we go on as before

Caught up in catching up, there has been little written of local doings. There have been some.

 While hiking my fixed gear bicycle up this trail, I came across Trail Crew?!?! 2 gals and a guy, a 3' D handle, and a 4'ish cross-cut. They had even cleared that big hanger. One never knows how folks are gonna take a bike in the woods so I was vague, though effusive, in my thanks. Nice work, people.

 
 The boys and I took the long way to and from the store...

 J and I scavenged some more timber to start the backrest at the New Stairs. Brown Lunch and all. Later on in the ride, I told him the Legend of Comanche- the ghost horse who is out for revenge on children of the Central Coast. 

Another time I rode from home, did some trails, some road, rolled through Ord and then home. Then I did it again another other time, but included 50 and 49 and 82- all of which are perfectly tacky right now from all this grey Summer fog. Fasssst and grippy. Just fine for some 38c road tyres. I love that 2 wheeled drift pedal into the counter steer sandy turn.



And, also- enough with these tired Full Moon designations already. Can we get with the new new and bring it in closer to home? Yes, we can. Tomorrow is the Kick Ass Moon, and I will be rolling out underneath it after work. Whosoever wants to see if we can find some moonlight out there past the edge of the fog, should be prepared to roll from Cside around 6:45ish...

In/Out

I told my older son, D, that he isn't a real boy after all. He is actually a rock we found at the beach. He appreciates my honesty, and is marveling at all the ways we have fooled him into thinking he is more than a simple rock. There are several seemingly illogical threads in the fabric of his story, but he is a rock so he can't expect everything to make sense.



I felt the time had come for him to face the Truth today, on an after-school bike ride. It's a nice opportunity for parents to teach their children valuable lessons.

The past is catching up to me and messin with my Good Life.

Words.







Passed some equestrians today on the paved road. I rolled toward them from behind and saw the rear most horse hear me and start to dance, so I called out to let it know I was a friendly human. Skittish horse, nervous rider. They were 2 biddies and 1 stable henchman to mind them. The rear lady had poor control. I clucked to the horses and rode on by. At the top, I stopped to stretch and wait for them. I wanted to get a feel for how the horses reacted to cars vs. bikes, and let the people catch the idea that cyclists are not a nuisance. Maybe plant some seeds of consideration that bear fruit in the long run.



There is so much animosity between horsey folks and bike folks. I personally do not care for anyone who rides trails in conditions that eff them up (i.e. soft, water-logged switchbacks)- whether it's horses, motos, or bikes. And horse people, in general, seem to see themselves as having a natural right to be on trail in whatever conditions. But, I've seen plenty of bike tracks through mud holes that were better left unridden, as well. Motos? They smell and are noisy polluters. You knew going in I lik bikes, so this ain't a surprise.

But- access is access, huh? We have to sit down without precondition or the talks will never happen. So I try and be respectful and polite first, and see where that gets me.



Then I waited for them to ride on. Wait. Wait for it. Don't rush in, Saturday morning is a bust for sure. Give it a little more time.

GO! Go quick and quiet when you do go, and don't hang around.


This reminds me of a time, when I was riding in this one place and I came upon the proprietor of said place. Officially, bikes were not welcomed there. The guy's truck was facing away from the direction from which I appeared, on a single lane access road. Upon seeing him, I turned right around and rode the other way. He saw me, too. I knew this because, as I was putting the corner between us, I heard the reverse alarm sound off. And keep sounding off, as he came after me at maybe 8-9 mph in reverse. There was another road taking off above the road he was reversing, and I took it. I passed above him (out of sight) and heard his beeping continue on in front of, then below, then behind me. I was riding pretty quickly.

At the time, I was wearing brightly patterned bibs, an orange undershirt, a green jersey, black arm warmers, and grey knickers.It was cold. In my pocket, I had, among other things, a musette. I later decided to ride up a different (and completely legitimate) road, to reenter that one place in a the guise of a regular citizen. I took off my outer layers, and stuffed them in the musette. This saw me climbing in a bright orange shirt, and brightly patterned bibs, with a bright orange bag. Like a totally different person! No one but you would notice the bike ( Believe me- it's true, you're obsessed. And frankly, it's not healthy). And sure as sh__ting, who should pass me?

You better believe it.

run to your life

...is what J says when he's "scared".


The kids requested scary stories while on the River Trip. One of the Rules of the River is :No electronic entertainment allowed. You could argue the grownups break this rule by bringing cameras, but you'd be a bored kid desperate to latch on to any perceived loophole in which to wedge your foot, hoping you could parlay your dreamt-of successful argument into a video game and an ipod. The upshot of the Rule is a much greater sense of community (unless everyone's buried in a book) due to the games and such that take the place.

My brother and I obliged them. Scaring children is, after all, one of the chief joys of parenting. Anyone who tells you that kids don't like being scared was raised wrong. In order to really drive home the story, I like to include elements of what's around; whether current events, local history, or locale itself.

My brother (let's refer to him as Big Dummy) started off with the story of "Old Man Withers" who buried his money in his yard and brought it out to roll in under the light of the full moon. Meh. Then I told the story of the local miners who'd mysteriously disappeared, only to show up as skeletons, having been buried alive up to their necks in the river bottom by angry Nez Perce locals, when the river was dammed and the bottom showed. Then BD told one about a haunted coyote with eyes of gold who terrorized the local miners because of their unholy obsession with wealth. Then, to up the ante, I told this one:

Bitter Shape Shifter Bites Kids!


Not that long ago, in Eastern Oregon (we were very close, in Idaho on the Salmon River) there lived a bruja [Spanish for witch-this gives the story gritty realism, as "witch" is clearly make believe while "bruja"? well, it could happen...] who was terribly bitter about her grown children never bringing her grandchildren to visit. The fact that she'd been a terrible parent and was mean to kids was, uh, beside the point. She was upset. So, she decided to work a spell which would allow her to visit the kids. She transformed herself into a vampire bat and flew over to the village where her grandchildren lived, but she couldn't recognize them and had to spend all night in bat form looking. She began to get hungry...

(are you ok? you want me to continue? sure? well, because you look a little freaked out, is all. allright...)

She flew to all the windows in the village, and eventually grew madder and madder and hungrier and hungrier. Finally,she just let the vampire nature overtake her and she bit one kid on the ________!!!!! [insert exposed body part of child closest to you. optional grab of said part]
This was so bloody and terrible that she lost herself completely and bit several more kids' _____s!!! [ you know what to do] She was a bat all night, and barely made it back to her cave in the foothills [or some place near your house, if you're really mean] before dawn.
When the kids and parents of the village awoke the next morning and found the children had been gnawed on, they were really POed, and vowed to find out what had happened. They consulted their local shaman [pronounced "shay-man" cuz that's so irritating to my brother], who told them it was the work of a supernatural vampire bat, on account of how real vampire bats don't behave that way [do NOT underestimate your audiences knowledge of the animal kingdom]. The sha(y)man instructed the villagers to stay awake that night with torches and pitchforks in order to keep their children safe. So they did.

But, staying awake all night is very hard. One by one, the villagers dozed off. And sure enough, the bruja had come back that night to find some children to suck on. She didn't even only want to find her own grandkids anymore- she was totally crazy now. And she quietly flapped back and forth until she found some kid with his/her _____ sticking out[yes again], and she landed on that kid and bit the ____!!! Then she found another. And another.

When the kids and parents awoke the next morning, one or two houses had been burned down from dropped torches and one guy had a hole in his favorite chair from a dropped pitchfork. Also, 4 or 6 kids had been bitten by the mysterious, supernatural vampire bat. The parents had to once again spend the morning disinfecting the bites and putting bandages on the kids, while wondering what to do. Finally, the local sha(y)man decided he would use up the remains of his power doing the difficult spell to change himself into his spirit animal- the owl. [NOT the skunk.] He did this because he loved the children of the village, and wanted them to be safe. All day the sha(y)man worked on his difficult spell, sweating and singing, with feathers and stuff. By nightfall, he was ready.
That night, by the flickering light of many torches, the sha(y)man became a Great Horned Owl, and flew high above the village on wings so silent, not even bat sonar could locate him. Again the bruja quietly flapped into the village looking for children. She was very hard to see, and was very tricky- being an evil bruja, and all. But just as she was trying to open the first window, the sha(y)man plummeted from above and pinned her with his talons! Then he gobbled her up, because bats are pretty similar to mice, and owls can eat mice, no problem. And that was the end of that.
____________________________________________________________________
J (3), N(11), and my niece,T(8) were all so gripped I had to let them off the hook. I told them that the sha(y)man had told the parents that as long as parents loved their kids and took care of them, he'd be able to keep the bruja in his belly and the kids would be just fine. They all started saying things like "Oh, okay, I'll be fine, then."

D(8) just looked at me and said,"Is that all?"
I think he was looking for some more blood and guts. Anyhow, that was the last story that night.

Comanche!

Sometimes, when we're riding in Fort Ord and especially when night is coming on, I'll tell the kids the story of Comanche. The real story- not that pap printed on the little fakeout memorial at his (not her) grave...
And this is the real story: Once upon a time there was a wild stallion named Comanche. The arrival of settlers in the west caused Comanche to move further and further west, as they encroached on his range. Comanche did not want to become anyone's beast of burden, for he was fierce and independent. Eventually his westward migration ended here on the edge of the Pacific (for obvious reasons), and he grew fiercer and independenter in keeping his range free from Eurotrash who would want to pave over his grassland and harness him to the plow. (The worst of both worlds? paved over farming? consider my audience....it sounds good)
Anyone foolhardy enough to venture into his maritime chaparral was subject to his wrath, which usually resulted in him running them down 'neath his sharp hooves. This was a problem for the Pirates who frequented the area and needed access to bury their ill-gotten booty. The Pirates began hiding their chests under cover of darkness, but Comanche found them and was terrible and dreadful in his anger. So they took to using children, still at night to avoid the sheriff as well, to bury their treasure for them. These children had been kidnapped and forced into servitude. The children had to use torches, since flashlights had not been invented, and one night, they set some oak leaves alight while digging beneath the canopy. Ft. Ord was burned to the ground, and Comanche was killed in the blaze. Legend has it that he haunts the place still, looking for the children responsible for burning his home...
This is a great story, because the grave is Right There. It's incontrovertible proof that Comanche was there, and is a ghost now. And all the hoofprints (from the large number of horse folks riding) around Ft. Ord are the ghostly tracks he leaves. There are many latrine holes left behind, which are now "proof" of the holes dug by Pirates/slave-children because they're exactly treasure chest sized. And the area has been burned many times to look for unexploded ordinance, so there's ample evidence of catastrophic fires...

The kids want to know if Comanche would blame them for burning down his home, even though they had nothing to do with it, and it wouldn't be fair.

I tell them, "Probably."




So while searching for images of "dangerous stallions" this came up. Freaky results on that one.

Careless Robots

...to the heart and mind, Ignorance is kind.There's no comfort in the Truth- pain is all you find. Sorry, had to be done.

And, I gotta mention: J is rockin the Batman kneepads now on trailerbike rides.

Different J altogether,here is the link to the kickass cartoon about bikes and rain capes. It's called Yehuda Moon and the Kickstand Cyclery. True and wonderful.

Special for Mysterious B____ S_____...remember that shi_ Avid pulled at Interbike? Let's get them this year. Really raise a, uh, stink. If you will. And I know you will. Show up each morning to plan the assaults and receive our missions, skip the middle of the show each day and meet for drinks and strategizing at the Double Down, and then implement our plans in the afternoon...and on. Maybe even spend whole days in the hotel bathroom...strategizing.


Speaking of MSB...it's his birfday on June 6, and the trip to Mineral King is in a strategizing phase of it's own. All y'all California uberalles see me after class. A shuttle from the central coast is being arranged. Those Western Slopers and Moabites innerested should contact B____ with their questions. A shuttle from Moab is being arranged. Get on it! June 5,6,7,8... 4 day weekend and guaranteed Good Time. This 50 miler out&back is A-mazing in it's pitch, surface, and lack of traffic. Camping optional, and it'll be a cheap thrill regardless. Last year a bear snuck up on us as we were laying there gasping- uh, resting- on the road.Don't be caught left holding your bag with your pants down. How's this look?
That's right, it does. And, plus there is a potential for offroad bike action as well, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Notice to all them that haul ass: Acorn Bags has a website and some pretty, pretty luggage to hold all that ass. Handmade by/for cyclists in the US? Yep. Check out the roll up bag. Those of you who are slow, you will see one below the finer part of me soon...

Rrrrrrrraging Dandyism Reigns in River City...

By now you've seen all the pictures you care to (if you care to) of the North American Handmade Bicycle Show 2008. I took several on Friday, but soon lost interest. Seeing the cameras some folks had was eye opening, and their pictures are much higher quality than any of mine. So go here, here, here and here if you want.
But there is some "insider" reporting to be done, and here's the deal:
You see that fellow above? Imagine him wearing a combination of 2-3 of the following....a waxed moustache, a knee high pair of argyle socks, a knee high pair of gaily striped socks, pink barrettes, 2 more sweaters each smaller than that one, a fedora, a bowler, a roostered out mullet with tendrils snaking down his neck, and mandatory ramrod straight posture.
Yes, he is a rather tame specimen of the Portland scenesters...WTF? Who knew? I had no inkling that this steampunk/thrift/sensitivebikepoet culture existed. They all want to be this guy, or maybe this guy from 3:10 to Yuma (great flick):
I was this guy:
with a big chunk of this guy:


and this was a view I saw a lot of:
while doing my best to make sure everyone else had this vision as well.

Attending with Hunter Cycles and Black Cat Bicycles was a guaranteed Real Good Time. The intent to distribute beer at Black Cat was thwarted by the show security, so we had to keep the drinking under wraps by using official show cups...this worked so well, that we kept doing it. Over and over. If y'all came by the booth, I hope we were attentive. Everyone was intending to be helpful, with more or less success- depending. A large contingent from Santa Cruz bikes were in effect, so there was lots of internicene squabbling and some pushing, slapping, and grabassery. The dropouts -go see Black Cat- were a huge hit, as they should be. Frames were sold, interest piqued.

Hunter had some truly useful and well thought out cargo bikes, along with a sexy, curvy 29er swamper with a bitchin, pinstriped (Watsonville, holmes!) lowrider paint scheme and integrated arced bar-stem combo. And, they had some really useful and stylish caps custom from Rainy Peak Cyclery, (go see them and heckle until they respond , it's worth it for the unbelievable knickers)- some truly Quality People.


I'd be remiss if I didn't point out what everyone from Portland was crowing about- that it has more strip clubs per capita than even Vegas. This is true. And a good thing, too.

We even made it to the Diablo, a "vegan" strip club. The speculation about the real meaning of this went everywhere you think it did. My first happy thoughts were of anemic girls with granny glasses, and hairy armpits wearing old fashioned pasties and wool shorts...
Of course, the reality fell far short of this. In point of fact, the girl I interviewed was not certain why it was a vegan club, and"thought" they had good food but was neither a vegetarian nor a very talented stripper. The talent pool was far deeper at Union Jacks or Sassy's. I like the Sexy Librarian.

Everyone affiliated with me had bikes, and that was best. Weather turned out awesome, and I only used the selftent for one ride. After the show we rode everywhere, and everywhere we rode there were other people on bikes. Lots of them. Lots. Derbies broke out, booze was broke out, bikes were piled, seeds and stems were piled...a fire was lit. It was very different in that regard (well, the hordes of riders, anyway) from the San Jose shows or Interbike. So, raging dandies and all, Portland kicked ass and it's a bummer that Indianapolis is the next stop. Sorry, Indiana, but what was Don Walker thinking? Boo. Hiss.

Here are some photos I stole from the sites cited above. Starting with the Sycip keg pull shifters... not so practical, but fun.


The hunter Cycles (Pajaro, the no frills version of Hunter bikes) model Hillbilly Roadster..

A top contender for me( I lik a big headube) was this ssx from Retrotec's Curtis Inglis
I accosted Curtis in (where else?) the men's room to tell him I wanted to talk about not getting into SSWC2008- he groaned, apparently this happens a lot. I laughed and told him I was coming anyway and poaching his race. He's a good guy with a good sense of humor. He said I should. And I will. And You should too.


I really liked this
from Villin Cycles. The part you can't see here so well is the super nice small touch of twined "lugs" of copper wire. Neat bike.

These guys are bike kooks in the best way, and this bike represents, generally, the rando/townie vibe of the show...

Here're some detail shots of the Naked bike that won a) people's choice b) best in show, and c) President Walker's Choice... check out the wood inlaid Aheadset
marvel at the custom wood grips..
wonder about the wisdom of this (admittedly well executed) lock hole...

because you know you'd never leave this bike locked somewheres, and you'd lose your wood rimmed wheels [yes, they were not only present but prevalent. I hate the very idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Bad in the dry(warp, shrink), bad in the wet (warp, swell). Yeah, yeah, yeah...show bike this and that....stooopid. There was even a seminar on them? I missed that one in favor of drinking beer and talking shit.] Anyway, I looked at this bike at least 5 times, and saw a detail I'd missed before at each new viewing. Really, an amazing bike. Supposedly Lance Armstrong bought it. No, I did not see him, but he was there.


And, in spite of the "What would Sascha Do" buttons that were popping up on well dressed showgoers all over, my personal favorite...
It's his daughter's bike, with 24" (?) wheels. Loudass was heard to remark "Bet that kid goes to private school" while passing... what would Sascha do? He'd have a 4 (!) year (!) wait list! Sorry, y'all are suckers. Holy Crap, it's nice, but:
Yep. That's MY daughter on her green stylee townie. A thrift store fillet brazed Schwinn, bitches.

Still and all..

Fairies prettier than your mouth

A few nights ago, N lost another tooth. They just keep falling out of her head...

She's a sweet kid, and we make sure things go as well as possible for her. She's a good sport. But she's fed up with her rotten Tooth Fairy, and I don't blame her.

It's common knowledge that all kids are assigned personal tooth fairies at birth, or at least upon emergence of his/her first tooth. There's just no way a single fairy could keep up with that kind of workload-worldwide pickup? Not to mention exchange rates and different currencies. Santa aside, the Tooth Fairy is personal. And around here, I've heard of inflated tooth prices of $20 U.S. (I'm dead serious about that, by the way).

Well, our children have been assigned more frugal fairies- a condition that has been cause for some grumbling, especially after hearing about the blinged out Cali-fairies. And until now, we've stayed out of the whole thing, knowing it's out of our jurisdiction.

Our kids get dimes.

Which makes sense to me. I mean, fairies are little. They can't be airborne with big bills like quarters, to say nothing of the problems of aerodynamics involved in the transport of $20 in paper. And, plus I got dimes when I was little.

It never occurred to me, as a child, to contact the Tooth Fairy for any reason. Mine was reliable as I recall. Times have changed. N's tooth officer has been a little lax. There was an unacceptable lag of about a week last fall. N wrote the following just after Halloween...


Damn. I was really hoping that would be legible. Ok...
"Dear Tooth faire, I think you have been unfair. You sciped Me twice. I like you but please be more careful about when you take my teeth. I would like you to write back. What color hair do you have? Thanks, Love, N PS. Write down here-" And the fairy responded in tiny writing"Dear N, I apologize for missing your tooth. I was off duty for the Halloween Fairy Ball in New Orleans, and I lost track of my regular life...there were lots of handsome frogs to kiss and make princes out of and the punch was very very strong. Then I went to the beach in Florida with some raccoons (it's a long story)- anyway, I only carry dimes because I am very small, but here are 2 dimes to make up for lost time. I will add your beautiful molar to my growing pile. Someday i will have enough teeth to build a castle (with a moat to keep out raccoons). Tooth Fairy"

Sounds like a fairly shady fairy to me. That fairy's no lady.
As for the recent extraction, the Tooth Fairy casually let 3 nights go by before mistakenly (?) leaving my little girl a penny. Brothers and Sisters- What is this world coming to?

So, the"Skull Ghost".

This is a primer on how to bamboozle your kids into riding. It includes the story of Rupert Thompkins, a.k.a The skull Ghost. I tell this one to the kids when we're riding in Ft. Ord. It's a good way to trick them into thinking bike riding is fun. The stories keep them innerested, and it helps to have a destination for them to keep in mind. We tell stories at Commanche's grave ( another story- it's the gravesite of a ghost horse). Destinations, stories, and snacks...got to have snacks to make it worth their while. Preferably sweet sticky things they don't normally get.
Stories about ghosts are best told at twilight. And allow me also to point out that these are ghost stories...not life-is-safe-and-boring stories, so blood and guts and bad behavior are required. My kids like it gory. (So do yours, you just might not know they do.) And Ft. Ord is mostly maritime chaparral, close to the sea, and full of old latrine holes (which are typically treasure chest sized); hence the piracy theme we have running thru our lies. So pick your story to match the surroundings, and your kids will make themselves believe your outlandish yarns as they "discover" the corroboration. Use of local history and known names (like they might see as parks or ball fields) helps, too. They want to believe, so throw them a bone- let them have some magic and wonder in their sanitized Halloween-at-the-mall-world.

Our man Rupert Thompkins was an honest and hardworking lettuce farmer in the Salinas valley in the days before refrigeration, and he sold produce to seamen looking for scurvy prevention. (Does lettuce even have vitamin C in it? I have no idea, but neither do they and it sounds credible. I don't even know if this is the way it always starts, but they don't pay attention so much unless I miss a gruesome detail) One evening at twilight he delivered some veggies to a crew of salty dogs, and they accused him of stealing their treasure and cut off his head. When full dark arrived and his ghost rose up, his head was long since washed out with the tide. Naturally, this upset his ghost and it promptly set out to find his missing dome. Upon encountering the drunken pirates, he tore off their heads and tried them on one at a time. None fit. Turns out pirates have giant heads on account of their being really good at math and stuff ( you know, all that loot multiplication and division really pays off in the brains department). So the headless ghost put the nearest-to-right head on and followed their tracks inland until it came to another group of pirates. This was the group of thieves, digging up more buried treasure. Which wasn't theirs. Well Rupert Thompkins' angry ghost treated this gang to the same head wrenching, with the same unhappy results.

At this point, the ghost has become a fixture in Ft. Ord. It has never found it's head or a suitable replacement. It is still out there, it will be looking...tonight. There are lots of treasure holes around to "prove" the pirates were there. And the hook in all this is that the "Skull Ghost" (he just leaves the last unsatisfactory head on until it turns to bleached bone or he finds a better specimen...) has figured out that kids have small heads, and would make fine replacements.

So. Something to think about. There're several more interlacing stories, and props to match- it is an abandoned army base. Each tale braces the others, holding up this house of cards until someone gets too old to buy in anymore. In the meantime, we're literally getting miles out of them. We can ride to the various spots mentioned and look at factual evidence. You have something just as scary and bonafide near you.

Spent an hour on the rollers watching East of Eden. James Dean, Burl Ives, a puddle of my own making, what? Told you bitches. Look out.

Finally, there's this:

I had a real fine time last year at Old Caz in the pouring rain, and hope to do the same this year. It was cold and inadvisable. I recommend it. If you're in this neck of the woods, it's very well organized and a strong/fun peloton. This does change the Blowfly plans, as Lake Sonoma- also a very fun ride- is that day. Looks like singletrack there, then on to SF for the show. Now who's with me?