Happy Holidays

New York City

Ah, New York City.
Years and years (and years) ago I lived in Manhattan for about 18 months. At the time I rode a motorcycle and was young and stupid, meaning I did stupid things on that motorcycle. Things I wouldn't dream of doing today. Anyway, I took the dreaded car up because I was going to be going back and forth between Manhattan and Williamsburg for a few days with passengers on board.

Before arriving I was sure I would observe bikers doing stupid thing all through New York City. I was sure I'd be annoyed that they just don't see that they're total and complete tools. And I was sure I going to write about it.

But I'm not. What I'm going to write about is the ungodly amount of cars going in every which way as fast as they can while pretty much acting like you ain't there and if you are there and that is where they wanna be in a second or two then you'd best be moving along.

Now, I've been known to get "vocal" at times. Pretty much every day presents a situation where I can call out a tool and I'm not one to let these situations go without some quality "vocal" time. But New York City. The last time I was this "vocal" was when I picked up a rental car in Paris a few blocks from the Arc de Triomphe at rush hour. Within minutes the window was down, the finger was out and the language was colorful.

You think of red light runners and you think of a car running a light after it's clearly turned red. In New York City the only time they stop running a red light is when the cars with the green light fill up the intersection. It's not one or two, it's as many as can get out there before the green lighters hold them back.

No sooner have you figured out how to be aggressive and assertive then you find yourself slamming on your brakes because yet another stupid pedestrian has emerged between parked cars and is going to cross the street in front of you. And best not to take any turns to tight 'cause the pedestrians ain't standing on the sidewalk, they're out in the road waiting for the light to turn cause they gotta be like the first ones to cross the street. Does everyone in New York City have tattoo's?

After 3 days of this zaniness I was simply flabbergasted that anyone could possibly be upset at the way a biker, any biker, behaves in New York City.

Bikeville

Those folks over at Momentum magazine, that same site that helped me find my "lifestyle" have an article on Greenville South Carolina. New home of the center of the bicycle universe. Yep, these good folks want to rename their city Bikeville.

Cities are often naming themselves after this or that. I come from a little place that named itself after prehistoric circular earthworks. It hasn't changed much since those long forgotten days. Sometimes they just steal the name of another place and put "New" in front of it. I guess the founders were too lazy to come up with something on their own.  Countries will change their name after independence or civil war and then go about changing the names of their cities. I don't think one often hears of a little place changing it's name because of a mode of transportation. Usually a nickname will suffice. Detroit, the motor city, things like that.

They have the first bike shop just for women in the country and a few trails, one that is 13 miles, and biking is arguably the most popular sport in the area and there are beaucoup de arts and culture. 

However I am a bit concerned. There is no mention of a tattoo parlor. They do mention that it's the home of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge but that ain't exactly screaming out a big welcome to the fadsters. You can't go calling yourself Bikeville without catering to all the CAT-0's (Costumed And Tattooed). Gourmet chefs and upscale boutique's do not a Bikeville make. You need to provide for the tools on fixie's who have a side to them that can only be expressed through a tattoo.. 

This also raises the question of who will own the road. If you're living in Bikeville can a car yell at you for being on the road? Will bikers really own the road AND the multi-use trails? Yes yes yes, they already think that they do, but if you live in Bikeville then is their claim more legitimate? Will cars be ostracized? Will every car that runs a red light be debated in forums ad nauseum? Will cars be allowed rolling stops?

I don't know how that will all play out but I reckon that there will still be lots of confrontations. Being cranky and all I often find myself yelling at some tool, whether they be bike or car tool, and sometimes those things can escalate. What I need is some proper training in the technique of bike combat:

For $2 American dollars you can take that thousands of American dollar state of the art two wheeled wonder and kick some royal behind. I don't know about you but I've always felt that if I only knew how to wield my bike as a weapon that any gun toting thug would soon find himself on the wrong side of the whatfer. 

I haven't been to Greenville Bikeville, it's, uh, in the south, but if I could rule the roads and the pathways and take a few names it may be the ideal place to retire.

Tools of the tirade

Two summers ago I was at a stop light waiting for it to change. Across the street was a Jeep and in the jeep was some big hairy tool with several dogs in the back.

Soon I was off on the green. The big hairy tool was turning left and apparently I wasn't moving fast enough because he gunned it directly at me and at the last second swerved to miss me, giving me the finger as he passed.

Considering how many incidents occur as one rolls along you might wonder why this particular one sticks out in my mind. As the fates would have it me and this same tool with the same jeep and (I'm assuming) the same dogs had a chance to cross paths again.

I'm returning from the store in the dreaded car and stopped to back up into a parking space when this jeep comes racing toward me, comes inches from my mirror and the driver is giving me the finger. Well I'll be damned. I recognize him and the jeep and I'm all beside myself. I just thought he was just another tool towards bikers but apparently he's all about equal opportunity.

So this tool passes on and a few houses up pulls into a parking space.

Ever have those moments when all goes black and you don't really know what you're doing? Where you're rabid and foaming at the mouth and you're not even aware of it? That was me. I had somehow parked, left the vehicle, marched up to his jeep and had my face inches from his through his window. I'm guessing that's what happened but I can't say for sure.

He was muttering something but I can't tell ya what because I was too busy screaming "GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!". Why I wanted him out of the car I hadn't a clue. Was I intending to fight him (uh, what? Fight? WTF?)? Sure, I was in a scrap or two back in high school but that was when you could throw a punch and not get shot. Besides if I threw a punch it would be an old man's punch and nobody wants to see that.
As mentioned he was a big hairy tool, and though I wasn't sure if I could take him in a fight (ok, I was sure I couldn't) I felt quite certain that if he emerged I could outrun his fat ass. Did I want him out of the car so we could engage in a foot race?

It was all quite confusing to me as I repeated my mantra and he kept muttering something about why would I want to fight him for giving me the finger. He seemed genuinely shocked by the very idea. Actually, so was I.

Well, as these things are wont to do, the crazed anger was quickly subsiding as he kept pursuing the "let's chat" avenue and I was loudly repeating my increasingly pathetic battle cry. While my mind was trying to maintain some kind of tough guy persona and deal with the subsiding craziness I was also struggling with the dogs in the back whom were panting and looking at this spectacle with mild curiosity. Being a lover of the 4 legged creature I was mightily fighting the urge to go "who's a good boy? who's a good boy? you're a good boy! yes you are, oh yes you are! what a good boy!".

All of it proved more that I could take. I knew that I was in a no win situation. I didn't want this crazed anger anymore, he, thankfully, wasn't going to get out of the car, the dogs looked so darn cuddly and I wasn't about to chat. So I decided to just walk away. I reminded him that he was a goddamned candy ass, a phrase I once heard from an Admiral that I swore to use some day, and headed home, feeling quite pleased that I got to use it and not get my ass kicked because of it.

As I walked home I saw him get out of his jeep, drop something off at the house he was parked in front of, get back in his jeep and just as I was about to go in the door he honked as he was passing. I turned and he was giving me the finger.

And just when I was starting to feel stupid for acting like a total tool.  I'll be damned.

Fall

I love the fall. Love the air and crispness and the colors.

Having just finished a long project at work I've now officially semi-retired. The free web dictionary defines that as working part time because of health issues or advanced age. Merriam-Webster says because of health or age. I'm going with Merriam.

Isn't advanced age some kind of a health problem by definition? My knees have hurt for years. I can't hear, I can't see that well, my back hurts, my neck hurts, parts are failing and I'm not anywhere near advanced. I swear.

Anyway, now that I'm semi-retired I can do some serious rides. I'm all about the serious rides.

There's nothing quite like a frisky ride on a cool morning. You start out with a lot of clothes and 5 miles later you've opened up the jacket and a few miles after that you've switched from the 35 degree gloves to the 45's. Soon the ear band is gone and the outer layer is tucked away.

There's something different about the effort. The attention you pay is more focused. The cat and mouse between sun and shadow make cracks and pothole spotting a thrill ride. The low sun blinds you, and more importantly the pilots of those 1 to 3 ton missiles. A blinded pilot will grab your focus quick.

Soon the weather will impact the time out and miles gone by. The summer goals not achieved this year will have to wait. Soon I'll semi-retire the trusted steed and spend long cold evenings in magazines and articles on what the new year holds.

Oh my bike and me

Ah, the work day. Actually the work day and night as a big project has kept me from all things bike (except for the commuting). This is what happens when one goes off to foreign lands for weeks at a time.

Speaking of projects there's more news on the "Bicycle" album due out this winter. It features an 18 year old singer. They've put up one of those Facebook things. I don't do Facebook and don't understand it but apparently it's all the rage.

My sister tried to get me to do it so I joined and 3 days later I was gone. Cousins, whom I didn't know existed, contacted me. People whom I haven't seen in decades wanted to catch up. This mystified me. If I had wanted to keep in touch I wouldn't have waited decades. So, catch up on what exactly?
Some requested a "chat". Me don't chat.

It all proved to be beyond my social ambitions so I abandoned it.

Anyway, if you're interested in hearing some home samples and early studio stuff head on over and have a listen.

Nora and One Left

Kinda cool actually.

Foreign tools

 Give me land, lots of land...

My ex is from Spain and since she has a brother in Pamplona and a sister in Madrid and her parents are in La Rioja I made sure that when we went our separate ways that we went with a smile on our faces. One has to keep ones priorities right and having a place to keep a mountain bike and to stay is a priority I wasn't about to mess with over a little thing like divorce.

So every year I go visit the ex-laws and pick up my bike in Pamplona and head on out. There's a couple of pilgrimage trails that cross Spain and it's almost entirely off road.

Used to be that the trail, about 500 miles, was pretty empty but since the Pope visited the final destination back in the turn of the century it's picked up. Doesn't matter 'cause once you leave a place it's easy to pass the pilgrim walkers heading out and then you don't see anyone most of the day.

Biking the route has also picked up and you see a bit more bikers but most of them do the road route so it's not often you see other mountain bikers. Basically you've got an entire day of mountain biking all to yourself, occasionally passing a few pilgrims.

Depending on my destination for that day a ride can last anywhere from 7 to 10 hours.

Now, you might think that going through villages where there's live stock in the middle of the main road one would learn to speak to the locals. Well, I'm an American so I never bothered learning the language. I simply say "soy Americano" and the people shake their head in that kind of exasperated yet understanding way as they either try to speak to me in English or ramble off to find someone who can. It's a universal thing and it explains everything and we're all instantly on the same page.

Long climb

On this particular day I had just finished this hour long climb and got to the top and there were a couple of pilgrims from the Netherlands up there resting and we got to chatting. In English of course.

and down the other side

So we started down the other side, me walking my bike, enjoying a pleasant conversation for a few minutes before I would say goodbye and mount the trusty steed. We've reached the bottom and are going along laughing and carrying on when suddenly a ruckus behind us made us turn. There were two bikers barreling down on us, maybe 20 yards away, giving no warning and hauling some foreign ass.

They buzzed us as we just stood there too startled to move.

I can't tell you how comforting this was. I'd been out for almost a week and was kinda getting homesick. Getting buzzed by tools was like getting a little taste of home. It's that universal thing. Just as no one expects an American to speak another language, you don't expect to encounter bikers without a tool emerging.

Tools or not, it's a wonderful way to spend a couple of weeks.