Wednesday, December 31, 2008



1953 movie poster courtesy of Tomity.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Another Letter to Patches

Don't call my landline. It's a fools bet. If you ask me for a different number, I'll give it to you but I might not answer it the first time. You gotta be gentle with me. I need coaxing sometimes.

I'm listening to music that I begged off of friends or stole and none of it is very good. Again, ask me another time and I'll probably tell you. Right now I'm hot and my neck hurts and I've been drunk for four days. Ask Moishe. I chased him out onto the front lawn and threw a glass at him and he woke up his wife and they left in the middle of the night. I think he's feeling sensitive too.

The clutch is finally gone on my truck after nursing it for a year. I think all the snow did it in. I guess I have to fix it now, and I'm not looking forward to it. Those transmissions are heavy and my broken collarbone aches and keeps me awake and any more stress on it is just going to make it worse, you know?

I guess your baby is probably doing pretty good. Don't teach him to speak if you can avoid it. I have two and they are damn loud all the time. They learned to shake hands with each other and it's a real Dad moment for me when they do it. There's been less biting, but more punching. There are valid reasons to not have children, but it got me to finally quit smoking, and I guess that's something.

We'll be in Idaho next week and I'll buy you a beer. Look out for me.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

I Am One of a Kind




Wednesday, December 24, 2008

i hope that the new year brings peace





Love, bikes, and beer to you, my friends.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Big Blue

Ride, Hamachi?


This was before we got another four inches yesterday.
They're saying four to six more tomorrow.
Hamachi, Wife, and Dogs are supposed to be driving up from Oakland tomorrow.
I know how much they like Redding, but I hope they don't have to spend the Holiday there.


Sunday, December 21, 2008



It is seriously snowy out. We went for a ride around, saw a lot of skiers, a few cars, and then went to a bar.

Seems like the right thing to do, non?

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Ninkasi Oatis

I'm hoarding bombers of this since it seems that all of the great local seasonals seem to pass so quickly. This is one for the books, for sure.

What are you drinking right now, loyal readers?

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Note to My Wife


Installation utilizing broken toys, found objects, a tent, a table, and discarded foodstuffs.


Detail: Crayola marker on butcher paper.

Monday, December 15, 2008

The Buff Medways

When I get lazy I post music.

And I've been back to listening to Childish.

This one is a terrible song, but I like the clip and it's about his mom riding bikes in austere postwar Britain. I like everything about that.

Sometimes on iced-up, 22 degree days like this I wish that everyone had no choice but to get on a bicycle or walk to the bus stop. Except for old ladies who have already lived through a bunch of hard times. For them I wish that the grocery stores still delivered.

Real strange out the last few days, what with snow on what the weather-jerks like to call the "valley floor", and me and Big Blue out trying to stay upright. There have been 40mph gusts and it's freezing and there is ice under the snow but yesterday I rode for 3 hours for fun and I just kept thinking about Patches and how he used to do it for a living in Minneapolis, and it sort of seemed okay. Today I just rode to get a beer and fuck almighty was it cold to be on the bike.

I'm geared up good with Swiss and German army woolens, some Filson, some Barbour, $6 plastic bmx pedals and my Danner hikers but all of my tips were cold. You can keep your fucking Assos bibs. When the weather turns to true shit you better have some serious wool and leather and waxed cotton on hand. There have been no racer boys out on the streets. Only Subarus and Volvos with telltale racks on top. Pussies.

Yesterday I strapped 30# of groceries to my porteur rack and made it half a block on 28th before I fell onto a curb. This on top of the night before drinking poison and getting towel-snapped all over my legs and staying out until 3:30 so my wife was smelling me to see where I'd been. I did not smell good, but there was no glitter, so it was alright.

I have been serving penance by changing all of the diapers, cooking noodles and trying for two days to get un-hungover but I just keep getting drunk.

I feel like writing a poem about it but I think I'll spare you.

There is still no work.

The money is spent.

I hope next year will be better for us.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Damn Your Fucking Work

Thee Headcoats.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

SF to LA, 1902

I have no idea when this was taken, who it is, the location, or the photographer.

Here are Big Blue and The Lads looking purposeful at the graveyard.


This was a very nice day for us. It may snow tomorrow and put a crimp in our cycling, but it will be cool to have some winter weather.

Apparently, I'm a sartorial man, now.

Huh. Glad I stuck with it for so long.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

More Saints

From the Archivist.


Tuesday, December 9, 2008


From DC

The Saints

Monday, December 8, 2008

The Goggles Do Nothing.

Apologies all round for the bummer posts and short absence. Life's got me by the short hairs and is threatening to toss me down the stairs.

Let's review:

Cross season is over.

The Lads speak now.

Bourbon County.

It still hasn't really rained.

I go to bed at 5 am more often than I'd like to. Once a week, but still...

New shop space? Affirmative. More to follow.

If I have to eat any more vegan chili, there's going to be blood.

The Sart says I'm finally back in style.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Monday, December 1, 2008

I unearthed this from an old diary.
It is true.

"This is the part that I’ve never written or talked about. It’s too unreal, and too much like a dumb movie, and it doesn’t seem believable. I don’t think I’m ready to do this, but I’m going to try.

Laney passed me on the left.

She was looking straight ahead, squinting into the mist. As she came around the front of me and accelerated, I saw her elbows flap and the weak red spot of her taillight swing violently side-to-side. And that was it. That was all.

She lost control of her motorcycle on the wet train tracks on Seventeenth street and smashed into the back of a parked car. When I got to her she was underneath it. Her bike was upside-down, spilling gasoline onto the street. I pulled her out by her jeans and screamed into her face. Her eyes were half- lidded and looking, unseeing, in different directions, and there was blood on her lips.

This is the dumb movie part. I’m kneeling over my dying girlfriend, yelling for somebody to call for help. We’re bathed in the yellow headlight of a destroyed motorcycle and the rain is starting to fall.

The sirens came quickly, and the paramedics worked in that methodical, frustrating, slow way that they do. They cut her jacket off of her, and her jeans. The rain was falling on her breasts as a woman pushed a tube down Laney’s throat. Her abdomen began to distend as the air from the breathing tube flowed out of her punctured lungs. She never moved. She never made a sound. A young couple walked by on the sidewalk, both of them looking straight ahead.

There was the ride in a police car, the wait in a room with a telephone, the two doctors who came in to talk with me. I called her mother at four a.m. to tell her that her only daughter was dead and then I went home and fell asleep on the floor of our bedroom."

Missing you right now, Lu.


Friday, November 28, 2008

Dear god.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Weekly pdxcross Update

See that first picture?
I actually went ass-over-teakettle into that pile of rotten pumpkins. I got pumpkin guts all over my knickers.
You cannot bunny-hop pumpkins when you are very tired and your bike has ten pounds of mud on it.
This is something I now know.

Also, For Sale:

Specialized Toupe saddle. Has only seen one season of light cyclocross use.
Near new.



Tuesday, November 25, 2008

It's About Having Your Priorities Straight.


"Ivar," Signa asked suddenly, "will you tell me why you go barefoot? All the time I lived here in the house I wanted to ask you. Is it for a penance, or what?"

"No, sister. It is for the indulgence of the body. From my youth up I have had a strong, rebellious body, and have been subject to every kind of temptation. Even in age my temptations are prolonged. It was necessary to make some allowances; and the feet, as I understand it, are free members. There is no divine prohibition for them in the Ten Commandments. The hands, the tongue, the eyes, the heart, all the bodily desires we are commanded to subdue; but the feet are free members. I indulge them without harm to any one, even to trampling in filth when my desires are low. They are quickly cleaned again."

One of my favorite passages from Willa Cather's O PIONEERS! 1913

Monday, November 24, 2008


A lovely poem here from Hitler's Mustache.

The Package

First, there was the cardboard box
that was wrapped in clear tape.
I got a knife. Then there was a box wrapped
in sticky paper. Then another layer of sticky paper.
Then another layer. Then there was a layer
of clear tape. Then, another box. When I
opened this box, there was a jar wrapped
in sticky paper and more clear tape. There
were a bunch of layers of each. It was hard
work. I was starting to sweat. When I finally got
to the jar, the lid was glued shut. It took me
a while to dislodge it. The Jar was filled with glue,
but deep in the center of the glue was a small
package wrapped in clear tape. Below those
layers of clear tape, was a sort of tiny tarp
that seemed plastered to a layer of tape beneath it.
I unpeeled the tape and the tarp. I cut
through the layer beneath that.
There was a box rife with screws. It was
very screwy. I undid the screws I could undo and
got a small hacksaw for some of the others. I
was laughing a little to myself by now. Also,
I was frustrated. I had broken one of my fingernails.
Beneath the screwy box was a ball of tape
wrapped with sticky paper and a hard shell
like thing coated with a bony chocolate.
It was late by now. I chiseled the shell and fought
my was through the tape and sticky paper.
It was a loosening situation. There was much
pulling and slackening. Through it all, not
a single phone call. And that's what I think about
now. Not a single fucking phone call.

Training Log Vol. 5

Sassy's is a bar where tattooed girls take their clothes off and put their private parts close to you if you give them dollars. I like this place a lot.

It is the best place to be on a Saturday midnight, breathing smoke and clutching a 2 dollar Oly tall-boy and giving your monies to the you-know-what girls when you are supposed to be asleeping.

It it these things, my appetites, that keep me from success on the field of pain.

This is another place where men who breathe like horses (you can hear them!) bear down on you in the mud and rubble and you push the machine and carry the machine and fall into the rotten earth. You toil, and there are tormenters with bells and alcohol, small children, men on one wheel, dead things laying still on the vine.


This is not a Fun Time.
The naked bar is better.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

I Don't Believe That Anybody Feels the Way I Do About You Now

We're just gonna keep doing music.

Friday, November 21, 2008

The Godfather re-hipped me to this clip, which shows the mighty Sabbath at their furious best. They will be my second favorite band for the rest of my life.

The fact that The Smiths will forever be my first favorite makes as little sense to me as it does to you.

And you've been wondering where I get my look?

Oh shit. I forgot about the Velvets.

The porn box has become the Elmo box. How the hell this happened, I just don't know.

I guess Elmo's pretty cool. Not like those fucking creepy teletubbies. Those bitches give me the terrors.

Seems like winter's finally here. Weather has been a little on the inclement side, but still in the fifties during the day. Most of the leaves are now gone from the trees, and the trucks came yesterday and swept the big piles off the streets.

I've been riding Big Blue pretty much everywhere, carrying shit and staying dry, but I need to figure out something for my legs. Rain pants are the all-time suck, so I'm thinking thrift store polyester pants, suitably tailored, will shed some water and dry quickly once I arrive at work. Thankfully the bar is really tall, so nobody will be able to see my crummy, wet diggers.

Any suggestions?

Tuesday, November 18, 2008


Stolen from Blackbird, who can be seen here getting his neon-splatter Ira dirty at Alpenrose.


Oh, and I nearly forgot my weekly link to pdxcross. Did you know they're putting out a book? You do now.

Monday, November 17, 2008

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child: But when I became a man, I put away childish things."
Corinthians 13:11

Wifey's turning 40 next month. I swore to god that I'd never be married, let alone to someone so old.

Part the First
I didn't come home
I drank tequila, stole a bird's nest and
lived on chips and beer

I teased young girls in the bar
wore a red
t-shirt and let my tongue loose of its moor

There are reasons for all of this but I can't tell you why
because a man at my age has no call to explain himself and if you push me
I will fight

I got laid in a loud car and dropped my empty cigarette pack
on the ground

I have never had kids or paid my bills. Say it again and
you'll have
to defend yourself

I still want to know about that little redhead
with the bluebird
tattoo in the crotch of her hand

I spent all day at the laundromat and I feel awful. I don't know if
I'm going to last

My friends are dead.
My friends are dead.

Part the Second

Cargo, bitches.


Friday, November 14, 2008

Homeboy Matt Feeney building proper custom racks.

I'm queer for Utility.

Yes, I'll be out at Hillsboro on sunday, making like a lemming on the barriers, but goddamn do I love me some racks and panniers.

Monday, November 10, 2008

A Letter to Patches

Mr. Dicklesworth---

I LOVE your emails. I just never check that account any more and keep forgetting to get back at you.

How's dadhood? Hows the baby? Send pictures of the little devil, I int seen him yet.

Things here are as portlandy as always. Bikes, beer and boobs. In that order.

The economy is putting the squeeze on us here finally, but since the Obama come in things are picking up a bit. I see from my special red/blue map that ada county didn't even go for the man. You'd think those fuckin yayhoos would have figured it out by now, but I guess I can't be surprised.

You realize that negro's gonna take away your guns, Patches?

I sold a track bike because my knee is giving me hell and now that I'm a serious bike racer dude I can't afford to suffer like that. My new porteur is so relaxing and can carry things. A Revelation!

I like your blog. It fuckin took long enough. Post more shit, it'll make you feel better.

I'm nearly 37 years old, drunk and broken down with two kids living in a rented house in this rainy town. I ain't never been happier.

Paste that in your Broadway show.

Ta, a
I decided to take my bike-slangin ducs and put them somewhere safe.

Like into an IRA...




Ever since we've been in Portland, I've really been missing my old city bike.
I put it together just before the move from Oakland to The Reddest State, and sadly, it didn't see much use out there.

I was doing my 18 mile morning road loop,
frozen water bottles and all, and was spending the rest of my time on the 29er, bushwacking cow trails out in bum-fucking nowhere,
but we were living in the farmhouse and I was one of only two cyclists in our small town, so the townie just sort of decorated the garage most of the time.

It eventually went on ebay, got shipped to L.A., and a few weeks later I saw pictures of Earl riding it around.

Ces't la vie...

Well, the Rossin
is packed up and gone back to the Yay Area, and a new and improved townie should be arriving sometime today.

Check back for pictures.

Ok, here's a hint...

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

TPM has an awesome map HERE.

Go out and vote today, you lump.

Monday, November 3, 2008

More Barton Park

Another incredible photo set from Brujo.

And even more from ratspike!

The Crusade

I'm just gonna go ahead and link to pdxcross every week because you need to see it and get all jealous.

(EDIT: See photo 28. That's my buddy Troy in the S&M jersey looking like he's gonna die at the top of that run/ride-up. And if you look in the top right corner of the same pic, there's me and my rear spinergy.)

First MUD of the season on an absolutely beautiful course. Real fast, more pavement than normal, no steep climbs and plenty of run-ups. The only barrier was a 2'x2' concrete wall that was more of a climb than a hop.

My group got called up second from last this week, and the chute being so narrow, I watched the lead-out for a good 20 seconds before I even clipped in. Thankfully, I got by a good 50 riders before the first descent, and picked off probably 20 more during the last two laps.

61st place wouldn't normally be a finish to be proud of, but I worked hard for that bitch.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Palin is a Dumb Bunny.

Holy shit.

Holy Shit.

Holy Shit.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

RIP Studs

Following Norman Mailer last year, another hard-as-nails intellect has left us.

What will become of smart, tough manhood?

Wednesday, October 29, 2008


I made it to pdxcross. Well, the silouhette of me being chased by a viking did, anyway.

I couldn't shake this guy to save my life, but I have a feeling that the gentle hand on my back pushing me up the fast road section on lap 4 belonged to no other.
Of course I dropped a chain near the finish and Viking boy and at least 15 others got by me before I was rolling again.

Always an excuse.
This must have been during the first lap when I still had my wool gloves on.

Hoping to be on the bike tonight, tomorrow, and friday to put in some slow spinny miles, rest on saturday, and get on the stick for Barton Park.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Third Lap Pain-Face in Full Effect.


Three-piece polyester suits, though stylish and comfortable, do not breathe well.

Same could be said for me, I guess.

Good times out at Astoria yesterday, what with all the crisp air and blowing leaves and ruddy flesh and beer, delicious beer.

I will race and finish mid-pack and be happy because I cannot leave that fucking IPA alone.

On another note, THIS is for Mr. Chris who I know has an irrational fear of sticks.

It never seems to end around here. PDX (the airport) is talking about putting in bicycle assembly/dis-assembly areas for two-wheeled travelers.
Caught this via Bike Portland.

Thursday, October 23, 2008


I stole this from Stevils new joint.


Monday, October 20, 2008

An Open Letter to the New President

Michael Pollan on our food and how it relates to our own National security.

This is Very Important Stuff, and Pollan has a handle on it like no-one else in this country.

Grab a local beer and spend some time with this.


I got off work around ten-thirty on Saturday night and decided to sit down for a bite and a few glasses of my latest love.
Come around one-thirty and it occurred to me that there was some sort of cyclocross race that I was supposed to be at in like, 9 hours.

Drunk as shit? Check.
Half-hour bike ride home? Check.
Stumble around and forget to set the alarm? Check, and check.

Wifey sticks her head in the bedroom door at 9 am and says two things:
"God, it stinks in here," and "You're gonna miss your race."

I did brush the dogshit out of my mouth, but didn't get a cup of coffee. Just suited up, threw the bike in the car, and left. Wasn't so bad, the drive. Herself had made me up a peanut butter and banana sammy and the heated seats are a godsend.

Hour's drive. Didn't get lost for once. Just follow the subaru with the bikes on top. A snap, really.

I missed my fuckin start. Ran into Huf, who laughed at me, but did get a couple of cups of coffee in me courtesy of CK. Stood around freezing my balls for a bit and loaded my clean bike back into the car.

I figure any successful day racing is one in which I don't have a ragged piece of my own collarbone stabbing me in the cheek, but I could have done without this whole fucking mess, really.

Next time I'm staying in bed.

Though, Astoria is next Sunday. Can I get a WOOT?

Thursday, October 16, 2008


From DC.

We’ve decided we’re leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we’re taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren’t aware, that includes California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole’ Miss. We get 85 percent of America’s venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition’s, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms. Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we’re going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they’re apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don’t care if you don’t show pictures of their children’s caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq, and hope that the WMD’s turn up, but we’re not willing to spend our resources in Bush’s Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country’s fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation’s fresh fruit, 95 percent of America’s quality wines, 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT. With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we’re discussing the war, the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy bastards believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.
Finally, we’re taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States

Monday, October 13, 2008


The Villebois course creeped me the fuck out. Straight Cormac McCarthy shit out there. Gravel and rebar and craters and ruts. Pieces of concrete and tile and a few sad looking trees and some lumpy grass.

Weird, sort of hostile spectators and no beer.

No wonder, considering what the place used to be, and what it will be soon.

It matters not. I got a puncture halfway thru the last lap, but was well on my way to a solid mid-pack finish if I was right in counting the number of wobbly fat guys I'd been able to get by in the first few times around.

This is my favorite picture of me racing because you can't see my gut or the snot caked to my face.
I will, I will, I will finish next Sunday.

Here's my buddy Ben having a little taste.



Friday, October 10, 2008


I buy it. I buy all of it. All of the enthusiasm and the comraderie and the joyful work ethic and the pride of effort. The builders and the brewers and the rest of us just going thru every day knowing that we inhabit a beautiful and secret place.


The free box at City Bikes where I found a 1960's Campy front derraileur and I went downtown for coffee and took it out of my pocket and was playing with it and crusty messenger Dumpster Dave was like "I have that same one on an old bike, but the cage is broken" and I gave it to him and his face lit up like a fuckin little kid.

The guy with huge mutton chops doing a block-long wheelie on a titanium mountain bike and as we passed I yelled out "Yeah, boy!" and he yelled back, "Awww, yeah!"

This autumn light.

Hufnagel's new cross bike gives me shivers.

I can't believe I'm here.

So, some whatever photos from today.











"No, how you doin?"


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