Lots and lots

Well, I'm tired. The days have been full and I've been taking naps. The A.M routine is rolling alright and Jeremiah and Andy are sure to provide company on the rolling roads on the outskirts of town while the sun is high in the sky. Harrisonburg, Va is small, no doubt, but it's not lacking things to keep one from hitting that snooze button one too many times in the morning. I've been riding a bit, using my friends well established training routines to ride the coat tails of. And it works fine. Really. I can toggle between Jeremiah Bishops recovery weeks and Andy Mckeegan's pre-season 'cross rocket sessions in the hills. We did some steady riding up Reddish yesterday. 3x20 minute efforts to be exact - an hour of riding up for 20, descending back into the valley and then back up. We saw hikers and they were like "we thought you'd be heading up again", or so we thought that's what they said trying not to imagine it being a pedestrian harassment of some kind. Andy rides too close to the center of the rode when he descends. And that just scares me since I feel like I may see him smashed on any given turn.

The Six Pack Downhill races have been awesome. Although the first one a couple weeks ago left a pack of 20 or so of us waiting at the top of a mountain being swarmed by sweat/blood thirsty insects. And last Friday when Sue George, Whitney and I broke trail through several miles of stinging nettle bushes that left us itching and swollen for the remainder of the ride. Then I had a welcome back high speed crash that left me clinging to the very tree that took me out and limping my way down the remainder of the timed downhill like a injured, leukemia ridden, kitten. At the bottom I dabbed my freshly bloodied chin, tossed the bike, gave people high fives and enjoyed my endorphin high. One after another, riders rallied into the final steep to the finish. Sometimes we'd just hear a loud snap followed by a body and bike crashing down the side of the mountain, missing the finish all together. People cheered fantastic! Rightly so. Back to the parking lot, licking our wounds. Drink a beer. Hit the Six Pack Party at the winner's house. Surf a hoverboard around the yard and ride home in the dark. There's trail work to be done in the morning.

Pedaling hard for multiple one minute efforts in the morning with JB and Andy. Radio Paradise is choice late-night listening.

Finer points

Sharing my lack of frisbee-golf knowledge with Conrad Bishop earlier
this evening.

Metal on metal

240 Sunrise Ave

Harrisonburg, VA

I could hear the scraping before I even left Brooklyn. But man, upon inspection this morning with my friend Justin, there really wasn't anything providing much stopping friction on those brake pads - and hadn't been for miles. Should've changed them when Fly offered to help when we were both still in Brooklyn a week ago. The amount of stop and go from that guy alone should've been reason enough. I mean, the lack of braking power seemed almost like a good thing for me leaving NYC. I needed a reason not to stop and turn around - because I would have and almost did several times before I hit I-81. Sitting in traffic on Canal street headed towards the Holland Tunnel, I remembered all the time I spent hustling time-sensitive packages up and down those packed avenues. I sent a shout out to Kid, Squid and CycleHawk via twitter in memory of my former constant radio contact.

I made it to Aurora, WV by one A.M after a stop at sheetz in Oakland for a late night egg shmiscuit and donut(s). The next day I hung out in Davis and almost immediately fell into the cloud of inertia that hits me when I go there. I took it as part of the recovery process and had a beer and burrito with Mom that evening before heading back to Aurora. Later we hiked by the house that recently endured a triple homicide. I felt numb as I walked by thinking about the story and wondered if anyone could ever actually live in the house again.

In the morning I went for a ride that sort of resembled training. Sort of. It was on an old loop I did when I lived in Aurora. Although beautiful this time of year, it was a little depressing and felt like some sort of come-full-circle landing. Visited Roger at BWB and had lunch with the east-west crew before heading through the final handful of mountains into Harrisonburg. Now I'm here and JB wants to ride for an hour. Full circle? At least I have fresh brake pads.

Greenpoint

Brooklyn, NY

Sunset

Mason School Rd.

Visiting an old MD loop this morning.

Jumping ship

Temporarily, anyway.

Brooklyn, now

A storm moved in
this afternoon
as I napped
And brought with it
the most pleasant
breeze
I've felt in a while
Relief
And the evening
Became cool
And stayed cool
These summer nights

Leaves

Are changing color and falling on the ground. Already.

Dog days

The days are getting heavy. These dog days of summer, man. Early a.m. and late evening are really the only pleasant times to do anything - and the a.m. doesn't exist. Today I poached some space in a roommates air conditioned room. It's a completely different world. The brain swelling goes down slightly and functions better with the use of a few more synapses. Granted, synapses that are a little further apart than they should be but still useful if they're given room to amass.

Delivered more wine tonight than any other time this summer. Always multiple bottles and without the task of decision attached. Just tell me what's good and I'll agree.

Playing around this cement maze of one way streets between the handrails. I know all the cracks, the dips. I can read the height of curb on the most dimly lit streets. Streets where the black cats roam and cross your path.

Crickets exist here.

A Fox followed me all evening.

The only cure is midnight Seltzer.

Summer Rounds

I'm back in Brooklyn after a reconnaissance/road/camp trip to my old stomping grounds in Harrisonburg, VA and Davis, WV. Mimi had a date with Bluegrass week at the Augusta Festival at D&E college in Elkins, WV so the trip had a lot of different destinations before heading back up through Pittsburgh and back into the concrete jungle of New York City.

Miss Tess was in Brooklyn for a show and since she was also headed down to Augusta, she jumped in the Subie and tipped the boy, beast (Riot the dog), girl ratio to boy, beast, girl, girl. A good ratio to say the least. Aiming for an early departure, we managed to pry our eyes open to the fresh blue sky and potent sunlight that is only around during the crisp morning hours. Wearily, we soldiered on, secretly impressed with ourselves after pulling a late one at Tess's show the night before. We managed our way through the treacherous NYPD war zone of Manhattan. It's not the danger that makes me nervous driving through the city at any given hour because there is nothing really that dangerous about it, it's the intricately woven and strategically placed road rules that seem to only be tripped if you're actually focusing on not tripping them! We made it through fine with Mimi piloting and steering us toward a place outside the city walls with fewer stop lights and even fewer law enforcement. We went through the Lincoln tunnel and hit Jersey, grabbed a ticket and tried our best not to miss the exit on to 78. I was alert and anticipating the 78 exit since it's eluded me in the past falling victim to my own personal auto pilot mode and getting funneled onto 95.

The trip was long with the added leg to drop the beast off at Oak Forest Kennels (AKA Fred 'n Jinny's Dog World Center of the Universe). Come one, come all! Or, rather, bring one, bring all... your pets! Riot's week at the center of dog universe was kindly "on the house" courtesy of my grandparents. The beast came away with fond memories, I'm sure, even though it stung at first. And how could he not with so many other beasts to yap with, the view of galloping miniature horses and swarms of min-pins circling and heckling the penned guests.

We dropped Tess off in Harrisonburg at the Clementine Cafe, an awesome newish music venue, on South Main st. to spare her the out and back of the beast drop. When we made it to Harrisonburg for the second time that day, the trip-time meter was rolling into the ten hour mark. We rolled into the shared SBC/Clementine parking lot and found our friend exploring the alley with an herbal intent and the flash of an aluminum Altoids container. I managed to roll through town undiscovered twice that day. It was actually pretty frightening to me coming from Brooklyn where the bustle never ends to a pre-college being in session Sunday afternoon in Harrisonburg, VA. It was the anti-bustle and I had to remind myself that there are actually people and people I know there. So, we gathered Tess and neatly pack her into the Subie and cruised quickly over the small but sharp foothills before climbing over Shenandoah Mtn. into WV. With enough speed, our stomachs were in our throats over the top of the bumps. When I closed my eyes I pretended I was on the Cyclone back in Coney Island. Tess had some moonshine that Chip Chase had given her during her last visit to the Purple Fiddle and gave me a swig as we crawled over the mountain towards several more mountains that would eventually take us to the other sleepiest college town I've ever been to. My stomach was pretty empty so the shine took effect immediately. Over the mountain and passed Fat Boys Pork Palace, where my uncle Luke once got me a yellow FBPP shirt that stunk of stale Cigarette smoke, we made one last stop in Brandywine. The little service station we stopped at has a long history of epic bike ride pit-stops, complete with the hot food deli and heat lamps to keep the golden fried assortment glistening until late into the day. I remember stopping there once and noticing that a couple fried eggs were floating in a tub of water under a heat lamp. Outside there was a years old loitering contingent of old men that stared wonderingly as Mimi and Tess walked by.

We made it to Elkins around ten p.m. that night, dropped Tess off and went in search of the late Augusta check in. There were little jams going on as we walked into the were the daytime check in center past a building with little pyramid looking things anchoring it. We ended up getting pointed to the late check in by a woman that I later while reading the Augusta Program was the director of the entire thing. Mimi checked herself in at the same building I remember checking into when the Chase brothers and I all did a dance week. Afterwards we drove across town and set up camp for the evening at my friend Andy Fitzgibon's place.

The next morning I drove up to Davis early to visit everyone. The morning was the classic WV summery-cool and misty morning with the sun just behind burning it's way through and making way for a blue sky. I stopped by east-west first to say hi to mom and Ruthie then hit the bike shop. The routine is the same each time I go there with Roger doing his Roger thing that seems to work so well for that place. I could write an entire blog about the details of what goes on anytime I step in that place and how time speeds up and all. I gave both my bikes some much needed attention so I could ride while I was there and when I went back to the Burg. I've got plans for round four of my cycling story so I tried to share what I knew as much as possible.

I went for an evening ride into the valley on my mountain bike via the old trial road and an assortment of newer CVI singletrack out to the swinging bridge. My body is so funny about the fit of certain bikes. Sometimes after riding the road bike for months on end my mtb feels like a completely foreign and awkward extension. Other times it feels completely part of me and I feel snappy and ready to dive into steep singletrack with a flow that feels completely ingrained. That night it felt great. The 24 hours of Big Bear fitness! It was just laying dormant until I touched the mountain bike again. I crossed the swinging bridge and thought of the 2002 tour de Lilly. I felt every part of my peddle stroke conforming the soft treads of my tire into the trail and propelling me up the steep, root strewn face to the fire road. I started the climb to Canaan heights and found a comfortable rhythm. The late day sun was beginning to turn orange as I crested the top of the climb and into an obvious developmental carnage. I still got a good view of the Valley, though. On the way back towards 32 I decided to pile on another steep climb and ended up, by chance, running into Karl on one of his job sites. He was painting and his dog was in the truck. Boy, dog, truck. Paint brush. Dinner plans. He's on it. He reminded me to come to the Monday night potluck at the east-west kitchen. I bombed back into town and met Mackie Marcus for some beers on Gary Berti's deck above the bike shop. We soaked in the remainder of the evening sun then went to the shop for fresh fish, salad, shrimp, chanterelle mushrooms and blueberry cobbler with Karl and Tyler. Holy fucking shit is all I can really say. And that it was a really good time.

I ended going out for a two pronged ride the follow day. I was feeling solitary so I took off, again late in the day, into the Blackwater Falls the back way past the STP Pond and over the creek. I took another random turn and ended up riding strait up the pipeline to plantation trail. The ride was soggy and I thought of all the times I've raced down it over the years. The semi-service road was completely overgrown. It's basically a wetland and I can't remember it ever being dry. My tire would sink into the spongy moss and I'd lose my momentum, only then relying on the power of my well developed leg speed to keep the cadence high and my bike crawling forward. I remember once, like ten years ago, riding up the pipeline and running into a guy with what I thought was a giant knife. I sprinted back to the bike shop to warn Matt and Sue who getting ready to ride, "there's a guy out on the pipeline with a giant knife!". "What?!" said Matt. They saw the guy, too, and told me later that the object he was carrying was a camera for photographing birds.

When I neared the plantation trail I could hear voices and out of the woods came Cory Chase and Tony from Hypno Coffee. They were on a 16 mile run. I said hey and Karl called my cell phone wondering why I left him and that he wanted to do a ride. I dove into the single track and sprinted my way back out to Rt. 32 and into town. Karl was fixing his flat tire when I got there. We ended up riding the State championship course backward up to HooDoo Rocks. Karl absolutely rocked and further confirmed his single track prowess. On top of the rocks there is a panoramic view of Davis. We hung out and discussed all the current happening of each others life, the trivialities of every day. We didn't leave until found the exact Billy Bragg song to sum up our exact feelings at that moment up on those rocks. We let song after song blare over my iphone and we found that almost all of them hit the feeling on the head! I burned "Back to Basics" for Karl when we got back to town. I stole a shower from Gary Berti's house then ate a Burrito at Hellbender with Karl. He talked me into staying in town that night and we both crashed on the east-west deck over front street.

I was out early the next morning feeling completely refreshed after a morning coffee session in the kitchen with Karl and Tyler. Afterward, I drove down the mountain to get the ailing subaru tail pipe welded back on. Got a deal from one of Karl's friends.

With a quieter car, I drove to Elkins to catch a concert at Augusta with the Meems and we had El Grand Sabor. Andy Mckeegan was expecting me for some mid-season motivation so I B-lined it to the Burg and had a great impromptu gathering with everyone at the Blue Nile basement bar. Suzy Q was there as well as the other mainstays. Colin was behind the bar and a band played. Mckeegan drank too much and I'm getting bogged down here.... My mind is going numb with detail. Anyway, it was a classic evening and was actually the same way departure from the Burg 10 months ago was. Except that time it was with Jonny Sundt giving me a boost and supporting my decision to unplug from racing for awhile. He kept telling the bartender how fucking awesome it was that I was going to NYC to be a bike messenger. And it was. It is.

Sue and I met for a ride the next morning out in Singer's Glen for the "no more than an hour" special. I couldn't help but to prod her with questions about what she was up to and what her "plans" were for the future. Asking people those questions is like rubbing a cat's fur backwards. A sure way to feel better about your own indecision while sifting through someone else's. It was awesome to ride with her and she's looking fit and back to fighting strength on the bike. In the same ride I made a visit to the Bishop's and got to hold little Conrad, visit the folks at 222 Campbell st and check out the house I'm going live in starting in September.

Kyle and I hit up The Little Grill for Breakfast Night which is also open mic night. That place feeds my soul and destroys Jeff Schalk's. Go figure! I hope he reads this. My shout out to him will be one of my favorite direct quotes from a couple years ago. And yes, I wrote that shit down. "I like eating things I know I've dominated and destroyed" -Jeff Schalk
Kyle and I had this great beer with our breakfast that night. It was an Amber of sorts.

The following day Andy and I hit the mountains on our skinny tire bikes. 3.5 hours with an 8 mile dirt road climb that at one point had us off our bikes to scurry down into a ravine from an un-finished bridge. After that we knew the road was ours. I cried a few times and got mad that Andy kept wanting to extend the ride. I'm going to be so much fun to ride with this fall.

I hit Ciro's pizza on the way out of town and went back to Oak Forest to pick up the Beast. He walk outa that kennel with a swagger that seemed give all the dogs behind him a big " fuck ya'll, I'm out".

I'm out. And out and... out.

Oak Forest - Harrisonburg - Elkins - Davis - Aurora - Pittsburgh - Queens - Brooklyn.

Jawbreaker - 7 Kiss The Bottle live 3/10/94 at Mad Hatter's

%v<$ your tan lines.

I'm smack in the middle of summer and my arm tan lines show it. Although not from painful hours of singletrack or near vertical climbs in the Shenandoah Valley, they're just programed for an automatic biker/farmer tan as soon as sun touches the skin even if I'm not wearing a shirt. It's a hyper-sensitivity built over many years of sickeningly routine pedaling behavior in the sun. Still, they're not really impressive at all. What were once highly defined bronze/pale- white, "You do not cross this line!", lines, have become lazy tapered brownish oil spill tan lines with no real clear beginning or end. They just fade away! The attire has most certainly played a major roll in the degeneration of my once mighty and defined tan lines. It turns out the only thing the tight rubber bands on jersey sleeves are for is a solid stencil line for a proper cyclist tan. I've since traded those in for light weight "burned out" cotton shirts with sleeves that ride up when I ride because I like my shirts small. The moral of this post is that one should always cut off those stupid little bands around their jersey sleeves.

Better than a rifle.

The new Republic of Williamsburg currency.

Summer storms.

Just missed a big storm that hit NYC today. Raced it over the 59th at
bridge and made it home just as it unleashed on Brooklyn. Michael
Jackson playing outside my window and from every passing car. RIP.

Red Hook

2 a.m jam from the garden.

And the days get shorter.

It's two in the morning and I feel like I could pull out a 9th lap on the 24hrs of Big Bear course. Last weekend was painful and humbling. True to the mysteries of form, I'm feeling stronger and snappier than before that naked leap into an icy pond experience. It shocked a few things back into place. My heart is beating in a more regular rhythm and my legs have that nice tension thing again. Karl was amazing and proved that regardless of my past, he's likely the more talented one given he had never even done a race over 20 miles before and certainly no 24 hour nonsense. That guy can spike his way up a big tree in the rain with chain saws hanging from his waist. So, nice job Karl. I'm still impressed even after recovering from the race and forgetting how painful it was.

This weekend was full messenger playtime with the bicycle film festival going on. Friday night was amusing. Raced my cycle hawk buddy Fly during the Goldsprints in Williamsburg. First time with that madness. Fun though, and I felt like I pulled a hamstring after the 250 meter 150rpm dash with no resistance. I finished my delivery shift around 12:30 a.m. and the party was still just getting started among the mess crew. Squid and Carlos were the master event officiators keeping shit loud and the people rabid. Those guys are the pillars of the scene here in NYC. Finally caught up with Squid in the early hours of Saturday since I road over the bridge in May. Good to see you, man. Road home with the sun after pin-balling between the gold sprint venue and local bar, the Levy, drunkenly. And holy shit can these guys party! In an alternate universe that kind of talent would be (Le) Tour worthy! Saturday came sharply with work in all day in the rain. I ran away with Mimi to Red hook for some string band action at the Jalopy theater. Her Boston friend and undercover musician badass, Dan Fram (spelling?) and his friend Aaron were there there as well. After Show #1 we drove through the misty darkness on Cobbled streets that reminded me more of Ireland that Brooklyn. That explains Red hook -by the water, quiet and different from its' city neighbors. We ended up at another after- show jam bar with the whole session thing going on. The Fram has talent and attracted questionable attention from all the married jammer ladies with his fiddling. The Meems had the Ukulele. Aaron and I discussed not having any particular musical talent, at least that we know of currently. Meems and Fram rocking ensued. Followed the sun home again.

Bike jump

Early a.m. Brooklyn bike parking.

Fly?!

My cool guy bike got stolen. Ahhhh, feck! Yeah, so my false sense of security from living in a place where I could get away with never even locking the front door to my house caught up with me. Even for one minute, man, this city will bite, snap and attack so fast you'll wonder if you even got off the bike before it disappeared around the corner. And it did, my friends. The day before was my last day at Cyclehawk messengers in the city. Already a big deal and I was stressing about it and getting all emo days before that! I know the turnover in the messenger industry is high but parting ways was tough. I was over the Williamsburg Bridge at my normal hour of 8 a.m. and met Fox man on the corner of Delancey and Christie ave. The sun was out and Spring seemed there to stay. I had the last day of school feeling in my stomach. Kinda bummed, kinda stoked... I hadn't really talked to Fox yet since I gave my notice to Squid so I was a little self conscious of the fact that I was jumping ship on the crew with the utmost respect, of course. I called in on the radio, enjoying the last of the routine, and said good morning. "Good mornin'," Kid answered with a slightly annoyed but acknowledging tone. I told him I was with Fox. We spent another 20 minutes or so enjoying the novel weather that seemed so overdue after suffering through an intense NYC Winter on the streets. His radio chirpted and vibrated with a pickup downtown, staying downtown. The last week had been super slow because of the warm weather so instead of waiting for work, I jumped on Fox's wheel and followed him around on his downtown runs. This is always a little sketchy, kinda like an alleycat race exploding into traffic, every rider for himself. Following people is a completely different style of riding through non-stop traffic than riding by yourself. The flow is just a little different and can be catastrophic if you don't pay attention. Eventually it feels as normal and flowy as riding alone, you just learn how to carry on a conversation whilst weaving in and out the constant flow of people and cars, halting and restarting a conversation when you meet back up a block down the street. I did a handful of runs that last day at Cyclehawk. Spent some good time in the office talking to Kid and getting a some dispatch system breakdown from Bobby. "Everybody has a number", he says. There's a count down for time-till-pick-up and one for time till delivery. Half hour for pickup and an hour and a half for delivery from pick-up. The color codes illustrate the state of urgency based on the time left until a package is officially late. That's when we (the riders) start getting calls. "So, how's that pick-up going?!", they'll say. Once a signature hits the system the run disappears from the screen and Bobby knows it's been delivered. It gets intense for those guys when it's busy with constant refreshing of the screen, jobs disappearing and new one arriving in need of a home in a riders manifest que. I'm riding light these days having traded in the oversize bag for a hip-holster and medium sized chrome bag. Snap has me busy rushing food around Williamsburg and Greenpoint and a few long-range messenger runs a week. I like the messenger runs as they're a good mission that usually sends me deep into Brooklyn/Queens and over a bridge into the city. My hours are all evening 'till midnight save for a two days a week. This is a shift from early work in the city lasting all day leaving me destroyed in the evening to late work in Brooklyn leaving me with a kick at Midnight and 1 a.m. Both routines leave me struggling with the prospect of staying awake for an entire movie at any hour. The city has become green since I left a couple weeks ago. The trees have all turned into giant pieces of Broccoli that shade the streets and create a canopy of green in some the cross streets. It feels like a different city to the one that blew cold ice, rain and wind in my face over the last five months. I haven't loitered a Starbuck's seeking refuge from the elements for almost a month now! When go there now I recognize most of the messengers in the city still cranking stuff around not missing a beat from one season to the next just now they're riding one handed with cold cokes. There're a handful of fair-weather messer's out there, too. One big difference in the city feel is that it's missing my friend Fly who has mysteriously vanished from the face of the messenger scene without a trace. If you're out there or reading this, call me. Get in touch. Let the crew at Cyclehawk know you're ok, homie.

The draw of knobby tires, mud and chainring marks on my calfs is beginning to churn again. Karl (my brother) and I are making some 24 hour of Big Bear plans...

Riding over the bridge.

Today is my last day at CYCLEHAWK. These guys have been awesome to me and I plan to visit the office and loiter often. I'm on now on the list for professional emergency "Pro" backup. Squid, Kid and Bobby, you guys fucking (25 cents;) rule. Thanks for everything. New gig is SNAP in Brooklyn.

Spring!

Back to the Homeland

I'm headed to WV today. First I'm into the city to deliver things. I got some sleep last night and feeling a bit more on the bright side today. KBS seems to be feeling bright as well. They've been winning shit abroad. The Mtn. Bikers are all over the place as well. The season is in full swing. Feels kinda funny and kinda right not to be apart of it at the moment. Been drinking yerba mate the last couple weeks instead of coffee. Another manifestation of bike racing delinquency? Maybe. I'll be rescued from Times Square this afternoon at 3 and in Canaan by 10 or 11. Seeya there.