Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

I haven't really been happy for a while. When you find an obsession that saves your life, it's painful when the flame dims. Most have experienced a fall from grace and a return to the flock. I have had the privilege taken away by injuries. I have had professional obligations deprive me. During those times, all I could think about was riding with the boys. This is why the current slump is so strange. Call it monotony, call it spoiled American bullshit, the pain is real. The symptom has defeated the cure.

Everyone knows that you will be better off after a ride. Good or bad, at least you turned some pedals.

Today, I didn't want to get on my bike, I just couldn't find my stoke. My friends wouldn't let me get away with it. Against all intuition I had fun. I felt like a cyclist for the first time in weeks.

Our crew is a little scattered right now, and that has played a big role in my attitude. The important thing is, I had a good ride.

It's all their fault.

Thanks Fellas.

W.B.Z.N.

When The Rain Comes

Not only did Fay flood Joe's, but it looks as though the damage to Tom Brown and Cadillac is substantial. Slade and I rode out to Cadillac to do some recon.

The entrance to Cadillac from Tom Brown. We couldn't see the bridge because there is so much water in there. The bottom of the multi-use is under water. Some of the multi-use on the Tom Brown side is under water too. We had to ride through the Piney-Z neighborhood just to get to Cadillac.


This is the exit of that gnarly, rooty, down hill from the picnic tables that they always use in the race. It looks unrideable and completely washed out. (No photo sorry.) This is the Tom Brown multi-use under water, we had to ride the pavement to get out of Tom Brown.


The exit from the Cadillac side going towards Tom Brown.

The entrance to the Cadillac multi-use from the Piney-Z side.

There is some good news: if you like Munson, you will have lots of people to ride with soon. Cadillac is in very bad shape, with a lot of erosion and several big trees down. We didn't make it out to the levy, so I have no report. This is some depressing stuff.

W.B.Z.N.

Help Joe

http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/Tropical-Storms-and-Hurricanes-Joe-Mezzina-removes-bike-flooded-bike-shop-Monday-Aug-25/ss/events/sc/091905hurricanes/s:/ap/20080825/ap_on_re_us/tropical_weather_fay/im:/080825/480/54e0b5c037f04c869c6b41b173d95746/;_ylt=AsS7gvOd9DlzFIGX0opEB_hH2ocA

Looking at Yahoo news, like I do everyday, and a familiar face was there.

If you can read this and you are in the area, please go help Joe. The shop is under water and rising, they need help getting merch out of there. I am going to try to get off work, Juancho and a few of his guys are on the way but he just left me a massage saying "All hands on deck". So if you can break away, please go by there.

Thanks.

W.B.Z.N.

Upon St. Crispins Day!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAvmLDkAgAM

Weep ye not fare Juancho, but revel in the day you return to fight again!

W.B.Z.N.

One Is The Loneliest Number

Big Worm (being the true BASTARD that he is) sent me a chain blog. He fixes my bike so I have to do this. Lets all join in the fun shall we, kinda like a salsa dance contest in prison!


If you could have any one — and only one — bike in the world, what would it be? Hmm, do you know?


This one is easy. I never got to have the Schwinn Grape Krate with the five speed stick shift. I will regret that the rest of my life.


Do you already have that coveted dream bike? If so, is it everything you hoped it would be? If not, are you working toward getting it? If you’re not working toward getting it, why not?


No, they are to expensive on eBay.


If you had to choose one — and only one — bike route to do every day for the rest of your life, what would it be, and why?


That's cruel, but if I had a gun to my head, it would be Fern, Tom Brown, Cadillac. It's pretty much all I ride now anyway. Maybe that's why I am in a rut. You know a rut is deeper than a grave! (I'm so clever and colloquial!)


What kind of sick person would force another person to ride one and only one bike ride for the rest of her / his life?


Pete from Joe's Bike Shop. He's just mean. It's the rear coil, that would sour any one's disposition.


Do you ride both road and mountain bikes? If both, which do you prefer and why? If only one, why are you so narrow minded?


I do both, but since I got the zipper neck treatment, I only ride on the road under duress, and to beat Slade to yellow signs.


Have you ever ridden a recumbent? If so, why? If not, describe the circumstances under which you would ride a recumbent.


I thought I was going to have to because of my neck and I looked at them for a long time. I just think a recliner with wheels is fundamentally wrong, but I liked the drink holder. I rode one at Joe's once and it felt dirty....I can't talk about it.


Have you ever raced a triathlon? If so, have you also ever tried strangling yourself with dental floss?


No that would require running. Does it count if I strangled someone else?


Suppose you were forced to either give up ice cream or bicycles for the rest of your life. Which would you give up, and why?


I already gave up a ten year Haagen Dazs habit, I still get the dt's on the frozen food isle. It doesn't count if you eat it while driving, out of state...right?


What is a question you think this questionnaire should have asked, but has not? Also, answer it.


Extra crispy or original recipe?


Original recipe.


Now, tag three biking bloggers. List them below:

They don't all have blogs but they can do it in my comments;

Sinks- throw in a story about hang gliding with no kite!

Slade-no extra points for insulting yourself or acting slow.

Magnum-bring the crazy noise!


W.B.Z.N.

Coolsville

Every so often, I run into someone from one of my old lives. The old lives have many strata, like the walls of an ancient canyon. You can point to the years of good winters, the years of flood, and when the meteors came. That's where all the bones are. I am sometimes startled by someone that saw me play in the neolithic era. Some people remember me as a drummer. My favorite is when someone sees me as a singer. Questions are sometimes asked.

"Do you miss playing, will you ever play again?"

The answer is yes, so badly the ache is unbearable. I am haunted by melodies. I have rhythmic equations, with no answers.

The second part is a tad more complicated. Are there real musicians (my age) that aren't afraid to learn odd songs? Can they play sober? Is there a club where no one ever yells "Freebird" or "Brown Eyed Girl". Is there a place where no one ever drinks too much, and people sit at tables with candles and watch because they love music? Can we open with a "Snow Patrol" song (not the single) and then do Rickie Lee Jones' arrangement of "Just Walk Away Renee"? Will they let me sing "The Hallelujah"? Can we close every night with a bosa nova version of "Message In A Bottle"?

In my dreams there is a place. The men wear pressed shirts and vintage jackets. They are comfortable being smart. The women have clinging dresses, dangerous shoes, and beaded hand bags from thrift shops. There are twenty tables and you have to make reservations to get in. The staff is sophisticated and they know your drink. They never act aloof and they put your glass on small fabric napkins, with the clubs single letter logo. If you steal them no one minds, it's an unwritten rule. Every night someone is asked to sit in with the band. They are always great, and they never do more than two songs. You never know who might be in the house.

At some point in the evening, I will ask the crowd if this is heaven, and someone will answer:

"No... this is Tallahassee."

After three sets, everyone will wonder what was bothering them, earlier in the week. They will promise to come back. They will go to breakfast at the all night place on the corner, and they will sleep in late tomorrow.

Call me when it's open, I have just the jacket.

W.B.Z.N.

Walk Like A Man

My oldest son started high school today. He's fine with it of coarse, but I am flipping. I am okay with the fact that he is three inches taller than me. It's okay (as long as he's not a wise ass) that he is smarter than me. I am not one of those Dads that doesn't want his kids to be better than him. I want them to be WAY better than me. He's at that age, and I can no longer protect him. He's learned all he wants to learn from me. The world is going to do the teaching from here on out.

I remember my first day at Ft. Pierce Central. I was 5'2", a buck-o-five soaking wet, and I got off the bus with a sign on my chest that read: "Please screw with me, I have no freaking idea what I am doing."

My brother Chris was there, and proceeded to bully the whole school on my behalf, bypassing long lines, and getting me to my first class. It was one of the many times he came through for me, but I am not sure I was ever more grateful to have him boss me around, then I was that day.

When I get home today, I'll run through the house to find him. I will ask what it was like, and he will say:

Fine, uh.... I'm in the middle of a game Dad.

W.B.Z.N.

#100

I usually use song titles for my little bloggy. The fact that no one ever gets the lyrical references doesn't even bother me...much. Milestones are funny things, they make you think of time and what you've done with it. I have to say of all the things I have latched onto, I would put writing this blog up there with the best. It's nice to soak you're soul and then wring it out. It's a cleansing exercise. The fact that anyone wants to read it, really cracks me up.

About two years ago my pal, mechanic, confessor, guru, coach, Big Worm said to me:

"You gotta check out this blog I am reading."

He was talking about Jauncho's Big Ring Circus. I was sold two lines in, and immediately in awe of the guys chops. Good writing, funny and it's ALWAYS about the bike. Good stuff. A few months later I was asked (after begging for weeks) to be a guest writer. I haven't been that nervous since before I got to third base, but it was an awesome feeling to see something I wrote on the screen of his blog.

Here I am at the one hundredth post, and I all I can think about is how much fun I have had writing this silly little blog. Now I have people in my life that I don't even know. Ms. Moon, Magnum, Nichol, and (in my mind at least) a bunch of admiring lurkers that are too awed by my coolness to post a comment. Anyway thanks, and thanks to all the people I do know, that in spite of knowing what a galactic dork I am, read and post. Sinks, Worm, Slade, Squatch,....shout out to the homeys.

I saw Juancho today chewing coal and spitting diamonds, while standing (by choice) in the rain. He has lost 25 lbs and shows no sign of slowing down. I knew I was never going to be half the writer he is, but I never thought I would have to fear him being thinner and faster than me.

I couldn't be happier for him.

W.B.Z.N.

Ain't No Sunshine

Top Ten Songs About Rain:

10. Rainy Days and Mondays- The Carpenters.

9. I Want To Go Outside (In The Rain)- The Stylistics

8. When The Levy Breaks- Led Zeppelin

7. Blue Eyes Cryin In The Rain- Hank Williams

6. Riders On The Storm- The Doors

5. Kentucky Rain- Elvis Presley

4. Tears In Rain- Joe Satriani

5. Come Rain Or Come Shine- Frank Sinatra

4. Red Rain- Peter Gabriel

3. Purple Rain- Prince

2. Who'll Stop The Rain- Creedence Clearwater Revival

1. Love Rain O'er Me- The Who

W.B.Z.N.

Grey Sky Morning

Back before the Internet, wave models, and real time surf cams, we used to use different methods for predicting surf. We had instincts tuned by years of experience, and primal triggers sounded an alarm in our brains.

Because we surfed all the time, and lived by the coast, we were tuned in to the rhythm of the ocean. I would wake for no good reason in the pre-dawn, and drive to the beach on a hunch. Armed with a huge iced tea, driving my V.W. bus with one hand on the horizontal steering wheel, and my left foot on the dash, I would point north towards the beach. It was faster to go down U.S.#1 but I always hung a right on Midway Road and headed for Indian River Drive, meandering along the twisty up and down route, bordered by the river. The royal palms would betray the winds direction and as the first colors of dawn appeared, I would make sweeping judgements based on the "Red sky at morning" axiom. I would red line my 1600 cc motor down the Dixie Highway towards the North Bridge. The first view of the water flowing in the inlet, and the direction of tide, would let me know if my timing was true, or another mirage.

I had a fishing pass, which meant the combination to the State Park gate was my secret possession. I would drive past the poor bastards from Palm Beach, Miami, and other pathetic locales, waiting in the dark, for the rangers to let them in. I would ignore their pleas, as I locked the gate behind me.

Running full speed down the wooden walkway, all the while compiling data: wind, tide, drift, until that fateful moment I was able to see past the dune line, and hear the boom of a set unloading in the shallows. With the sun creeping up, breathing in the smell of blue Sex Wax, I would wade into the hissing ocean. First peak would be marked by the others in the know, bobbing outside the break, looking toward the horizon, for the next set.

By eight or so, we would have our fill, and we would leave the scraps to the losers that slept late, and the unlocals waiting at the gate. I would go open the shop, and ask the guys at Sharkey's to call me when the grill was hot. People would come to buy wax, and ask how the surf was, and I would look them straight in the eye, at nine a.m. and say.....

"It was good this morning."

W.B.Z.N.

Strange Things

This is the ride from Saturday. Another six hour epic. A lot of damn funny stuff happened but, I am depending on a blog from Big Worm, so I will leave the details to him.

I have finally emerged from my self imposed post vacation funk. All it took was some quality time on the bike with pals, to get me back on track. I get by with a little help from my friends.

Still a little slow at work so, I finally opened a classmates.com free trial. I was looking at the profiles and wondered if I should fill one out. You have a couple options when doing this: 1. Pump it up a little, using terms like "director of operations" and "blessed with my beautiful wife, and gifted kids" then post a ten year old picture of yourself, pretending you are well preserved. 2. State the brief facts, with little or no emotion. I opted for door number two. I was really hoping to find one posted by an ex jock, after a three day bender, that went something like this:

Greetings from the class of 81! I am an old, over weight, balding, car salesman in a midlife crisis, and I got on classmates to catch up! Whoo! Go Cobras! Well I don't look as good as I used to but, I just got divorced and I am ready to go line dancing! Email me!

In my mind Will Ferrell plays the lead, and falls down half way through the speech. I didn't find anything like that. The 120 pound weakling I was in high school, is still holding out hope. It's a sick dream I know, but it's Monday, and it's all I got.

W.B.Z.N.

Take a Picture

I came home early to get ready for the Joe's ride tonight. You know when Worm ain't riding due to weather, it's bad. He is a weather guru. So I decided to scan some photos. I noticed there was a streak on the inside of the glass. I took the scanner apart and cleaned it.

*Elapsed time one hour*

Then I went looking for some other photos of this ramp, which led to cleaning out more files and shredding documents. My wife came home and needed to get on the computer. I decided to clean up the wiring in the closet, that houses the scanner, printer, and fax.

*Elapsed time, three and a half hours*

She went to get dinner going, and I started scanning. I had to reboot the software because the computer wouldn't recognise the scanner, kind of like when I used to go to bars, to meet women. I got it working. I arranged the photos and scanned them.

*Elapsed time, four hours, forty seven minutes*

All this, just to prove to Juancho, that I was the guy in the pics.

And this is what my life would be like if I didn't ride.

W.B.Z.N.

Late For The Sky

I have an office in my house. Years ago in a galaxy far, far, away an accountant told me it was a good deduction. We chose square footage, over percentage of house, and it was a healthy write off. The walls were covered in album covers, posters, and billboard charts, given to me by the band. There was a couch for band meetings, a desk, a computer, and a drum set in case my abilities were ever in question, which they often were. The road manager and I used to count money at the end of tours, here. Once there was so much cash, it took us three hours to make sense of it all. The band wrote me a check, for more than I make in three years, when we got a publishing deal with Warner Chapel, right here on this empty desk.

I redecorated recently and decided it would be good to have a bed for guests. The paraphernalia seemed like a football player in his Letterman's jacket, long after graduation. It all came down.

I found some old pictures of myself when I was cleaning up. One of a pretty good front side air, one of my old V.W. bus, and one of me behind the counter at North Jetty Surf Shop. Happy times all. I was twenty three. It's very hard to look back at that simple time. I am sure if I could talk to myself back then, all I would have wanted was everything I didn't have. I had friends surfing in Hawaii, guys were on MTV, dancing with chicks in lingerie. The world was giggling it's keys, and I had my tongue out like a puppy, waiting for someone to throw the ball.

I wonder if I will look back when I am eighty, at pictures of myself at forty five and think, "Man you had it all, and didn't even know it." Looking back, is a great way to get a pain in the neck, and as it turns out, the heart. Second guesses and what if.

A friend I hadn't ridden with in while said yesterday, that I couldn't stand to go slowly uphill. Man he nailed it, and me. Later when I was gassed, he said, "Just keep spinning."

I hear ya brother, I hear ya.

W.B.Z.N.

Emotional Rescue

I once had a physciatrist tell me that I was a mascot. The term apparently refers to people that resolve conflict by being funny. It's a role I played in my large family. The down side is it makes me neurotic. Kind of like Robin Williams on crack.

Today I rode with Squatch and Juancho. I have never considered myself a mediator, that's how Squatch referred to me. These two are quite a pair. If what we did today was a movie, it would have been Lawrence Of Arabia, substitute the bikes for the camels, and the Turks and Arabs, for Juancho and Squatch.

It started cool and rainy and ended hot and oppressive, the weather was weird too. Juancho is a man on a mission and like most of the converted, his zeal is a tad Jim Jonesie. I love it. I envy his quest. He is getting skinnier, tougher, and as he sheds his skin, a little gnarly. He was pretty focused on Squatch, who was playing a mental game of chess all day with our hero. He played well and refused to give up, which set the theme for the ride. A six and a half hour Mexican stand off started at G.B.S. and included: Fern, Tom Brown (Squatch smashed his bad knee), Cadillac, the Green Way, a stop at a mysto store, that I am still not sure was real or hallucination,

part of the Food Lion Loop,

the hills from the Joe's Loop, a stop at Fresh Market, for weird stares, banana's and O.J.,

the secret single track climb (Squatch cramped), and (after waiting for someone to blink and draw pistols) I cried "UNCLE!" and we headed back to town, via the power line, and parted ways on Live Oak. I know that was a long sentence, but the ride was six and a half hours. I got to see their abusive relationship, and they got a peak into the mascot closet. I think we are even, but you'll have to ask them.

There's a lot more to this story, and two hours of activity I missed, before I invited myself on this love fest. I will leave that to Juancho to clear up. Their Will Be Blood, I promise you. I may not be invited to ride with those boys for a while, but I will say this: I had a good time, and now I have enough hours this week a day early. When you get a second, ask Juancho how he feels about pace lining on the road.

The following is a rant Juancho launched into on the ride. Priceless.

Did you catch the nipple check?

W.B.Z.N.