Good Quote

From Dustin Klein of Cadence, who makes some pretty cool cycle-centric clothing and junk:

"Since 1999 I have made the conscious decision
to live car-free and relish the political and
individual effects of this. Once the motor
vehicle is out of the equation, you start to
base your life around the bicycle. To me this is
beautiful and I love how it affects everything
from where you choose to live, to the types of
food you eat. To me, bicycles are a physical
representation of freedom, and I live my life
by it."

It's quite true; once a bike becomes your only mode of transportation your whole life starts to change around it.  I eat both worse and better because I ride 98% of the time.  Better because things like pop are crap to have in your belly while you ride, worse because I figure I bike a ton and I can eat whatever the fug I want.

Also, I've actually started doing yoga instead of just talking about it.  Granted it's just cuz my legs get tight enough to make harp strings jealous and I gotta loosen them up somehow, but still.  It's something.  My household has also slowly moved towards the European style of grocery shopping, which I guess means numerous small trips to a local store instead of one huge trip to stock up for a month.  Which was always annoying to me but the short trips are actually enjoyable.

Anywho, ride a bike.

It's my Friday, I'm going home now.

 - David

Bicycling Buffet Burglar Busted!

A month or so ago I posted about a Chinese food place in my area that had been robbed repeatedly by a guy who made his escapes via bicycle.  Apparently he (or a copy cat at least) has been caught!

"Police have charged a 19-year-old in connection with a robbery at Empire Buffet at 1106 London Blvd.

Patrick Louther, of the 1100 block f Blair St., has been charged with the Dec. 1 robbery and using a gun during a felony, according to a police news release. An investigation is continuing, police said.

Investigators said earlier this month that the restaurant had been robbed several times since Aug. 26.

No injuries were reported during the robberies."

What happens to his bike though?  Maybe the bike made him do it, like that Stephen King story about the possessed car.  It drove him to steal, but it's powers were only strong enough on roads with bike lanes.  Oo, oo!  And then the police give the bike to the owners of the buffet as part of their compensation and it drives their young son to a life of crime and it starts all over again!  If I added a retard to this story Stephen King would be showing up at my door with a big bag with a dollar sign on it fer sure.

 - David

Conversations Concerning Cycle Commuting - Volume 1

People give funny reactions sometimes when they find out a person rides to work every day.  I'm sure in places that have harsher climates like Alaska and such it's even worse, but even for lil' ol' me in the relatively moderate climes of Virginia people are sometimes shocked that I hazard to ride in such things as the rain, the cold, and Hampton Blvd traffic.

Today my friend Nancy was at my desk, messing with the World's Largest Styrofoam Ball tourist attraction that is my helmet when a lady from QA walked by and asked what she had a helmet for.  Nancy replied that it was my helmet and that I rode into work every day.  What follows is a loose approximation (just like yer mom) of their conversation:

QA Lady - It's raining outside!
Nancy - He loves riding in the rain, he says it's a lot of fun.
QA Lady - Does he know Virginia drivers have no respect for human life?  They go, "Oo!  Shiny bicycle!" *mimes turning steering wheel into path of bicycle*

They then went on to talk about how dangerous it is for motorcycles too, but how it was even worse for cyclists because I'm little and my bike is little and together we are a fragile little thing blowing in the turbulence of the big scary cars.

Also, it was more sprinkling than raining today and with the 65 degree weather it was quite nice.  Toweling myself off in the bathroom with paper towels wasn't as good, but you gotta take a little crap for what you love.

Common commute conversations include asking how many tires I go through, how long it takes me to get into work, where I ride from, why I wear "short pants", and stories about how awesome the bike they had fifteen years ago was.  Nobody asks the fun questions like if I've ever been run over or what's the best thing a driver has ever yelled at me.  Those are the kinds of things I would immediately think to ask.

Today is my Friday, and it wouldn't have come sooner.  Gonna try to hang out tonight with my amigo and then it's three days of Me Time.

Piece out home slices.

 - David

News

From my current hometown of Portsmouth, VA:

"Robbery suspect escapes on bicycle

PORTSMOUTH, Va. - The Empire Buffet restaurant in Portsmouth has been robbed four times in the past three months and police believe the same suspect is behind them all.

The latest robbery happened on December 1, 2008 at 9:10 p.m..

Police say the suspect, described as a young black man, walked into the restaurant on London Boulevard and demanded money while pointing a handgun at the employees.

He made the employees lie on the floor, then went behind the counter and removed the money from the cash register drawer.

Witnesses say they saw the suspect leave on a bicycle.

This is the fourth armed robbery at the business since August 26, 2008. During that robbery, the suspect had two handguns, one in each hand. The other robberies were on November 13 and November 22.

Detectives believe the same suspect participated in all four robberies and he tried to conceal his identity each time. Police say a second suspect was involved in two of the crimes.

Anyone with information that could help lead police to the suspects is asked to call the Crime Line at 1-888-LOCK-U-UP."

Man, I feel bad for the people who are getting held up so much but the image of a rober escaping by bicycle is hilarious. It's probably one of those ridiculous beach cruiser type bikes too, with the handlbears pointing straight up in the air and the seat set way too low. I'd pay to see that getaway.

- David

Brrrrr-ing It! *EDIT*

I dunno 'bout th' rest y'all, but it's winter time out here in Virginia. What does that mean to Y.T. as a year-round cyclist? Rosy cheeks, shrinkgage, and winter cycling gear. I'm applying the term "year-round cyclist" to myself mostly on credit, as lately I've been one lazy turd. It's not the weather, it's that I just cannot get up at 5:00am. Unless there's something exciting going on, like free food or ye Olde Towne Orgy, I just can't motivate myself. Here in a few weeks I'm going to try and switch schedules, see if I can't sleep in a bit and still catch the bus.

But anywho, that's not what I want to talk about. Apparently there is a class of rider out there who has a "season" of cycling, where "bad" weather and the winter months have them leaving their bicycles in the garage until the weather is "nice" again. That kind of baffles my mind. I can think of nothing more irritating than not riding a bike at least every other day and then having to build my legs, my stamina, and my minivan tolerance back up from square-effin'-one. How much of a pain must it be to just stop cycling at your physical peak and then, months and months later, try to match the same performance level the mind and body must remember from before. Or trading the freedom of the outdoors for basically a glorified exercise bike, if you use indoor trainers. No spanks.

"Bad" weather can be exciting on a bike. And the more time you spend in "bad" weather, the more and more it actually takes for you to classify it as such, until you find yourself one day happily remarking that as long as you're riding with the arm of the hurricane it's really quite fun. I like riding in the rain. I like it when it's cold. I'm faster the chillier it is outside. Hot weather... welllll, sometimes when it's super hot and humid I feel like I'm gonna die, but that has a certain enjoyment to it too. Afterward. The wind can be a bitch, but it can be your bitch if the situation is right. I always enjoy the special treat of having a nice tailwind and it's completely silent around me as I zip along at eighteen-plus miles an hour with minimal effort.

As any outdoorsy person will (annoyingly) tell you, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. This is completely true, unless it's raining meteors. Then that's bad, and no amount of clothing can help you. The right configuration of clothing will be the difference between having a fun story and a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, and being in a crap mood and having a tiny, chilly willy. Or sore nipples. Or both.

You may not even have to buy anything, if you don't want to. Do you have any skiing/snowboarding gear gathering dust in the closet? Do you have enough clothing items that if you put them on at the same time they'd make layers? Do you possess duct tape and plastic baggies? Then you probably have everything you need. The biggest difference between my "good" weather gear and my cold weather gear is the layers.

With the windchill lately it's been below freezing nearly every time I get on a bike, yet I find myself getting sweaty and rolling back sleeves after only a few minutes into the ride. This is not due to expensive, bike-centric, cold weather gear. True, some of my items are geared towards cyclists (ha!), but the majority are not. For instance, up top I wear a Merino wool t-shirt, a cotton zip-up hoodie, and a polyester vest from Forever 21 or my Solo gilet to keep out some of the wind. When it gets really cold (twenty and below or so) I just add wool arm warmers. On bottom I wear some Merino wool undies, jeans or knickers, and wool socks with toe covers over my cycling shoes. Again, if it gets super cold I'll wear simple long underwear/longjohns or leg warmers. I have fingerless gloves that turn into mittens and a winter hat that will fit under my helmet. The combo of items mentioned above could get me through any non-Icicles and Bicycles type of winter condition. The pic above was taken at the time of this writing when it was chilly and windy enough to produce a huge snow flurry, and is my default cold gear configuration.

I do have some bike-specific clothing items I've accumulated over the year-plus which aren't cheap but are totally worth it. Number one with a bullet are my Swobo Bruno wool knickers. The are without a doubt the spendiest clothing item I own, but they are also the favorite and most useful when the mercury begins to dip. I got them with my hefty tax return and I don't regret it one bit. My only regret is that I have but one ass for them to cover, and that I can't wear them year round. I also have a gilet (which seems to be a fancy way of saying "vest") from Solo, as well as some arm and leg warmers on their way now. I know this is sorta against the whole You Don't Gots to Spend Money to Bike All Year theme of this post, but if you're gonna do it (like I do it) it can be handy to see what other peeps are using.

You may notice a re-occurring theme in my clothing items. No, not the cross-dressing. Wool. Say it with me: WOOL. Merino wool to be exact. Merino wool is what you'd get if you crossed an angora bunny with a sheep. Soft, awesome, insulatey goodness. It doesn't itch, it isn't scratchy, you can sweat in it over and over and it doesn't get smelly, and it keeps you toasty without keeping the moisture in. Wool retains heat when it's soaking wet, and even when it's frozen. It's magical. If you are looking to get some new stuff for riding in the cold, I'd recommend you go in for wool. My knickers, socks, underwear, t-shirt and tanktop (in the summer), gloves, arm and leg warmers, a hat or two, and my balaclava (for those really cold, windy days) are all wool. I'm in the market for a wool jersey now, and if I could produce wool instead of body hair, I would.

One thing I have not mentioned that is always available, always free, and does nearly all the work of keeping a body warm in cold conditions, is the heat your body produces naturally. Just sitting there, like you are now, your body is producing heat. And when you exercise it only produces more. The harder your ride, the more your body works, and the more internal heat you will produce for your clothing to keep in. The faster you go, the warmer you'll be, as opposed to something like riding a motorcycle in the cold, where more speed only equals more wind. Ride hard and you will be comfortable, maybe even hot, as your breath steams along behind you in little puffs like the world's cutest locomotive. Drivers give you more space and respect (as my own experience has shown) and you'll be pleased with yourself. Plus, winter is a beautiful time of year, too beautiful to spend scurrying between one climate controlled bubble to the next.

So remove that bike from your garage, throw on some layers, and get your ass out there. Cuz Santa doesn't like quitters.

- David

Holy Shiat

Have you ever seen something that is just so crazy and awesome that your eyes mist up a little bit?


The amount of planning, dorkiness, creativity, and friend-participation that went into this makes this the best thing I have seen in a long while. Stolen from Dublin Messengers.

- David

*Shrug*

After getting picked up after the Halloween race, stumbling and sauced, my night was about over. But my buddy Kurtz's night was just beginning apparently.


I don't know no details, but apparently my silent but deadly amigo spent the night in a real locked box, no imagination necessary. He is the Tyler Durden to my Edward Norton. I'm sure potential employers are happy about it, but right now I'm wishing my criminal record was a little less white cotton panties and a little more crotchless leather.

It rained balls today. I got misted on during my mile and a half ride to work, but it was real purdy and refreshing. Then it poured and poured and poured, and as I changed into my rain clothes I knew I wasn't taking the bus today. I'm a fowl weather rider; the shittier the weather, the more I want to cycle in it. Unless it's something like 23 mph right in my face. And even then I'd consider it. As it was, the wind felt like 23 mph right against my back. I rode the entire 8.5 miles home, rain, wind, and people nosing their fat asses out of parking lots and all. It was awesome. I love the rain. My junk is drying as it hangs on my drying bike right now.

I'm sneaking in about four hours of overtime this week. See me stroke my mustache maniacally. I need the money.

Obama is President. I'm happy, I just wish I could have been in a bar or someplace public when it was announced. I heard that shit was loud. In related news, I don't have to move to Canada yet. Thanks, America.

I've been eating a lot, but not biking a lot. That needs to change.

Family life is good. I love my cat, and she loves me. I love my dog, she's so smart and pretty. I love Bunny, the old hermit of our clan. I love Kasey, she gets lovelier every day. And the guy in the mirror is passable, dome days.

Nighty.

- David

Any pictures you see in this blog that don't suck are not taken by me, and I am not taking credit for them. I always link the image to the photographer's web page.

Don't Come A Knockin'

If my dollar-store knee-high tights are rockin'.


This outfit worked surprisingly well for Halloween's Critical Mass and the race. Plus, I knew how fast I was going by how high my thin skirt was riding up. I'm sure the bright whites of my upper thighs kept me night safe as well; I swear they were almost reflective.

At the after-party I attended one participant (a lovely girl covered in red makeup with devil horns and big red wings) commented that for the entire night she thought I was actually a lady, and was all heartbroken for "that poor girl" when she saw my flat tire trouble. These hips have fooled more than one person, let me tell ya. And I bet my shaved legs helped a little. I gotta say ladies, I just shaved up to right above the knee and it took forever. Luckily I had an audio book going.

A lot of people actually dressed up and I was glad. My favorite costumers were Kurtz's French mime (awesome job on the face paint), Wonderwoman, this guy who showed up as a green dinosaur, and Team Zissou, complete with pregnant reporter.

The race winner went home with a severed leg poking out of his backpack, and I'm certain everyone went home with a smile on their face.

- David

Adven-tar!

This is a post I wrote but didn't finish writing until today; I found it while I was adding tags to all my entries.

I've said many times that everything on a bicycle becomes a little adventure. Whether it's jaunting to the (recently non-depressing) Dollar General or out further to 7-11 for a few items, or across the river to meet a friend for lunch or read at the Barnes and Noble "library", or meeting your girl at the mall to try on sweaters, it's all a lot more fun on a bike. If I had to hop in a car and drive out to any of those places everytime I wanted/needed to it wouldn't be fun, it'd be a royal pain in the ass.

For example, by cycling and taking the bus to work I get the benefit of enjoyable excercise and being delivered promptly to my destination while I read and eat a breakfast bar or take a nap. And instead of, say, swinging by my apartment on the way home and picking the gal up, then driving back Downtown, then paying for/finding a parking spot, she takes a ferry ride and a walk while I bike and we meet up in the middle. Fantabulous.

Even just getting onto the base on a bike is an adventure. Unless I'm carpooling with a fellow employee the closest I can get dropped off to my actual building is exactly a mile away. One day I had fun not getting run over by a dumptruck (and scarily recalling all of the lorry/HGV tragedies I've read at Messenger of Doom or Moving Target) and then racing not one but two dumptrucks across a flat street and winning. I'm getting a plaque made now, "David: Faster Than a Dumptruck Going the Speed Limit".

If I was really pushing this whole thing to it's limits, I could even say I outran the law that day. Being late (like I was) and posessing... flexible cycling ethics (like I do) I took a few shortcuts to try and speed that mile along. As I came to a long line of cars waiting to turn left I deceided not to wait. I crossed the oncoming lane, hopped up on the sidewalk, made the corner, and hopped back onto the pavement between some traffic cones, and went along my merry way.

Not one second later I hear the frenzied whistle of the cop directing traffic in the intersection behind me. I was not stopping, clinging to the code, "It's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission." I didn't look back, and I'm sure he didn't chase me. But it was exciting for a moment. I laughed at/to myself as I pedaled along, sweating in my work clothes, wondering how late I'd have to stay to make my ten hours. I find myself laughing a lot on a bike.

When was the last time you had a fun story to tell about your car ride to work?

- David

Say No to DNF *EDIT*

This is going to a brief overview of last night's shenanigans. Once I get pictures off cameras, routes off GPS devices, and laziness out of my bones there will be a full multi-media account of Halloween goings on.

First off, it was a blast. Kurtz put together an awesome race and we had a good turnout. Checkpoints included finding a needle in an apple, getting a kiss-mark from a stranger, entering a few drinking establishments, receiving a baggie of real human hair, and arts & crafts. There was even a bonus item which cannot be detailed here, although it is definitely Halloweeny, certainly not destructive, and probably a misdemeanor.

Twenty minutes into the race I got a flat, and after getting cussed out by the man himself and having his repair kit tossed in my direction, I found I could not get my rear wheel off no matter how hard I tried. Usually crescent wrenches work fine, but I was just stripping one of my nuts (ha!) and decided to give it up. But then I figured, "You know what? Fuck it." I locked my bike up and jogged the rest of the checkpoints, passing fellow racers here and there and even beating a few of them to the finish. I re-discovered something very special that night: Running sucks so damn hard.


Fer some reason you can't embed custom maps, so click the pic too see it in Google Maps if yer interested. The red path is what I did on foot, and the red icon is where my tire went flat.

I returned to Kurtz's home/the finish line and was greeted by many a costumed racer already imbibing. I drank a quick one, traded shoes, and rode a strange bike to ghost ride my disabled beastie back. With proper tools I sat cross-legged in a short skirt on a kitchen floor and fixed the flat. More drinking was followed by a bit more drinking, and then some more. The final four patrons were standing/sitting/wobbling around preparing to head out into the night when Kasey showed up and enabled us (in more ways than one) to sit and chat longer.

Thus, thoroughly intoxicated and fulfilled, Y.T. was driven home by his lovely lady where he then sat on the couch and watched Gilmore Girls and had a veggie burger with mustard and cheese, and then went to bed. A fun, fun night for sure.

Now I just need to get this stiffness out of my legs.

- David

EEEK!

Halloween race!


And the scariest thing of all? Y.T. cross-dressing. I'm gonna slut it up, serious. Race is after Critical Mass today, which hopefully is full of cats dressed up for Halloweeny. It's gonna be a little crisp though and people tend to puss out easily. So come on out, it'll be fun times.

Pics fer sure, maybe even some video.

- David

I Like Videos

Especially with bikes and traffic.


Empire from Empire on Vimeo

- David

Effin' Aye Man

Effin' aye.





This comic is pretty cute as super-bike-centric things go, but these strips in particular are awesome. Same guy even painted his own illegal bike lanes, which I think would be a fun project for some crafty nocturnal people to do.

- David

Fackin' Buses

Today I hate buses.

This morning while doing my daily Sprint de Busstop I approached an intersection at the same time as an HRT bus coming from the opposite direction. I'm in the far-right lane going to turn right, and the bus is in the turning lane, set to enter the same street as me. I have the green light and I'm traveling faster than the bus. My bright-ass Knog light is blink-bliking, my vest is red and has reflective bits, there are working street lights all around. I can see the bus driver's face.

I'm looking at the driver, he's apparently looking at me. At this point I haven't indicated with hand gestures or smoke signals or body language that I'm turning. For all he knows I'm going straight on through the intersection. My light is still green, not yellow or red.

As I approach the crosswalk lines at speed, suddenly he accelerates and begins to turn right in front of me. I'm making a face at him (that he probably couldn't see, he was looking into the turn) like, "What the fuck, man? I thought we had an understanding." Had I been going straight and not looking right at the bus I would have run smack into it, or under it. I had to brake moderately hard and turn down my intended street, and still I ended up close alongside the bus about 3/4 down it's length.

Now, I did not signal my turn because I wasn't crossing any lanes and the bus was the only other vehicle on the road. Plus I believe legally I had the right of way and, silly me, I expected a city bus to respect that. It wouldn't have made any difference, the bus would have cut me off either way. In fact if I hadn't been turning it could have been wose as I may have been going faster and been in the middle of the intersection or unprepared to turn as Mr. Buspants decided to cut Y.T. off. 5:27am is way too early to be dodging buses and avoiding crushity death.

I've had an HRT bus push me into another lane before, and that was scarier, probably because I was still new to the commuting world and those rear-engine buses sneak up on you. But this was just angering. Probably because I always background-expect shit like this to happen. I need to start keeping my u-lock within reach and tapping on windows and shit, get me some respect. Or some missing teeth...

At any rate, bike rack was full today. I biked home, laid down for twenty minutes, then drove it in. I'm just going to start using a bus stop further down the route, or hitching it through the tunnel. I wish I could go around HRT all together. Except for the ferry. I love the ferry.

Today is my Friday, I'm ready for it. Take me.

- David

If You Wanna Be My Stalker

You gotta get with my blog.

Yesterday, much to my surprise, I found my lower-half pedaling right past the bus stop on my way home as my upper-half looked around like, "Wha- Ooooooh." Then upper- and lower-half pedaled right on down Hampton Blvd and all the way home without any prompting or prodding from your humble narrator.


View Larger Map
It was quite nice. The weather was cool, there wasn't any wind, and as far as I can tell no one tried to run me down.  Hell, no one even sped angrily past me. I tell people all the time how "adverse" weather conditions like the cold and the rain make drivers a little more respectful of cyclists, but it really is quite surprising to see.

After the bridge I had to stop and take my sweatshirt off though, and an old lady walked past eying me warily as she approached.  I smiled and huffed (it's a hilly bridge), "It's warmer than I thought!" She grinned, apparently convinced I wasn't a hoodlum intent on striping down entirely and/or stealing her purse. Clothed thus in wool undershirt and my new Flash t-shirt, I biked through Ghent and Downtown Norfolk with pink arms, face, and fingers from the chilly air. A woman pulling out a parking lot had to wait for me, stern-faced as most drivers are, and I was able to elicit a genuine smile from her as I went past and beamed a full-faced thankful grin in her direction. Waiting for the ferry a young father told me liked one of my new stickers. "Tootie fuckin' frutie man, I like that." I had just been listening to his wife tell their toddler she was going to have to put her in the river if she didn't say mamma, which apparently she can do but refuses to. All in all a most enjoyable commute.

Today though, I took too long in the shower (and I had to take one, it'd been days. Don't judge.) and missed the bus. When the weather is fine you can count on the bus being late, but when it's cold you have no room to play with. I pulled up four minutes after 5:30 and it was gone gone gone. So I biked slowly back home, defeated, not looking forward to getting Kasey out of bed to drive me. But we were both in luck as she didn't need the car today and I got to take a thirty minute nap before heading out again, although apparently I should have made it only fifteen or so. I was late today.

I think my remaining pug has realized Riley isn't coming back from wherever it was she's been this whole time. She seems forlorn, as forlorn as a half-retarded pug can look I suppose. It's so hard to filter out what is probably projection. The vet said she would get moody though, at least for a while. I think Tilly is feeling it too. Riley was a huge presence in that house, with her constant pug-noises, licking of inanimate and invisible objects, and constant following of Yours Truly. Every time a helicopter goes by my brain gets set to yell something at her. I'm sad she's gone.

The last few months have just been a mess. It feels like I'm just scraping by, barely surviving. It's so hard to clean, get out of bed, be constructive, do anything that isn't just trying recuperate from lord knows what by lying around and eating. I miss my family. I feel so guilty about not calling them that I continue to not call them, and then feel guilty again. I have this weird thing with calling my family, where if I don't have anything good to report I don't feel like I should be calling. Which is totally ridiculous, I know. They never put pressure on me to do anything. But I want them to think I'm happy, and doing good in life, and all that junk. And while in my opinion I am, not everyone shares my standards. I'll call soon though, I keep having dreams about them.

I just passed down my first u-lock to my good friend David BS. It feels a little like passing a torch. Maybe he'll get into cycling in a big way and I can say I gave him his first good bike lock. Or maybe I'll be called to the witness stand regarding the brutal maiming of someone with a blunt object that has my fingerprints on it. David BS is the kind of friend that would do that, and I'm the kind of friend that would try to cover for him.

Sweet, I just got approved to go home early. I could stay late but... I'm not gonna. I got forms to print out and send in and dogs to walk and free coffee to consume and girls to kiss. Adios.

- David

Edit: Apparently I should not try e-mail in posts that contain HTML, apologies for the ugly mess.

Stickin' It to The Man

With swear words, rebel skullz, facial hair, and stroke-faces:



I got some long-wanted stickers from Kenny & Emily when we visited them in NC this weekend, and as soon as I got home I stuck on my lil' Jenny to make her more bad ass. It's common knowledge that in yer face stickers add speed and handling to a bike like racing stripes do to a sports car. If I could get two more awesome longer black stickers for my forks I'd be set. Maybe something about NAMBLA...

I had a dream the other night of hanging out in a cyclist bar, where you could bring your bike inside and all the tables were high so you could sit on your seat and drink at the same time. My buddy Kurtz was there and we were doing shots and drinking beers and having spontaneous track stand competitions with modifiers like crossed arms or keeping the liquor on our tongues. It would work I tell ya, until the head injury lawsuits came in.

Now that the weather seams to have turned cold I may try riding a few more miles into work, see how that works out, even though Hampton Blvd is horrendous. The first time I almost get ran over from behind though, it's over. That's one atrocity I have not yet had to endure.

OT is back. Woo. Although I will need the money, but still. *Sigh*

I'm eating free "expired" pastries and laughing it up inside a closed Starbucks. Good times, good time.

Take care, y'all.

- David

Don't Let Anyone Blame You For Tryin'

But you cannot put a smoothie in your messenger bag and expect to make it without incident.  I didn't even make it onto the bike.

And the double-decker egg salad sammich didn't fare too well either.  I dunno if it was the twenty mile-per-hour wind or my apparent inability to transport food on a bike, but I returned from a hasty lunch run sticky and with some kind of egg salad sandwich/potato chip hybrid food in a bag.

Guess it's time to invest in some kind of collapsible rack or something.

 - David

Stuff & Yeah

A pretty cute commercial, whether you're a bike dork or not.

So stuff has been going okay. Work has picked up since my sups have "progressed" me, which basically means I'm cleared to take more types of calls than I was before. So instead of being able to read a couple pages between calls now I can take a couple breaths. This also means that instead of bright, shiny new users who are polite I'm taking calls from people who are upset that their shit is broken. It gives me lots of opportunities to practice patience, acceptance, and fake politeness.

I had a race last night after Critical Mass, put on by local biker and photo-grapher Wes. The $5 entry fee went to the SPCA and the racers went on a seven mile loop through Downtown Norfolk and Ghent in roughly the shape of Hello Kitty's head, which also adorns the spoke card. I was most excited for the pre-race track stand competition, which I did pretty well in. Top three got to start three minutes early, and after we could only use one hand the number dropped quickly and myself and two other guys got to take off ahead of the pack. Not that it did me any good, I still came in fifth place. I feel that I'm a decent enough rider, but I tend to get turned around or take circuitous routes when I'm on my own. As soon as I know the streets as well as my fellow racers I'll do a lot better.

My one self-consolation is that I beat out another rider in a dead sprint to the finish. It's one thing to finish an entire race before someone, but to be neck and neck at the end and pull ahead is a pretty cool feeling. He had a good burst of speed but couldn't keep the sprint up, which is really the hardest part. Another fun part was wrecking into Kurtz on the way to the bar and somehow unclipping from both pedals, hopping off the bike as it somersaulted under and away from me, and landing perfectly on one foot, hitting the ground running as it were.

Racing up Church Street was especially fun, cutting through traffic and running red lights (always with care) like I was a seventeen-inch wide ambulance. During races one finds oneself doing things one would curse at other cyclists for if it was any other day of the week, such as riding between lanes of traffic or between traffic and the curb and ignoring signs, lights, and one-way streets. But hey, it's a race. It's not any other day of the week. I'm a respectable enough rider the rest of the time, and even when I'm not I don't get in anyone's way. And I always make sure to at least have the outlines of an escape plan if shit goes south. Even if that plan involves possibly rolling across the hood of a parked car or taking my chances in oncoming traffic.

Kasey has been working two jobs, one at Panera and the other training at Starbucks. A new one is opening right outside of our tiny neighborhood and Kasey got hired there, which is fantastic. She loves working for Starbucks and she won't have to drive out to Virginia Beach and back every day, which is like a raise in itself. You could walk there in ten minutes or so. Monday is her last day as a double-jobber and I'm proud of her for staying at Panera so long, even after she got hired at Starbucks. Let's just say her soon-to-be previous employer wasn't exactly up to her standards.

Also, although 98% of you won't know what I'm talking about and the other 1.9% won't care, I now have a perfect town in Animal Crossing on my Nintendo DS. What is Animal Crossing? It's a game that's hard to explain and even harder to justify to your friends. You basically live in a little town with other non-player characters and do things like fish, catch bugs, plant trees and flowers, write letters, decorate your house (which you pay off your mortgage on to upgrade), etc. This game for me is epitome of Japanese game making: Simple, weird, adorable, and somehow addicting. Anyway, if you get the perfect balance of trees and flowers in half or more of your acres then your town is "perfect". I needed to pass some time, so I mapped out my entire town on a grid and got every acre to be prefect. If I can keep it so for two weeks I get a golden watering can. Why? To grow golden roses of course! Yeah, I know. But it took time and effort and I feel I've accomplished something.

With that confession of nerdiness, I'm outtie. Have a safe Labour Day (as they'd say across the water) and for those of you who follow my Twitters and such: I'm alive, I'm well and moving around, I just can't text for a bit. I'll check in when I can.

Bonzai!

- David

God Damn Cyclists

And I mean that sincerely.

You know how certain people get about certain movies/music/books they really, really like? How if other people hate them, then they're just retarded retards anyway. And if other people like them, then they're poser douchebag dickheads? Yeah, that's how I am with cycling lately.

Before, my love of cycling was a lot more accepting in nature: "You ride bikes too?! Then you are my brother and can do no wrong." Now it's much more, "Fucking cyclists! Get the fuck off the sidewalk/road/face of the Earth!" This thought goes through my head even if I'm currently on a bike. Why this sudden change? I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I can't get my sorry ass to work without leaving my bike locked to a fence at some bus stop because rusty, mis/disused, hobo-ghetto bicycles are always filling up the racks. And the recent proliferation of inexperienced cyclists out on the road doing shit like riding down the wrong side of the road and nearly killing me, themselves, and my faith in man in the process.

Give me the cold days, the rainy days, the shitty weather days over a nice sunny day. At least then I don't have to worry about some pasty office worker in spandex on a beach cruiser fucking with my chi. Good weather brings out the Good Weather Riders, which have about as much experience on a bike in traffic as I do on a donkey under water. It's not that they're intrinsically stupid (actually, there's a good chance they are) it's mostly that they have no idea what the hell they are doing. Imagine me, David the blogger, deciding to try being a rodeo clown. I go out into the pit or whatever the hell it's called, and then wrap a blanket over my head and proceed to stumble about. I may get lucky and keep all my plasma inside my body, but more likely than not I'm going to get myself and somebody else hurt. That's what I see when a person who only bikes on "nice days" goes by: A rodeo clown with a blanket over their head, who doesn't even have the decency to wear those huge clown pants so I can be spared the intimate details of their saggy anatomy.

Now all Asshole Elitism aside, I do like people riding bikes. It makes me happy to see people happy as they pedal along, enjoying the breeze and the smooth exercise. But if you're going to do it, do it right. Know the rules of the road, right-of-way, and traffic laws, so that when you ignore them it can at least be a conscious decision and maybe done correctly enough to not cause any misfortune. As for my own part, I read and I read and I read until I figured I couldn't read anymore. Then I rode to work for two days and read a whole bunch more I discovered I didn't know. I'm still doing that to this day.

But don't be fooled, you can't learn how to navigate the dangerous and sexy Metal Stream of Traffic from blogs and books. It has to be done before you can know how to do it. Just like porkin'. You are going to fuck up and you are going to piss off motorists and other cyclists alike along the way. Hell, I'm sure I do it every time I saddle up. But as experience grows you fuck up less, and the fuck ups become more slight, and then before you know it you're only pissing motorists off on purpose. (Actually that's a lie, there's no way to not piss off motorists, on a bike or not.)

When it gets cold again I'm sure my tune will change. People find ways to get where they're going inside shiny happy vehicles when the temperature drops and forget all thought of biking. Even motorists are a bit more tolerant when it's twelve degrees outside or raining gallon-droplets on your head. Then I'll be all excited to see a fellow cyclist out on the road and my brotherly love will come flooding back until the seasons change yet again and a new flood of n00bs arrives.

But then again, I'm sure there's someone out there who views Y.T. in exactly the same light.

- David

I'm Not Being Sarcastic When I Say...

...that people can be pretty awesome.

I know I bitch a lot on this blog. I bet if I categorized my posts they would fall into either "Bitching", "Bicycles", "Bitching with Bicycles", or "Random". I don't know what it is but the last two days I've been waking up on the bluebird side of the bed and this morning I feel like giving a big mushy e-hug to the people I think are awesome folk.

Firstly (and most recently) my friend Sam. Today he woke up early and drove me into work just because he's a good guy. After we were on the road he told me he'd gone to bed after 3:30 this morning, and he was at my house at 6:15, exactly when I'd asked him to. Also last night he bought us pizza and let Kasey and I relax on his couch while we watched a movie and I had a few beers. Sam is barely twenty-one and he just finished his first week as Store Manager of a Starbucks out in Suffolk. He's the man. Besides always offering to help and being a ton of fun to hang out with, Sam is just awesome. And so cute! Cheers to Sam.

Kasey's dad is also awesome. He's put more time and resources into Kasey's car this year than some people would put into their own children. He works more than any rational person should but still makes time for us no matter how tired he must feel. He always has pop and some kind of sweets for us to eat when we go over to his house and watch sports or Nascar. He's one of the genuinely nicest guys I know. He loves his daughter and takes care of her, which I'm really rather partial too. Cheers Kenny!

Speaking of great Heights (ha!) Kasey is pretty wonderful. I imagine that it's not always pixie sticks and slip-n-slides living with Y.T. What with the math retardation and constant leg humping and all. I do talk a lot of crap about things she is only mildly interested in simply because it's me doing the talking, which actually is very sweet when you know how Kasey is. She worries about me consuming meat and meat by-products whenever we go somewhere new to eat, and worries I'm eating enough in general. (Although between you, me, and the firewall (oh I'm so witty) I probably could cut back on the munching a bit.) We may be opposites in a lot of ways, but the parts of us that come together are pretty fantastic (and wet!) and we get each other. Plus, she has a great caboose. Cheers Kasey!

My friend Kurtz is a cool guy. I gave a shout out to him in my recent Commuting Anniversary post but I'll say a bit more here. Besides being a dedicated spandex-free cyclist he's intelligent, darkly funny, and honest almost to a fault. Last night Kasey described him to a friend as being anti-establishment. I'd never thought about it before but in a way that's totally true. The man is well-learned in the art of sarcasm and conversations with him are never dull or short on laughs. He likes the same movies I like, and in my way of thinking that's almost like being in the same cult or something. Despite his rough and tumble exterior he cares a lot about his friends. He's also the only man I've ever seen steal a cross and get up in the middle of a movie to pop next door for a drink (it was the Rocky Horror Picture Show but still, it was sweet.) Kurtz, cheers!

I'm going to combine two peeps here cuz in my mind they're always penetrating each other anyway. My brothers from anothers mothers Aero and Nano are my oldest friends and comrades. While I've met Aero only once in real life I'm set to be one of his groomsmen in his upcoming wedding, which is pretty damn cool. I put both of these guys down in the one-thousand page application for my security clearance under the section of "People Who Have Known You The Longest That Are Not Your Family And Still Like You, Somewhat". Aero and I have our own kind of language when we talk online, which is a mix of Spanish, 13 year-old girl AOL speak, l33t, and other shit we made up. While our opinions on movies does differ wildly at times, I feel we respect each other's film savvy enough to bow heads and shake hands and agree to leave the dueling pistols in the box. Now this may sound weird, but if either Nano or myself had been lucky enough to be born a lady we would totally be that couple people hate but secretly envy. Nano and I have one of those strange friendships that somehow bloomed almost instantly into something deep and lasting even though while I lived in Phoenix we hardly saw each other and don't talk much now. Cheers Nano and Aero!

Even though he's a punk and moved away I'm still going to mention Jeff. Jeff, I know I owe you an e-mail! It's coming, I just have to steal some Internets first. Jeff was the bridge between my solo cycling and the poor sods I currently bug on the Portsmouth side of the river. Without him I wouldn't have joined up with the Saturday riders (which I haven't done in months, but I will again soon) or gotten my clipless pedals as soon or as cheap. Which may not sound like a lot to you, but it is to me. Those two things helped cement cycling as a Big Thing in my life. Always upbeat and mindful of doing right, Jeff makes Jesus proud. And I'm not being patronizing or sarcastic in the least. If all Christians were like Jeff the world would be much better off. Always entertaining and fun to be around, P-Town misses him! Cheers Jeff!

I'd also like to say cheers to my bike Jenny for helping me get so totally buff that if I squat to tie my shoe my pants and underwears rip like I was Lou Farrigno from the waste down. Also for getting me around on the cheap and allowing my body to partake of it's natural biological processes. She's never broken down on me and even though she gets left out in the rain, locked to fences in questionable areas, and manhandled by a clumsy, sweaty guy she still looks good. Cheers Jenny!

If I left you out, you're still probably awesome. Unless you're a dick. And if so, eat it.

- David

Ketchup

Macaframa from MACAFRAMA on Vimeo

I love Macaframa. At the beginning of the above video I figured some kind of bunny hop action would happen, but I should have known it wouldn't be that simple. I'm totally gonna try this now (and eat shit in the process.)

Speaking of surprises on bicycles, I had a few good ones this week. I dunno if it's the weather or what, but people are being assholes again. For a while there I wasn't getting honked at, yelled at, gestured at, nothing. When I first started cycling I got yelled at weekly for about a month or two. This could very well be due to the fact that I was just starting out and I wasn't doing shit correctly or smoothly. But also, it was this time last year that I started, so maybe it is the weather.

At any rate, yesterday I was slowly partaking of the sidewalk to get around a mess on Granby (which is a narrow two-way street in downtown Norfolk) caused by a power company truck blocking one lane and a city bus trying to get around it while on-comming traffic tried to decide if it was going to stop and let it or not. I was rolling along at about jogging speed or slower and I came upon your typical teen/twenties guy: Backwards fitted baseball cap, long shorts, and t-shirt by some bad that probably sucks. I was preparing a line to go around him when he turned his head, saw me, and moved over well before I was near him. I appreciated it and said "Thanks!" as I rolled by, but before the word was even out of my mouth he says something like, "...the fuck where you're going." Ooookay. I'm already gone by the time I register what people have said to me so I just ride on. Maybe I startled him and he was trying to compensate.

On Wednesday when I decided to take on the hill I've been avoiding lately, I had the pleasure of getting gassed by a pickup truck spraying mosquito poison. It had a sign on the back that warned people to stay back 100 feet and here I am, out in the world, not surrounded by my own little bubble of AC and filtered air, getting sprayed. The scariest thing somehow was that the cloud of whatever it was coming out of the back of that thing tasted slightly minty. Luckily after a few blocks the truck turned down a side street. Then the hill came. I was all jazzed to stand up and get some good burn going and had just started to do so when I noticed a cyclist in the bike lane ahead of me. A second or two later I realize he's coming down the hill.

One of the things I hate more than anything are cyclists who don't know what the fuck they're doing riding on the wrong side of the road. I'm not even going to wait and play that game where we hesitate and then both move into each other's path again. I start looking over my shoulder to see when the SUVs and rice rockets in the lane directly next to me will be gone so I can get over. Finally an SUV from Idaho gets over for me and I'm able to get out of the path of the angry black man barreling down on me.

Now, in my mind I'm going, "Fucker, you're on the wrong side of the road!" but we're going too fast and I don't like to be a dick unless it's part of some role playing me and my girl are currently enjoying, so I don't say anything. However as we get close he raises his fist and yells in my face "Get the fuck over!" Right. This doesn't even bother me like the kid on the sidewalk sorta does because obviously I did get over and I'm 100% in the right here. Which is really what people care about above all else. In a world run by rules I dictate, he would have said "Thanks for getting over!" because he had no where to go but into direct traffic or somehow hop up over the tall curb and onto the sidewalk.

Not all surprises were bad however, as I randomly ran into someone I knew while we were both on bikes. This may happen to a lot of you cyclists out there, but for me, it never does. I guess I'm always going a specific somewhere instead of "hanging out" and that lowers the probability of a chance encounter. As I waited for traffic I saw a guy named Wes go by, who's pretty much responsible for Critical Mass here, and decided to chase him. I caught up with him after a few lights and had to yell to get his attention as he was listening to music. We chatted a bit navigating through Downtown and then parted ways as he was on his way to work. It was weird to see him on a bike that wasn't his tandem or attached to a trailer with his kid in it.

On my way home a guy on the sidewalk asked me how much my bike weighed while I waited for a light. He asked if I was a messenger (I did not have my bag, so there) and I of course said no. But man, that would be pretty awesome, if for no other reason than I love riding bikes, it's fun to be outside, and sitting on my ass all day in front of a computer is getting old. Maybe one day. I wouldn't turn it down.

- David

A Year of Bike Commuting

Sunday, dear friends, marked my one year bike commuting anniversary. Woo! Apparently I set a calendar reminder and totally forgot about it until a text showed up proclaiming the event.

It's not a big thing, but I am proud. The only things I'm really able to continue doing for an entire year is your moms, so this feels like a real, albeit subtle, achievement. Kinda like, "Oh, I've been coming to this same bar for a year." If you've know me personally for any decent length of time you're aware I'm not a big goal setter. This just happened, and I'm glad.

Let's do math! This is going to be so horribly generalized that it's nowhere near accurate, but so what. It's my party. Before I got let go I was commuting 6.5 miles each way. I worked there for about nine months, if I remember correctly. So that's 2,340 miles right there. Then for months and months I was doing 24 to 35 miles every Saturday with the Portsmouth gang. Let's say I did that for... six months at an average of 29.5 miles. There's another 708 miles. All together, 3,048 miles in less than a year strictly going to work and riding on Saturdays. That doesn't count the few races, numerous store runs, and general daily dicking around I do on two wheels. Hells yeah, that's a lot of miles.

Even though it's vaguely unrelated, the recent truck-ectomy I've undergone makes my transition to the dark side feel complete. I do still drive Kasey's car on occasion but if she ever found my collection of questionably-legal "reading material" I'd be four-wheeled vehicle free. Concerning the aforementioned removal of my truck, I would like to say I paint it cleaner and prettier than it actually was. I do like being bicycle-only, but I don't like the way it went down, and I apologize to those that had to deal with it.

As other peeps online (see the Stalk Others section, stage right) have already said, it's not really about saving money or the environment (which are both good) although I admit to resorting to charts & graphs regularly when attempting to convert non-riders. Cycling is a huge complex of simple pleasures, beauty, and logistics all working smoothly together to produce a phenomenon that's just good. I feel dumb trying to name it so I'm done. Just try it. Twice. Even if it hurts the first time. ;)

In celebration I rode My Girl Friday, recently retrofitted with a front brake, into work yesterday. I want to take her out more, but she's like the hot teen-aged daughter I hope to never have: I think everyone wants to take her away from me and do horrible, horrible things. I see them eying her as we go by, leering like construction workers. Jenny is the tomboy, I don't worry about her much. We'll see how it turns out.

In closing, I'd like to thank Kasey for putting up with my ever-increasing bike dorkiness, and my friend Kurtz for being the first car-free guy I know and showing me it could be done with style and a hefty drinking schedule. Also Google Maps for only steering me wrong once out of a million routes, and all the guys at Cycle Classics for fixing my shit and giving me a place to hang. And God. Because I feel Him in this blog tonight. But not Jesus. Jesus can suck it.

- David

Vain Davey

I get off the bus.  I'm already wearing cheap rainpaints rolled up to the knees over my jeans, similarly rolled.  Two thin neoprene toe-covers are stretched over the first half of my scuffed black and white sneakers.  My helmet, huge and red and hated, is already damp from being left outside all day.  A tight black cycling cap under that.  Sleeveless wool undershirt, white cotton t-shirt.

Waiting for a break in three lanes of commuter traffic.  LEDs blink brightly (one hopes) in the heavy raincloud light.  One foot shoved into a shiny metal toe-clip with a cheap strap.  Looking over my shoulder at the white lights of oncoming cars it begins to drizzle.

Cutting diagonally across the moistened black road thunder cracks so close and loud I duck over the handlebars.  Behind me a smattering of cars approach as they float down the bridge.  The wind can't decide which direction to blow.  The air is cool.  I'm behind a line of cars, waiting to turn onto a more quiet street.

The light changes and we're off.  I consciously tell myself "Drop, drop, drop" as I drop the weight of my body down on each falling pedal, trying to let gravity boost my acceleration and save my knees.  I try to rotate my ankles just so, spreading the point of pressure over the axis of the pedal.  There are as many different ways to pedal as there are variations of people's walks.

Cars pass me, hissing rain under their glossy tires.  I eye every parked car's door suspiciously as I skirt the line between giving the cars that pass enough room and keeping some for myself.  The rain has picked up a little.  A fucking SUV pulls out of the curved intersection in front of me, accelerating faster than average, scurrying out of my way.

Rainfall ramps up smoothly but dramatically in a few minutes.  I pull over to the empty parking spaces along the two-way street.  No decent trees.  I lean my bike against some sign I can't read.  Sliding my bag off, I remove my hat and helmet and pull the now transparent cotton t-shirt over my head.  My shoes are already soaked through.  Unrolling the red rain jacket from my bag and replacing it with the wet shirt I smile ruefully, making for my eyes an overhang of my brow against the rain.  A different SUV pulls into the side street in front of me, stops, reverses, and heads back the way it came.  Jacket donned, I replace my headgear and squish my shoe into the toe-clip.  It's raining so hard it feels like hundreds of heavy fingers drumming on the flat of my shoulders.

No traffic.  Kicking off the sidewalk and onto the pavement, alive and fuzzy with the downpour.  The rain is hurting my face, tiny disintegrating stones that threaten to split my lip.  I bare my teeth in a maniac's grin and the reduced surface area of my lips catch fewer blows.  My mouth tastes like I've lost a tooth.  Warm salt water, pain, and metallics.  I pass a ponchoed figure getting into his Jeep Liberty and he yells "Woo!", grinning and holding his hood as I go by.  Woo indeed.

I grudgingly talk myself into pulling in to a cantina parking lot, crossing the rivered gutter.  My mouth tastes so salty I'm sure something is broken.  Spitting into my palm I see nothing.  Again, nothing.  It hits me:  The collection of salt in my hat is being rinsed out into my face and mouth.  Back on the road I spit to my right for a few blocks before it stops.  I half wish it was blood.  There's no angle that allows me to shield my face and see at the same time.

Ridiculously, "This Is How We Do It" plays over and over in my head as I fight the wind and what must surely be torrential downpour.  There's no voice telling me to pull over, wait it out.  That voice died in infancy a year ago.

I love this.  This is the heart.  I'm a red blur of… I can't name it.  But it's in your face, jeering with a confidence and a finality that you've never known.  Racing down one side and up the other of an underpass at over thirty miles an hour, you wish you were me.  Peering out of your minivan window with envy at my freedom.  I don't even see you.  To me you are a metal cube that may be out to get me, and you blink out of existence as anonymously as you entered it the moment you're out of my personal bubble.

My wheels glide like salmon through puddles so deep the water swamps my feet with every revolution.  I'm laughing.  Part of me is already speaking these lines.  The largest part is effortlessly rotating the sphere of my multi-layered perception in al directions, taking in detail and danger.  Exiting an empty parking lot I lock up my rear wheel with my legs and slide across the matte blacktop, barely even slowing down.

Downtown.  I run a stop sign that's there for no reason.  No one honks.  Moving through traffic and construction the natural grace of my movement overtakes me and I become the smoothest motherfucker you know.  I'm God, I'm Jesus, I'm your misspent youth well spent.  I'm Clive Owen in Sin City.  I'm everything you want to be.  I'm a bright and burning reminder of all the things you've done wrong in your life, looking down from your office window.  Look at me.  Now look at yourself.  At this moment, I am magic.

A tree branch has fallen over my path.  I tilt my head back and to the side like I was peering around cigarette smoke as I speed towards it.  Everyone is huddled under the overhangs of buildings; my way is clear of pedestrians.  I'm panting so hard nerves in my shoulders are being pinched.  After a time I learned to welcome this as a good sign.

Alone save an impatient office worker atop the river ferry I look out at the five tall cranes that service a dry-dock shipyard.  If I were any wetter I'd be twins.  If I were any more calmly content I'd be enlightened.  I'm spent.  The beauty that only comes with this physical exertion overtakes me and I turn to sit on a bench.  Removing my glasses and pressing a hand towel to my face I sob hard four or five times, my torso jumping each time.

Thus finished, I replace my rain-dropped glasses and watch the water roll away beneath me.