for they are vexations to the soul

there are a lot of things that can happen on a bike.

i've seen pictures of most of them, have lived a few myself, but today was a brand new threshold approached, and then passed for me. it was, after all was said and done, something to write a seinfeld episode about. the action was the same. the recollection and surrounding dialogue equally theatrical and meaningless. and the insult - inevitable.

there are a lot of things that can happen on a bike. you can get fit. you can get fast. you can look cool or not remotely. you can meet cool people or not remotely. you can ride away from people. you can ride into people. you can ride into cars or around them or through their choked lanes at rush hour. you can ride into a sunset or out of a dawn into a brand new day. you can ride to the bar. you can ride to a date. you can ride off a cliff or over a bridge or under a log or through mud, sleet, hail, rain, brooklyn, queens, queen's north of princess, parliament and shuter. you can ride with inspiration or devastation. you can ride in a costume, with no clothes on at all, or with only european-designed clothing on a japanese bike made with pennsylvania steel. you can ride to work. you can ride, away from work, in the direction of home, after a really long and half-frustrating-half-glorious day, and you can get spit on, apparently accidentally, by the very youth you spend all day trying to 'cultivate'. this is something that should not happen on a bike.

i have written and thought, countless times, on the topic of letting things go, particularly in the context of riding bikes in the city, and riding bikes around other people and things not remotely on bikes. most of the time, my mantra remains the same: be prepared for the worst, and let it go when it happens. give a little. let it slide. 

today, i had to let it slide.

i always let it slide. i had let it slide for the last 75 minutes of extreme asshole behavior so exemplified by some of 'the youth of today'. i had let it slide for years, in the work, on the way to work, on the way home from work, and everywhere in between. thick skin, one might say. thick skin is different from indifference because i give a damn, a whole big lotta damn, but i refrain from letting that show through. the skin is thick on the inside.

first reaction: let it slide.

second reaction: wait, that kid should know that that was wrong and unacceptable and a punishable offense. go and tell the kid in kind words. get a typical stupid kid reaction. let it slide. leave, cursing 'the youth' under breath. 

third reaction: get the kid's name. go back. get it. punish him. even with a small note or something. get his name. 

the kid hustles inside. his friends stay behind to laugh, heckle, play dumb, give false names. these are the youth. today, they are useless assholes, and they are not worth it. 

maybe tomorrow.

_________________________

there are a lot of things that can happen on a bike. fixing one's attitude about the shit of the day is definitely one of them. even by the time i got home after just 7 minutes spinning cold, salty circles westward, i had sloughed off most of the mortal coil and was once again calm. bikes are amazing.

_________________________

Need. A short story.

 

 

 

"then it's going to get warmer", she said.

 

his smile said, "i hope so" in a half-believing way and his posture bent itself forward in an awkward, "have a nice day."

 

he walked a crooked line across the snow, dodging nothing on the ground and everything in his head.

 

upon reaching the street, he turned south for no apparent reason. he passed the man selling mangoes, nodded at the girl from his painting class two years ago, and narrowly avoided collision with a shoulder-full of tommy hilfiger pomp. collision...

 

it was friday afternoon, just before four o'clock. the wind in his face, he was pedaling hard, determined to make it to work on time. passed the car. approached the box vans unloading another load of rice and fish for a diet he knew well. pedaled harder. he began to ring his bell as he passed the first truck. the ringing gave sound to the otherwise white noise of an everyday commute. it's wind in the ears and an occasional horn. he passed the second truck still ringing his bell. what a beautiful red blur he must have been.

 

"it's not your fault, and i just wanted to make sure that you knew that."

 

"yes sir." that's what his mouth said, empty of saliva and belief and emotion.

 

"so i hope you can still enjoy your holidays..." was followed by a longer stream of apologetic and unknowing fare-thee-wells from a stranger who didn't know how to help a man who'd lost his...his...

 

what's the word?

 

fresh and green, that traffic light was waiting just for him. he accelerated past the back of the third truck, wondering futilely how much one of those crates of rice must

 

no more than a second in the air. the man was still breathing, but he was bleeding from his head and his mouth and his hand and why didn't anyone speak english or call an ambulance or do anything other than cluck and chatter and watch the boy struggle?

 

"SIR! SIR! SIR, ARE YOU AWAKE? SIR! CAN YOU HEAR ME? SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE! SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

 

he apologized for being late to work, explaining that he had had to walk there after being involved in an accident. yes, he was fine. no, he didn't need to go home. the bike? oh, the bike was still up there, locked to a post just north of dundas, the front wheel too bent to ride and the heart too...

 

he went away for the holidays and that night, in his parents' home in the country, the phone rang from across innocence and any semblance of belief.

 

some officer is on the phone. some man just died. some man just became...what? those questions, those emotions, those things to be written in a journal shared with the therapist, they never came. four words came, though, hot in concept and branded on unfeeling skin:

 

i killed a man.

to what end?

there is a felt-burlap banner at the top of my parents' stairs, and it displays a fading excerpt from the bible. 

i've forgotten the details, but i remember the gist: sell all of your stuff, give the profits to the poor, and go follow jesus. it was more personal than that, written in the first person and with much more inviting verbiage, but the main point was clear - get rid of your stuff, do something meaningful. 

as i stood there doing the dishes and folding laundry for the past hour and a half, i had time to ponder what i remembered. i had other memories creep into consciousness, and i had questions from my day. this all came back to me in remembering that message of getting rid of stuff and doing something meaningful. 

working with youth, there is the daily preponderance of the inevitable question: is any of this worth it? the obvious answer is YES. the immediate answer is: maybe..maybe no..sometimes..i don't know let's just drink... 

there is a hill that extends from my parents driveway at a steep grade up into the trees and forest beyond. for some as yet undetermined reason, nothing seems to grow on this hill other than scrub brush and things that have somehow migrated from the badlands of south dakota (no, not your uncle or his pet weasel named Zak). after i got my first really fancy mountain bike, a 1997 specialized S-works cross country in dew green with a ti spring manitou and mavic 217s and xtr stuff and whatnot, i was sitting around at my parents' place, probably whining about something or waxing eloquent about something, and my dad got tired of it. he challenged me to ride up the hill. the hill that nothing grows on, and that tops out at an overhang of pine tree roots covered in sandy moss and pine needles. that hill. i had never been able to ride up something that steep, unless it was rock or stairs. but now i had a fancy bike with fancy wheels and tires and 24 speeds and front suspension and...

i tried.

i sprinted from the parked cars to the base of the hill, jammed a few crank lengths into it, shifted the gears, shifted my weight, threw everything i had at it, and topped out just a bike length or two past halfway. 

it is not a long hill. 

i tried several more times. at best, i made it within a bike length from the top, but with absolutely nothing left for what would inevitably be a very technical summit move. more often than not, the backwards dismounts were hairy and awkward (not unlike the youth of my work). dismayed, pissed off, and pretty disappointed at all the fancy shit my ass could not pull up a little hill in my parents' backyard, i sat back down and probably sulked. (thankfully, my specific memory is grainy and faded at this part.)

my friend j is a ballsy woman. she always has been. she is tall and blond and pretty and walks with a loping gate reminiscent of some graceful savannah animal. we met in high school. she rode bikes. i rode bikes (though not as much as i talked about, read about, and thought about riding them). she was older. i was shorter. i had a crush on her. we wrote letters. we rode bikes. j and i have started writing again, epic e-mails about everything from life to bikes to everything. she told me a little about why she was the woman i've perceived as ballsy - she always wanted to play and get dirty and give it a good hard go and not give up, because that seemed to be the most honest way to connect and experience something. i believe it is. and there weren't a lot of other girls for her to play with and get dirty and give a good hard effort, so she ended up doing the hard things with boys. she rode bikes. hard. and fast. she did her first triathlon the same summer i did mine and completed the whole thing despite screaming knees and a bike that was so small, her knees kept shifting the stem-mounted levers as she pedaled. she didn't want to be left behind. she didn't want to be 'waited for'. and as i recall, i don't think i ever had to wait for her. (she would definitely be waiting for me these days.)

j came over that night back in high school. she spent the odd evening or day or days at our house, and it was always great to have her. my little brothers loved her and the attention and game for anything attitude she always brought to the scene. she was a friend of my sister's. she was a great friend of mine. as she got out of the car and took out her modest little trek with that yellow rock shox quadra fork, i went in to tell my brothers that she was here, and my dad went to greet her.

minutes passed.

i opened the porch door to see j walking toward the house with my dad, laughing about something as the sun sent shadows skipping along the grass and dinner smelled delicious. she was just slightly out of breath. my dad looked at me and said, 'j got up the hill on her first try.'

i smiled, stifling jealousy.

how did she do it? what skill did she have that i didn't? isn't her bike too small and too old and too...? HOW?

naturally, being the suave, mature, calm, and collected intellectual individual i was, i calmly asked her to demonstrate just how she had accomplished the unimaginable.

'prove it! do it again!'

effortlessly, j tossed her blonde hair, turned to mount her bike, and pedaled smoothly--almost slowly--up the hill at a reasonable and calm cadence. there was some effort and determination, but absolutely no flailing or cursing. she aimed, applied force, and achieved. she even made coming down look smooth and graceful. damn.

after days like today, the inevitable question bubbles to the surface: are the youth worth it? then the usual thought process begins, rationalizing why they are or are not (depending on blood sugar and/or blood alcohol levels), what i could be doing instead, and ultimately there is a lengthy dissertation that melds richard sachs with rapha with ira ryan and takes place in a hawaii-like rendition of portland that is easily reachable by my family in ontario. it's a daydream. 

yes, of course they're worth it. just not every day. not every time. in the long run, yes, the youth are worth it. they must be. i was a youth once, and i needed someone to work with me, a whole village and two countries in fact, to save my sorry ass from myself. no, the work does not feel like it is fulfilling or perfectly purposeful every second of every day, BUT, in general, in the core, the ur of it, it is meaningful and purposeful and worthwhile. 

we need work. we need income. we need to be 'productive'. we need neuvation wheels and carbon seatposts. no. wait. we need to be fulfilled. yes. sell all you have. give it away. go do something meaningful. i don't think a lot of this is done by my immediate fellow society members. i think most people don't want to think, not this much anyway, and work because they need to pay for things that they need to have so that they feel like their work is worthwhile. yeah yeah, we all saw fight club and now we can wax anti-consumerism and talk about the people in haiti and put some perspective on and feel better for having considered 'the other' today. i think there's meaningful work that needs to be done while the youthful optimism and drive are there. i think this meaningful work needs to be continued as we age and gain wisdom and patience and lend these newfound qualities to the work that needs doing. i don't think we can buy satisfaction but i think we can earn it. i think i need fewer upgrades and more saddle time. i think i need to work harder and think less.

i think i need to take aim, pedal hard and steady, and get over it. 

star mangled nut.

i have been projecting lately. 

i have been planning all kinds of expenditures and upgrades in anticipation of some debt-lessening that is (hopefully) imminent. a jolly old christmas list, mostly for other people to whom i owe much and would just like to send a pretty little 'thank you'. i got caught up in it, and started thinking about things for myself. a new stem for the serotta. capping off that perfect build with a lighter seatpost and saddle. maybe some fancy aero wheels. thankfully, my ADD kicked in before i zeroed in on any acceptable stem, saddle, or seatpost, and the guy with the wheels seems to also have ADD and is currently AWOL. fair enough. i can let it slide. 

*** technical jargon bike story that relates but not obviously***

once upon a time, i bought a carbon cross fork from a guy just up the street. he had listed it on craigslist for a song, so i walked up and picked it up and let it sit for the entire summer and much of the fall before even embarking on the job of installing it. i had none of the right tools other than a hammer and a hack saw, and this is one of those things that requires the right tools - substitutes usually spell danger, dismemberment, or death. finally, i purchased a section of ABS from the hardware store, took apart the brake assembly, and switched out the forks. the seller was a total bike nut and very quirky but cool and made sure to mention that he had never been able to install the fork without extensive brake chatter. he had tried all brands and models of brakes, to no avail. i figured maybe i could be lucky, maybe i needed to shim the bosses with a coke can and all would be well, maybe i could just tolerate a shudder or two at every damn stop sign. i installed the fork, learned a lot along the way, and rode it for the better part of two months. chatter everywhere. tightening the headset only worked sometimes, and then the effect would fade and it was back to chatter. i also had neglected to cut the steerer tube to a reasonable length, figuring it would up the re-sale value of the thing should i decide to pass it on. one night, i tightened the headset and the top cap came off in my hand. i walked home, switched to a different bike, and promised to fix it. weeks went by. it snowed. one day, i was home from work with a sick toddler, and figured there was no better time to break out a hacksaw and hammer and get to the source of the problem. i trimmed the steerer tube. took out the mangled star nut. put in a new one, completely crookedly, hoped for the best, and put everything back together. i tightened the hell out of the headset with the new star nut and it worked like a charm. not only that - there was absolutely ZERO fork chatter. zip. none. quiet as a whisper, especially since i took the time to toe in all of the brake pads at the same time. the fork functions perfectly, looks even better than it did before, and has greatly increased the safety and efficiency of the ride. all it took was some effort, and the willingness to work with what i had right in front of me. get to the source of the problem (star mangled nut), fix it (new nut), do a good job (mostly), and move on, better for it. 

***

i tend to get very obsessive about things, daydreams based on things that i hope to soon have (fitness, health, springtime, warmer days with longer light), and all the specs on how to get the things, install them, adjust them, then..look at them and wish it was warm or cold or morning or night or the weekend or at work or... 

it's okay. 

it's fine. it will be fine, just like it always has. like i told my friend who asked about being ready to be a parent, living life in preparation to be an example to someone, a provider, a source: you're never ready till it happens, and then, you're ready. tonight, everything was put into perspective, as it usually is, every night around 7pm. there were no wheels, seatposts, carbon fiber, grams, spoke counts, or stem lengths to be figured and planned and calculated. there was a little girl with brown hair to put to bed and be made cozy. (to behold a sleeping child is to know absolute peace.) 

forget everything else. it all works out in the end. 

betterman.

(i just started reading david byrne's bicycle diaries and i must say: it is excellent.)

what, if anything, do you believe?

i work long days with a bunch of people who don't seem to believe in much of anything. they, the insulated masses, come in, sit down, do nothing, leave. if they do do something, it's probably destructive or disrespectful or some motion in a backwards direction, opposed entirely to constructive progress. and i believe in them. i believe in the work. i believe that the completely flawed and outdated system in which i am supposed to work with them is, regardless, necessary and (can be) good. i believe that they are worth every minute of wasted time or late arrival or stupid act.

as the kind of person i am, i run often on inspiration. this has gone from the white-hot, stroke-of-genius, i-need-to-be-published/represented/shown/picked-up-by-a-scout-NOW, to a more patient, cautious, and unrelenting slow-burn type of inspiration. i glean inspiration from little things, glimpses here or there, and i keep them to myself, saving them for later when i get up the gumption to do something about them. i still want to create the best though, and my perfectionist attitude, coupled with my extremely limited time, (intelligence), and attention span, often keeps me from signing in, sitting down, and committing myself to a good college try. 

this is the part where discipline would be extremely handy.

reading david byrne, it is refreshing to see words that look and sound like things i have been thinking, but put together so much better, and from a much broader scope. i've barely been anywhere, let alone with my bike (i ALWAYS wanted to take it with me on any trip, but was never allowed as a kid, and couldn't afford it as a not-kid, and i really don't know about those fold-ups of which byrne is such a fan). the main gist, however, is elementally the same: bikes take us to cool places, and bikes make us better people. 

when i was in high school, i lived in a constant state of moral incongruence. my body and some of my brain and all of my heart wanted to do things a certain way, but my learned/parent-influenced brain wanted to do things a certain other way. make out with this girl. feel bad. don't know why. solution: go ride. go to party/not go to party. feel alienated. solution: go ride. feel like liquified testosterone on a spring day with pollen on the wind and the sun not setting until after dinner need to feel taste touch lick something. solution: go fuckin ride. riding was always the solution. something about sweating, getting an endorphin buzz, meditating without distraction, and mechanically revolving over and over and over again really helped me figure things out. it's still this way. this is the reason i miss my old commute. thirty minutes there. thirty minutes home. nothing but wind and wheels, and i arrive better. 

when my brother was really little, he had a hard time fitting into the system, namely preschool, and was asked to not come back for second semester. he was three. my parents, at their wits' end as to what to do with this kid, pooled together some grocery money and did the only thing they could: they got him a bike. it wasn't his birthday. he wasn't being a good little boy. he needed a fix, and this one came with two wheels.  to this day, i can still remember acting like race announcers (we hadn't heard of phil liggett as yet), calling out the turns and spectacular maneuvers of the other, as we took turns on his brand new bmx, complete with training wheels. up and down the sidewalk, no helmets, winter coats, and smiles trimmed with the wind-drawn tears on our cheeks, we had the time of our lives. my parents figured it out, and it was perfect. to this day, my brother and i continue to connect through our love of bicycles. 

the big deal is: we're brothers.

so i'm starting a club at work. it's a club about fixing up crappy bikes. i want the people i work with to help me fix bikes. i love working on bikes. i kind of hate working on dirty, old, crappy bikes, because they're not plug-and-play, they're sooo dirty, and they usually require primitive tools like hammers and channel locks. un. cool. but i think it'll work. i think if i can get even one of these people to hand me a wrench, once, that person will become hooked, eventually, and it will start a chain reaction that may end up saving that person's life/soul/sense of being in the world. drastic? yes. profound? i certainly hope so. inevitable? absolutely not. but i think it's worth a chance. i picked up some starter bikes today. i have some old parts in the basement. i'm going to ask for sponsorship for tools and work stands. and it's all for a good cause. byrne knows it, my brother knows it, and i know it: bikes make us better.

the better way.

the best way to get around toronto is by bicycle.

this is a concept of which i have been advocate, proponent, and die hard idiot since it dawned on me a decade ago. i started my time in toronto in a shared residence room at U of T's whitney hall. a beautiful old building full of beautiful young people with high graduating averages and low alcohol tolerances. alas, what a difference an academic year can make...

but that's beside the [point].

the point: my consciousness of toronto was nucleic from the beginning, and only spread outward in atomic, then molecular, and finally viral awareness with the passage of time, the gaining of maturity, and the biannual event of moving. i hated moving. the two good things about moving: i got to discover a new part of the city and thereby come into a new perspective, and, i was forced to do away with a whole lot of unnecessary crap (figuratively and very literally). in four years, i moved from 'center of town' to 'way out in the east end'. i couldn't have done better. i got out of my shared room down the hall from gorgeous and previously-engaged women with whom i had to share the floor bathroom. i started to like my former roommate. i switched out of the ridiculousness of life sci./pre-med and got into things that really matter: visual arts and english. i stopped living on a victor ng lease (woah.). i built my own room, installed my own kitchen, lived under 11 1/2' ceilings, and rode my bike to and from school, a whopping 15 minute commute. it changed everything. school was just one part of a much bigger picture, and my bike was my means to all parts of that big picture.

riding was faster, more direct, more dependable, more efficient, cooler, cheaper, more environmentally friendly, and it made me happier. there is nothing that defragments my mind better than a good, solid ride home. 

the ride home today was only after two whole trips to the heart of downtown in what was (thankfully) not at all rush hour. i rode the subway. twice. i walked up and down steps and escalators and stood and sweated in my down jacket, hanging on for dear life to greasy rails and wondering just what that man put in his hair to give it that texture and aroma and how much of it will come off on the window against which he's sleeping before he slides far enough to wake up. the subway, apparently, is the better way. and it cost me more than my lunch to ride it today.

better.

today it's freitag.

there is something so perfect about the slow slip of reisling out of its glass, the slippery slide of the sunset behind buildings of steel, and the gentle and subtle satisfaction of friday. it holds much promise, much potential, and absolutely no more momentum. 

perfect.

as the tips of my fingers split and crack from dry winter air and re-washed and re-washed and re-washed handwashing, i feel a smile curling. this afternoon, i was beaming. i looked like a goddam rapha shot, meandering (with suffering and determination) up a cracked pavé surface toward some sense of glory and suffering and suffering gloriousnessness. really though, it was glorious. beechwood avenue is always "closed to traffic", but this makes it perfect for dog walker enthusiasts and riders to enjoy the hill or the valley in relative car-free-but-paved bliss. the hill is where it's at. 

it's rough. going down is more cautious than carefree due entirely to the surface (lackof)quality rather than the sharp left curve at the bottom. i mark my efforts up the hill based on transition points between this part of somewhat smooth pavement and the next part. they are long enough to mark sustained effort and achieve effective training. it's rough.

it's also next to the Don Valley Parkway, a meandering freeway designed to bring traffic in and out of the downtown core from the 401 that skirts the top of the city. this proximity makes it doubly exciting to ride beechwood for the hill, as the congested and choked freeway is right next to a perfectly broken road, aimed uphill and into the sunset, and the relationship couldn't be more literal in its metaphor. show me the steep and thorny...

the sun sets. everything becomes gilt golden in the process. the cars, petrified inside and out, stop moving. the tableau is set. and then someone rides, slowly and steadily, upward, from stage right diagonally up to stage left, one pedal stroke at a time, the sun glinting off of his fancy helmet, the frost forming on his chin. epic.

this is the part where i really miss you.

the girls are asleep. the day is almost done. and i miss you so much i feel it in my stomach.

i have forgotten what this lonely is like; it’s been a long time since you were out all day and night, helping someone come into the world on the best possible terms. you’ve been around, and i got used to that.

now you are away, and i am not used to it. i miss you.

i have all kinds of things i want to do because they’ll remind me of you, warm me up, and make me feel like i’m doing okay and holding down the fort while you’re gone. i want to do the dishes, ride the trainer, get the compost and recycling ready for tomorrow, iron some shirts, drink wine when it’s all over. i haven’t done these things. i put some things in the dishwasher and removed the obvious food particles from the table and did 10 pull-ups, but i’m spent. i miss you. i’m tired. and i’m not even sure i want to go to bed.

i got an e-mail from sally today, vaguely suggesting that i should have gone about leaving school a little differently today, and called in a supply and blah blah. i’m not sure she understands the detail of my leaving or coverage or whatever else, but i am sure that her comments come from a self-perception of her working harder than i. she probably does. many people think this, and i’m starting to think that they may even be half right. like i said: i forgot how to do this.

i will remember, and i will be better.

i picked up the littler girl and played with the both of them and we ate tortillas on the cold kitchen floor, one in my lap while the other stirred and sipped her hot chocolate on the cubbies. i made chicken soup from the can and grilled cheese from homemade bread for dinner. they both ate lots. we cleared our spots, wiped down table and hands, and went up to the bath. they both sat on their respective potty/toilet, and they both produced items of note. then they got in the tub together and i bathed their little chubby bodies so they smelled like flowers and herbs instead of perfume and daycare. they got dressed in matching oversize fleece pyjames, piled into the big bed for an out of season reading of The Polar Express, and promptly headed to bed, tiger balm on their feet and droopy eyes on their faces. they are now asleep, and they do not cough.

i miss you. i will now go and be better. i will tidy the kitchen more, get ready for recycling and compost tomorrow, maybe iron a shirt, maybe stretch instead of ride, and i’m already drinking hot chocolate instead of wine.

anticlimactic.

it was supposed to be three degrees and sunny today.

it was three degrees and sunny today. however, today is thursday, which means that today is ballet day which means that before and after the hours of 'work', every minute is spoken for by the demon-god of the snowsuit and his/her corollary partner, the mitten god. winter sucks when you have to dress a toddler for any weather beyond 'naked' or 'beautiful and sunny and perfect'. regardless, it was three degrees and sunny, and i went out in it for no reason at any chance i got.

i had resolved yesterday, upon hearing news of this wondrous forecast, to take out the old titanium dream machine and give'r on some hill reps just for the fun of it. really though, i'm suffering from substantial cabin fever and a not-so-subtle longing for higher temperatures, longer days, and a lot less clothing on me and most other people (toddlers among top of the list). sunset happens before we even get home from ballet. i mean, there is a whole lot of sex appeal to sorels and fur-trimmed parkas, but it wears off after about 5 minutes of trudging through snow. and every castelli ad for endless climbs and form-fitting clothing that's built for sun protection instead of windchill tolerance really doesn't help. i am dying to ride in the sun. i would love to have to take extra water because it's humid and sticky and so hot no one should exercise in such weather. and if i spend any more time on my computer, trolling craigslist and the serotta forum for all the groupsets i can't afford (anyone got $500 lying around? come on: it's like a third of the actual price! and my shifting could use some help lately...) and saddles that won't feel like my granny-looking b17, i will end up buying something i don't need for a ride or race that i just wish i could do. and then i'll have to wait three more months anyway to even be able to ride outside without corroding my everything with road salt, only the wait will be even worse because i'll be doing it staring at an even more impeccable machine than usual. ARX stems going for good low prices. carbon setback seatposts just waiting to be joined to lightweight and trendy fizik saddles under brand new bib short chamois. ah, the list goes on. and there's still enough salt on the road to pay a legion of roman soldiers to build it. no serotta today. too salty.

however, the serotta is titanium. this means all kinds of good things for its resistance to corrosion, but only the frame. lots of other stuff on it is aluminum, another non-corrosive element, but there's just something so nasty about crunching over salt. salt seems to mean death and dehydration and punishment. i don't want to punish the serotta. but i do want to punish myself up some hills and test out that new compact crank i got in honor of getting old recently. maybe i'll go out and do it and then come home and shower with it. put a plastic bag over the old brooks and lovingly lather down the metal bits. we'll see.

either way, i still need a sunburn, a warm day, and some sweat in my jersey. here's to chinook.

covetous.

there are times when restraint is a difficult thing to do, and there are times when it is impossible.

today, it was impossible.

now, i have often prided myself on being a bit of a miser. i didn't start enjoying the expenditure of money until well into my twenties, and even then, it was always better when it was for someone else. i believe that this miserly outlook was derived from goal-based seasonal occupation and the lack of employment during my school year. routinely, i played sports and chased girls and did projects during the school year, then left the country to go landscaping in virginia all summer. i would usually return with a few thousand dollars for tuition, or a bike that cost as much as i had earned. spending money in the meantime was only wasting the dollars and cents that could afford me bits of titanium and cool acronyms. this was not acceptable. i saved.

today, i got paid, and i got paid half of what i thought i was going to get paid, and i still went out and bought a fancy camera lens. the lens is not new. the lens is from craigslist. the lens cost less than a hundred dollars/a week of groceries/gas to my parents' house/1 item of bachelor party debauchery/30 pieces of special pepperoni slices at Papa Ceo's on spadina. however, i still bought the damn thing and here's why: 1) for those times that i actually manage to get the camera out before it has been 'tidied' away, i need a wider lens (my subjects are wide..i mean..nice) 2) i started looking and e-mailed a guy and it was in my neighborhood and 3) i hate being a non-committal schmuck who starts transactions and doesn't finish them. it being a craigslist thing, and me being self-conscious, i showed up somewhat on time and was very nice and agreeable and paid the asking price with no attempt whatsoever at last-minute bargaining (i really hate that) and then i left and tried not to slam any doors and wake the guy's kids. the lens is great. there will be shots from it on this blog soon. i did not save. i did not restrain. i went and bought a lens and now i have to use it. actually, i can't wait.

i also started looking at other bikes. the serotta will never get jealous, because it is a sublime wonder of a machine, aloof in its classic nature and perfectly secure in its time-steeped beauty. it is not a race machine. it is not made out of plastic (mostly). it is traditional and gorgeous. but today, i started coveting things. fast things. things still made out of metal but out of..aluminum. and not just aluminum, but fast, custom-extruded aluminum. i looked at cervelos. there. i said it. i looked at cervelos. whatever. i got my ass handed to me in the ride portion of a short duathlon in my hometown last summer by one of my good friends and his cervelo. jerk put 2 whole minutes into me and that, after he had swum 750 meters in a lake! (while he was swimming, i was tailing the world champion of duathlon in a 2km run so we were almost even. but not really. swimming is sooo much harder than running. especially when one doesn't float. and we don't.) i managed to put a minute into my other hometown buddy who was also doing the race, and he was on his carbon trek pilot 5.0, so it wasn't all a loss. however, i trained my ass off last summer, for riding (definitely not running), and to have 2 minutes put into me was just devastating. i did, and continue to, blame it on technology - the cervelo is a faster bike.

so, cramped up in our moldy house in cold-ass toronto and lusting for spring (approximately a gazillion months away), i couldn't help but covet things that would make me feel the opposite of cramped and asthmatic. i researched bikes. i priced out cervelos in my size. there are none in the realm of my budget ($-23, 567). i tried to figure out how i could be racier, by buying what. and then i remembered: i already bought a lens; i already have a really nice bike; i already have a commuter bike; i should get out and ride and run in spite of the winter; buying stuff will not make me faster, especially when it's months before i can even ride it on a road. 

here's to spinning in blundstones on platform pedals in the dark to pick up a camera lens instead of groceries, and having phil liggett narrate the 'pavé' of east york toronto. 

read it.

i just finished reading a book, two different books in the last week, actually, and i think it's time for some change.

the first book i read was tim krabbé's The Rider, highly recommended by rapha (of course), and an engrossing read that i finished within 24 hours of receipt. one of my favorite aspects of it is that krabbé was just starting to race when he was twenty-nine. having just turned twenty-nine before the holidays, i can identify. and i fantasize about being able to race, and then to write eloquently and existentially about it. so really, i'm just like tim...

the second book i read was The Shack. given to me by my curious and amazing and spiritual grandmother, i was skeptical before i even opened the thing and read the (terrible) first sentence about weather. thankfully, my skepticism and judgementalness were thoroughly addressed and forgiven a hundred pages later, by which time my theological musings had turned my brain to mush and the bailey's wasn't helping either.

the best option in such a state: subject (inflict) myself to the blog.

the holidays come with a few things: expectations, obligations, and resolutions. though this is not the most joy-promising list one can imagine, i figured all of it out in my adventures of last night and the day before, and all in the kitchen.

you see, i don't have a home work shop. we have a home. we have lots of bikes (minimum 2 per family member, so at least 8 in full working order...). we ride lots of bikes lots of the time. but no shop to keep these bikes in repair keeps things interesting. hence, the kitchen. also, learning from both mr. miyagi and my dad, much mental progress is to be made while performing manual labor. whenever i needed to figure things out in high school, i went for a long ride or a run or whatever. now, i inventory the long list of problems with any of the bikes at hand and devise reparations, then get my hands full of grease. i do this in the kitchen because the floor is tile and easy to sweep. it's also the furthest away from the kids' room that i can get without going outside (it's january in toronto). 

so there i was, in the kitchen, figuring things out.

i figure out many things in the kitchen, some culinary, some machinery, some theory. i figured out a couple of things in the last couple of days, and i'm going to write them down here so that i don't forget, or maybe so i get a kick out of myself later. one: things aren't always as hard as they look (and a little WD40 goes a long way). i was somewhat dreading, somewhat looking forward to the necessary overhaul/replacement of my lady friend's commuter's bottom bracket, as it was old, it was loose bearing, and it was in a steel frame and ridden in the rain and salt. probably it would be stuck forever. and seeing as we don't have a bench vice in the kitchen (yet), it would probably have to stay that way. nevertheless, i brought the bike in, propped it against the play kitchen and the wooden step stool, and spritzed/doused the BB area with WD40. fantastic stuff, and the aroma goes nicely with brie and pecans. i then set about bringing in my own commuter, righting the brake lever knocked awry by an unprecedented meeting with mr. front bumper of unsuspecting minivan, and adjusting brake cable length and headset tension as well. then i left on some errands. upon return, i had secured a cheap sealed BB of the shimano type for under $20, and was cautiously planning on swapping it out for the loose bearing one in the frame. now for the critical moment: would the cups come out of the frame?

yes.

easily.

the cups came out so easily, they were practically loose to the point where i could unscrew them by hand. ridiculous. all this dread and fear for what? naught. 

so the old BB came out, the new BB went in, the crank went back on, the rear tire got switched out to a treaded cyclocross jobbie, and i washed my hands for the 28th time that morning.

things are not as hard as i think they are (sometimes).

another thing i learned: i am getting old. following the holidays and all their materialistic, familial, and post-coital wonders, i am slowly recovering and realizing as i rinse of the stupor (yes, of) - i am old, and i need things that will make things easier for me. i need the third hand tool to adjust brakes (i even used it for the front derailleur cable and it was good to go, if upside down and backwards). i need one crankset tool that does everything, including switching the pedals. i need..a..compact crank. yeah. for real. whatever. i hear tyler hamilton used to use them. racers i know use them. okay. i don't know any racers. but i'm sure someone fitter than i uses one. and maybe one day i'll be fit like him or her. in the meantime, i'll just revel in all the new hill-climbing gears i have, at a quarter of the price of a new cassette! the truth, however, remains: i'm getting old. i guess it's time to buy a workstand for all of this learning...

anyway, happy new year. happy getting old. may as well. tim krabbé did it. and he even won. no powermeter, heart rate monitor, carbon fiber, or anything. just a good 5 speed cassette and the need to hurt. love it.

endurance.

waiting for a toddler to fall asleep is an act of endurance worthy of some grainy photo essay and hyperbolic prose of Rouleur. this one would be a mainstay column in Rouleur's sister publication, Tristeur. there's something rather pathetic and cute about the infinite snot stream, the self-sabotage regarding the process of falling asleep, and the trembling gasp-breathing that echoes like aftershocks from sobbing. i'm going to leave soon. i said that a few minutes ago, and a few minutes before that, and a few minutes before that. it's like hill reps: the courage exists in coming back for more, and achieving it again. the only problem is, what i'm achieving is little more than boiled over frustration and self-pity. there's no sweat. there's no blood. there are plenty of tears. maybe this is the training i need for the mental aspects of riding bikes fast. my pain threshold in my head gets further and further from pansy and approaches zen with each unending session of attempted 'nap time'. 

it's a good thing she's cute.

vitamin d.

i need a sunburn.

toronto is a cold place to be, this time of year, and winter has come with tooth-chilling cold but zero snow. this means that it is still plenty good to ride a bike around the cracked and swollen streets, blistering one's face in the wind chill and forsaking the cool vented helmet for the windproof cap and goggles (and less vented, and much less cool helmet). it's just that it kinda sucks. and it's cool.

it's hard enough to get out and ride a bike when it's warm and beautiful and there are a million other things on the to-do list. it's quite another challenge to get dressed, get out, and ride when it's minus 20 celsius with the windchill when you're standing still, and there's just enough salt on the road to refrain from taking out the fancy bike. this means planning to ride on the not so fancy bike, and that's almost not even fun. wait, it's not fun at all. more bumps in the winter. more cracks in the road and in my knuckles. more rattling going through a harsh steel frame right to my frozen sits bones. more smiles frozen solid on my face underneath my fleece neck gaiter. and then - wait for it: at least as much time undressing as riding. it's like being in kindergarten again, but without the cookies.

it's also cool. 

in fact, it's f-ing freezing. but really, there is still that juvenile self-glorification (see: rapha) that results from subjecting oneself to unnecessary suffering, particularly when one is the only one subjecting oneself (everyone else opted for spin classes in full assos kits and running shoes). one begins to think: i am hardcore. i am practically enjoying myself. i love bikes. i am so fit. i can't feel my..anything. there is also that juvenile fascination/self-awareness upon return of experiencing the slow full-body thaw, inch par excruciating inch. winter hurts, even as it leaves the body.

yeah, so winter sucks in toronto for people who like riding fancy bikes up smooth hills past vineyards and orchards toward ecstasy-inducing goat milk gelato. winter also rocks. sometimes. some wheres. it's quiet, cold, crisp, and most certainly epic.

withdraw.

the morning away from work is a glorious thing.

i have walked through the misty and at times, heavy rain in waxed canvas and tweed wool from donnegal, pushing a stroller, drinking a coffee, and enjoying detachment from the bustle.

there is space in this moment for ideas. 

ideas about how to cook tofu, composing a portrait, methods of seduction, and a drawing. time. peace. caffeine. all good things for bringing about ideas. i even thought about bikes.

this blog is titled threadless because that's what it is. it doesn't really have an obvious common thread, other than its being authored by me, and i like bikes and stuff. you just have to grab on, torque to spec (or thereabouts), and steer the best line. threadless.

i talk about bikes. i talk about commuting. i think a lot about a lot of other things. i usually have no time to write about any of it. then i remember that no one will read this, i have an idea, and i sit down to type. toddler sleeping is a glorious thing. without a daily two-wheeled commute through the wilds of rich and poor toronto, writing about bikes is almost obsolete. i know: i should get out there and train and write about the suffering i put myself through for the sake of rapha-esque epicness. but today it's raining. and there's a doctor appointment in the afternoon that i'll probably run to with the jog stroller. and the serotta is so beautifully clean right now...

anyway, off to other ideas. here's to rain drops on moldy bathroom skylights.

commuting.

this is going to be my second-last week of bicycle commuting in the city of toronto, and i'm trying to decide if i'm going to miss it.

due to recent job switching and general whatnot, my commute to work will be cut in half by frequency, and that half will be cut by about 80% in distance. i feel like some part of my identity will erode as my chain will corrode from lack of use.

i have been commuting by bicycle for the last 8 years or so, making my way around toronto in a gradually maturing fashion. it began with carefreeness and happiness and the challenge of threading tight lines through traffic. then i became aware of doors and poor nighttime vision for drivers and unlit cyclists. then i got hit by cars. then i hit cars. i rode with a messenger bag. i rode with panniers. i almost always rode road bikes. i tried fixies. i rode mountain bikes through the winter. i switched to a messenger backpack. i tried panniers again. i rode through the winter. i became a true bicycle commuter. neoprene booties, reflective anklets, panniers, fenders, huge lights, tires called 'city slicker', i've had it all, and all of it was completely not hip. 

i look enough like a commuter to get the nod from fellow co-mmu-ters. i ride a singlespeed that's not fixed and i don't have a moustache so i get no nod from hipsters (the pannier and backpack also throw them off, along with the helmet). and there's no nod from messengers because, although i kinda ride like they do sometimes, i'm not as fast and there's nothing so non-messenger as that damn pannier (or helmet). it's a lonely niche that i occupy, but i was startled to run into someone in the same niche just yesterday. we looked at each other and tried to figure out if we were seeing straight. it was uncanny yet satisfying. sometimes it's nice to not be so alone.

one of the problems of no longer commuting is that i will actually have to motivate myself to get on a bike every(other) day. right now, it's the only way i get anywhere, especially to work, so there's no question. of course i'm riding my bike 16 miles today. sometimes it's a question of which one. sometimes it's a question of how i'm going to fit everything on the trip. but it's never a question as to whether or not the trip will be made on two wheels. in fact, i've only missed one half-day of riding to work thus far, and that was because i already had too many bikes at school so i had to take some home without taking any more in. all this aside, i do wonder what it will be like to have the necessity taken out of the daily riding. in all likelihood, it should increase the enjoyment and rapha-esque nature of my time on a bike. commuting has a certain way of wearing down my love of riding. like brake pads after a good salty slush ride home, my love of bikes is sometimes worn down past the indicator lines, and left dripping all over my hardened, structured resolve. perhaps the lack of necessity will turn it into pure joy. unadulterated by pragmatic influence, two wheels will once again become a metaphor for escape, satisfaction, self-improvement, discipline, fitness, and all of those other things i forgot about in the last few months of work, and commuting to it.

whatever the case, i will continue to love bikes. i hope to continue to ride throughout the winter. i hope to keep up some form of two-wheeled fitness. but most of all, i hope to get the nod from other closet commuters who wish they could be out there, wearing their resolves to the bone when it's minus 40 and snowing.

something is wrong.

of course there is something wrong.

i made the mistake of opening my mouth again, and after a long stretch of not getting in trouble for so doing, i was thoroughly parked in the lambasting chair and thrashed for voicing my opinionated questions. unfortunately, i hadn't planned well and my audience/thrashing mob was not familiar with my previous entry which essentially acts as a disclaimer regarding my tendency to come off as an arrogant bastard. of course, i am an arrogant bastard.

unfortunately, too, is the fact that i have fundamental assumptions that are consistently wrong. one might argue that this would render me a psychopath. i have these things that i just assume everyone else, or just maybe someone else, probably also considers/believes/ponders/assumes. for example, aren't we all on the same page about wearing underpants with riding shorts? right: it's something we NEVER do. or that whole thing about tire pressure on road bikes - if you can squish it, that's bad. don't put milk in herbal tea. always hold the fucking door open for the person behind you. always say thank you (in any language you feel comfortable using) to the person who holds that door open for you. mamas are to be respected. we never dance as well as we think we do. apples and grapes go well with cheese. smoking is dumb. and we're all here to find and propagate some form of Goodness.

right?

hello?

am i all alone in these thinkings?

fine. whatever. probably. the only thing is, this is the internet and i can say whatever i want and not be lambasted because this blog is invisible to search engines and contains nothing of note to anyone ready to lambast let alone read long enough to lambast anyway. (isn't lambast a fantastic word?) the point is: i think we're all here on the planet to live and hopefully quest for some kind of Good, with a capital G. obviously, Goodness is unfortunately open to the flawed interpretations of billions of flawed humans, and one person's Goodness is another person's Goofness. however, questing for Goodness seems to be a valid, and necessary, aspect of a human life. we're human. we have brains (but not governments) that have capacity beyond the basic food, shelter, clothing bit. we want to do a bit of thriving, transcend that surviving. right? and maybe while we're here, we'll put in some time and work and make some part of this vast place a little better than it was when we left it, and we'll do it ON PURPOSE.

i write this in obvious frustration with some things. the mainstream is necessary and vast and varied and i certainly participate in it from time to time, likely unconsciously (like everyone else), but i fancy myself foreign to it all the time. i also quest to share knowledge. i seek knowledge. i seek to impart it. it's my job. it drives me a bit insane when people elect to surrender their agency, reject knowledge-seeking, and dive headfirst into the mainstream to follow like jetsom a sticky slow current of stupidity and mass. gone is the quest for Goodness. gone is independent thought. gone is curiosity. gone is all that shit that my grandmother fought for in the 60s.

now, for the post-disclaimer.

i only write this because i can write. i have the luxury of being detached from all kinds of earthly states that would keep me otherwise occupied and far too busy to think about how we should all be questing for my idea of Goodness. whatever. a lot of people quest for Food before Goodness, and they don't even get that every day so who the fuck am i to sit around talking about Goodness? well, i'm someone who recognizes that there are people who don't eat in this world and that's pretty bad so maybe i can keep that in mind when i'm living my day to day. it's a consciousness thing, and it's pretty depressing when people sign out of being conscious. if they've never been conscious, they're not awake and it's not much their fault necessarily. but to surrender it, that's just deplorable. keep thinking. keep questing. do shit that you actually believe in.

let's ride bikes.

arrogance.

i am an arrogant bastard.

while working with children and commuting on a crappy-yet-meticulously-dedicated singlespeed and hanging out at children's parks and generally observing 'the public', i have come to the conclusion that i am arrogant. i imagine that this arrogance was begun during my primary years, fostered further by my immigration to this glorious country and all its smalltown prejudice against my first country, capitalized upon during the undergrad years, and finally left to slow-burn in my hardwon adult idiocy. i think i'm better than all of this.

i think i'm better than most of this. i shouldn't be so poor. i'm smarter than the advertising that lines the roadways. television that i catch glimpses of is beyond categorization in its stupidity and profound lack of meaning. textbooks i work with provide no answers (kinda cool) and terrible questions (not cool). my employer has no idea how valuable i am. people in my profession get surplussed after 4 years of 'permanent' work. everyone else's bike is too fast, too slow, to shitty, made out of too much carbon or steel. no one seems to know how to inflate their tires properly. it's amazing that the drivers out there ever managed to get licenses. i can't believe that so many people ride on the sidewalk and think it's okay. i rent a mouldy house full of drafts and no insulation on a block of $600, 000 homes. my utlities bills are about to head through the uninsulated roof. i sell things on craigslist to buy groceries. i've had bronchitis for a month. i hate the suburbs. i think i'm better than so much of this.

i'm an arrogant jerk.

my arrogance, however, is not necessarily an attitude wherein i believe that i am always better than my own situation, but that i am more conscious of all of it than anyone else. i see more, feel more, understand more, and thereby, get pissed off at a lot more. my bike is amazing and nice and wonderful and custom and ti and a 'dentist bike' and full of italian components. my commuter is not nice in any way other than it does its job relatively well and doesn't cost so much that i'd be that pissed if it got stolen. but with either bike, i feel like i know and am conscious of more of their quirks and clicks than the chubby guy i pass on the way up yonge street, as he huffs and puffs his colnago through the lights. i hear that lady's tires squishing all over the pavement as she spins slowly to work and it bothers me knowing that she's running 20psi lower than proper pressure. i hear kids in the halls talking about what 'happened' on tv last night, and it saddens me that they think it's real, that it matters, and that they have authority over it because they picked the channel. doesn't anyone see?

regardless, it is a fine thing to be an arrogant jerk in this uber-conscious kind of way. even oscar wilde thought so when he said that thing about all of us being in the gutter but some of us looking at the stars.

rough translation.

once you got it up, keep it up.

i was a terrible bike racer in high school. i liked going up hills on my road bike, but i hated going up them on my mountain bike. i was also just bad at it, overtrained, and doing too many other things (girls, volleyball, girls, XC running, school, girls, etc.) to focus on excellence. but to be absolutely honest, the main reason that i was bad at going fast on two wheels: it never occurred to me to go faster. 

riding was a whole lot of fun. i'd get out there, cruise around the local four-wheeler and ski-doo trails in my lycra, feel like some kind of extreme athlete when i made it over a rock or root stretch or a 10-foot wide (and long) bridge over a picturesque stream. i'd take a break, eat half a powerbar (those things were too expensive to eat all at once!), and continue on, probably at a breakneck pace of about 2 miles an hour. sure, those trails were rough and not made for bikes or any kind of cyclical rhythm of human power transfer. those hills were steep. but really, i was slow, and i didn't really know it. i was enjoying myself, and going uphill seemed to hurt, so i must have been doing fine. right? right.

as part of my 'let's change the world with bikes' campaign of high school ridiculousness, i attempted to start a mountain bike team (i also had huge dreams of being sponsored by the local pizza pizza - imagine how sweet orange and white checkered jerseys would have been!). we went on a bunch of rides, and even competed and did well in the provincial high school championship series. but it all came clear to me on one 'training' ride we convinced the high school to drive us to in algonquin park. many many kilometers of rough ass singletrack and rock gardens and mud, and i learned everything i needed to know about reality and my failing mountain bike racer extraordinaire dream. 

we got to the trailhead, unloaded the bikes, got ourselves ready, and took off. i went at my usual pace, and was immediately left in the dust by all other 'team members'. 

they were gone. 

off and away. and not for any particular reason other than that was how they rode. fast. fucking crazy breakneck fast. and so i learned: you have to pedal faster to go faster. the curve has gotten a little less steep at times, but i continue to learn and enjoy my bike-based learning.

this past spring, i spent many hours pouring over old race videos of the spring classics. i bought lance's 'big six' dvd and have memorized every segment. i trained to sastre's/andy schleck's alpe d'huez 2008 stage (yeah, i can only stay on a trainer for the half hour they're on that climb). i watched people ride bikes fast until it became an unconscious expectation that scenery should go by that quickly, people should be blurs, and cornering is always tricky. i trained myself, once out on the road, to pedal quickly. high cadence, in a higher gear. 20mph should be average, and faster if downhill or with a tailwind. no dipping below 17 or 18mph in a headwind. climbing should be beyond painful, for as long as possible. this summer was the best shape i've ever been in for riding. i rode almost every day, hard, after a great base-building spring. i watched what i ate. i slept tons. i was relaxed. and i did hill reps all the time (not a lot of fun riding to do for long distances in toronto). i watched races and racers going fast. i rode fast. simple. no spinning easy, unless it was warm-up, warm-down, or inter-interval recovery. give'r.

now i'm at the back side of my peak. it's fall. it's freezing here in toronto. skinny tires will soon give way to skinny knobbies on the cross single speed, and the neck gaiter and goggles will come out. i peaked a long time ago. now i'm just putting in miles. i went for a ride yesterday, full of bronchitis and phlegm, and still managed to enjoy myself on a sunny thanksgiving spin. sometimes it's okay to plateau. sometimes it's okay to sit up, eat an apple that your daughter picked in an organic orchard miles away from the bustle of downtown, and say good morning to roadies (who actually said goodmorning back. every one of them! amazing...). i got it up. i kept it up. now i coast. now i spin easy, try to recover, get dormant for a while, build for next spring. i set myself up for so much success, now i revel in the aftermath. it's a sticky sweet hangover with no headache or vomit. i should start wearing some rapha or something...

pulling.

the last post was two weeks ago. i guess it's been a busy month. no. i know it's been a busy month. there will be plenty of time to share my observations over the next few pages worth of typing, so maybe i'll try to pace myself like the last entry, and leave things hanging until i have a bit of breathing/typing room in the daily schedule.

where was i? ah yes, things i learned over the course of a hundred miles on a windy day in september...

i learned that if i have nothing nice to say, i probably shouldn't say anything at all; i should just save it and blog about it later. honestly: no one wants to be grumbled to or about, unless it's suffused with humor, eloquence, and some form of self-deprecation. my time suffering under marshall lee was not sufficiently humorous or eloquent, and i was too angry to self-deprecate. i was, moreover, pleading my case as a capable cyclist (though many would likely slot me into the 'avid' or similarly demeaning 'enthusiast' category) just out to have fun, not ride in a prescribed paceline to the halting rhythm of gruff commands by marshall lee. sit back. relax. don't take everything so personally. enjoy the view and the fact that i can ride a bike. it's a charity ride for kids with cancer - think about the kids and what they have to suffer through. that's enough to shut anyone up for a long time. 

machismo is fun, and will consistently get me into trouble, particularly with the powerful and strong women with whom i've chosen to surround myself in my life. blasting out of the starting gate, blowing through suburban turns, catching up to and sprinting past a much stronger little brother, giggling raucously while doing it, challenging, laughing, challenging again, stretching the legs, sniffing for points on the climb, bombing the descents in full tuck - all of these things are truly and genuinely fun, fun like kids on bikes in the summer time fun, and they are all things that got me into trouble. it's fun to go out and see who's got legs today. but it's not part of the 25km/h pace. it's fun to easily slide past people of lesser body mass on those open country road descents. but passing them involves breaking up the two-by-two imperative paceline. giggling is fun. yeah. marshall lee, the lady i was riding with, and i'm sure some other lady in the group were certainly not impressed with these elements of bike-based fun as enjoyed by myself and my brothers. stick to the rules. challenge later. let's all just keep the pace and we'll have a great day. yeah fuckin right.

i learned that everyone has a different code for different situations, and sometimes codes take hierarchical arrangement, canceling each other out, or dictating less than optimal outcomes. i take a general code of survival of the group - no one left behind. it's an attempt at honor, an attempt at doing what we set out to do: ride bikes together. we could go out and hammer a hundred miles by ourselves, but it wouldn't be the same, it wouldn't be the point. the point of the whole ride was to hang out together, and we could've done that sitting in adirondack chairs and drinking creemore. after buddy's flat and our prompt dropping by the marshall lee group, everything dissolved into random groups and odd mood undercurrents that would shape the rest of the day, for better or for worse. one lady rode up ahead, afraid that if she didn't, she would never be able to keep up a finishing pace (going alone is generally a bad idea if one is worried about 'keeping up'). buddy with the fixed flat set a blistering pace, as a matter of honor, feeling bad about having made all of us get dropped because of our pseudo-sub-group status. he dropped half the group. feeling fine and trying to keep everyone together, i worked to bridge the widening gap in the paceline, but another group member was under-fueled and over-hungover, so we lost that pace group too. then there were three. i could have chased. i could have hammered through the wind, up the hills, through the beautiful scenery, right up on marshall lee's ass, just to prove that i knew how to ride a bike and could hold a pace if i wanted to. i could have set up in a paceline and gotten my breath back, saved my legs, preserved myself until the 60-mile lunch rest stop. no one left behind. i stayed back. i pulled like i've never pulled before. listening for my companions. easing up when someone got dropped. dropping back to give up every caffeinated gel i had. offering water, support, mutual suffering, a slipstream. no one gets left behind. and this was no longer fun.

i learned that riding bikes is not always fun. even riding bikes for fun is not always fun. hills are fun. searing pain ripping through the capillaries in quadriceps is fun. rapha styles epics are fun. pulling a couple of hungover hard-heads through miles of farmland headwind while trying not to drop them on hills and after being called an asshole for joking around at the start..this is not fun. it's like treeplanting: it's all in your head. you could be the fittest fucker out there, just ready to enjoy the day on the nicest bike you've ever ridden, then someone you care about calls you a jackass for being silly at the start of a charity ride and all of a sudden the day becomes gray and windy and smells like cow shit and corn.

i learned that i still like bikes. i still like riding. and i might even do it with people again, but i will be prepared. i learned that knowing the game plan is better than going in and doing improv. i know how i ride. no one gets left behind. and we all have fun. one rule is better than marshall law.

marshall.

the ride for karen is a century ride north of toronto that is put on each year as a fundraiser for camps for kids with cancer.

this is obviously a good cause.

traditionally, some of the members of my family participate in the NYC century put on by transportation alternatives, as an awareness-raiser for the cause of non-four-wheeled-transportation. this year, as time and money and a huge family ordeal schedule would have it, we opted for the ride for karen. thankfully, we did this early and managed to fundraise enough to make sure that the steep entry fee was waived in lieu of funds raised for the cause. long term plan. checklist. feels a little like teaching.

the day began finely enough with a hangover and some ibuprofen, then a drive to the middle of nowhere where parking is plentiful (except on century sunday) and the driveways are identical and many. we parked, registered, peed, and lined up at the start. modestly, we chose the slowest pace group, figuring we could always speed up, but would, more importantly, have a better chance of not getting dropped off the back. this was a fine decision. we rolled off, and my brother and i, having almost left with the wrong group, chased each other around like kids on bikes through the hideous suburb streets. we laughed and said stupid movie lines to each other, making fun of ourselves and having a blast. oh, and the ride had barely started so we had the energy to do this. bikes are fun, and we were giddy.

as soon as the marshall, lee (or maybe it's 'leigh'), showed up, all fun and games came to a screeching halt. we were told/ordered to ride in a two-by-two line, at the specified speed, in order 'for everyone to have a great day.' no getting out of formation. no chasing each other around like idiots. no tucking the hills to pick up any more than 25km/h of speed. no stopping other than at rest stops (there are two, at 50 and 100km). no whining. no having fun. enjoy the scenery. slow down. stop laughing...

a blast was certain to be had by all. my experiences of century riding are limited to those of the NYC century. no rules. few marshalls. fewer marshalls who knew the way. thousands of turns and lights and signs and intersections and cars and weirdos and helpful citizens. lots of fun. lots of laughter. lots of pain and suffering and deteriorated bum skin. lots of food. more volunteers. amazing rest stops. traffic. bike lanes. people and cars in the way. poorly marked routes. fun. fun. fun.

i made the mistake of trying to express my concern for this stick in the mud marshall, quietly, to the lady riding beside me. she was none too impressed. she insisted that despite her carbon bike and hours of hill repeats, the power-tripping marshall was her only hope of not getting dropped by irreverent assholes who just want to make their own rules and ride their own ride and 'have fun' or whatever. oops. this is the second time in a week i've made such a mistake. i should stop opening my mouth, particularly to complain about anything.

the ride was not going well. i had to pee. i hadn't yet sweat into my garments to the point where they become comfortable. i had to pee. i was in trouble with the lady. i wanted to rile against the marshall and all her rules. i felt like i was at school, in the principal's office, for something i didn't even do. i had to pee.

out of nowhere, the events of the day were changed immediately and definitively.

there was that stomach-sinking sound of a revolving tire, spewing its precious pneumatic contents into the air at the regular intervals of an easy 25km/h spin. hiss. hiss. hiss. hiss. hiss. i knew the sound, and looked up to see its victim. my brother. poor guy just got his bike tuned up yesterday (by yours truly), and was told that his tires were shit and old but might hold up for this ride. not 20km in, and he's blown the front one, a wear mark straight through the casing. 

i peed. 

after watering a nearby cornstalk, i assessed the situation, and was glad. we had lost the marshall and her rules and the group to which we had been so unassumingly assigned. i peed. and now we had an impromptu rest stop. this was going to be a great century. we started to get ready to rig some kind of solution, when we were told that the SAG wagon would still be coming by, and they would have tires. perfect. no mcguivre moves here boys, just a little SAG action and we'd be on our way. sure enough, a white van pulled up, slapped on an $80 tire, and left us to our own, repaired devices as it drove away to find the next rider in need. i love the SAG!

back on the rode, my brother, feeling bad that he had lost us the group and the 'pace' and the marshall and any time (this is not a race), took lead in the paceline and promptly dropped just about everyone. feeling responsible for the other relatives/riders i had invited to this thing, i fell back and did my best to pull them in a rag-tag paceline across some of the windiest and straightest and flattest road i've seen in a long time. this was the picture for the rest of the day. we met back up with all of our friends at the first rest stop, and at lunch, but were always dropped by higher-pace riders doing their thing. and i always hung back, feeling like i should 'help out' with the slower paceline.

ultimately, it was a great day and a great ride, but i learned some things, and i should write them down so that i don't forget.

redirected.

complaining is all too easy, common, and unproductive.

i am a natural complainer. pessimism makes sense to me, is a handy defense mechanism, and has never failed in predicting outcomes. self-fulfilling or otherwise, i have an 8-0 track record for being dumped versus dumping them. these are solid statistics.

however, when complaining is completely impossible, when to do so would be to make a complete ass of oneself on all levels, a new approach is necessary. of the myriad approaches possible, i took the prone position, flattened by the wonder of so much goodness, all at once, continuously, for days and nights on end.

we left the kids and flew to kelowna, with our bikes.

kelowna is a prime spot for recreation. everything everywhere is ready and waiting for humans to get out there and play hard. there's wine, there are orchards, there's an enormous and beautiful lake, there are mountains, endless roads with shoulders and/or no traffic, trails in the hills, local beer, two absolutely wicked bike shops, and ridiculously attractive people on every corner. even the guy collecting cans has a not-unattractive gleam in his eye.

the point of the trip was to enjoy ourselves like we were kids again, like we were on vacation, like we hadn't a care in the world. we took this point to heart, and gave'r from the get-go. upon arrival, our bikes were unboxed and assembled within an hour, and we were on the long road to paradise - lakeshore is a long road around the east side of the okanagan lake, and at the top of one of its many hills there is a goat farm that sells goat cheese and goat gellato, which, of course, we had to sample. we rode long and hard, relishing the view, the sunshine, the breeze, the terrain. rolling hills, small climbs, switchbacks, it was all there. i tried to do a bunch of 'epic' looking rapha-esque shots of us 'suffering' for 'the glory', but there's only so much suffering one can do when one is having the time of one's life. no, no complaining here. positively impossible.

i'm going to leave it at that. oh, and bikesnob's column in the bicycling magazine that we had bought for the trip was about how much of a hassle it is to travel with bikes, and that it's usually better to just leave them at home, but i have to say, he was completely and utterly wrong. the exorbitant surcharge for brining our bikes on the plane, and the hassle of all the airport shuttles and transfers was immediately erased within the first five minutes of tires on pavement. bring bikes; they make life better.

fellow down.

today is one of mourning.

i'm sure it happens everywhere, every minute of every day, but this is so rare to so many of us, so comfortably insulated from mortality, that it is deafening when someone on two wheels is silenced forever. 

last night, a toronto politician and a toronto bike messenger had a collision, an altercation, and then a murder by vehicular assault wherein the cyclist was killed. it's one thing to have a collision, another to have an altercation, but to run a car, cyclist attached, onto the oncoming sidewalk and into stationary objects, then ultimately run him over is murder. assault with a deadly weapon resulting in manslaughter. cars are deadly weapons and you only have to be sixteen and semi-literate to wield one. guns are meant for the singular purpose of bringing about death. knives are more like cars, where they are available for a variety of uses, and, depending on the intent of the user, can cause severe harm. like my dad always said: the most dangerous part of a gun is the person holding it.

there are too many things to consider here, and i don't even know much of the details. besides, i bring too many bicycle-centric biases to be even somewhat 'objective' (a stance that i believe is entirely impossible in this world), and i don't even vote Liberal. however, i ride a bike, in traffic, in this city, on that street, at that intersection, and i have had plenty of my own close calls and near-misses and collisions and confrontations and altercations, and it gets me. right there. someone died doing what i do every day. they died right where i could have died. and someone killed them, on purpose.

i ride like no one can see me. i slip here, cross over there, figure that i'm invisible and the only thing i can trust a motorist to do is the wrong thing. yes, it's biased and disappointing and utterly untrue to my tendency to expect the best of people, but it keeps me alive. i used to pick fights. i used to ride too-close to cars and people. i used to flip people off, bang on their windows, yell in their faces, fantasize about taking their keys and throwing them into a trash can or the river or traffic. then, through time and bad experiences and worse experiences, i grew up, gained a little perspective, wore a whole lot more lights and reflective shit, and got on with the ride. i'm not saying everyone out there should ride like i do. it takes me too long to get places, because i try to stop for lights and stop signs and pedestrian crosswalks (not pedestrians if not in crosswalks though, give me a break already). couriers wouldn't make any money if they rode as slowly and almost-law-abidingly as i. however, if it's going to let some helmetless messenger live, or some meandering asian mango-shopper make it across spadina, or some overburdened mother of five make it from Holt Renfrew to Harry Rosen in one piece, i think it's time to give a little. give just a little room, a little space, make things a little smoother, and this might be a better place for it. i know we have to fight tooth and nail for every inch we take on the road. i know the battle gets far more lethal and frightening the further we venture out of the downtown core. i know that we are the ones who are out on the limb, risking life to get around the best way we can. but i think we are in a great position to lead by example, and give a little. 

it's the old age talking, but it seems to work. i hold my tongue and don't have anything regretful to answer for. i anticipate that no one will look for or see me until it's far too late, so i ride further ahead and behind all that heavy steel on wheels with too many blindspots and cell phones and ipods blaring. and i wear a fucking helmet. always. wind in my hair? tons. they're called 'vents', maybe you've heard of them. look like a freak? of course, and isn't that what your colorway and messenger motif are all about? hit by a car? yes. hit a person? yes. dead? no.

anyway, peace to you, mr. sheppard. this city is less without you.