Thursday, February 26, 2009


Squid on his way to deliver the living shit outa some packages!

Pass'm out.

Big release from one company sent us sprinting everywhere on Tuesday.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Bloody, bloody nose.

I had a Bloody nose on Friday. Kid saw it then put the nix on my
midtown nightmare alleycat plans for that evening. In hindsight I'm
sure it was a last ditch effort of my upper handlers to save me for my
grand tour destiny. I went to the start after meeting Mimi at the top
of the 59th st bridge and riding 50 blocks down a cold, dark and
trafficy 2nd ave. Everyone was gathered at the north east corner of
Tomkins square park under the cover of night. Squid brought a bunch of
coffee from the 'Bucks courtesy of Chrome messenger bags, a sponsor of
Cyclehawk. Messengers were huddled around enjoying an after-work, pre-
race cup of steamy go juice. Most were there after a full day
shuttling packages around. I love the fact that since it's a messenger
race everyone races in full on messenger gear. Bags, chain locks wrapt
around their waists, radios etc... For the start everyone set their
bike up in jungle gym area and then piled into what reminded me of a
batting cage, tennis court, animal cage or something. It was a racer-
keeper that night and of course bottle necked during the LeMonds-
style start-the punk rock version. When Stoned Tone said go it looked
like roaches scatering in every direction after you turn the light on
in the kitchen at night. The racers poured into the street and into
traffic. Stop signs, lights, wrong way signs need not apply. To people
in cars it must have looked like they drove right into the path of a
charging stampede of cheetas with wheels. At the first check point
people arrived from every direction, throwing their bikes in a mass
pile, leaning them against parked cars and pushing through the crowd
to get the signature.
Best part is that most people road with out brakes. NYC! I didn't
stick around since it was too painful not racing. The finish was at a
bar in the east villiage. Big one called monster track in a couple
weeks. We'll see.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Friday, February 13, 2009

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Ladies and Gentlemen

Stoned Tone, live, on the Williamsburg Bridge this morning.

Monday, February 9, 2009


> The bikes people ride in this city... It was gone when I came back outside so I know it's being ridden. Wear your top-tube condoms, kids. This is what happens when you drag a steel chain over your top-tube
> one too many times. On the flipside, you get a good inch or so of
> suspension.

Street blogging test

Test test

Friday, February 6, 2009

In the Office.

I'm in the office and it's freezing outside again and the pedestrians all have twisted, tense faces from the icy wind. People are getting tired but it's far enough along in this bitter season that it's becoming routine. Good news is I got some sleep last night and I'm starting to enjoy my new place in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Just needed to cook some good food in the kitchen to get the place smelling more like my home. I'm only an 8 minute ride to the Williamsburg Bridge and 12 from the city proper. The route takes me right through the hippster central of Williamsburg and some nice street art with plenty of subversive cool stuff. It's like riding through someone's tattoo.

People are rolling through the door now at Cyclehawk. Bobby and Kid are warming up the generators and the nextel's are about to blow up. First Bobby will show us some new crazy shoes. "Where are the Gummies?", Says Kid. Bobby says you can't gett'm no more. I want gummies. Gummies? British walkers. Old school, back in the day Kicks. They don't make anymore. You can't get them anymore, he says. Clear. Gummies. Shoes. Kicks.

I drank Decaf this morning. I'm not to be trusted.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Take away the cookies

I've been eating a sleeve of cookies. Got then up the street at this strange little Polish Grocery store and they're half gone. I can't read the label so I feel like I'm eating exotic euro-cookies. A closer inspection reveals the stamp of KRAFT. I've got the week three of training camp metabolism going pretty strong, not that I've ever known anything different, so that means I get to eat cookies for dinner. Every night. After fantastic Veggie stir-fry. I'm working the dawn patrol shift at CycleHawk now. 5:55 AM is my new first thought of the day followed by coffee. Always with the coffee... February 13th, man, I'm doing my first Gritty NYC Allycat race. It'll be good to meet more of the people I see every single day on the streets but never get to talk to. I've had snippets of conversation with a few of them mostly while carving through gridlock traffic staring into mirrors and through windows. At this point I recognize most people I see if not because I know them or I just know their pedal stroke. Now Stoned Tone, I've run into this scene mainstay a few times and once literally the other day riding down Broadway at Wall st. I was rolling pretty fast and jumped through a hole in traffic to the right when I heard a loud "Whoa, son!" When I realized I cut off another rider I turned around to acknowledge the shitty move and it was Stoned Tone. He had on all his winter gear with his jacket hood pulled tight over his head, a loaded bag and puffing down a Joint the size of a mini bike pump. He was just cruising down broadway past the storm trooper NYPD check point for a downtown drop, blazing the whole time. We touched fists, he said to say hey to Kid, and I jumped back through traffic and dove down Exchange Street. The security down there, especially broad street, is absolutely retarded. It's likely to keep people from strangling one of those guys for absolutely screwing the world's economy and getting a bonus for it. Christophe Dupouey, famous doper MTB'er from back in the day, committed suicide today. After he retired from racing he transitioned from dirty athlete to drug ring organizer. And when he got caught and was slapped with a massive 3 month sentence, he became so despondent he ended him-self. It's sad even though he was a cheater. The fact is, regardless of good or bad, elite athletes should have access to post career psychiatric care. I know all to well how quickly darkness can descend when you're not able to be active. Even a rest week can be a devastating experience from all the chemical changes that take place during inactivity. RIP Dupouey.

I overheard this the other day in a fancy restaurant I was delivering to way up on 7th ave: They were two old ladies. One sitting and the other standing by the door starring out the window. The one sitting asks "How much longer are you planning on standing there?", the one standing answers, "All day if I have to. I'm telling you, Ida, I'm really in a lot of discomfort. The food's just sitting there". The one sitting chuckled and shook her head and the one standing uncomfortably just stood there looking out on 7th ave. I had mixed feelings about this strange sneak peak of future decrepitness that we're all headed for one way or another. I can't help but feel weird about even being near these seemingly "rich" people on their fine dining lunch break. My people are not in those places. You'll find us pulling out an awesome lunch from our bags anywhere we find hospitable heat and shelter.