Signs

I have a history of what we used to call "Barging". It's a Dogtown term I picked up from the mags in the seventies. Since we had no parks and most ramps we built were torn down or just plain crappy, we had a habit of throwing our legs over clearly marked fences. We skated pools and we used to skate the roofs of newly built houses before they tar papered them. We also cut fences and skated some twenty foot pipes at the nuclear power plant in St. Lucie. Every so often they would catch us and we would give them names of famous skaters. I was Jay Adams twice, and Tony Alva once.

I have parked illegally to surf North Jetty Park when I was broke, and I have paddled across the inlet to catch reef road, from the private Colonnades property.

On a very memorable night ride, we were chased by an angry land owner though the connector with our lights off, running blind to the power line. It was the best ride ever.

In the the immortal words of Chris Stevens, from K- Bear in the morning;

"Nothing is sweeter than five finger candy!"

I am sure I will have to pay a fine someday, but by my count, I am ahead.

W.B.Z.N.

Gardens Of Stones

Getting a ride together is a delicate thing. The person that gets the ball rolling is always walking a tight wire between what they want, and what everyone else wants. It is a thankless job that if done well, never gets mentioned. When the problems arise the organizer gets the tar and feathers. Big Worm is our scout master and he does the job without any fanfare. He is also the best mechanic in town, which means that after organizing all the rides, he gets to diagnose every one's bike problems. Usually this all goes down without a hitch, but today there was some drama. The ride came together late, everyone had an idea of what they wanted, and we had some dissension and desertion. It was heated, but we will ride Tuesday and all will be forgiven.

I have been hearing about a mythical house, from a legendary ride, I missed with Mingo and Mirco last year. I have been bugging Worm and Mingo a long time to go back out there. There was some weirdness but I was so stoked to do something different and (for the first time ever) everything rolled off me. The ride was brutal hot, the mosquitoes where Jumangiesc, but the payoff was worth it.

W.B.Z.N.

Staring At The Sun

I have ridden over the levy (on Piney-Z Lake ) twice since Fay hit. People have told me there is a nine foot gator lurking around. I wondered if I was a bulls eye in some reptilian hunting scope. I'd be an easy meal with water and ground at equal height.

I saw some bird watchers up ahead. A guy dressed head to toe in olive Columbia clothes. He had safari hat and a pair of binoculars. Despite his tragic appearance, his wife was quite fetching. He returned my greeting with the least possible effort. He didn't bother to hide his disdain for cyclists but, his wife smiled. I figured this was good, any self respecting nine footer can make quick work of these two. I was in the clear. The sun was just above the trees and I was going to be cutting it close.

I made my way up Pedrick, over to Avondale, climbing through the Vineyards, across Mayhan, and over to the Greenway.

The sky was on fire and I didn't care if I got caught by the darkness. I rode the long way out, by the old graveyard. There was not a single vaporous, full body apparition to be found, but I was startled by how much the hill hurt. I did scream in horror after riding open mouthed through a cloud of gnats. Other than the sunset, and the gold clouds, there was nothing supernatural out there tonight.

Back on the pavement and the downhill to Capital Circle.

I turned onto Doomar, someone behind me yelled, "Lance!" from a car on Blairestone. I rode past the swamp and back into my hood.

There is a lot of scary stuff out there, none of it got me.

W.B.Z.N.

Amazing Grace

It turns out that if you ride, even when you hate the idea, you feel better afterwards. I am lucky I have some friends that don't judge me for being a moody cuss. Big Worm called yesterday and informed me that we were riding on the road. I know from experience that if I put up resistance, he will just come to my house and prey upon my guilt reflex, so I saved us all a step and showed up. The boys all did their part to get my Wrecking Ball swinging. Ice Berg goated me into a duck sign sprint. Little Ball coached me to the front on the sprints and Worm made a nice pocket of air for me to sit in. Big Jim Slade did his usual "I'm so slow" routine and then crushed me on a few climbs. Everyone brought something to the party.

On the Robot Army front, Juancho and his Munson Patrol Unit have been leaving cryptic messages threatening military action if I am not present on a sugar sand assault soon.

So, I thank you all. It seems as though the chemicals in my brain have stabilized, after all my friends each threw in a hand full of baking soda. Just like Linda Blair after the holy water, I feel as though I am on the mend, (sorry about the pea soup and all that stuff I said about your Mom in H. E. double hockey sticks).

W.B.Z.N.

Blah, Blah, Blah!

I have a long standing tradition of going through phases. I had a five year period where I could not stop drawing architectural (can I use that word if I don't have the degree?) floor plans and house designs. I was possessed. I read about all the mid century masters and visited some Wright buildings. I studied terms and memorized house names in the off chance I ever ran into anyone that was able to talk about such things.

I had a two year period of obsessive vintage snare drum restoration. EBay actually sent me an email saying I may have what they called a "problem". It reminded me of some bar tenders I knew in the eighties.

Until recently I have been a very focused cyclist (which is what I am, not a biker, which applies to Harley owners). I also surf when it's convenient and conditions are good. Once in a while I skateboard. These are all things I have done my whole life and every ten years or so I add another thing to the list.

Lately though all the things I used to day dream about at work have lost air. It could be the recent modifications to our trail system (Thanks Fay!) or it could be I am shedding my skin once again, in any case it's damned unnerving. I am never happier than in the throws of some senseless obsession. This blog has been a particularly good one. It allows me to be creative and say things that I don't normally get to say (without being interrupted or ignored all together).

Now I am no better than a plastic bag, in The Great Pacific Garbage Patch. I am stuck in a floating pattern that seems to have no beginning and no end. I hate all the food I used to like. I could really care less weather I ride or not, and on the off chance Juancho gets faster than me (in between stopping for food, and the random need to sit on the ground) I will be okay with it. Why? Because I have lost my ability to give a shit.

So until further notice, I will be sitting here waiting for rescue. The professor can get his own coconuts, I am on break.

W.B.Z.N.

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.