Monday, September 28, 2009
Battle at Barlow
79 degrees, dusty, and fast. One gnarly run-up in the woods consisting of a sheer face held in place with a bunch of railroad ties. Sort of like a set of giant, busted-up stairs with roots and loose dirt in between.
Team Hankbuilt had a good showing. We all finished. BG got 19th in SS. This is an accomplishment.
Onward!
Also, thanks to BG for the pic, and C and M for the water. Good to see you both, and I'm looking forward to Alpenrose next Sunday.
Team Hankbuilt had a good showing. We all finished. BG got 19th in SS. This is an accomplishment.
Onward!
Also, thanks to BG for the pic, and C and M for the water. Good to see you both, and I'm looking forward to Alpenrose next Sunday.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tough Practice
The Lads are toughening up pretty well.
Luckily, we have a good training ground at our park, 1/2 a block away.
No shortage of obstacles and mudholes.
Today, we worked on dismounts and being smooth over the barriers.
Run-ups tomorrow.
Attack face.
Up and Over.
And off!
Luckily, we have a good training ground at our park, 1/2 a block away.
No shortage of obstacles and mudholes.
Today, we worked on dismounts and being smooth over the barriers.
Run-ups tomorrow.
Attack face.
Up and Over.
And off!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
ROCK>everything else.
You're all invited to stay at my house for this.
I will probably bust out the white creepers, and walk over the Burnside bridge. You will see me in a tight fitting t-shirt, covered by a tight fitting leather jacket. Or, if the weather be fair, a greasy denim vest.
I will likely be drunk on tequila, and messed-up on whatever else I can find.
I will either have a black eye, or be in the mood to hand one out.
Some of you may recognize this amalgamation of parts as a bartender you once knew, some time ago, in a city not that far away.
I am back.
I will probably bust out the white creepers, and walk over the Burnside bridge. You will see me in a tight fitting t-shirt, covered by a tight fitting leather jacket. Or, if the weather be fair, a greasy denim vest.
I will likely be drunk on tequila, and messed-up on whatever else I can find.
I will either have a black eye, or be in the mood to hand one out.
Some of you may recognize this amalgamation of parts as a bartender you once knew, some time ago, in a city not that far away.
I am back.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Fall Again.
I'm always happy and nostalgic and kind of bummed-out this time of year. Make sense?
I delivered fresh hops to the brewer on Big Blue.
The sun came up on Mt. Tabor.
Some Good Friends have gone away. Au revoir!
Some have beards and lurk in the woods.
The Lads are incredible.
And some things, well, they just make sense.
Look for more from me as CX season kicks into gear, and there's more indoor/beer time.
I hope you're all hanging in there, friends.
I delivered fresh hops to the brewer on Big Blue.
The sun came up on Mt. Tabor.
Some Good Friends have gone away. Au revoir!
Some have beards and lurk in the woods.
The Lads are incredible.
And some things, well, they just make sense.
Look for more from me as CX season kicks into gear, and there's more indoor/beer time.
I hope you're all hanging in there, friends.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
It's in Me
Marvin LaVerne Werth. Christmas 1951, Long Beach California.
I wish you were still around, Grandpa. We need you.
I wish you were still around, Grandpa. We need you.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Rad Weekend
Cal Henry likes the velodrome.
Silas George likes the drag strip.
Dad likes Khao Tom Pla.
We are sunburnt, and our ears are ringing.
Good times, boys.
Silas George likes the drag strip.
Dad likes Khao Tom Pla.
We are sunburnt, and our ears are ringing.
Good times, boys.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I haven't gone up to Tabor this year. Too busy daddying, working on the Coronet, and being Lord High Bartender.
I don't even really want to race bicycles anymore. I'm happy commuting on Big Blue and wearing regular shoes.
Trying to be competitive does nothing but make me feel frustrated that I can't devote the time, and I end up hating myself for every pound I gain. This isn't fun. It sucks.
It has, however, been good to see my friend Ben Grimm turn into one of the fast guys in town. He has legs, and lungs, and lots and lots of the thing that cannot be purchased or taught.
Dude has Heart.
Sad today to hear he crashed (again), and on the last night of the volcano suffering, just as we've been talking about starting to train for cross.
It wasn't the Death Wheel.
But, the same damn high-dollar fork that I have.
And the fucker snapped off right in the middle. How does this happen?
Such a bummer.
I don't even really want to race bicycles anymore. I'm happy commuting on Big Blue and wearing regular shoes.
Trying to be competitive does nothing but make me feel frustrated that I can't devote the time, and I end up hating myself for every pound I gain. This isn't fun. It sucks.
It has, however, been good to see my friend Ben Grimm turn into one of the fast guys in town. He has legs, and lungs, and lots and lots of the thing that cannot be purchased or taught.
Dude has Heart.
Sad today to hear he crashed (again), and on the last night of the volcano suffering, just as we've been talking about starting to train for cross.
It wasn't the Death Wheel.
But, the same damn high-dollar fork that I have.
And the fucker snapped off right in the middle. How does this happen?
Such a bummer.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
He was actually checking out a chick that just jogged by. Silas has been at the shop, operating the lift and getting greasy and exercising his joy.
You may recognize the striped thermal from the Oysters post. This is a different kid, acting sullen.
A tricycle may seem like a step back from the furious glory of the Skuut bike, but goddammit, a boy has to learn to work the pedals sometime.
Good work, Cal.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Old Car
The rear main bearing was installed upside-down
starving the cam of oil and of course seizing the crank solid
I broke the engine down this morning and dragged the pieces off to the
men with the big machines to have their way with them
They will come back to me clean but
tonight my nailbeds are grey
stiff jeans and my
white shirt shows a spray of oil across the belly
The gash in my forearm goes right through the
tattoo and there's a flash of pink meat underneath
which makes everything feel real and alright
I rode my bicycle home from the shop and spent the evening
rolling around on the front grass with my sons
They are gorgeous creatures
They are gorgeous creatures
I keep falling asleep with my eyelids fluttering
dreaming about driving the old car again
The rear main bearing was installed upside-down
starving the cam of oil and of course seizing the crank solid
I broke the engine down this morning and dragged the pieces off to the
men with the big machines to have their way with them
They will come back to me clean but
tonight my nailbeds are grey
stiff jeans and my
white shirt shows a spray of oil across the belly
The gash in my forearm goes right through the
tattoo and there's a flash of pink meat underneath
which makes everything feel real and alright
I rode my bicycle home from the shop and spent the evening
rolling around on the front grass with my sons
They are gorgeous creatures
They are gorgeous creatures
I keep falling asleep with my eyelids fluttering
dreaming about driving the old car again
Monday, June 1, 2009
Swell Maps
I woke up from my nap today humming this song.
My boon companion, heterosexual life-partner, and designated driver J Bluh turned me on to these noise/punk superheroes 15 years ago, and thanks to the majick of the porn box, I can now share them with you.
You should listen to this as loud as you can stand and do a herky-jerky dance.
And here's another bit. Remember the loudness. And the dancing.
My boon companion, heterosexual life-partner, and designated driver J Bluh turned me on to these noise/punk superheroes 15 years ago, and thanks to the majick of the porn box, I can now share them with you.
You should listen to this as loud as you can stand and do a herky-jerky dance.
And here's another bit. Remember the loudness. And the dancing.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Ghosts
A couple of weeks ago, Berg had a post about hybrid cars, and I promised him that I would soon be bringing something back from Idaho that would make his skin crawl.
"Kind of greenish and gets about 6mpg" I think were my direct words.
I have now re-cemented myself to the roots of all of my happiness and miseries with the return of the Green Ghost.
The Saga of the Ghost.
In 1996, I came back from New York City, heartbroken, broke, busted.
The girl I left in San Francisco left me while I was gone, and the girl I went to see, well, she didn't want to see me. Or at least her man didn't want her to see me. There was talk of violence and a lot of tears.
I remember sprinting through JFK, a trail of papers, songs and poems and maybe money too, spilling out of my backpack. And an all night flight. A cab ride back to to old 20 Sanchez.
The girl I loved was dead. The other ones wanted nothing to do with me.
I did I guess what any young man would or should do when staring down a sadness of this sort:
I bought a car.
Sort of a creampuff, in a $700, I got it off the son of the old man who bought it off the lot, kind of way. Two-door post, skinny tires, quiet.
I paid the guy half and he let me drive it away.
When I turned on the defroster, a lot of pine needles blew out onto me.
I took it to the exhaust shop, and made it loud. Hit the Pick-and-pull for a set of cop wheels and some meats.
I never really loved the car back then, but it suited my personality. I fit in it and it made me feel alright.
Yes, I drove with open containers, a thousand dollars worth of parking tickets stuffed in the glovebox and my arm hanging out the window.
I was driving it when I finally decided on a wife. It got towed away and auctioned off, and thru a miracle of coincidence found its way back home (though I could never register it in my name in California ever, ever again). It languished in Oakland with a bad motor and a worse front end. I tried to sell it. No one was buying.
Other cars came and went, got crashed, sold, left in the rain somewhere. A big-block turned on a stand and crushed my hand and I swore off cars forever, and returned.
And returned.
It went on a trailer to Idaho with my folks. Snowed in in Grass Valley for 6 days and over Donner at 35.
Finally out of the city for the best summer of my life, I treated the car like a full time job while my woman laid peacefully indoors, our twin sons turning inside of her.
Ran it in, aligned. My arm on the old familiar door. Some good fun before the inevitable explosion. Because things do. They just do.
Towed from Sweetzer summit all the way to Weiser and stored-up again, full of cardboard boxes and mouse turds and here I am living this bicycle life in Portland while the Ghost has languished.
I have so much tied up in this deal. Money and a physical sort of pain and all the emptiness and shit I've never dealt with. Blood on my hands and crushed friendships and a thousand, thousand drunks and awakenings. All the promises I made to myself and forgot and betrayed.
Well, anyway, I got my car back. I drove out there with The Snus, Weezy, and The Cuban, put the fucker on a trailer and balled it back home. These guys don't know about any of this. They think it's a bad-ass car, and that it looks good on me, and that's about as far as I guess I need to take it.
"Kind of greenish and gets about 6mpg" I think were my direct words.
I have now re-cemented myself to the roots of all of my happiness and miseries with the return of the Green Ghost.
The Saga of the Ghost.
In 1996, I came back from New York City, heartbroken, broke, busted.
The girl I left in San Francisco left me while I was gone, and the girl I went to see, well, she didn't want to see me. Or at least her man didn't want her to see me. There was talk of violence and a lot of tears.
I remember sprinting through JFK, a trail of papers, songs and poems and maybe money too, spilling out of my backpack. And an all night flight. A cab ride back to to old 20 Sanchez.
The girl I loved was dead. The other ones wanted nothing to do with me.
I did I guess what any young man would or should do when staring down a sadness of this sort:
I bought a car.
Sort of a creampuff, in a $700, I got it off the son of the old man who bought it off the lot, kind of way. Two-door post, skinny tires, quiet.
I paid the guy half and he let me drive it away.
When I turned on the defroster, a lot of pine needles blew out onto me.
I took it to the exhaust shop, and made it loud. Hit the Pick-and-pull for a set of cop wheels and some meats.
I never really loved the car back then, but it suited my personality. I fit in it and it made me feel alright.
Yes, I drove with open containers, a thousand dollars worth of parking tickets stuffed in the glovebox and my arm hanging out the window.
I was driving it when I finally decided on a wife. It got towed away and auctioned off, and thru a miracle of coincidence found its way back home (though I could never register it in my name in California ever, ever again). It languished in Oakland with a bad motor and a worse front end. I tried to sell it. No one was buying.
Other cars came and went, got crashed, sold, left in the rain somewhere. A big-block turned on a stand and crushed my hand and I swore off cars forever, and returned.
And returned.
It went on a trailer to Idaho with my folks. Snowed in in Grass Valley for 6 days and over Donner at 35.
Finally out of the city for the best summer of my life, I treated the car like a full time job while my woman laid peacefully indoors, our twin sons turning inside of her.
Ran it in, aligned. My arm on the old familiar door. Some good fun before the inevitable explosion. Because things do. They just do.
Towed from Sweetzer summit all the way to Weiser and stored-up again, full of cardboard boxes and mouse turds and here I am living this bicycle life in Portland while the Ghost has languished.
I have so much tied up in this deal. Money and a physical sort of pain and all the emptiness and shit I've never dealt with. Blood on my hands and crushed friendships and a thousand, thousand drunks and awakenings. All the promises I made to myself and forgot and betrayed.
Well, anyway, I got my car back. I drove out there with The Snus, Weezy, and The Cuban, put the fucker on a trailer and balled it back home. These guys don't know about any of this. They think it's a bad-ass car, and that it looks good on me, and that's about as far as I guess I need to take it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Slurping Oysters
Young Silas shows us how to do it.
First, a bit of lemon. No hot sauce for this dude.
Then, into the gob. Note the look of sublime concentration.
Ahh, wonderful...
...if a bit briny.
Big ups to the guys at EaT Oyster Bar for another fine lunch.
First, a bit of lemon. No hot sauce for this dude.
Then, into the gob. Note the look of sublime concentration.
Ahh, wonderful...
...if a bit briny.
Big ups to the guys at EaT Oyster Bar for another fine lunch.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Walt Whitman
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that
pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and
poke-weed.
-from "Song of Myself", 1855
I should revel in this Springtime, but I keep finding myself crying in the car and
lamenting the whole world.
I hope that you are doing okay.
Are you?
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not
even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over
upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue
to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that
pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women
my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and
poke-weed.
-from "Song of Myself", 1855
I should revel in this Springtime, but I keep finding myself crying in the car and
lamenting the whole world.
I hope that you are doing okay.
Are you?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
My Ma has been here visiting for the last week. It's been great. She loves being in Portland and is a great help with The Lads.
Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.
Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.
He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.
His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.
Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.
Let us revisit.
I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.
This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.
So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?
Today, while we were driving around, she got a call from my sister that was kind of strange. Sis was on her way to lunch and saw an old man in bib overalls and a long white beard, riding down the street on an ancient, rickety bicycle.
Odd enough, I guess, to see anyone on a bike in my podunk Idaho home town, let alone my stepdad.
He has a couple of really beautiful motorcycles and a nice old truck, but Mom figures he's gone crazy, or doesn't want to buy gas anymore, or doesn't want to risk a DUI on the way home from the bar.
His biker buddies are going to freak the fuck out.
Sis is mortally embarrassed, but I'm really proud of him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cherry blossoms are out, and the gutters are full of pink snow.
Let us revisit.
I haven't brought home any beer in over a week.
This was supposed to say "I haven't had any beer at all in a week", but I found out the hard way that switching to just whiskey makes me want to punch the whole goddamn world's fucking lights out, and that wine is expensive and makes me sleepy.
So, I had some beers at the Victory. Let's not make a big deal out of it, okay?
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