Resolute

1- Improve father skills.

2- Depression will not get me.

3- Less talk, more rock.

4- Air out the Colnago.

5- More poetry, less yelling.

6- Air out The Wife.

7- Neck tattoos.

8- Pushups.

9- Mixtapes.

10- I will do better.

Do you have things that you'd you'd like to work on?

Will you tell me about them?

I'm listening to you.


.

Pig Sunday

Keep your football. We makin' bacon. And prosciutto. And loin. And shoulder, butt, and a metric shit ton of sausage.

One of the perks of working in the restaurant business is having access to a proper kitchen, and to the purveyors who can supply you with the goods.

"Cooper" was a beauty. Killed and delivered thursday, and broken down today. 2 inches of fatback and two 24-pound hams. The knives were sharp and we drank some pretty good tempranillo.

Spirits were light. I like to meet my food. I like it a lot.

2009

For you picture takers/likers.





.

The Selvedge Yard.

New Koan

Here Now


Now and again
I am here now
And now is when
I'm here again


Samuel Menashe



Stolen from POETRY magazine. September, 2009.

Rest Easy, Jack Rose.

There were a lot of cold days where we used to live. I like to think that I remember the two dogwood trees on the shady side of the house and the bees in the quince. But I don't really.

When I think about it hard, there's only January. Sitting with the Ashley Book of Knots and waiting for my sons to come.

Jack Rose was there, too.




February 16, 1971-December 5, 2009




.

More

From Antler



Whitmansexual

Whitman was a mansexual,
a womansexual,
A grasssexual, a treesexual,
a skysexual, an earthsexual.
Whitman was an oceansexual, a mountainsexual,
a cloudsexual, a prariesexual,
A birdsongsexual, a lilacsmellsexual,
a gallopinghorsesexual.
Whitman was a darknesssexual, a sleepersexual,
a sunrisesexual, a MilkyWaysexual,
A gentlebreezesexual, an openroadsexual,
a wildernesssexual, a democracysexual,
A drumtapssexual, a crossingbrooklynferrysexual,
a sands-at-seventy-sexual.
Whitman was a farewell-my-fancy-sexual,
a luckier-than-was-thought-sexual,
A deathsexual, a corpsewatchsexual,
a compostsexual, a poets-to-come-sexual,
A miracle-sexual, an immortalitysexual,
a cosmos-sexual, a waiting-for-you-sexual.

Haw-Lin

My friends and I are warning you not to get sucked in.

Cyclocross, 1976

This will be my last post of the cx season. Probably.

Oregon: Destroying it, olde timey style.

We're all damn cowboys too.

Hey Berg, Dan Reeder makes his own guitars. He doesn't shoot them first, but he does a pretty good job. You're going to like this.

Whiskey Soda Lounge: Post Mortem

We fucking killed it last night.

Andy Killed it. Nick killed it. Dave killed it. Lindsay killed it. Even the new kids killed it.

House full of Portland's restaurant glitterati, writers and critics, and urchins lured in by the promise of free Wassail.

Some screeching woman accused Gabe Rucker of stealing the credit cards out of her purse. "He's covered with tattoos!"

Yeah, he could also buy and sell you.

I'm in love with loving my job.

All three of them.

Whiskey Soda

Starting another job today. I am so thankful that, contrary to the thousand other scenarios that I could envision for us this Christmas, I think that we'll have a warm house and full bellies this year.

Take nothing for granted, you.

We're all, every one of us, a misstep, mishap, missed opportunity away from landing right on our asses.

Or our feet. I guess it's all how you play it.

Also, I went and got a tattoo of a shark last night. Well, this morning, actually. But who's keeping track of the time?

Walt Whitman And The 501 Jean.

"Walt Whitman, who in the mid-1800s was quite possibly among the first generation of Brooklyn hipsters."

Cal is Awesome.

He just is.

Munday

I just realized that my last five posts have all been videos swiped off the internet. Damn boring.

What's new?

I haven't taken any pictures lately. There's something wrong with my little Lumix and everything looks like shit. Besides, Hamachi and Patches are working their Panas out, so I don't have to.

I suck at racing bicycles, so I bitched out of the race on sunday. Kruger's farm. Always pretty and perfect. Tractor ruts and the last geese overhead. The first place I raced after I came to Portland, and my favorite.

We went up with the Lads, drank some beer, did a little bonfire action. In talking, realized that it was their third season attending cx at the farm, and they won't be three years old until January.

Raising them up right!

Which gets me to considering that my sons already don't think of the the Bicycle as a novelty, or as a toy. They are, at this early stage, already fully attuned to its use as an everyday tool of much utility, and also one of great joy.

It's what gets us to the store. And to the park. And to the Bye and Bye for edamame and brussels sprouts and The Doo-Shay of a Sunday afternoon.

It's my hope that when they're older, they'll ride more than they drive, take pleasure in the maintenance of the machine, and most importantly, not have to think about it nearly as much as I do.

What did you guys do this weekend?

Transportfietsrace

I do this every day on my way downtown.

But I have an ipod.

Post Ride Convo

I totally know this guy.

Discussing

This is only funny to me. The little fuckers have been showing up at the races-- Pushing their bikes around like it's Valencia St. and dropping cigarette butts everywhere.



Thank god I'm too fat and hung over to race anymore. Ninkasi just dropped the '09 Oatis Stout and I'm fixing to put on the chill-chasing 15 lbs. Fuck Gore-tex and fleece. I need my waxed cotton jacket, a layer of seal blubber, some black, black beer and a bike with fenders. Call me good to go.

See you come spring.

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

One of my favorite songs, and the Van Morrison/Them version is the best one-- But I found this and thought I'd post it. Brilliant.

Colors and the Kids

Another in our ongoing series of feel good/feel bad songs.

"Yellow, hair. You are a funny bear."

Results

66th out of 213. I "beat" Trebon and Wicks. Too bad I'm so slow, because I got out of the field in the first group of 20 or so and lost a good forty spots.

The course was really, really tough.

BG hit 33rd. Good going, crusher.

A Little Taste of Mayhem

SSCXWC

+




=


Um, don't ask.



Photo by MaxIsNow.

SSCXWC

This is going to suck. Or be the Best Race Evar. Time will tell.

Again, you're all invited to stay at my house for this. I'll cook up a big pot of vegan chili and buy a bottle of whatever, and we'll be good to go. Because, I know people, and people, they know me. Dig?

Heckle Pit

Someone's camera phone movie of sunday's Heckle Pit. Note the human barriers (which moved all over the course), and the stack of caskets (which were re-arranged every lap).

Every lap. Laply?

That's already a word, right?

Cross

You might be thinking that it's all smoke. Or some kind of hysteria.

That it's being packaged and presented to you in a way that somehow amplifies its glory.

None of this is fake.

It's all dirt, blood, booze and blind dedication to an unknown cause.

BIKECRUSH


PDXCROSS.

Cross Crusade. Astoria, OR, 2009

I wore the suit again. The terrible suit. It binds and is hot. I drank beer before coffee. I drank beer before food.

I had food. I stopped at the Safeway in Clatskanie and bought two bananas, a Clif bar, some string cheese, and a bottle of Pellegrino. $4.89.

Out on the highway, some fifteen miles further into the fog of the coast range, there was a guy pushing one of those bicycles with the ratty trailer. A lot of hefty bags and tarps and a brown dog wearing a person's wool sweater.

I saw his down coat with the feathers sticking out and the tape on it, and his wet hair hanging down, and I pulled the car over and backed down the hill. The dog barked at me and I gave the guy the plastic bag of food. He looked like he needed it. He didn't say anything, but it was 48 degrees and going right thru to the bone. I hope he ate it and got some sustenance from it.



The Team had been camped at the fairgrounds for two nights already. They looked like mud and rain and oatmeal stout. They were chopping up pumpkins with a double-bit axe and pretending to eat a little, here and there.

Everything was glowing when I arrived, and there was a keg. I put on the suit, knowing it was the wrong thing to do. Such has been my life.

I'll leave the details of the racing to the Hankbuilt blargh, but I can tell you that we are in trouble with everybody.

True

I See A Darkness

This is in response to Berg's posting of the Cash version of this song. Which is good.

The original, though, is stunning.

Team Hankbuilt

Here we are.

LTD

I could talk to you about my problems. I have a lot of them. I wouldn't even know where to start.

I'll tell you that for most of the last year, I really felt like I wanted to see the whole goddamn world burned right down to the ground.

Where thoughts like this come from, I couldn't begin to say.

I have it alright. Everything that's happened to me, I've done to myself.

Mostly.

The other things just happened. They happen to everybody. That's why I see so many sad people walking around.

We're all wading through the same shit, brother. All somehow linked together by the same hurts.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm alright. Things kind of scraped bottom, but I'm feeling pretty good again.

How are you doing?

The Line

Two men, turning themselves inside out for 59th place.



A lot can be said of a pleasurable Sunday out at the races. Some beers, some kicks. Families and Wives sitting out the rain in the
tents, managing bored kids. Probably dinner somewhere later.

Something to do around the house. A long shower.

All of this life. This regular guy stuff. But,at this moment, right here, all I cared for in the world was to cross the line before that other man.

We had been at war for two miles, breathing like horses. Insane in the mud and regretting every wrong thing I'd ever done:
Imagined music pounding in my head, and bile in my throat.

And the motherfucker pipped me at the line. He had it. I didn't.

All Wet

Adam5100 has been flooded out.

Check it here.

CX in the news

Our local news-jerks at KGW did a little puff-piece on last sunday's hurt-fest.

It's cute.

This Weekend

I know that I'm always saying that I'm going to post here more. To like, entertain you, and stuff.

Well, Duffman says a lot of things.

Ooooooh, yeeaahhhh.


I'll just re-cap the weekend.

Saturday, it rained. Sheets of it. I went on the N.O.I.S.E. ride. I don't know what that stands for. I do know that it's been going on for some years and is top-secret underground. So underground, in fact, that I had to find out about it on the internet.



This thing was Fun Times. We played Buzkashi in the rain. There weren't any dead goats. I imagine that a couple of the players might have been vegan. On second thought, they mostly looked like they would eat anything. Anyway, the goat thing was a garbage bag full of leaves. Everybody got wet and crashed and yelled. It was so fucking awesome.



Then we poached a park. The one right outside my front door. I was cold and tired, so I watched, drank somebody's beers, and then went home.



I had to get downtown to pick up my wristband for the Scion Garage Fest. The rest of my day was devoted to this. I rolled with my buddy DK. We drank a lot. Took breaks between shows to talk about books and fatherhood, and then dove back in.

Apparently, I showed up at my restaurant just about closing and tried to fight the whole kitchen. They declined.

Below is a picture of The King Khan & BBQ Show. I took it with my camera in order to document the fact that for a good 20 minutes prior, a cute girl with a pointy nose and a black bob was rubbing her boobs on my arm and sort of accidentally touching me in a provocative nature. I liked it.



The next morning there was hungover cyclocross racing.



I am such an amazing super-stud.

(Pic from BG's flickr)



In this picture, you might find my Lads, my Wife, Sean "Handsome" Bob, Sufferin' Tong, Smokey, MaxIsNow, and Cody "Rolls in Horse-shit" the Dog.



I mean, this was some race. It hurt so bad and was perfect. All pony trails and sun and big dramatic clouds. Kids and dogs and beer. So much yelling and smiling. So much love from our tent, to all the other tents, and to all the riders. Our bells to you. Our pain to you.

Thank you strange women shouting "Go! Greenbike GO!" Thank you Dads with daughters on shoulders.

This is a perfect time.

Cooling Down?

"In fact, Dr. Tanaka said, one study of cyclists concluded that because lactic acid is good, it is better not to cool down after intense exercise. Lactic acid was turned back into glycogen, a muscle fuel, when cyclists simply stopped. When they cooled down, it was wasted, used up to fuel their muscles."


MORE.

Berlin

Big Giant and Little Giantess go a walking.



The Rest.

Cross Crusade at Alpenrose Dairy.

Burning lungs. Burning eyes. Snot dripping, muscles cramping.

Hacking, hacking, hacking.

That ain't bike racing. The Super-Crud done got me.

Went out to the Crusade opening with the whole fam-damily. Nobody was feeling it.

We checked out our new team tent (Jerseys on the way, soonish), yalped at our friends, scorned our enemies, and walked around in rubber boots and waxed-cotton jackets until the cloud-cover burned off and sent us scurrying beerwards.

Thems Lads are troopers.


PDXCROSS onnit!

Olde Timey

PDXCROSS

HERE is PDXcross' coverage of yesterday's race.

Aannnnddd...

Tonkin and Babcock straight handling Barlow's brutal run-up. Bad-ass.

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.

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!

It's Back

I'm so happy to have pdxcross back in my life.

Last year, I tried to make Horrible Pain Face at every photographer I saw, hoping to see my twisted visage in the following Monday edition.

I don't care about placing. I just want to finish, and have my picture taken.

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.

Rock In Espanol.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Davila 666.





MC5/Turbonegro/Velvets? Bueno!

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.

It's in Me

Marvin LaVerne Werth. Christmas 1951, Long Beach California.



I wish you were still around, Grandpa. We need you.

Sing it Loud.

My Friend Jordan

HUF

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.

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.

Craft

Wrench Day

Famous, bitches.

Ready to eat?

PING.

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.