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.

Wings

!

Ladies and Gentlemen

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

WTF?

> 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

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.

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.

Bolts and Real Estate

Out of the five bolts that hold my chainring to my cranks, only three remain. I guess it was almost to weeks ago now that I was riding up Avenue of the Americas and noticed my chain being way looser then normal. It was because all my chainring bolts were either missing or lose. I rearranged the bolt pattern to spread the load out among the remaining bolts. That worked great until yesterday when the bolts came lose again. I only managed to tighten one of them without the proper tool. It got the job done. The chain and chainring all stayed put and I made my rounds on schedule. Scraping by lean on the chainring bolts reminds me of a sketchy practice of a few pro mountain bikers I know where they'll use only 3 of 5 rotor brake rotor bolts to save weight. Ahem, JB...

After last night's epic last run the boys at Cyclehawk let me roll home at 5:30 today. I used the opportunity to check out City Bicycles Bike Shop and get some new stainless steel chainring bolts. This is the NYC Messengers bike shop of choice. Its long and narrow storefront is lined with the usual road/mtb gear suspects and a nice stash of cool messenger gear. I have to admit I find myself drooling over the sweet nylon radio holsters and messenger bags more than the fancy racer boy stuff. You get true function for your money and.... more money as the case may be if you actually use the gear for work. I also met the owner who is also a frame builder. He filled me in on all the major group rides North of the City. Unfortunately, riding a long distance is kind of the last thing I wanna do on the weekends at the moment. I got a call at 6:30 for some work to take me home. I was picking up a giant bundle of paychecks to take downtown for a real estate company. The package wasn't ready so I flipped through one of the many real estate capitalist magazines. It read more like a doomsday program than a "how to sell a happy new home and make a million dollars" journal. One article talked about how brokers are so desperate that they are starting to broker rental properties since no one is buying homes. Brokering rental properties is apparently considered "bottom of the barrel" and "only for losers".

When I was finished I took a high speed traffic wave down Delancey and over the Williamsburg Bridge to meet my punk rock buddy Zack for some burritos and Guitar lessons. I chose the late night ride through Brooklyn to my place in Cobble Hill instead of the train. I'm really trying to map this place out and it's cool to ride at night. I'm cashed.

Nighthawk.

Getting shut in elevator doors.
Bitter and irritated doormen.
Pissed off drivers of all sorts.
Buses.
Near misses.
Cold Toes and fingers.
Drinking a pretty large coffee in two minutes flat.
50 cent coffee "refills" at Starbucks. Same cup now for two weeks. Yep. "Get a card", they say, "and refills are free.". Oh? Maybe I will.


Today I went to what ended up being a wrong address. When I asked what floor the company was on the doorman muttered, "ain't here no more", too busy looking at an assortment of Porn DVD's to even look up. The salesman was standing there with his big bag of porn and asked me who I worked for as I talked to Kid over the radio. The dude was probably a messenger turned porn-pusher. A logical next step. Porn is one industry that likely survives a recession better than most. Funny thing about that wrong address is that the sender was in the same building as the receiver! Kid chimes over the radio and says, "you're not gonna believe this, but those guys are in the same building you just picked up from". I still had to ride but the folks who sent the package payed me to take it 16 floors up the elevator from their office.

Riding over the Brooklyn Bridge heading toward Brooklyn at night is, I think, more spectacular that riding toward the city in the day. You get a good spanning view of a lot of the bridges over the Hudson. Could also be the positivity generated from pointing in the direction of home.

Last runs of the day were wild tonight. I came downtown holding 2 packages with four pickups and they all had a deadline of 5:30 or 6. I ended up charging down through Wall st. and back up to the East Village to handoff a bunch of Chinese Herbs to Julio from Cyclehawk. I was sprinting through the night with my pack dodging people, cars and animals. Up Bowery and down Bowery to Grand and then Centre and finally 120 Chambers for the finale. I enjoy the evening rush. By 6pm everything is quiet.

We are the Meems and Pro.

Street meat.

The days are exhausting. The New York City way is all about being on the go, though, so I just “grab a slice”, fold it, and keep rolling. Cyclehawk begins taking pick-up calls at 8 A.M. about two and half hours after dispatchers Kid and Bobby leave the Bronx and enter the mass transit maze into the city. The subway delivers them about ten steps from 303 West 42nd Street, CycleHawk’s Times Square Headquarters. Meanwhile the riders, who are spread all over the Bronx, Harlem, Queens and Brooklyn, are gearing up for whatever the streets have in store for them. The Veteran riders are all on call in the City at 8 A.M. ready to go, long over the rookie drama that can hinder any casual workday. By rookie drama I mean, waking up to flat tires, dead radio batteries, dirty bikes, no clean shorts and sometimes just not waking up at all. Some of the vets even have families and 8 full hours of sleep under their belts! The Williamsburg and Manhattan bridges are loaded with messengers commuting to work in the morning hours. It’s easy to spot a messenger from the bike-commuting crowd. Even though the hipster trend these days closely emulates the messenger getup, the messengers will show a true bonded comfort level in utilitarian cycling gear and, depending on what the of the week and weather conditions, a haggard yet still pretty efficient, pedaling style. Lotta ins, lotta outs, really.

These holiday weekends make starting the work week very difficult. Last night I was in bed by one or so and I set my alarm for 7:30. This would leave plenty of time to go through a very bike racer-esque morning routine. One might even say it borders on ritualistic dependency. That alarm did not go off. Or, it went off and I didn’t hear it. Or, the computer that is my phone/alarm clock froze, like they do. Whatever it did, I didn’t hear it and slept until 8;45, 15 minutes before I should be at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. The Manhattan side! All I heard as I woke from my evening of restoration was the sound of my Nextel radio’s alert beep. Beep, beep, beep! Beep, beep, beep! I pressed the answer button and said, “good morning”, trying not to sound like I just woke up. Kid’s voice came over the radio and said, “ Pro, I need you in the city ASAP! Hurry up, ok, we’re busy and I’m short handed”. Ah, shit. “Ok”, I said and started gathering everything I needed, which in the winter is many layers, so many layers. I was still focusing on coming out of sleep completely while also trying not to forget things like gloves, pens, radio etc… And the basement I live in is so hot since it’s right by the boiler room. I end up putting all my gear on and immediately overheating from the heat and the dehydration of morning. It’s tough to judge what to wear sometimes. I’m always asking my self, “Do I really need this jacket?” Getting out of the house always leaves me overheating and winded after climbing two sets of narrow stairways with a huge courier bag, bike and faghetaboutit chain lock wrapped around my waist. I made it out a couple minutes after nine this morning after mainlining an Aloa Loa fizzing vitamin mix. No food. Hell, back in the day this was how the pro bike racers trained. It’s still the classic way to do a morning ride. It kick starts the metabolism and clears the liver! One of my first runs of the day was to 770 Broadway to pick up an offices mail and deliver it to the uptown office. The receptionist’s desk had a frickin’ bowl of candy on it the size of a bully’s candy bag after a night of beating up little kids for their candy on Halloween. The bowl was blooming with little individually wrapped, toxic, diabetes-bites. I had nothing in my stomach at this point. Nothing! The health-buzz from the Aloa Loa had long warn off and left me with that clean, anxious feeling of having earned something… Something bad. Just one. No! I can’t, I won’t, I… have no control. The guy behind the desk had to go in a back room to get the package and left me all alone with fake chocolate and other terribly crunchy and sweet things. I found my self putting piece by piece in my pocket like I was saving it for when things got really bad. The rest I just ate on the spot, justify every poisonous gluttonous bite. It goes right inline with my theory on donuts. They are best are best allotted occasionally in modest amounts rather than avoided entirely because once a dog tastes blood it goes insane! Only bad things come from this. Mimi knows. I’m still learning, always with the learning. My stomach was not happy when I left that place. Later in the day when I was back I noticed starbursts had appeared in the jar, so I had a serving of fruit. There is this public health service ad in the subway that reads: “When you don’t eat breakfast, you’re not all there”. Usually I would look at that and be like, “Oh, for the love, like people haven’t figured that out! “.

For Lunch I had a Halal chicken sandwich at one of those street food carts in the city. So good! It’s crazy how those guys pile these huge piles of meat in the corner the grill in prep for the lunch hour rush. It’s kind of creepy. “Careful you don’t get sick. They don’t call it street meat for nothin’!”, say’s Squid.

My bike is a pile right now and that’s pretty normal for this time of year. I always have ambitions of being one of those people who keep their stuff nice. I think I just ride harder than everyone else. The fixed gear is a beautiful thing when it’s snowy and icy on the streets. Not having a brake in that stuff actually makes sense since ‘gearing down with your legs is the best way to have any traction at all. Avoiding drainage grates and sewer covers is a general must. They are slicker than god even when dry. Speaking of NYC sewers, they are so key to the aesthetic of this city. Their steamy exhaust makes riding through any cross street into a cool scene from batman.

Coffee Cake toaster @ Cyclehawk.

Slow

The city must have had a big night out last night. I'm back in the starbucks at tompkins square after only one delivery in the last two hours. Rough. Now, I know I'm still paying my proverbial "dues" as a rookie messenger but everyone else I've been talking to in traffic or at the b side east villiage bar seems to be in the same boat. Maybe the people who would normally call a messenger are kicking off their new year saving a buck and using the delivery as an excuse to leave their own slow office. I've made some friends though with all this time to stop and chat. First thing they ask is "how many you had today?". Sigh. Nod. I bought a patch kit today at bicycle habitat. Recession patch party at my house tonight!

Dear Anonymous

I'm about to experience this city in a new light. The post-holiday NYC. Since I officially landed back in early November, it's been complete holiday chaos and the sporadic work schedule that comes with it. The throngs of elated visitors in Time Square will, I'm sure, be no different but I'm curious about the flow of things in this city during regular days heading into Spring. Spring! Damn, actually, the hunker down is just beginning because though we've had some frigged, misery drenched days out in these gritty streets, it ain't over and the worst is probably still on its' way. Better to keep the mind there for obvious reasons. I've got some good pics of those gnar gnar days that hit right before the Xmas holiday shutdown. Squid (Cyclehawk Boss) and I did a mid-street, ankle deep in icy slush, photo shoot during a package hand-off. I'll put those up soon. I think Squid may have already if you go to his blog. And while you're at it check out this promo video for CycleHawk. I think Carlos who works for CycleHawk made it.

Blake Schwarzenbach from Jawbreaker and Jets to Brazil is playing again and fronting the new band Thorns of life. They played a show here in Brooklyn back in November. I wasn't at the show but I've been planted on youtube for hours now listening to a few of the captured goods from it! My auntie Ruthie got me a Jawbreaker Album when I was in those turbulent teen years and I've been stoked on Blake's music ever since.

Battle NYC

I really need to carry a notebook.

This city throws crazy and absurdly bizarre thing at me by the bucket. A really big effin bucket. By the time my 10 or so hour shift ends I lose a lot of it, though. The most amazing material that I sew together in my head while flowing elegantly through a sea of cars is mostly evaporated by the time I hit the Manhattan Bridge on my way home. The blog just gets filed then reduced to snippets of random happenings by the time I put it down. The days are predictably unpredictable. The routine stays pretty constant but the things I witness on a daily basis lend themselves to madness. I've been really working hard to be a better and more commanding asshole. It's the only way to keep your sanity, really. My favorite lately is the "car-slap" or "swat". This involves smacking the door or window of a car as it turns left into your path just as you dive around around it. The cabbies hate it, the trucks hate it, the fancy wall streeters hate but it gets peoples attention. It also gives the rider some power by feeling more in control and helping to keep the "order". Of course, save for a few, most of the time this incites a certain amount of rage in the driver as well. When that happens I just keep riding because this is NYC and nobody gives a fuck when the moment is over. If I pulled that move in WV or VA I'd be worried about serious retaliation. Anyway, cars are the enemy. Pedestrians provide perhaps an even greater threat but, as was pointed out to me and absorbed, we're on the same side. Buses are in a category all their own. I have mixed feelings since they're public transportation and technically reduce the amount of cars on the road trying to kill me. They own the right side of the road and stay there for the most part so at least they have rules. Buses are cool except when it's convenient for me to right on the right side as well. This battle will never be won, so I'll stop (whin)(typ)ing about it. More on cars... The cabbies are bad but the black town car drivers are worse. Those guys point and gun, rally car style. Their cargo must be those re$pon$ible fellas down on Wall St. in a rush to man a sinking ship. So I was riding past 14th st in Union square and heard a soft, loud, CRUNCH. I slowed and looked to right with about fifty other passer byes and caught the after math of a full on side swipe collision between an accelerator happy nyc taxi and a black town car. Everyone one seemed pretty amused except the shocked drivers. I let out a hearty chuckle and kept moving, enjoying a clear path through the blocked intersection.

Every evening I usually end with a run downtown since it's my direction home. Broadway is my preferred ride downtown. It slants from the North west side of Central Park all the way down to the Financial district. I get a kick out of riding through all the boroughs of the city. Once I'm down I'll take Grand St through Little Italy and Chinatown to Christie. On this particular night I hit Christie and rode into traffic slightly looking for a gap when a rider came from my left and yell's "Nice Move!", like I almost hit him or something. It wasn't even close as I was doing a track stand barely even in the road. Good opportunity to be an obnoxious prick with no consequences, I thought to myself. As he zoomed by me and told I yelled, "fuck off, asshole!". He answered back with a matter of fact sounding," Fuuuuck You!", without missing a peddle stroke. As I continued along my route towards the bridge I was thinking to myself how retarded that entire exchange was since we're both supposedly on the same side as cyclists. Ah, well, lesson learned and I felt small thinking about the whole thing. When the I pulled up to the light before the bridge the dude was there, too, having taken a different path. He goes, "oh, you're going over the bridge, too?" Well, well, I thought and quickly discarded any notions of stoking the situation with more animosity. We're on the same team, buddy, I said with a menacing grin on my face. The guy was spindly and nervous looking. He answered back with a snappy, "wanna race over the bridge?". Sure, I said. "I don't know if it's fair, though, because I have better gear ratios than you". He had a road bike and I was on my fixed gear Quattro Assi. My competitive, subtle cockyness, flarred and I said, how about we race to the apex (top) of the bridge. All up hill. Then I asked him if I drafting was against the rules. He said no and it was on. He jumped first so I jumped on his wheel. We flew past other poor bridge crossers. My legs burned from the the previous 10 hours already spent shuttling my way up and down the avenues. With 100 yards to go I jumped and immediately dropped him. It was as exciting as my time spent racing up and down the pyrenees. He conceded before I had even crossed the finish line. We rode down the other side together and I told him to google my name if he wanted to know why I smoked him over the bridge.


Work Machine. Recycled from my old Team Gomart bike back in the day. Eno Fixie wheel Built by Timmy boy at SBC in the 'Burg. Thanks, man. It's awesome.


Not oversized.


WV Mine Shaft?

Went to a little Pittsburgh Punk Anti-Flag show last weekend with the Meems. All access because she grew up with those guys.

Day 10

NYC Bike Messenger.

It's raining outside and I just put my fenders on for the second time in the last ten days. Not bad. I'm out earlier than usual today for the holiday rush. I'll work 10 hrs today. Run by run everyone will get there documents and wine. Lots of wine today.

day 3

Day 3 NYC Messenger. And today it's raining! I'm a bit sore at this point with the ego and body. Bounced off a couple things yesterday and got a little lost looking for 10 Rock. Learning to flow with traffic and ride on the left side where there are no buses to ride me into the sidewalk. Thanks Mimi. I've got a radio and a big bag now from cyclehawk. Gotta run.

He's a bike messenger? Gasp!

Most of you probably don't know that I've moved to NYC. I have moved to NYC. Cobble Hill in Brooklyn to be precise. When I think about it, you all probably do know because I've most likely called you for advice or to see, by chance, if you had connection in this city only slightly larger than Davis. Today will be my first as an NYC bike messenger. I'll be doing some trial-by-fire street training with the boys at cyclehawknyc.com. Are my bars narrow enough to slip between taxis and buses but not too narrow as to go careening uncontrollably into hispterdom? Time will tell and hopefully for my sake the bars are still wide enough to scrape the shit out of a car in Manhattan if I should be so inclined. My bike is just barely built so I'm up early this morning to re-tension the chain and put a brake on. My "shift" starts at 11 and goes till 7. Mark get set go.

Testing... hand on the pulse.

I'm in West Virginia and it's beens so long since I've written anything here that it probably doesn't mean much that I'm not in Harrisonburg. I came up to the homeland on Thursday and caught the increasingly rocking Thursday night in Davis. There's the ride at five-ish followed by dollar pbrs and burritos at Hellbender's, then a show at the purple fiddle. Miss Tess was playing her jazzy-american-vintage for an all-star local crowd. Lot's of dancing, more pbrs, and moonshine when Mackie Marcus showed up. We closed the fiddle then loaded up the band and went up the hill for the customary Mt. state brewing after party. Home by 2 a.m. I came up originally with the idea that I'd do the mountain road classic road race that crosses just down Cheat mt. on rt. 50 and up the massive cool springs climb. My motivation was waning after learning of the 30 dollar entry and weak pay out. So, when I finally woke up this morning after relentlessly pressing the snooze button and found I had forgotten to bring water bottles, I pulled the plug. Actually I didn't fully commit to non-committing until Karl offered me a day in the woods working as a lumberjack or some incarnation of slave, grunt, peon, etc. It went well and it was hard. Karl is freaking amazing with a chain saw. His arms are twice the size of mine. So no race, just good old fashioned honest work. I'm working for Laird Knight starting Thursday. I'll be driving the Granny Gear Dodge dually and hauling the massive "gearbox" camper (oh shit) all the way out to Moab. Bike racing? Me? Not real sure. MTB. I'm looking for a sponsor.

Not a word.

Wow. I just realized, sitting in an American style bar in Lourdes France drinking an american beer, that there is almost nothing on the internet about the race I"m doing here in Pyrenees. The tour de Pyrenees. 4 days of all the massive tour de france climbs. More on that later... I'm tired, sore and a little baffled at the lack of coverage of this sick event that our team is currently 3rd in. Well, Bajdalli is 3rd. I'm 20th. But I wrecked hard today. The hardest I've ever fallen. It actually didn't affect much result wise. I was still getting bottles and setting tempo on the climbs for the BaJ. After I was picked up off the ground and motor paced back to the field of course. Tomorrow is stage 3 into Spain. Couple Cat 1 climbs. Should be good. Two days to go! Then back to the states. I may indeed smoke a cigarette after this one. I did after last week's torture. What?

plane(ing) around

I've been sitting on a grounded plane here at dca for going three hours now. Impressive how quickly one can go from barely making a flight to driving through an entire iPhone charge for entertainment. Going back to the old school method shortly. I've missed my connection in Ohio with rest of the team. I'm heading for tall beers as soon as I get let outa this tin capsule. So yes, France. Should be somtime in next few days. Maybe even in time to join KBS for our first race in Brittany followed by the tour de pyrennes. Been cheating on the road lately with my mountain bike. Suzie Q broke her leg in vt. Jb won a stars n stripes stxc style. I rode fast for a while then got 16th. I have two legs. I really like this girl named Mimi. Alot. The plane is shaking it's raining so hard. Don't need lights. There's lightning.