, yowls, squawks, gurgling, and something that sounds like feline yodeling. Yes. Feline yodeling. Try, just try to convince me that could be anything but a carefully engineered weapon of mass disruption.

And as further proof of the premeditation behind her assault on my psyche, she waited until a rainy cold front moved in over Austin before springing her nefarious plot. Still think it's just nature at work? Yeh, me, too.. The inborn nature of cats being EVIL!


I think I've gotta get out, more.

From South Station in Boston to the Stockyards of Austin

--Railroad Lady, Lefty Frizzell


There's something satisfying about a long motorcycle trek in foul weather that leaves you with a sense of satisfaction which has few to rival it. I made the 2,000 mile trip (actually my odometer tells me it was 1,962.3 miles, but Google insists that it was 2,005) a few weeks ago, traversing 14 states and one enormous, cold, wet storm system along the way. The end result: a torn rainsuit, shredded saddlebag covers, a very squared-off rear tire, and a broad grin on my face when I arrived in 76 degree, sunny Austin after five days of cramped legs and numbutt.

Since arriving in my new home, I've been scouring the town for bars, restaurants, cafés, and taco trucks.. and once my bikes finally landed at the doorstep, I began hunting down places to ride.. and all this is leaving me a bit exhausted - there's so much here! Dinosaur Junior and Built to Spill played Stubb's shortly after I hit town.. I've gorged on tacos, flautas, steak, cones, crépes, cupcakes, and sushi.. coffee, beer, wine, and palomas have been sipped and swilled on garden patios.. and a short mountain bike ride along Barton Creek has left me jonesing for saddle time like I haven't felt in years.

Work on the book is a bit slow, for the moment. There's been a bit of delay in Emmaus, trying to extract raw text from the current edition for me to begin editing. Once that's complete and the discs are in my hands, it'll be all-ahead-flank again to get the manuscript ready for the end of December and then a few trips to Rodale HQ and the Bicycling offices in Emmaus for photography and video shoots. I figure it's a moral imperative that I should enjoy the down time for everything it's worth, while it lasts. But also, I can't help feel like I need to find a day job in a shop for a couple days a week. The advance that Rodale provided me to work on the manuscript can get me by pretty comfortably for a few months, but I don't like the idea of drawing that down without putting anything back. There's an important social aspect to having a regular gig in a new town, too, that would help make Austin feel more like home a little more quickly.

Ooh. And as I'm thinking about friends.. my good friends back at Independent Fabrication are refinishing my frame for me! It'll be nice to have another stunning covermodel for the book, to help draw attention from my awkward self on there. After bouncing ideas back and forth with Clint, we arrived at something that will be simple yet sharp.. I can hardly wait to see the finished product!

I'll finally be moving into my permanent spot next week and picking up a new sleeper sofa shortly thereafter.. so all my Boston peeps should start drawing straws or roshambo-ing or something for couchsurfing timeshares. I'll keep 'researching' so I can show you a good time while you're here.

rollercoaster

Okay, as a metaphor, it's just too easy and very cliche - it does, however, perfectly reflect this past week of life and death; of joy and pain. I found out on Wednesday that I lost a very near and dear uncle to a heart attack, setting a tone for a somber week, for sure. Arrangements were made, plans shifted, and I did my best to remember him fondly and allow my mind to return, for a time, to the cocelebratory birthday weekend I would share with Miriam on Sunday and at our friend Emily's birthday cookout which would take place the night before that. I made it to the weekend, relatively together, and enjoyed myself while the mosquitoes enjoyed us all in a backyard in Roslindale on Saturday night and then hit the trails of Harold Parker with ThomP, Miriam, and Leah early (relatively speaking) on Sunday afternoon. We got back to town with barely enough time to clean up and head into Union Square for birthday dinner with so many of our good friends at Cantina la Mexicana, followed by yummy St Germain cocktails, courtesy of Kate. It really couldn't have been a better day!

The next day brought me back to the harsh reality of my uncle's funeral which - I don't need to tell you - was difficult. He was a much beloved man with a lot of friends and family who had all benefited from his generosity over the years.

And as there are sorrows, there is elation; it's the cycle of how we live our lives.

So, as if on queue, my phone rang yesterday afternoon, and it was Courtney from Rodale calling to let me know that the publisher was formally offering me the contract for my second and their sixth edition of the Bicycling Guide to Complete Bicycle Maintenance and Repair!

Over the moon.

I've hoped this has been coming for several months now, but a comedy of errors, missed connections, and budget reviews left just enough uncertainty to keep me from sharing until this moment. Today the contract is being drawn-up and the files are being overnighted.

Tomorrow is one more day of brilliant grey heartache as we deliver my uncle for his final rest, back to the place where he grew up.

That sinking feeling, again.

I will miss my uncle, like so many will, but I also know that in death, as in life, he wants every one of us to enjoy life for everything it's worth at every moment and to spread that around at every chance. So for him, up it is.

a body in motion

sitting in a coffee shop in the manayunk neighborhood of philly, making a quick post on-the-fly, while i have a few minutes. petar and i have been up and down through the mid-atlantic a couple of times over the last two weeks... it's definitely the high season for the race service. i love being on the road, but i have to admit that i'm looking forward to getting home and having a bit of time for my own bike and moto and to get together with some friends over pints. time's up. back in motion, for now.

lovely scars

I'm getting deep into The Dharma Bums, but I figure I owe it to some people (like six of you, or so, who actually read this) to keep the updates coming. The fodder to fill this blank, white rectangle is something that is difficult for me to find, at moments. At other moments, I'm straining my seams with bold ideas and tales of adventure and deeds done, but I'm miles away from the keys. The whirling torrent of nonsense that is my psyche does not have the patience nor the amabition, despite my own best intentions, to keep anything meaningful or coherent for the amount of time it takes to get tab A to slot B. So I'm left with this blank, white rectangle. Its soft glow is maddening.

Conversation turned, the other night, to recurring dreams, so I've been giving mine some more thought and it occurs to me that I've had many in my lifetime - and still do, from time to time. In fact, a new one has cropped up in recent weeks. I am still drawing new details each time I wake from it. Putting the whole thing together is a painstaking process, but even once I understand it for myself - or at least have a clear picture of it in my head - I don't think I will share any of it here - some things are meant only for one's self. We all have our faults, shortcomings, and regrets in our lives; I'm just not ready to strip myself bare for all to see. Some claim doing so is a cathartic process, but I'm not even clear enough yet on what it is that has ailed me for these decades to begin any sort of healing. For now, I'll carry on, taking comfort from every scar and callus, knowing that each is tougher than the flesh it replaced.