Smooth

A great skater has the ability to skate over what we used to call, kinks. Take a crap line, let the weird things happen, and roll out. If you can do that with style, that's the key.

I always judged skaters (prehistoric and current) by how good they look in the air. Watch the right skater, they always know where they are. They don't flail. They see the landing without looking for it.

Right now my vision is riddled with Jersey barriers, and ledges with big, metal, brackets bolted into them. I have never been good at hiding my disdain. I need to learn.

It's all about flow. Move through the landscape and make it look good. I am trying to find a good line. I hope I pull it.

W.B.Z.N.

Back On The Chain Gang

Four of us met, to ride on Sunday
We invited more, but only four came to play
Slade has a list, of the things for the ride
it's all in arranged, and neatly inside

Juancho rode well, not in front or in back
his shorts are transparent, and you can see his crack!



In the woods there are bears, that love to eat berries
when they get hungry, they get kind of scary






Worm navigated, so no one had to choose
Slade in second, then Juancho
I was the lantern rouge!




That's me breathing heavy
not to be dramatic.
I really can't help it
I'm an Irish asthmatic!

We all had fun, and weren't shot by guns

we out ran the rain, and then we were done!

W.B.Z.N.

Born To Be Wild

My lust for the west still has a hold on me. After reading all Neil Pearts books on motorcycle touring, I have been thinking about the idea of a cross country trek on a BMW F650GS. I have always considered motorcycles an accident looking for a good place to happen, but I am easily swayed by things I read or watch on T.V., so I am hitting the idea up against the wall.

I haven't considered any information based in reality or logic. I am just mentally kicking tires. It's either that or chew gum. I have noticed that sometimes these crazy ideas take root, after all that's how I got into cycling. I will let reality creep in if I ever get serious.

I thought I would throw it to the panel and get your comments, pro, con, or funny.

vroooom.

W.B.Z.N.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I am in the jaws of some exotic virus. My mouth piece fell out in round two, and I kissed the canvas like a lost love.

Juancho, Big Worm, Red Dragon, now is the time to put in the miles and shake me off your wheel. I'm on the rivet.

Go ahead ride, you DAMN DIRTY BASTARDS!!!!

W.B.S.N.

Happy Trails

This was a weird week for riding a bike. It all started Tuesday when Worm had a high speed crash, on a Phipps down hill. We were on our way to the lake and the big man grazed a rock and went in. To add insult to (...uh) injury we were ahead of him and never got the ride reunited.

Wednesday, I had a good ride with Lil W.B. from the homestead out to Tom Brown, where he blew up like only a W.B. can. It was biblical, we called for evac.. Momma extracted him from the BMX track. I finished out my ride.

Thursday, I was held up by three people on Horseback, on.......FERN!!! Apparently they brought the horses there to poop, and they snickered as I left the trail to avoid it. You all would have been proud. Not only did I restrain myself from raising my voice, I didn't even raise my eyebrow(s).

Friday, I was in a little bit of a hurry to get a hour and a half in. I went into Fern by Fort Knox. I crossed the tracks, and saw a group of young guys burning a fire (on the railroad tracks). My first impulse was to just let it go, but the Dad in me kicked in and I called 5-o. I couldn't stand the idea of those guys getting drilled by a train. I call it in ...cool. I headed to Tom Brown and the phone rings. They need me back at the scene. TPD, TFD, and some railroad officials were there, and really interested in my thoughts. Forty minutes, and a sworn statement later, and I was racing dark to get home.

Saturday, everyone in the world showed up for our bikechain ride. Worm, Slade, Silk, Smarty, Micro, Red Dragon, and Longshanks, where all there with bells on. We ran into Juancho's crew on the levy (they have the highest collective I.Q. of any crew in the city with a couple Doctors, a good writer or two and.....Bushy!). After a few well placed jabs from Juancho, we were on our way, and they on theirs.

Sunday, I went solo on the big east loop. Out at Alford Arm, I yielded to some more really happy equestrians. They told me my "Buddies" back there were not as polite. I told them I wasn't riding with any of my buddies, and to have a good ride. It's hard to turn the other cheek, when you really want them to kiss one further south. I pushed through the neighborhoods to the Greenway, chased by the rain back to the homestead. That's the news kids. It was a head shaker.

Ba Bye now....

W.B.Z.N.

You're So Vain (you probably think this post is about you)

The blog is mightier than the sword. The blog must only be used for good. I found this out the hard way, when I was riding tonight. I left my phone on (in case I got an urgent call about .....oh who am I kidding.... I forgot to turn it off). First Juancho calls me. I am thinking, my random use of punctuation- has finally made him snap: but he's calling to apologize. He thinks he made me mad (what are the chances) with a comment about my vertical ineptitude.

"WHAT?" Says I, " I love that shite, bring it on!"

Let's not forget, I am Irish, "I'll bash in your skull!" is how we say: "I love you."

So I just assumed everyone knew how to play, and I was dishing what I was getting. For the next ten minutes, I thought maybe I was harsh and shouldn't have called Junacho "chubby", in comments of the previous post. I should have said, husky or rotund. Great now I feel guilty, which for me (catholic) means I am awake.

Then, I see the Trail Gnome, and I stop to apologize to him, for anything I wrote that may have hurt him. C'mon, the guy does more trail work and race photos, than anyone in town. How could he take it the wrong way? I explain that in our crew, this is a sign of respect. The worst is if you get no mention at all. Then the guy (with the Spanish name I can't remember, that builds all the stunts I can't ride) says:

"Oh so I don't even get mentioned.... whats that mean?"

"Ya whatever, uh later guys, glad we cleared that up!" I ride off with clean Karma. It's good to have that confession feeling, with out the danger of being molested by a priest.

Anyway.....all's well that ends well. I will be careful not to offend in the future, and avoid jokes about people or touchy subjects.

Feels good to clear the air!

W.B.Z.N.

Message in a Bottle

I can feel my resolve slipping away. I am not sure if it is post Bump and Grind blues, or simple monotony. I am in the grip of a rut and I can't get up. Big Worm took the weekend off (wait for it) to do YARD WORK! Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I was going to ride yesterday but there were cloud thingies and that sent me scampering for the recliner.

I planned a ride I didn't attend this weekend. That is a cardinal sin. My crew is broken, the flag is on the ground, and no one cares. Red Dragon has stopped making empty threats to win mythical races and Juancho is putting in crazy miles, some in front of other riders. I suppose any day now, I will see Magnum on a bike. The horsemen are on the horizon.

I need help people. I think I am sinking down. I hate the trails, I hate the road bike, but on a good note.... cookies are great.

Send help....

W.B.Z.N.

Sunrise Sunset

"Is that the little girl I carried?

Is that the little boy at play?"

He stopped the cassette, pulled it out of the player, and put it table of the R.V.. Bee will like that one, she sang it with the "Sweet Adeline's". Lots of good songs on that tape. Why hadn't he labeled the songs on each tape? The time to sweat the small stuff had passed, and as he always had said; "It's all small stuff." He placed the cassette on the table with the others, and reached in the box for the next one.The doctors had given him the news, and he wasn't surprised. He had a little time left, and just two more things on the list. He was nearly done.

He set the video camera up, focused in on the mirror, and started the projector. After a few test runs, he was ready. He put in the tape, and hit play. The camera would record the old movies, and the music would provide the soundtrack.

"Wasn't it yesterday,

when they were small?"

Al those years started going by, the house in Pittsburgh, the old Woodie with no heat. The house in Reading, the oak out front, snow, Christmas, summers in Maine. The camera was moving a lot in the beginning, but he got better as the years moved on. There were a lot of moments out of focus, he remembered crying as he filmed. The smiling faces waved to the camera, even during the tough times. The boys in uniform, leaving home, his little girl at her first communion. He thought of the two children that weren't in the movies, the still born boy, and Chris's twin, Timothy. The projector clicked away, and the heated smell of dust and film, blew out of it's vents.

"What words of wisdom can I give them,

How can I help to ease their way?"

The time line jumped all over, Apollo launches, family reunions in St. Mary's. His brothers, sisters and their kids. The golden summers, the camp fires, the sound of his sons playing guitars, and everyone singing along. There had been so many things he wanted to do, so many places he read about, and wanted to visit. He had done the best he could, and God knows that wasn't easy. Seven children, all the pains and joys of watching them grow and struggle. It really never ends when you are a parent. Losing his job at 49, and moving to Florida, to save Chris's lungs from the winters. It was never easy, but it was a good life.

"One season following another,

Laden with happiness and tears."

When these movies were done he would get Bee, and the rig, out to Vegas. She would be with her daughter. Then his work would be done. He wasn't afraid, he was just tired. Two more things on the list, and then he could rest. The images flashed in front of his glasses. He cleaned them with a paper towel, and wiped his eyes and nose. The children grew, there were four, then two. The last of the footage was Bee and him alone. The old house in St. Mary's, Harper's Ferry, San Francisco and Bee walking through the stables in Kentucky. She loved the horses.

"Sunrise, Sunset

Swiftly flow the days

Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers

Blossoming even as we gaze..."

The movies were done, a handful of video cassettes, it had seemed like a lot more than that. It's funny how a life can be condensed. A few video tapes, a paragraph in some newspaper, some photos in a book. All those memories. He looked out the window at the water, in Panacea, it was nice here. He hated to leave, but he had to get going. Like always, he had things to do, and time was the enemy. One more trip, and then he would be done. He looked at the labels on the tapes, all those moments, in little yellow boxes. He put them all in a box, and taped it shut. He had done the best he could.

"Swiftly fly the years,

Laden with happiness and tears,

Sunrise... Sunset..."

I miss you Dad.

W.B.Z.N.

Changes

Going out west was probably what brought it to the the surface but, it was coming. Then there was the Bump and Grind race. I haven't been that ready for a race ever. It felt good not to be the slow guy for once. The Grand Canyon made me wonder what I was doing with my time, goals and life.

My visit with John, was more ammunition for the argument. He had no interest in getting back in the game. The business, the people, they are toxic and they want you to be sick like them. I thought of a line from a Paul Simon song: "I don't find this stuff amusing anymore."

When I got home my youngest son and I went on a lot of bike rides. He told me he wanted to ride more and maybe race. I sat for two hours and watched the boys play soccer. They are getting good. These are the things I should be doing, this is what makes me feel good and proud.

I called the band and told them it was over. I deleted music industry numbers and contact info out of my phone and my computer. I felt lite and free. When I get home, for the first time in years, all I will have to worry about is, if my bike clothes are clean, why the boys are fighting, and whats on T.V.. If the wife gives me the wink a couple times a week?

Bonus.

W.B.Z.N.

Get Up! Stand Up!

Please post a comment here to convince Magnum to re-launch his blog. I fear a joke of mine went awry, and I may have played a role in the blogs demise.

STAND AND BE COUNTED! MAGNUM.....COMEBACK!!!

What's Going On

"Did you ride to work?"

It was first thing in the morning, so I wasn't as prepared as I normally am. About three words into my reply, the person in question interrupted me, with a tale of how a cyclist gave her the stink eye, for blocking the turn lane.

"Oh I get it." I said, "You just asked me if I rode, so you could tell me why cyclists are assholes....right?"

The look of horror was immediate. How could I be so rude? Her face turned red. Then, I was the happy recipient of a three minute diatribe, on why it is okay to drive in the bike lane, if no one is in it.

"Too bad it's against the law, huh?" I wondered aloud.

I have never been part of such a hated minority before, and I have to tell you, it sucks. People honestly believe we are the problem. I am going to have to avoid such conversations in the future. I will add cycling to the list of politics, religion and other such taboos. Not because I am worried about my social stock rating, but because I am tired of being in a battle of wits, with unarmed Philistines.

W.B.Z.N.

Roll The Bones

My son rolled the Tom Brown stuff yesterday. That's right! I am one of those annoying Dad's that thinks his kid is AWESOME!!!

W.B.Z.N.

Rainbow in the Dark!

John is telling a story about Dio. Someone had an 8x10 photo of him and wrote on the bottom "objects actual size" and they got in trouble. The video stopped before I got the whole story.

Enjoy.

W.B.Z.N.

In A Big Country #4

I have spent some time in central, and south, Texas. Northern Texas is a different animal. The canyons and mesa that decorate the high desert, run from New Mexico, to the northwest edge of this huge state. It flows into a transition of grass and graineries. Once again, we were running from a sunset, toward Amarillo. There were dark skies behind us, and a good light show ahead. I was looking for the Cadillac Ranch, when I noticed all the grass going horizontal. It was blowning from left to right, and a dust devil was forming, in the field opposite us. A cluster of tumbleweeds, a box, and assorted other flotsam, crossed in front of us, at a high rate of speed. Davey was in a grappling match with the steering wheel. A tractor trailer went from the fast lane, to the emergency lane, in one impossible maneuver. We came out from under the front, and decided we should exceed the speed limit for a little while, ozone, and crude prices be damned.

Other than that, the rest of the trip was a montage of diet Pepsi, waffle houses, gas stations and fighting to stay awake, during our shifts.






The day light found us in Hattiesburg Mississippi. We were seven hours from home.


I spent the rest of the ride reminiscing. How could all of this have happened with no notice, and in three days? I thought about John, and how he had made decisions to get off the merry-go-round. He found what he always wanted. I thought about the Grand Canyon, and how a view changed my priorities. I thought about Route 66, and how things change with or without acceptance. This trip proved what I have always known but, had brushed aside. It's all out there, you just have to go see it. Great trips, like great art, should change the way you see things forever.

Mission accomplished.

W.B.Z.N.