Young Americans

Port Saint Lucie had a marina, pool and a rec hall with one ping pong table. The facilities were one of the selling points guaranteed in the sales contracts, issued by the General Development Corporation. It was the center of our universe and we homed in on it, every morning, every summer day.

This day, we would all be there early to watch the Kiwanis and Jaycee's set up the festivities. The burgers and dogs would be on the grill. A local band would be warming up on the shuffle board courts, with "Smoke On The Water" and "Sunshine Of Your Love". Somewhere around noon, the parade would start at the ball park, and end in this most glorious location of my childhood. The possibilities were endless, music, games, swimming, food, and the hopes of getting a girl to like us, all hung in the air.

The central obsession was our bicycles. I was a master of the wheelie, and in those days you could ride your bike in the parade, and not be chased off by officials. We decorated our Sting Ray knock offs with cray paper in the spokes, and flags on the sissy bars. We all wore red, white, and blue in honor of the holiday, and dreamed of winning an award for the best decorated bike. Prima Vista Boulevard was lined with friends and neighbors and the glory of being center stage was fantastic. We would take turns riding wheelies up one side of the street, and back the other, weaving in and out of the floats, muscle cars and marching bands. We rode next to Miss Sandy Shoes in a red Corvette. We road next to the Ft. Pierce Marching Cobras. We rode next to my friend Kevin Hand's band, as they played Jumpin Jack Flash, over and over, his blue sparkle drum set, and drumming skills the envy of us all.

The day would go on forever, and then at night the fireworks would be lit by the Optimist club, with a rag, wrapped on the end of wooden stick, soaked in kerosene. We would stay at the marina long after everyone else had gone. Full of candy, completely out of Black Cats, M-80's and bottle rockets, we tried to stretch every second of the day, we hated to see end. Cruising home sunburnt and shirtless, with the decorations tattered and dragging beneath our wheels, we were serenaded by the frogs and crickets. In fitfull sleep we would twitch and kick, rewinding and reliving all the adventures we had that day.

Happy Fourth Of July.

W.B.Z.N.

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.