Pittsburgh of the West

Movin' on up.

2011-09-21T16:31:00.000-07:00

I've moved. Please fast forward Doc Brown style to my current log: 2012.

Denmark Politi

2009-04-29T11:55:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Sir Ian for passing this along.

I plan on applying to the Scan l Design Fellowship my second year of grad school, which equals a semester at The Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, and perhaps, a free helmet and hug.

Gold Medalist in Bike Thievery

2008-08-21T17:58:00.000-07:00

That's incredible, I'm not even angry.

Of course, if it was my bike lying belly up like a dead fish in a rusty toilet, I might change my tune.

It's Official

2008-05-15T09:29:00.000-07:00

Photo: Jonathan Maus of bikeportland.org

I ate it on 10th and SW Washington in early April thanks to some light rain and the above mentioned tracks. I gave a little wave to the driver behind me, a small thanks for not running me over.

Slacker that I am (so much is going on with bike ish here), there is more to come: Will Fain lives here(!) and just built up a nice Peugeot with the help of some folks over at Bike Farm. The weekend forecast is a blazing 90 and Martino's sister, the legendary V, will be visiting up from SF.

It's officially summer in Stumptown.

Women Don't Get Wooly, They Get Weary

2008-03-26T22:44:00.000-07:00

Thanks to several mishaps, I know look and feel like one of the Hanson brothers.

Reports from the PDX foxhole will be forth coming, even if I have to rip the suckers from my gut. Promise. Much love to NYC, especially the Prospect Park kids.

Who's The Big Winner?

2007-11-12T12:12:00.000-08:00

I entered Orlo's Doug Fir fiction contest back in June right before I left Brooklyn. My story and some hard earned cash for the small entry fee beared some fruit. I placed fourth and was granted a little name recognition in the current issue of The Bear Deluxe. Check it out, kids.

More frequent updates with bike gang pictures to come, promise.

Poop Culture

2007-08-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

In making the swift move from right to left, east to west in late May, I inadvertently left Dave Praeger’s brilliant book swirling the proverbial poop shoot. The man got a write-up in The New York Times for crying out loud. The least I could do is mention that a good friend is now officially published and circling the globe promoting his new book: Poop Culture: How America Is Shaped By Its Grossest National Product.

I first met Dave via The Ks at the now extinct Lula Lounge, one hand grappling a trombone while the other gripped a cold beer. I quickly learned of his poop writing over the course of several intense Sunday morning football games in Prospect Park. When Dave missed a game on a snowy Brooklyn morning it was because, "Oh, someone wants to publish Dave's book." Everyone was so chill about it. In my world it's kind of a big fucking deal. The dude was even featured on the BBC before he even published Poop Culture!

Rather than buying a one note joke (with several supporting puns) about ripping ass for $15, you find what one reader called, "The first book on poop since Dominique Laporte's History of Shit that I would call top notch." Dave manages to delve into the historical, sociological, and economic realms of poop in an interesting and engaging manner, all while providing possible solutions to some of our most pivotal problems concerning the disposal of waste.

Dave currently updates his book blog regularly. Just recently he expounded upon the paradox of public bathrooms, which are almost always non-existent in large cities--thank you New York. At least check out Dave's current adventures in India at Jenny's flickr account. Jenny, by the way, is Dave's intelligent and equally talented wife.

Here's Dave's lecture about poop and the media. Yup, he's a heady fucker.

Enjoy the book!

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

2007-08-12T22:11:00.001-07:00

As some of you know, I'm currently training for a marathon. I haven't run this hard since college cross country before I killed my knee. I've been running twenty milers in the woods every Sunday this past month. In response to my aching legs....

Unlike most of my cohorts in high school, I wasn't obsessed with Prefontaine. I studied odd guys like Gerry Lindgren, and especially Dave Wottle. He wasn't a purist snob. He wore a hat while racing for christ's sake. He got married when everyone told him he shouldn't, trained when he could despite cruddy knees, and took advantage of a dare to be great moment.

Whatever and ever, Amen.

Stand By Me

2007-07-27T14:06:00.001-07:00

Took this a few nights ago from my front porch. There's a small pink airplane in the mix of all those telephone wires.

Tomorrow I'm heading down to Brownsville, Oregon for the Stand By Me Celebration.

Eat your heart out, kids.

Not only will there be a pie eating contest there will also be a "dead body" scavenger hunt. You don't understand. I was obsessed with this movie, and not merely because John Cusack, River Pheonix, Corey Feldman, and that kid from Star Trek and Toy Soldiers had starring roles. After I saw the film as a twelve year old, I charted a run away hitchhiking trip to Brownsville with my dad's Triple A map of the US. My good friend and associate Rachel Beck, who's grandparents made an appearance as extras in the pie eating portion of the film, lives in the area so Marty and I hope to meet up with her.

To get you pumped, I have provided a picture of the women's auxiliary club and The Benevolent Order of Antelopes before the complete and total barf-o-rama. Check out more of Andy Lindberg's photos of the Pie Eat film shoot. For the uninitiated, Andy Lindberg is the gentleman who played Lardass.

Documentation will be provided after the festivities.

Is That Ginsberg?

2007-07-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

All right, so bike news is coming up. However, I thought I'd post a few things that have made a dent in the pressures of entertaining myself while unemployed.

We tossed our vampiring soul sucker of a television into the East River before we left Brooklyn. Marty and I occasionally allow ourselves the pleasure of You Tubing G.I. Joe movie segments (should you go looking, the battle scene--#16 and #17--that glues the entire film together is missing). However, our true vice is Yacht Rock, and that's not dark sarcasm talking. Belated thanks (circa 2005) to Tae for handing me a CD chock-a-bloc with channel 101's greatest hits.

Best line: "Hall and I will not stand idly by why you California vagina sailors stab the American airwaves in the balls with your shit music."

Another favorite, The Big Lebowski F_cking Short Version and The Big Lebowski Ninja Turtles.

Liz over at Impudent Ways turned me on to the new movie Not There, wherein multiple actors including Cate Blanchett play Bob Dylan. And David Cross as Ginsberg? "Mind is blown."

BTW, in the time it took me to post I found a job.

All Hail Megatron!

2007-06-29T10:34:00.000-07:00

So it's been awhile, what? Quickly, I'll send word that:

A: Marty and I made it to Portland in once piece. We're starting a band. Don't ask me if it rains here all the time or I'll punch you in the face.

B: Before we left, several Brooklyn kids (some known, some unknown) stopped by our apartment to say goodbye. Many beers were had and Liz couldn't get enough of Marty's posterior.

C: The Borough of Brooklyn is a mighty beast and we will miss her along with all the people pictured here... and many others not available for photographs at the time.

Happy, Will Fain? Oregon awaits you.

More frequent updates will happen soon now that we're "settled" and bored of eating off cardboard boxes. Bike Polo and the Midnight Mystery Ride are up next.

Bikes and Birds

2007-05-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

Tonight from 7 to 10PM, The City Reliquery will unveil two brand-spanking new exhibits featuring the paintings of Taliah Lempert as well as a bicycle collection painstakingly built by velodrome vikings Johnny Coast and Dave Perry.

Sweet Speed Racer inspired poster design by Ch0mb0.

One question: Do I get a beer for bringing myself?

Then on Saturday, May 12, prepare to be slimed!

"Let's show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown."

Andy Ohio is throwing a GHOSTBUSTERS race this weekend.

Interestingly enough, the Ghostbusters Alleycat is a three person team race. Staring line is at the Firehouse at 14 North Moore Street @ Varick. Registration is at 2PM. Race begins at 3PM.

And remember, if someone asks you if you're a god, you say "yes!"

The Madison

2007-04-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday I finally defeated Communism and made it out Kissena for some racing and an informal Madison clinic. The Brooklyn streets were hazy with heat and the suffocating smell of exhaust as Marty and I made our way into Fort Greene to meet D.C. and Nicola. What could have been a day of mopery on my part turned into a fine day at the track. Marty took most of these photos so blame their blurry nature on him.

Due to the previous nights BBQ rooftop extravaganza atop Claire and Josh's apartment building, we were a bit late. So we rode to the G train, transfered to the 7 and made it out to the track about a half hour after the racing festivities began.

The 7 out to Shea was thronged with Mets fans who loved our pile of bikes as well the mariachi band crammed in between it all.

Proud to be an american: William and his whip. He has as much as promised me he'd get me a similar pink outfit. Although I don't think it'd be as cool or ironic if I wore it.

Nicola proved the stronger rider Sunday. She consistently hung on my back wheel only to edge out the win on the last lap. I need to draft more.

Behind Young, Awkward William is Josh (on bike). While riding back from Kissena he noted that he'd helped out with Why I Ride: The Art of Bicycling in New York , which opens May 3rd at several locations. Why I Ride is a multi-venue exhibit that showcases bike inspired art. The exhibit is accompanied by a a short film, brunch, and a bike tour as well as an online gallery that will continue to receive art submissions after the initial exhibit ends. Sounds cool so check it out and submit!

"Things are going to change, I can feel it."

This Ain't Your Daddy's Yo-Yo

2007-04-12T18:37:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentleman, please excuse the wait. I took a few days off to squire my sister about town and to watch a Yankees game in the snow... in the middle of April. Note: Baltimore was crushing the Yanks until we skulked off early in the ninth. Who knew A-rod would grow a pair? ... It was snowing!

Peruse the poster. Bring your hairspray, wear your sleeveless Metallica shirt, and strap your axe to your back.

Need I say more?

This is a bit belated, but if you're free check out the Brooklyn Spring Series Skids, Sprints & Freestyle competition. $5 to play. Winner takes all. 8pm under the BQE at Graham Ave every Friday. There may be beaded faux leather jackets and mock knife fight-dancing a la MJ's "Beat It." I'm just warning you.

International Global Warming Alleycat

2007-03-21T09:11:00.000-07:00

"Bring 10 bux and some love."

In celebration of the Equinox and the melting of the polar ice caps, messengers from cities around the world (including Toronto, San Francisco, Mexico City, Berlin, and NYC) are all running this race simultaniously. All races start tonight at 8PM EST. No Delays. NYC Registration is at 7 in front of the Corner Deli at Kenmare and Lafayette. Winners will receive a trip to the 2007 NACCC in San Francisco.

Sorry, Messengers Only.

More info at La Carrera Cycles and NYBMA.

Trackstar/DQM BMX show Part II

2007-03-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

Bianchi’s Pista Concept on display.

As promised, here are a few pictures from my sojourn over to Trackstar this weekend. Please excuse the unexceptional quality of the photos. Trackstar and DQM had a great turnout so it was a bit crowded and I was the only nerd-bot with a camera. The weather cleared up a bit in the afternoon so people stuck around and played polo down the street; however, I stuck closely to the bikes below, running my hand over the molded plastic BMX seats and marveling at the frames.

I lavished most of my attention on the bike above. I succesfully kept myself from geeking out too much, but I was extremely impressed with the components and color choice.

Razor Apple also has some beautiful images of all 11 bikes. For further nostalgia, check out Vintage BMX's Digital Museum.

Trackstar/DQM BMX show

2007-03-17T15:17:00.000-07:00

Remember drooling over your friend's delicious mag wheels? Or how about watching the movie RAD a billion times despite the sappy love subplot involving Lori Laughlin (aka Uncle Jesse's wife from Full House)? If you qualify a little from column and/or a little from column B, then you should definitely head over to Dave's Quality Meat tonight or tomorrow to check out the joint effort between Dave and Trackstar.

These two mighty forces have combined to create a series of track bikes that look and feel like the BMX and Freestyle bikes of old. Opening night for the show is tonight from 7 to 9PM. Too busy tonight or want to drool some more? The show is open Sunday as well from 12 to 5PM at Trackstar (213 Edrige St.) with refreshments provided.

I hope to take some pictures tomorrow so check back. For now, enjoy the photos by Doug D. and the opening credits from RAD. Taliah Shire had a career in between the Rocky sequels and her more recent Geico commercial stints? Indeed. Let the memories flow...

I must confess, I bribed the local video clerk back in Seattle to let me have the store's one VHS copy. It hadn't been rented in almost a year. And no worries, I'm working on purchasing Gleaming the Cube from him as well.

Books & Bikes

2007-03-15T12:45:00.000-07:00

Amy Bolger recently self-published a book of photography documenting eight years of NYC alleycats. The book is sixty pages, soft bound, and includes illustrations and artwork by the infamous Greg Ugalde. Amy's talents extend far beyond the bike or behind the camera. She's been an integral part of the New York Messenger Community since 1998, organizing various NYBMA events and charities and publicizing it all with her excellent photos.

She will be signing copies of her book tonight. More dates to follow. If you can't make it tonight, you can purchase the book online at Amazon (meh) or Cycle Hawk.

Please find a note below from Squid:

Amy is doing a book meet and greet today!
Barnes and Noble
18th St. @ 5th Ave.
6pm

Hope to See You-
Squid

Taliah Lempert also has some of her paintings displayed in a group show downtown. The opening reception is tomorrow, Friday the 16th from 6 to 8PM at The ISE Cultural Foundation (555 Broadway, between Prince and Spring).

The show is entitled Niether Here Nor Now and also features another favorite artist of mine, Diane Tanchak. I met Taliah during last year's summer twilight series out at the kissena velodrome. Much like Taliah, her oil paintings are warm and positive. Behind the unique structure and form of a bike, Taliah's portraits illuminate personal histories as well the collective nature of bicycling. A common transportation device becomes at once both extremely personal and public.

Diane Tanchak's charocoal drawings of car wrecks immediately won me over... and how could I be wrong? So get off your lazy ass and check out the show.

The Semiannual Photo Dump

2007-03-09T08:13:00.000-08:00

I've been promising some of these since December. Above: I had a party the second I finished the GRE. Berg is ecstatic about my constipation. We are a land of contrasts.

Inevitably, drunk friends find my nerd-bot collection of bike hats and feel the need to sport them around. Marty and Moss, looking only mildly retarded.

Gemma, Berg, and Erica near the end of the night. If you had any doubt, yes, Berg is indeed so drunk he's lost sight in both eyes.

This isn't even from the same party, but I thought it significant to document Marty's "Popeye Thrust."

For the record, Marty may have been impaired before eating that swaddled baby.

Moving forward... or backwards, Crowther, Marty, Leah, and I all headed out to Coney Island on that blustery 70 degree Saturday in January. Life's rough sometimes.

Imagine watching this while a man down the dock operates a large muppet that lips syncs to Christina Aguilara's "You're Beautiful." Touching, no?

I am disgusted with this sunset. Marty finds it... so, so.

Crowther unfortunately failed to document Marty's gaping wounds after he ate shit at construction site in Midwood. Despite this slip by our photo-biographer, I must implore you to check out more of Ian's brilliant photography.

And the party doesn't stop. Here's Josh, sunburned and soused, looking really uncomfortable with that hand on his shoulder. I believe this was taken after another victory for Castle Greyskull.

In case you were wondering, Josh per usual, wore his shinguards for the entirety of the night...

Here's Claire: She likes unicorns, movies with unicorns (see LEGEND), and cheering people up with jiggs. Happy birthday, C.

In the middle of the night Carrie decided to shave her head...

Not a bad decision.

Why is Claire the only norm in this picture? Seth's giving me fish eyes and Josh is still uncomfortable, despite explaining to him that my camera would not steal his soul.

Before it got cold, we went out to Brighton Beach for some Russian food. While walking on the beach we came across "The Warriors" scrawled into the sand, which made me extremely happy. We also watched a stubborn kid tromping along the surf's edge in rollerblades...

Eh, it's been done.

Marty's hates roller coasters and heights...

So I made him take me on the Coney Island ferris wheel.

Erica, Marty and I made it to Rainer Maria's last show at North Six.

We came, we sweated, and Erica got a tooth knocked loose thanks to some effeminate dude in a fishnet tank top.

I lurve Bill.

All together now. After the show, we spilled out onto beaten pavement and brushed past fresh cut pines, talking in the cold night about the show...

Thus ends this magical journey. Good day.

King of the Road

2007-03-06T18:54:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if I want to ride this sucker or mount it. Crowther forwarded this to me several months ago and then, almost as a reminder, it turned up on the fixed gear forums.

Some detail shots of the "bullhorns." Check out more of Jenny Nordberg's work.

Now for a little history... Slacker sleuth Crowther also found this Brooklyn Eagle article. Perhaps NYPD is taking their cue from Brooklyn PD circa 1885.

MonsterTrack & Bike Winter

2007-02-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

Well, it's here kids. Start time is at 3. Registration begins for at 2. Houston & Chrystie, Manhattan.

Last night everyone gathered at Lost & Found in Greenpoint for goldsprints. William and Nicola took home first prize in their respective categories, although Nicola's last stage never really took off thanks to a dispute up in the DJ booth. The party featured a stellar DJ who won my heart when she reached into her volumes of sacred sounds and brought out PM Dawn. I met her and Mike D outside the bar after the cops showed up. Due to the appaling amount of alcohol in my system, I failed to notice that it was freezing outside until my feet were warm and numb. Not an excellent sign. I had a great time talking to Jaqueline, who's into roller derby (she's a member of the Dutchland Rollers) and general mayhem. She complimented me on my firm handshake and thus a friendship was born. A good night indeed. I also randomly ran into Seth Pomerantz and Chris West.

I will definitely be back at Lost & Found for the side events tomorrow with William and Nicola. There'll be skid and trackstand contests, polo, and "rampant boasting" by Monstertrack finishers. Come, be merry, and plant the seeds for the next race.

Yesterday actually officially kicked off the annual Mini-Bike Winter games in Portland. The BEN HURT Chariot Wars are scheduled for today to be followed by a dance party under the Morrison Bridge. If you're in the area, definitely check it out.

Monstertracks of Yore

2007-02-14T12:38:00.000-08:00

First, le preamble: Happy Batman Sticker Day!

Please find below a gallery of posters commemorating one of the biggest and baddest races in NYC since the turn of the 21st Century. I dig alleycat flyer art, but Monstertrack flyers are a different breed--an almost hyped version of the artform.

In the last few years, designers have tended toward the grotesque and gothic, depicting speeding demons and figures bereft of scalp and facial tissue ready to tear off the page. The artistry and skill level of design significantly improves each year, often times besting the previous poster with a kick to the teeth. I've tried to credit authorship where possible; unfortunately, most flyers are unsigned or annonymous.

Thanks to Squid who posted many of these flyers on the fixed gear forum.

Enjoy.

The first of many...

The quality of art steadily improves over the years, perhaps as evidenced by the profound jump from cocktail napkin doodle to comic collage...

Two for the price of one in 2003 for Monstertrack 4.

Above: Clearly a labor of love by Ugalde.

I found two flyers for 2005. The one above is by Ugalde. The Monster Squad version below is my favorite.

Monstertrack 8 coming soon...

No Use For A Name

2007-02-05T19:16:00.000-08:00

I took these the morning I left Bremerton... a few days after the funeral. I thought it apropos what with all that's been going on. The house painted robin egg blue is my grandmother's. Alas, the rotten apples, rusted boat, and derelict hatchback are her neighbors.

I'll post some Monstertrack news and past flyers in the next few days. The flyer art, per usual, is sick. I'm thinking about creating an archive of alleycat prints in general, but that would require physical effort so don't hold your breath.

Thanks for the kind emails, kids.

My Heart is a Bitter Buffalo

2007-01-26T14:42:00.000-08:00

Karen Louise Hatfield

October 23, 1950 - January 12, 2007

I'll miss you, mom.

NYC 2006 Alleykitten Results

2007-01-05T14:51:00.000-08:00

I risked my neck for glory in an alleycat and all I got was this lousy spokecard. Skip to the end of my hungover rambling for results.

Race day was beautifully mild. Sean Macleay accompanied Martino and I up to Chrystie and Broom for the start of the race. Sean decided to hitch his way north from Atlanta after a brief stint at the Carter Center. Unbeknownst to Sean, people in Atlanta don't ride bikes and nor is it encouraged, which is why he's returned home before heading off to Peru to write a book about playing ping pong with Peruvians. No joke. We also ran into half of the 11 Verona house, which included Tom Gorman, Nicole from Eugene, and Eric Adler.

We unfortunately missed out on some superb bike polo, but it was nice to just watch while people milled around before the start of the race. I finally bumped into Rachel, who I'd teamed up with as we were both relatively new to racing on the street. She graduated with a B.A. in English Lit from Skidmore, so we had much in common.

Brief detour into the lore: alleycat races simulate an average hour or two in the grueling day of a bike messenger. Racers are given a manifest with several checkpoints that must be hit before returning home. The route one takes is solely up to the individual. Whoever makes it back the fastest wins. Rewards range from small items to large chunks of money or a new messenger bag; however, kids don't risk death by cab for mere prizes but rather for something less ephemeral. There's nothing like feeling you're the fastest thing on wheels, dealing with traffic conditions while dodging diesel trails of city buses and throngs of luckless people.

Quite simply, one sees the city most clearly when on a bike, from the heritage of the high, gothic architecture right down to the pocked asphalt poured last week. A steady pinpoint awareness of your surroundings is required and as a result interactions are more intense, more meaningful. Most kids who compete in alleycats are messengers--which may sound strange at first because who wants to race around on their day off--though not all and non-messengers are certainly not discouraged from racing.

The NYC Alleykitten first reared its lovely head last year in order to provide an opportunity for people new to alleycat racing as well as encourage more women to try their hand at the sport. This year the race was really well organized by John Siers (aka Ch0mb0) and Ken Stanek (aka s_9) as well as some other excellent people. In all, seventy race hungry kids came out to compete, which compared to last years forty racers is a huge jump in ridership.

When it came time to start everyone laid their bikes on the basketball court. The abandoned, upturned bikes made the court look like a forlorn graveyard. When Ch0mb0 yelled something inaudible, everyone sprinted for their bike. We all flooded out of Sara D Roosevelt Park. Rachel and I had planned our route up the East side of the island along 1st Ave. We made decent time and hit the first checkpoint at 22nd and East End, which looked out over the East River. We jumped off our bikes and had to try putting a golf ball into a hole. If you missed three times you had to spin around ten times. Rachel and I said fuck it and just spun around to get our manifest signed.

As we left I heard the faint crack and splatter of liquid wash pavement. I looked back to find the CP leaders hoisting rotten eggs into the air, bombing our direction. Thankfully, niether of us were creamed as that would have made the entire ride unpleasant. We continued up 1st Ave, but only after fruitlessly following the East River corridor. Apparently Nechema and some other insane peeps took the FDR Drive.

The second CP at 86th and East End was a little hard to find. We mistakenly rode up onto the esplanade and then had to double back. We found the CP leaders stationed on a granite cliff along a hill. Once up there we were given the choice between eating cat food, a clove of garlic, or doing twenty pushups. Rachel and I both dug into the kitty litter bag, swallowed it down quickly and shoved our manifest in the guy's face. I'd mistakenly thought we had to do all three tasks and bit into a clove when the CP leader informed me it was only one. I spat out the garlic and let the remainder of the clove sail into a stand of trees.

I was reprimanded for wasting the garlic and Rachel went over to look for it. We didn't find it and just left, booking across town to the Old Bandshell in Central Park around 72nd St. At this point we crossed paths with several other racers going in either direction. It was incredible working together through traffic with complete strangers or getting the head nod from kids streaking by in the opposite direction, all while cars and pedestrians were completely clueless as to what was going down. We swarmed Central Park, carefully dodging tourists who kept exlaiming, "Where the hell did all these bikes come from?" The third CP involved running down a guy and stripping a flag football ribbon from his waist. I took advantage of my distance running and tired the poor guy out.

We then headed out of the park and headed downtown to the Abandoned Pier at 68th St. When we arrived several people were searching for the CP, which seemed nowhere to be found. Instead some cops yelled at us for riding on the pier. We decided to gun it down further and ran into the CP leader, who mercifully signed our manifests without making us do bike lifts. From there we shot down the West Side Bike Path to the Javits Center.

Kym P was CP leader and made us do ten pushups while giving us wedgies. Along the last couple of CPs my seat had fallen, so I loosed my seat bolts and raised it again. When I tried tightening them, my nose dripping with snot from the cold, I had problems. Some dude yelled at me not to strip the bolts and came over to help. He noted the bolts were Campy and asked if he could have them, to which I responded, "Fuck no," with a smile. He also called a friend over to admire my frame, which was nice. Apparently the guy had the same Masi frame. I thanked the guys for their help, despite feeling like a complete ass.

The next CP was at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal, a long ride south along the West Side Bike Path that carves its way along the island perimiter. The path was for the most part deserted except for some dude who didn't like women who were faster than him. We passed him several times until finally we just killed it for a mile and wasted him. The wind was incredibly strong next to the Hudson and cut right through us. Upon review, we should have just bombed our way down 11th Ave, a straight shot to the lower west side while avoiding some of the swiping gusts of wind and the constant din of helicopters circling overhead. Out of the corner of my watering eyes I glimpsed at least three ghost bikes chained to trees and lamp posts.

We finally hit Battery Park as well a mass of tourists admiring the Statue of Liberty out in the bay. Rachel got caught up once, but we made it through to the Ferry Terminal to meet up with a dude I'd played soccer with before the race. These guys were very nice and simply made us write down a New Year's resolution and we were on our way up to Trackstar. While leaving the CP, Rachel gunned ahead up Water St. I could either wait for some passersby and lose ground or I could do the same. I ended up expertly carving a very narrow path between a large, oblivious teenager and the curb. I made it successfully and caught up to Rachel. Unfortunately, when we made it to Trackstar via Bowery a note on the door notified us that the store had moved to Eldridge bewteen Stanton and Houston.

I lost Rachel at a light, but I made it to Trackstar's new home. About five messengers stood outside the door, one of whom informed me that I could not bring my bike in the store. I suspiciously eyed him and left it beside the door. Once inside I had to roll a dice to reveal my punishment. I'm not sure what I rolled, but it involved getting hit in the ass twice with a polo mallet. The first shot to my ass wasn't good enough because my bag blocked some of the blow. I heard other racers had to shotgun a can of Sparks, which I would have prefered. Alas. The CP leader shoved a FedEx box in my hands and pushed me out the door.

When I stepped outside my bike was gone. I didn't panic. Who would steal a bike with a bunch of bike messengers hanging outside? I looked left and right down the street, then I started to panic. I timidly mumbled about my bike and a guy said, "I don't know, man," and sort of nodded ahead of me. Across the street I found my bike hanging from a rot-iron fence. I'm not the tallest woman in the world so it took a bit of Ned Flander's "stick-to-it-ivness" the get the damn thing down.

Awesome. Bikes were stacked five deep along the bar and across the street they were strung up like christmas lights along a metal fence encircling Tompkins Square.

From there it was an easy ride to the last CP at Lakeside Lounge on Ave. A. Rachel finished a few minutes ahead of me and congratulated me at the bar along with Marty, Sean, and a surprise vist from Josh Poole. I went inside to hand over my manifest and was greeted by a kind female organizer who informed me that I was probably DFL for girls from NYC, "But don't worry, the prize is good." At that point my legs started shaking and instead of stretching I had several beers. One of the messengers outside of Trackstar who "stole" my bike put his hand on my shoulder and chuckled, "You should have seen your face." I shook his hand, smiled, and said thanks. At that point Gorman, Nicole, and Eric rolled in and I pointed them to the back of the bar. I also overheard a rumor that David Byrne visited the Javits Center CP.

In a moment of douchebagery I forgot my camera. Photos by Eric Ambel

I'd been so focused while riding I hadn't noticed the cold ache radiated in my bones. I went next door for some food and warmth with Marty andSean. Well into my third Brooklyn, I got a call from Gorman. Apparently my name was called, I won DFL for girls in town. Huzzah. I ran back next door to except my prize as gracefully as possible. I bowed and shook Ch0mbo0's hand. I recieved a t-shirt from Trackstar and two free spin classes at Soul Cycle for my effort. Not bad. Every night since I've deamt about flying through traffic. Needless to say, I'm counting down the days until the next alleycat. Can anyone say, Monstertrack?

Thanks again to all the ogranizers and CP leaders! Final results here.

AlleyKitten New Year's Eve 2

2006-12-22T13:16:00.000-08:00

Well, once again, drunk at the wheel or rather, at work. The guys I work for bought me a gift card to Sid's (can anyone say new track rims?) for the holidays, but only after we all got drunk at the local watering hole. Before I take off for Seattle tomorrow, I wanted to inform all would be racers that there is indeed an alleykitten for newbies (that's me) New Year's Eve. Race begins at 1 PM, Chrystie & Broome. I should be planning a route with heidi and rachel; however, Nicola may very well be on my ass the entire time as well. Ian and Marty have announced that they may watch. I almost forgot. Alleykitten tip o' the day: It will help you greatly if you bring your bag to this race. There was some brief mention of hard alcohol and fecal matter on the forum, but I cannot elaborate further.

Afterwards, one of the kids racing is throwing a New Year's Every party at Dave's Quality Meat with Trackstar. Check out the Nickelodeon "You Can't Do That On Television" style flyer below. There will be free booze early in the evening from 9 to 10 PM.

And in case you're free, because I am, there will be an art show Friday, December 29th presented by King Kog and Faster Louder entitled "DESTROY EVERYTHING!" The show is a collaboration between SF and NYC messengers, so please come out support artistic endeavors of all kind.

Have an excellent holiday, kids, should you be celebrating. If I don't see you before the New Year, make sure to share a kiss with someone on the banks of the East River.

Hoist Up The John B

2006-12-19T18:50:00.000-08:00

So yes, it's been awhile and with good reason. I write you now, drunk off of perhaps one too many Red Stripes. Hooray beer! The transformation from ugly to beautiful is clear. Those pesky GREs are out of the way and despite a lackluster score or not, I say to hell with it for now. Marty and I celebrated in style with ill advised purchases: a new beater bike! and tickets to Rainer Maria's last show ever. The beater is a beautiful Univega Maxima Sport singlespeed conversion. Redished wheels and cyclocross brakes.

Needless to say, I think I'm in love. Now I can ride to work, finally, without fear of finding my prized fuzzy red seat stolen. After finishing off the three and a half hour test, I headed straight home to get soused for my belated birthday party. Pictures to follow in a few. The weekend festivities continued Sunday morning with a stellar football game with Nicola and William DC and in the evening a sad goodbye to Rainer Maria in Williamsburgh. We hit Northsix early and, no joke, we were actually interviewed by a writer from Spin Magazine. I said Weezer, but I also forgot about Modest Mouse and Ted Leo. A tall and slick lubricious gay man in a black tank top seemed determined to flail throughout the show, elbows flew, and Erica took one in the kisser. Alas, 'tis what one must expect up front and center next to the nerdlinger Spin photographer. At least he took off his Chrome messenger back during the show.

More of my own pictures TK. I need to get them developed. And yes, sometimes I use my old fashioned camera. Wanna fight about it?

The show, by the way, was fantastic. Tinfoil is still the damn best song I've heard live. Bill was in rare form. He smiled during high hat sixteenth notes like it was the first time he'd ever played them.

I'm currently missing Taliah Lempert's show at NYC Velo. I suck. More tomorrow.

Heartache is Hard Work

2006-12-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

I've been pretty bogged down with studying the last few weeks, which perhaps explains the infrequency of my posts. There will be a veritable vomiting of material in a week or so...

I read this report first thing when I came into work Monday and it stopped me cold. I and a large group of my friends, most of whom ride, were all at Chelsea Piers that night playing in the NY COED Soccer Championships. While we were on the pitch, vaunting about our efforts, some drunk asshole left Chelsea Piers in his BMW and drove South on the Hudson River bike path. The driver sped down the narrow lane for nearly a mile before finally plowing in Eric Ng.

Eric was killed instantly. I don't personally know him, but I knew the name right away from various Time's Up events. I haven't heard any news about a memorial ride or a ghost bike along the path, but I believe both projects are in the works. I'll revise this post with details as they become available. * There will be a memorial ride Saturday, December 9th, meeting at 1pm in Washington Square Park and then proceeding to the site of Eric’s death. More info and mourning at virtual resistance.

While reading the article I became particularly upset about the discussion concerning Eric's reflectors and lights. Cidron was drunk and, may I remind the police, driving on a fucking bike path. He hit Eric so hard, one of Eric's Chucks ended up on the West Side Highway.

Why do reporters feel they need to include the inconsequential fact that a biker wasn't wearing a helmet? When a car plows into you at forty miles per hour, a helmet isn't going to save you. Including those facts just encourages readers to extrapolate that the bicyclist was somehow partially at fault. This wasn't a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Eric was supposedly in the safest place a biker can be in Manhattan. This past summer another biker was killed on this path when a Police tow truck turned without signaling. In these instances, to even tenuously suggest that the biker is partially at fault is insulting and extremely disrespectful to the victim, his family, and his friends. Bikers don't kill people, hulking chunks of metal hurled through space and operated by irresponsible people do.

RIP Eric Ng. I'm so sorry.

Daily News - DWI kills NYU grad on bike, cops say
New York 1 - Cyclist Struck And Killed By Drunk Driver
Gothamist - Drunk Driver Kills Cyclist on West Side Bike Path

Cyclocross: The Dirty Hipster Sport

2006-11-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

Photos: James W. Prichard/For The New York Times

The New York Times published a winsome article on my birthday about the third annual United States Gran Prix of Cyclocross. The burgeoning sport, which is perhaps new to the New York, is beloved by most residents of Oregon and Washington. Cyclocross combines the best/most grueling elements and challenges of mountain biking, road races, and crappy weather, all while riding a "modified" road bike (ie a sleek racing frame slapped with nobby tires). I hope to get in some races once we move this summer.

Sacha White of Vanilla Bicycles, and his cycling team, the "Gentle Lovers", are briefly mentioned. Hope you all had an excellent Thanksgiving. It snowed in Washington, I broke into a golf course to run a few miles, and Per Henningsgaard called me all the way from Perth, Australia to wish me a happy 25 on 25. Not bad. I also finked on Cranksgiving; however, Amy Bolger created a sweet slideshow.

The enterprising young men of the Gentle Lovers team set up their own hot tub next to the Gran Prix race course. Genius?

I'll be back in the northwest in less than a month, at which point I hope to overhaul my exquisite Robinson BMX. It's been in storage for the past seven years while I've lived in New York, but initial glimpses over the holiday weekend seem to affirm that my trusty steed is still in fine shape. I need to repack the bearings as well as true the wheels, but other than that its just a matter of replacing old tubes and tires. More nerdlinger reports on my bike projects to be kept to a minimum. Promise.

In completely unrelated news, Squid was on Ellen?

Even The Girls and Cranksgiving

2006-11-15T07:17:00.000-08:00

William DC sent me a documentary about female bike messengers in NYC awhile back with the tagline "this might appeal to you . . . the movie, not necessarily the job." Ah, but it does, sir. I really dug the documentary. I actually contacted director Ashira Seigal, aka pinkfixie, to say hello and job well done. Turns out she's into bikes and empowered women as well. I believe she's currently kicking around Israel for a few, but she covers most of the big bike events in the city with her production company Red Riding Hood Productions.

If you're interested, Amy Bolger is another extremely talented female messenger and photographer who documents urban cycling and the messenger community. Speaking of, Cranksgiving is tomorrow.

This is no ordinary alleycat because instead of checkpoints you have to hit certain grocery stores around the city and buy an edible item at each. At the end of the race, all the food is collected and donated to charity. It's also supposed to be beautiful out tomorrow. Unfortunately, my ass will be taking a practice GRE exam, which in general is rather a soul crushing endeavor. If the bottom of my guilt ridden conscience and the gravitas of this test suddenly falls out, which would be a good thing, I'd like to show up and go at a leisurely pace, meet some new kids, and maybe enjoy a beer. It's been a while since I've been healthy for longer than a couple weeks so it would technically be a worthwhile accomplishment to ride and finish at whatever pace. So yeah, fuck my pride, it's for charity... We shall see.

For some randomosity concerning empowered females, I found this for the Vassar kids:

The Resolutes, Vassar's first baseball team. Fuckin' A. I quite enjoy their little hats.

Reel Around The Fountain

2006-11-13T11:27:00.000-08:00

Her 19th Foot. Installation by Yatuka Stone

Irreconcilable Differences #1 by Leonardogillesfleur.

Crowther sent me these images from the art blog vvwork. I'm helping Ian realize his biking destiny. A few weekends ago I took him around some back streets to avoid the worst of traffic. Despite his constant reassurances that he would fall over, he survived. When we stopped in the park so Ian could raise his seat, a woman walked by and noted that she was happy to see some normal people. I don't know about normal, but we were the only kids not be-spandexed on 7,000 dollar bikes. The weekend warriors were out in full force.

While I'm posting random pictures, here's a photo of me and Tony, my best friend since third grade. While I was visiting Bremerton this summer it was his birthday. He seemed quite pleased with the Brooklyn hat I bought him. He wouldn't take it off the entire night.

T&T: We're pretty drunk here. Hence the squint and mild grimace.

O'Conner's Dirge

2006-11-08T12:00:00.000-08:00

Several friends forwarded me The New York Times article on the death of Patrick O'Conner, owner of our favorite local hangout and bar. Patrick, the son of the original O'Conner who opened the establishment's doors back in 1933, died October 8th due to the regression of lung cancer. The article is extremely well written and I urge you to take the time to read it as well as pay your respects. I have immense respect and kind feelings for the establishment despite the article mentioning that my kind (those smooth-skinned, white mid 20s kids) outnumbered and eventually displaced the usual suspects of old men that stuck with the bar through some grim decades... My heart grew three sizes after riding by the bar one night to find a placard that read "We do not serve PBR, so stop asking!"

The first time I walked in I was meeting Tae Won Yu--another ranger who can't decide between the Northwest or New York. The weather had just turned hard and cold. I was new to the neighborhood. At the time, Tae had sort of taken me under his wing. He's lived in the area for over a decade and had been patronizing the place for at least as long. I walked in and he called me over. We sank into a booth and talked over fingers of Jameson Whiskey and a hot tamale brought in from across the street.

I immediately fell in love with the warm wood of the bar, the deep and dark booths, the dim Christmas bulbs strung up over the neat rows of alcohol, and of course the large moose head mounted on the wall. Not to mention the incredible juke box and the affordable prices. Tae, who knew Elliot Smith from Olympia, noted that Smith used to hang out at O'Conner's.

I mention Elliot Smith not because it's cool that he hung out there, but rather to point to the fact that O'Conner's is a place for stubborn down and outs, for the hard lucks with talent, wit, and a heavy conscience. What better way to physically inhabit and wallow in one's unsparing twenties or thirties? I understand about the irritation and annoyance concerning recent trust fund college brats with no respect for the history or heritage of the bar.

And yeah, I'm guilty of referring to O'Conner's as a dive bar, but for me, that's a badge of honor and respect. I don't use the phrase as it is originally intended--for bars marked by squalor and sordid customers. To me, dive bars are the antithesis of the yuppie clubs that jack up prices for watered down drinks and require a collared shirt and four tons of make-up. Oh, and don't forget the $5 cover for the crappy DJ.

The term dive bar denotes mystery, humor, and a hardy character. It signifies a long-standing relationship with the community and environs. Its a place to hash out a hard day or engage the stranger next to you in quiet conversation. Unlike many other bars on 5th Ave, O'Conner's didn't just spring up out of the recent double wide stroller gentrification, which yes, I know I am a part of.

O'Conner's reminds me of the Irish bars back in Bremerton. Dark and warm with a nicely poured pint of loamy Guinness, and yeah, at closing time they'll sell you a six of Bud to go. The similarities between my hometown of Bremerton and Brooklyn are somewhat interesting. While I was growing up, Bremerton was a blue collar Navy town. Since I've left its experienced an influx of upper middle class families who can't afford Seattle, much like the newly emmigrated middle income families from Manhattan. People come and go. Neighborhoods change, but perhaps that doesn't necissarily mean you or the corners you like to call home have to. O'Conners is extraordinary, and when I finally move back West to Portland, I will miss it dearly.

O'Conners has scaled back its hours and is now open from 5 pm to 4 am. Please take the time to visit and raise a pint to Patrick O'Conner.

The New Yorker Hates The Lower Class, This Means You

2006-11-07T10:10:00.000-08:00

This is all over the fixed gear forum. The New Yorker published a piece entitled "Holy Rollers," concerning "the city's bicycle zealots." It disparages and stereotypes several bike groups, citing messengers as "streetwise minorities without health care," and turns the issue of biking into class warfare. I guess I should expect as much from the monocled New Yorker.

In trying to be witty and irreverent, the piece becomes a snooty wink at the lower peons who walk and ride. Oh that's right, if I wanted an actual story with some intellectual weight and insight on the issue I'd have to read Harper's. "Holy Rollers" is a far cry from the balanced "Bike to Work" report of the first Bike for a Better City day back in September of 1970. On the magazine's website, the recent piece and the archived report are placed side by side.

The problem is that the article doesn't really say anything. Ben McGrath interviews advocates and critics of biking in the city, but a clearly defined argument isn't stated or even developed. The article is a haphazard jumble of interviews that characterizes everyone as crackpots, thus completely nullifying the importance of the issue. Biking, and simply walking, is a dangerous and confrontational act in NYC. Some might argue correctly that biking in NYC has become a political statement.

I mean, isn't it disturbing that officers in the NYPD spy on and harass people who exercise their right to assemble? There are police officers out there who aren't even familiar with traffic laws, like that it's illegal to park in a bike lane or open a car door into a bike lane. Bikes are traffic, which is why they aren't allowed on sidewalks. They have a right to be on the street and take up an entire lane.

There are, of course, several sides to this issue and there are various assholes in each camp, but articles in widely read magazines should clarify, not muddy an important issue just for the sake of a laugh at the nut jobs. There are plenty of dedicated and knowledgeable people who simply want to make biking safer and inform automobile drivers of bikers rights.

Tom Bernadin, a critic of dangerous bikers and handicap accessible sidewalks (no joke) sounds like a real curmudgeon. And I never use that word because it makes me think of Bernard Malamud. People ride bikes on the sidewalk because they're scared to death of riding in traffic. It annoys the hell out of me too when I see a delivery dude weaving unsteadily on the sidewalk, but perhaps he thinks its faster, safer, and he'll get a better tip depending on his time of delivery.

That's how it goes in New York. Everyone is looking out for number one. I'm not justifying riding on sidewalks, but why should bicyclists be punished for the natural order of NYC? If we rode only in bike lines we'd never reach an intended destination because bike lines are non-existent or we'd get doored by some upper class schmuck who reads The New Yorker.

End rant.

What Did You Miss This Halloween Weekend?

2006-11-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

Was it the Spooky Critical Mass ride on Friday? Perhaps it was Black Label's 4th Annual Bike Kill on Saturday or the Fright Night Alleycat in Manhattan and Brooklyn?

Or was it N.O.I.S.E and the Zombie Cult Massacre Alleycat in Portland?

Well, I missed all of the above. However, with good reason. Friday a dead bird fell from the sky and smacked concrete six inches away from my sneakers. Not an excellent augury for the weekend. However, I got the lowdown from Eric. Critical Mass was mostly soggy kids in costumes getting chased by NYPD. Bike Kill 4 was and always will be a-mazing. You can find the rundown over at Razor Apple. Check the comments section to find a nice little rant about gentrification in Bed-Stuy. The Fright Night Alleycat started with sixty people, but by mid-race half had bailed due to twenty-five mph winds. Pretty brutal. Results are up at NYMBA.

Across the country in Stumptown, it was a killer day for N.O.I.S.E. 2006. All one needed was a single speed or fixed gear and extra tubes. Kids met up at Fresh Pot on N. Mississippi to then tour various forgotton parts of Portland (ie "superfund sites and Bosnian Villages") on the way to Pier Park. Prizes were awarded for best jump, best fixed gear with no brakes, most flats, and of course, worst crash. A record number of sixty (maybe even eighty) riders came out for the Zombie Massacre Cult Halloween Alleycat of Horror. Racers are the survivors of a zombie plague and must gather clues to find their way to a safe location secured by the military. All the while teams must avoid roaming packs of zombies stationed near each clue. If they bring you down, you're one of them. Next year folks, next year. Results are up at PUMA.

Speaking of Zombies, Tuesday night during a ride in the park, William DC and I had a sociological conversation about zombies, George Romero's evolutionary stance on them [in his films], and Max Brooks' new book World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. Not to be mistaken with his first book, The Zombie Survival Guide. There's a wikipedia page dedicated to these novels so stop right there before you roll your eyes, dammit. Would you have survived the Zombie War?

Alas, instead of attending these fine events I helped Marty and Fair with their costumes as I was feeling a bit under the weather. Marty bought a linen suit and a teal muscle shirt for his Miami Vice Don Johnson get-up. I drew the MTA sign for Fair so he bought us dinner and let us play Mike Tyson's Punch Out on his Nintendo.
My costume looked better projected onto the wall. Apologies to those watching Night of The Living Dead at that point in the night.

We then headed out to Queens for Butcher Burt's Old Fashioned Dead Goat Halloween BBQ. Said actual dead goat was on display on Drew's balcony.

This picture was taken right before Jeff kicked the goat in the head and almost snapped it off. I was one of the few fully dressed women at the party, not some derivatively sexy incarnation of santa, a mummy, or a bloody butcher (that last one confused me too). Lots of good people though. After some beer pong with Luke and Harrison ala VCXC we grabbed a cab back to Brooklyn. The N train was all sorts of f-d up. Before I could put a seatbelt on, I cracked my skull on the car ceiling as the cabby flew over a gaping pothole.

Sufficiently drunk and concussed, we strolled into Claire and Josh's apartment at midnight. Gilhouse greeted me with a mummified erection. Coincidentally, Toby was dressed as Little Mac from Punch Out. Mr. Crowther was on hand as a Monkey. At some point Claire asked me to sign a card for Sheena. Unfortunately. I think I remember writing it while peeing on the toilet. Cats out of the bag, Sheena. After a bit we followed Josh the Jew (his attire consisted of devil horns, a Brooklyn Dodgers tee, and "money bags" tied to his belt) downstairs to a neighboor's Offensive Halloween Costume party. I was immediately accosted by Aunt Jemima, or rather a white female in black face. Uh. Contrary to popular belief Clair (upper right) was not Aunt Jemima as well, but rather Rosie The Riveter. After a half hour conversation about football (the real kind) with a Brit, I ran into an appositely pregnant Gemma in the bathroom line. She rushed me to the back of the Brownstone where Berg was dressed in scrubs with a black baby doll--wait for it--dangling from a coat hanger around his neck. Sighs. Too much? Yeah.

The night, although lacking in a Pete & Pete viewing of Halloweenie, was complete.

Cheers. Looking forward to Buttermilk this Friday. Check back in a bit for some news on O'Conner's.

First of Nineteen: The New and Improved BMX/Skate Park in Portland

2006-10-24T14:15:00.000-07:00

Night and Day
Photos by MC

In 2001 the non-profit organization Skaters for Portland Skateparks (SPS) led the charge for redesigning Pier Park's skating facilities, which in all fairness was basically a deteriorating cement hole in the ground. The park is located in St. Johns, a diverse, working class neighborhood in North Portland. Five years, several meetings later, and with input from local freestyle BMXers, skaters, and local residents, the new skatepark finally celebrated its grand opening two weeks ago. Special guests, among others, included Dan Murphy, Omar Salazar and, Lewis Marnell.
I'm a fan of the skater dropping in and the little girl in pink Chucks behind her. Photo by Mike G.

I used to skate in middle and high school, but now my Planet Earth board sits on a mantle above the fireplace in my apartment. So when people come over and inevitably ask, "Oh, you skate?" that's when I get to mutter "Eh," and feel guilty about it. Ah, the immortal heartbreak of losing what you thought would be yours forever; a reminder of days and habits lost. Christ, I can't even ollie anymore. But apparently it's never too late, just check out Skateboard Moms. Empowered older women skaters? Nice, even if the name does kinda suck.

Photo by MC

I'm amazed that SPS and Parks and Rec are cool with bikers using the pit. Most skateparks expressly forbid bikes either due to fear of injury or coping damage (bikes with pegs often chip the concrete and destroy molded siding). The park was built by the masters of the universe over at Dreamland Skateparks. They also built the infamous Burnside park... without permission. See below.

The architecture and craftsmanship inherent in these structures makes my heart hurt a little.

Mark Cohan is on the board of directors for SPS and is also a talented skater and designer. Check him out at Antigravity Press or try Earth Patrol for more Portland skate banter. Bike Portland also has great coverage of opening day at Pier Park; however, the site is currently switching service providers. I'll provide a link once its back up. In the meantime, here's a clip from a local news affiliate, posted by Kilwag from Skate and Annoy.

In other news, Marty made his first voyage up to Prospect Park through traffic. I built Marty this converted Peugeot fixed gear for his birthday. When I bought the frame cheap, little did I know I'd have to rethread the bottom bracket. A combination of people and their talents helped out with the details (thanks to William DC and Edlen over at A Bike Shop). Over the past several months I've prodded Marty into late-night practice sessions in the Key Foods parking lot. Marty is not exactly a friend or foe of the bike. I'd say he's more of a conscientious objector, but I've quickly changed that. He's already expressed interest in strapping his saxophone to his back and riding down to DUMBO for Ks rehearsals. This weekend he did well despite the inevitable "slow fall" after stopping before he had successfully removed his feet from the cages. But like a pro he did it while no one was looking. Well done, sir.

We also went to the Masters of Comics exhibition at the Jewish Museum on 92nd St. Thanks to my crack photography, all I got was this lousy photo of Will Eisner's front page work for The Spirit before the prepubescent security guard snuck up behind me and shouted, "No Pictures!" I calmly put my camera away and asked him to locate the loo. Yes, I should have waited for Jack Kirby. Sorry, Will Fain.

P* ARTY

2006-10-19T12:40:00.000-07:00

Last Friday after Castle Greyskull's triumphant ten o'clock soccer game (wtf, right?), Marty and I rolled into Bed Stuy for William D.C.'s house warming party a little past midnight. When we arrived, the downstairs hallway was flooded with bikes, a good sign as the renters of the establishment are basically an unofficial bike gang. You have William D.C. So comfortable with his masculinity that he often races on the road and at the track in Vassar pink. Nicola is a pheonix on her custom built red fixie, complete with velocity rims and nerves of steel. Eric: bike lawyer in training by day and, well, he's pretty much the same guy all the time. He rides everywhere and has socially conscience stickers plastered to all available real estate on his bike--nuke the whales etc. And then there's Gorman, a man who will bike it home drunk if needed.

The new apartment looked gigantic and fashionably furnished. Many people had just come from the Brooklyn Critical Mass and/or the King Kog party. I met Ian, who performs demos for them. He spoke fondly of dumpster diving on Flatbush and informed me that King Kog had new gear. I've already snagged my Fortynine Sixteen sweatshirt. I also talked to someone about his undergraduate thesis on Charles Ives... for about ten minutes... it was a little taxing coming up with questions for "awkward guy" so I bailed.

Eric is pumped about this Halloween race and asked if I wanted in.

We shall see. I'm sewing my Stegosaurus costume tonight.

Despite that I was still infected with the plague, we rode out to Williamsburgh on Sunday.

On North 6th, we came across a few street stencils that looked reminiscent of Bansky's work. First up, some wholesome kids at play...

Connect the green lines...

I've seen this kind of paper graffiti near Bond St. in Brooklyn. If exposed to the weather long enough, the bio-degradable paper peels and shreds until its finally washed away, leaving no trace that it was ever there.

Check out Josh McPhee's Stencil Pirates, which discusses the political context of such images and is published by Soft Skull Press, the kind folks who gave me my first internship. Coincidentally, there will also be a Graffiti Tour Ride this Saturday, October 21. Ride meets at 12:00 PM at the corner of Pitt and Delancy in Manhattan. Check out the poster below for mo' details.

Eat Your Heart Out

2006-10-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

The Social Contract Lecture and saying "Thanks"

2006-10-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

So, the Q train pretty much blew today because there was an investigation on the Manhattan Bridge, which halted all traffic for about thirty minutes. I could have crawled faster. I should have ridden my bike. Nay, I should have slept in. And is it just me or is Dekalb station a mecca for fires and sick passengers between the hours of 8 and 8:30 a.m.?

When we finally pulled into Atlantic Avenue, this twenty something woman (who looked like she just moved to New York and expected it to be ala Sex and The City) barges her way into a seat. During the process, she manages to push a four year old boy and his father out of her way as well as steal the seat right out from under an old lady who looks supremely pissed.

In my mind the boy's father, a middle aged black man, reacts accordingly. He states, "Next time, wait at least until the doors open." At this point the trains ass is still halfway out of Atlantic so the operator hasn't let any passengers out. We're all crammed like sardines, the train isn't moving, and our train car is dead silent. "It's called common courtesy."

"Whatever. I'm sorry. You don't need to get all mad." Point of order: She isn't sorry and he isn't irrational. The man continues, "I'm not angry. Wait until people can get out of the way to avoid shoving other passengers."

Then he drops the theoretical bomb. "We have this thing called a Social Contract--"

The woman interrupts, "I don't need to take this!"

"I'm just telling you, you need to learn how to be polite and think about people other than yourself, especially when you choose to use public transportation."

The woman, clearly red in the face, looks around for help before retiring her gaze to the floor. This guy just layed down some Hobbes and Rousseau contractarianism shit and she's completely mortified.

Then the man calmly reminds the woman that in certain situations (i.e. NYC trains and public roadways), one has to subject his or her individual liberty to the "general will" of the community. When people hold doors, stand in front of exits when not exiting, set fires on the Manhattan bridge tracks, or vomit on the train, they're breaching a philosophical and sociological contract. Might I include here the same thing goes for cars on the streets. Use a fucking blinker once in awhile, we'll both live longer.

I was really surprised and quite pleased about the lecture. The intellectual guilt trip is not the road oft taken in New York subways. Mostly one can expect a passive aggressive sigh and roll of the eyes and if unluckly, some derogatory language and foot stomping.

In the end, the woman was so embarrassed she got up in a huff and let the kid have her seat. I wish this guy could guilt trip NYC drivers, or all motorists for that matter.

Which reminded me...

It was messenger appreciation day on Monday (October 9th) and I did not post my formal thank you to the kids out there who risk their necks every day to get artwork and portfolios to the right corporate pinkertons uptown.

This photo is a bit dated perhaps...

I thank you, brave ones. Perhaps when I move west this humble bike nerd will take a crack at your dangerous and passionate profession. Better than the graphic designer graveyard of minimum wage, working the late-shift at Rocco's Pizza as Zoobombers cut through the dark of night.

R.I.P. Kristine Okins

hearts,
t

The Ks. The Knitting Factory. Tonight.

2006-10-05T07:58:00.000-07:00

Well, after a three day stint of being sick at home, spent mostly listening to Blue Train rather loudly while splayed out on the cool wood floor, it's time to shake my rumpus. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the illustrious... the ineffable... The Ks!

Check 'em out tonight: 10 PM at The Knitting Factory in the Old Office. I designed the poster for them above. If you haven't heard The Ks, imagine Stephen Malkmus fronting the JB horns. They sing about, among other things, peg-legged pirates and politics. Intrigued, no? Hope to see you there. If you're sick like this kid, make yourself a little hot toddy--mix of Irish whiskey and hot water. It's a Scottish thing (thanks, Tawns!). No excuses!

Beyond Velodrome

2006-09-30T09:57:00.000-07:00

I wanted to take a few moments from my Richard Pryor coloring book to reminisce about the summer Twilight Series.

Contact Erica Waldorf at pryorcoloring@disaster.nu for your own

Last month I finally made it out to Kissena with my lovely track bike. I'd made previous visits to the velodrome in Queens a few times to catch William DC ride, but I could never get out of work on time to actually race. After most of the summer months had eroded into cut and paste memories, I finally just took half a day off and met William and Nicola outside my building. We gunned through midtown rush hour traffic over to the 59th Street Bridge, dodging marooned pedestrians in the middle of cross walks and squeezing between gypsy cabs and huge diesel buses. It was the best feeling in the world to just survive the present intact, focusing only on my pedal stroke and half a block in every direction--even almost behind me--to possibly avoid whatever trouble decided rear its ugly, misshapen head.

If you're not familiar with what exactly a track bike is here's an abbreviated education: All track bikes are fixed gear bikes, but not vice versa. Fixed gears have a direct drive system between the pedals and the rear wheel. If the pedals move, forwards or backwards, the rear wheel moves. If the rear wheel moves, the pedals move. Catching on? As a result, coasting on a fixed gear is impossible. Not even while turning a corner or riding downhill. So when you say you biked up to Bronxville and back, you aren’t lying. The miles you ride are equal to the miles you pedal. For this very reason these bikes are not for the lazy or easily disheartened. Fixed gear bikes have been around for centuries. Bike messengers started the trend a few decades ago, but fixed gears have become popular lately with the young, urban crowd. Note: Pretty much any frame with horizontal dropouts can be converted to a fixie; however, English 3-speeds and cruisers are pretty worthless because their bottom brackets are so low one has to worry about pedal clearance when corning. Most people convert vintage road frames that have a similar, though not as severe, racing geometry as track bikes.

Track bikes are built to race, particularly at velodromes (Track cycling at velodromes used to be big back in the 1800s at Madison Square Garden before the Great Depression slammed the populace). So basically the angle of the frame tends to make the rider feel like she's eating out of a trough. Track bikes are very stiff and strong. They tend to have a very beautiful, spartan aesthetic because the front fork is (usually) not drilled for a brake. The frame is also equipped with track dropouts as opposed to horizontal dropouts that are common on road bikes. A shorter wheelbase also creates toe overlap. "Wait. No brake?" you mutter. Yes, it's safe, even on the street if you're one hundred percent on point and focused. If you are equipped with proper gearing you can also skid stop in emergencies. Riding fixed can actually make you a better and, ultimately, safer rider. I'll leave others to shovel the romanticized Zen mind-body connection metaphors.

Until that point I'd been a bit hesitant to ride my trusty no-brake steed in such heated conditions. For the past two months I'd mostly been riding in and around Brooklyn, testing my limits and skill. William let me borrow his Campy front brake, but I barely used it. I didn't have time; most often it was about redirecting my bike around people, accelerating or skidding. It was nice to have it there though, for comfort sake.

We made it without incident until 59th Street. William decided to blow a light and I followed to the dissatisfaction of a rather large female traffic cop. All I heard over the Roosevelt Island tram engine overhead was "Get the fuck outta my street!" as we blew past her. Nicola got caught in the cross fire of traffic and fell. Apparently some quadriplegic in a motorized wheel chair (also cutting through traffic, mind you) told her, "Your bike's messed up," and then motored on by. William and I sat across from the bridge on ramp for a while before she walked it off like a champ.

A little history: The Kissena velodrome was built in 1964 for the Olympic trials, but fell into disrepair until 2004 when the track was reopened after major renovations. Organizer and racer Bob Campo is the heart and soul of the place. Deserted, the track isn't much to look at. You wouldn't even know it was there unless you ventured past a long row of ball fields into a stretch of marshland where the track is set. The track sinks into the marshy ground a little each year and must be repaved in kind. It took us about an hour to ride out there, sometimes riding under the elevated 7 train and, strangely, avoiding mounds of sand piled high in the occasional bike line (don't ask me why, this is Queens and I don't live there). Nice ride overall. We arrived with some time to take a few laps to warm up and bullshit with the other racers.

Racers hang out and stretch in the middle of the track on the grass that's in different stages of decay. Spectators tend to hang back behind the double-barred entrance to the track on two small grandstands that have a nice view of the entire track in the setting sun.

I met some of the ladies who ride regularly at the summer Twilight Series. Taliah Lemphert had this sweet Bob Jackson frame. I drooled, but managed to coolly compliment. She was very kind and introduced herself after spotting my ride during warm-ups. I'd bought my bike from her friend this past spring so she'd been on the look out. Later I realized she also painted several bike portraits that I'd admired from afar. This past week she was at Interbike, auctioning off paintings of Davis Phinney and Gary Fisher bikes. She's damn talented so check her work out in the links section or read fixed gear galleries interview.

I also met Kym P. and Bianca who in early September finished 2nd and 3rd at the North America Courier Championships in Philly. This actually happened to be Bianca's first crack at velo racing as well so Nicola and I chatted her up.

In track racing it's not about going in circles really fast… well, most of the time it's not. There are different race formats that require different strategies. The first women's category race was a SCRATCH, which is a race in which all riders start from scratch (on equal terms). If one or more riders gains an entire lap on the pack and keeps this to the finish, this advantage places them ahead of the other riders with less laps completed. We raced for 8 laps, which was a nice shock to the system. We all lined up along the gate for balance. It being our first race, Nicola, Bianca and I took positions near the back of the pack for the start. Our start position really didn't matter because a scratch race has a mass start. We didn't actually start to race until an official blew a whistle near turn two. The pack, along with Bianca, slowly slipped away from me after one lap as I watched the long stretch of shadows shooting across banked black asphalt. I managed to avoid the supreme humiliation of getting lapped. That was not fucking happening. Near the last lap I could see kids from the baseball fields and handball courts hang limply from their armpits over the railing to watch us suffer. Nicola had a lovely time drafting off me the entire race. William kept shouting for her to take the lead, but I was selfish. Second to last, not exactly suckville for a first race and a smaller gear.

I'm having a good time, in spite of the borrowed one-size-too-small lycra shorts

We stretched and inhaled water until both men's group finished their second race of the night. Kym informed me that my chucks are complete shit for racing. After the first race, a twelve-mile ride under my belt, and many more miles to Brooklyn ahead, I had to agree... But I love them so much.

Then it was time for the women's CHARIOT race. Unlike in a scratch race, riders start next to each other with a friend balancing the bike. William's friend was kind enough to help me out. Chariot races are sprints and this was just for one lap. I thought, no problem.

That's me on the end, looking like I'm about to hurl.

I lost the pack again, but not as badly--not enough time to with just one lap to go. Nicola, again, drafted heavily. Second to last again. At least I'm consistent.

While we waited for the next race I met a kind fellow named Squid handing out flyers for the VeloCity Tour that invited all bike messengers and city bikers to compete for prizes and tickets to Sydney for the 2006 Cycle Messenger Championships.

Squid is a long-time NYC bike messenger who organized the NYC Puma racing team as well as several alleycats in the area. NBC's World of Adventure Sports recently aired a nice piece on him and the team at Kissena.

When it was time for the last women's race it was almost dark, the sun slung low on the horizon so that in the murky shadows it felt like we were flying. Unfortunately, William and Nicola were starving so we ended up hanging out for the third race, which was a SNOWBALL. In this format, only the first finisher of each lap is awarded any points. The number of points awarded increases with each lap. Kym exploded away from the pack right away and kept her lead for nearly the entire race. We didn't end up leaving until all the races were finished, which is a bummer because it would have been nice to finish that last race. Of course, I say this now.

Surrounded by the slow bleed of taillights, we pedaled out of the parking lot with Taliah until we hit Kissena Boulevard. We decided to take the 7 local train back to Manhattan and piled our bikes into a subway car. Along the ride home we devoured the most delicious Italian deli sub, passing the blaze of Shea Stadium and an empty train platform (thank god). I think the Mets nearly blew a 10 run lead over the Cardinals that night.

Once we hit Manhattan we hustled our bikes up to the street and pedaled through the gauzy flicker of Times Square. It was mid-week and a little too late for tourists so the streets were practically ours. We headed over to the dark waters of the Hudson all the way downtown. We stopped around the world trade center site to stare out at the river and reapply some shammy cream. We were all pretty exhausted so we cut across the island on Chambers street through the financial district, charging up and onto the Brooklyn Bridge. The entrance isn't as impressive as the Manhattan Bridge, but the view at night is still spectacular, even at 15 MPH and with eyes watering from the wind.

My heart grew three sizes on that bridge. It was the end to a perfect ride. After the bridge we split up at the Fulton Mall entrance. William and Nicola headed back to Bed Sty. I took the back streets so I wouldn't have to deal with constant blare of horns and the "No, fuck you!" attitude of Atlantic and Flatbush. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but it seemed familar. I often run seven or eight miles around the neighborhood so I figured I'd be all right. I slipped silently by lit up bars and smokers on empty streets, past the forlorn playground in Gowanus, and up to Baltic and 3rd Avenue. It was a straight shot home from there.

Riding on Carpet Tacks

2006-09-22T15:20:00.000-07:00

If you plan to ride up through Riverside Park beware of the douche bag brigade that scattered the path with carpet tacks. Yes, carpet tacks. New York magazine refers to the culprits as saboteurs. No, they're douche bags. Saboteurs run clandestine organizations that overthrow governments and poison prime ministers. Douche bags scatter nails on greenways. Kevlar tires and slime liners are excellent protection, but these suckers are rather large and can easily shred your vittoria pro road tires along with the tubes.

Whatever happened to vandalism that's conducive to challenging stale notions and a corrupt system; why not key a couple hundred SUVs off the factory line or knife your neighbor’s Hummer tires? I could possibly get behind that, but disseminating sharp objects where children, the elderly, and animals might pick up and eat them is pretty unconscionable. Until the problem is resolved perhaps stick to riding in uptown traffic, which is much more exciting anyway.

And yes, "Riding on carpet tacks" is a terrible segue, but that song is already at maximum suckage, so referencing the pop hit with a terrible pun couldn't possibly offend anyone at this point.

Save a BMX Park? Better than clubbing a baby seal... and much easier

2006-09-17T12:47:00.000-07:00

In Seattle for a few days?
After you’ve jumped the whoop-de-do’s under the I5 overpass or flashed by the giant troll on North 36th street under the Aurora Avenue bridge check out the hidden BMX course on the west side, near the Queen Anne end of the bridge. If you pass the intersection of Taylor Avenue North and Newton, you’ve gone too far. Hack your way down the steep slope of blackberry creepers and tangled walls of ivy to find bikers launched over sets of jumps so high they nearly break the canopy ceiling of pines and massive oaks.

Rama Fire in the air, doin' his thing.

This beauty is due in large part to Rama Fire, a 29-year-old local who heads the Northwest Crew. Back in July, The Stranger featured a short article on Fire and the course after it was threatened with a bulldozer by the city. The Seattle Parks and Recreation Department is worried that the course is unstable because it’s built on a hill and, yes, it does rain a bit in the area. However, Fire and volunteers have ingeniously prevented any potential landslide problems by designing the course so well—the dips of the bike jumps actually drain water without diminishing the water supply to surrounding hillside shrubs and plants.

Local BMX courses like these, though technically illegal, are why the sport continues to thrive and insures further growth in the future. Don’t get me wrong. Racing in an official BMX race is a great thing and one to be supported, but like any sanctioned event you have to pay at least a few bucks, which if you win the race you can usually trade in your trophy for a refund. If you don’t win, say goodbye to those precious ten bucks. This doesn’t even include the registration fee for an ABA membership, which is something you need if you want to earn points. All in all it’s kind of a hassle for a ten-year old kid, especially for female riders at that age. I always had some group of teenage boys asking me if I was "a dude."

The three amigos at the South Kitsap BMX track, which is now closed for no real reason and may become a parking lot in the near future.

In grade school and junior high, my two best friends and I rode across town to the mobile home park that sat right next to the highway. In a stand of evergreen trees right off the side of the development was our playground. We’d discovered a promising though unfinished BMX trail with oval berms, lumpy tabletops, and a sweet twenty foot drop down a ravine. We eventually used that drop to design the end of the course with a large jump that, if attempted, rocketed you in the air ten feet out of the woods and right into sparse oncoming traffic.

Every summer morning we toiled in the dust, “borrowing” large blue recycle barrels from our school playgrounds to build up jumps. At the end of the day we buried our sweaty and splintered tools so that no one would steal them. We bought old motorcycle helmets out of the discount bin at Value Village; they were too big and the mouth guards often inspired impromptu Darth Vader impressions. We broke noses and a video camera, sorry pop. We snapped a few frames only to replace our Toys R’ Us wannabe bikes with a Mongoose Expert or a Robinson—the bikes of our heroes. Our course received a face-lift every three weeks after one of us would bring in drawing we’d sketched out in Algebra.

That’s the thing about BMX courses; they’re never really finished. There’s always some meddling and rebuilding, especially after land developers notice the handiwork and bulldoze the jumps. Perhaps that’s one of the great things about building one illegally. There’s always a chance to start over, to build bigger and better jumps. My friends and I started racing at sanctioned tracks in Port Orchard only after our course was destroyed for the tenth time by the city—they had grand plans to turn the small island of trees into a parking lot for the hospital that would eventually go in next door. When I’m back in Bremerton for the holidays I check out our old stomping grounds. The hospital is there, but no parking lot, just freshly stamped berms and tables built by a new set of local kids.

Tony won... again. My Stussy sweatshirt and I are thrilled.

The professional crew that hangs down at MacLean Park is very kind and any newcomers are usually given a tour, so take the time to explore the area. If you’d like to support the course email Jack Tomkinson of Urban Sparks.

Tonight we ride, for tomorrow we die

2006-09-13T17:42:00.000-07:00

It would be nice to share a ride around Prospect Park, some brew-dogs, and perhaps a high-five in the air but for now this is just a test or taste, what have you. Obsessions with Bob Jackson and Ira Ryan frames to be spilled shortly, along with news on the long haul back West.