Saturday, April 3, 2010

Pushing pedals is never the same when it's not at your side.

Everyday when she walked out of her job at the cookie factory, She transformed into the most beautiful rocket her roads had ever seen.Slinging a leg over the fine steel frame that had fallen into her possession by luck so dumb it must have been blessed, she slid her shoes into the clips and soared over the pavement.
The wind flowed freedom over her face, leaving the scent of sugar and shortening in her wake to cut through the poison clouds of the hot pavement and exhaust.

DEEP brown eyes a camera steadied straight ahead of her, her lips would fix themselves into a shape just like the start of thought. Her mouth pressed slightly open, the top of her tongue touched the spot where her front teeth met, a corner created by their pressing just barely too close together, pointing each other a tiny bit back.
The expression seemed intensely focused, yet there could be a million things happening at once in her mind. When friends would ride along side her, they'd be taken back when her stare, appearing so squarely forward, would capture some special fleeting detail well off to the side.

A panhandler's particular sign, stray cats loafing on the sidewalk, a drunk disrobing in daylight on sixth street.

Most folks with little millage can look like works of art, but she was altogether something else. Her posture otherwise was always relaxed and could easily turn slumping with a shift of a mood
( and to such shifts she was quite sensitive) But in the saddle, she was a warrior princess, stately and wild all at once. Hands set matter-of-fact on the hoods, legs altering between smooth, circular spin and a soaring coast, she was a creature naturally customized for flight. She had a habit of slipping behind other riders so far that they'd worry they lost her, only for them to turn their heads at the exact precipice of her attack! A slight smile bursting with triumph and pride as she way over taking them and sliding swiftly ahead.

Prehaps it was a result of the thousand things she was seeing through her seemingly still gaze, or maybe it was just the particular strain of bad luck she was so unfortunately born with, but in spite of her grace and control, she was horribly prone to accident. Car doors, bad valets, train tracks, every obstical on the road seemed to hunt her like a determined dog. Though in a fitful moments of whole health she'd half-heartedly whine "I hate my bike," the intensity of her true love would be proven exponentially every time she got hurt. She's limp out of the emergency room on medication and a bum knee, and ignore all advice just to put her feet on the pedals mere hours after injury. If the nurses knew, they'd probably get a bit more pissed about all the unpaid bills, but no matter how much her friends tried to shake their heads in scorn, their grimaces couldn't help but turn into grins as she took her beloved British companion for a roll around the neighborhood.

if only for a few minutes.

Those minutes, after all, were always precious, since so many of her surroundings seemed designed soley to trap here. The stainless countertops of the tiny cookie factory offering too small of a task over too many hours, the rented bedrooms barely capable of contaning even the contents of their closet. The entire sprawling city turned small underneath the cycling satellite, of her wildfire heart. The warmth it radiated, it's glowing light, was absolutely irreplaceable to all that slipped into it's orbit, but sparkling a desire for her presence in so many people could be suffocating. She never hesitated to share the gift of her flame, but in the bottom less generosity nonetheless left her weary of being stifled or burning out. But when she was on two wheels, these worries faced while stationary simply could not catch her.

When her freedom turned so complete that she was a warrior princess every second and could fly without even moving, still she would ride, and still the ride would remain what she cherished the most. The atoms in the air blowing kisses to her cinnamon skin as they parted in the shape of her silhouette. The spectrum of light sacrificing all it's visions to the onyx embrace of her pupils. The rythyms in her cells dancing down throught her legs to her feet pounding out the beat to steel tubes singing their secret song of alchemy and transforming into wings soaring on jet streams of the soul no airplane will EVER know.

All these reactions, exploding into on another, essential and elemental as oxygen and fire...
a perfect moment of blinding brilliant beauty.


Written by the Professor.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Allow me to load my pistol.

Apologies! Oh, how apologies are in order for not being such a frequent writer on this http. I tip my hat and bid you my sincerest apologies for sitting out recent gun fights and pedal battles. For some reason I thought having a structured outlet for writing would allow me to pound out more entries and tales but some stories are better kept in journals and traced in pen. Anyone can hammer out words on a keyboard and label it into something they desire. Right?
Well, back to the drawing board once more.

To The Regulators

For fucks sake I have a god damn mural with our logo on it, let's fill up that garage with broken bottles and laughter once more! I know we all have been hectic with school, work and life but never hesitant to phone a sister up for a quick ride to the bar for catch up.
I love every single one of you and damn proud to call you my friends.
Speaking of Regulators, our fearless leader Kevin Nadeau has some prints out.
Hit up Limit Six Sixty-Six
and sport yourself one of these fly prints! Everyone at the party will just love you and almost everyone will want to fuck you. If not for supporting a local artist at least do it for your sex life.

Promises of beefing up this blog will be followed threw. With bike prom, couples alley cat race, and tons of events it easy to see why my heart & bicycle are infatuated with the streets.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Happy Birthday John Graham Mellor.

"So now I'd like to say, people can change anything they want to and that means anything in the world. People are running about following their little tracks and I am one of them. But we've all got to stop just following our own little mouse trail. People can do anything, this is something I am beginning to learn. People are out there doing bad things to each other, it's because they are being de-humanised. It's time to take the humanity back into the centre of the ring and follow that for a time. Greed really ain't going anywhere, they should have that in a big billboard across Time Square.
Without people you are nothing, that's my spiel."

This is my tribute to you, tomorrow will be a celebration of what you're words gave my life.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Deal Breaker.

My leg muscles are starting to mold and shape themselves into monstrous steroidic structures.
It's gotten to the point that I'm afraid to flex or even stand-up, due to the fear of a muscle bursting out of my leg!
Well, alright lets not get that extreme but the feeling is something to be pleased about. Though, as of lately the feeling has been drenched away due to car collusions and getting stuck between metro rail tracks.

Truth being,
this bandit is feeling a bit crumbled and defective.
There is no greater ache in my heart,
then the one provided by not being able to freely jump on my own saddle.
With the annoying cramped pain shooting in my right foot to the swollen knee on the left it's difficult to take pleasure in the thing you love. This has been one of the main reasons for my lack of ability to pound out a descent entry in the past month. The punches seem to keep on rolling and after temporarily getting knocked out this weekend, and once the blood and vomit washed away the ache.
It was back to the drawing board.

What exactly fits and what needs to be erased away immediately?
The placement and storage of these things is being organized in my head daily.
Labeling and boxing away the unnecessary clutter that does nothing more but take up valuable space.
Removing the beastly weeds to allow only the beautiful things to grow.

Let's hope that I can keep a great distance from hospital rooms and x-ray technicians. Most importantly to keep my bicycle in tip-top shape. Once more, East Side Peddle Pushers won over my heart. Thanks again for getting the thing I love most back on track for me guys.
I'll be sure to spread the good word !

More Regulators, Red Bud Park,
and especially more out of town trips that involve tenting under the stars.

If you know of any great routes to take to get some fresh air, shoot them my way.

Friday, July 24, 2009

This one goes to that dude with the beard...

You know the one with shit-locks in it...
That dude that patches your tube under freeways at one thirty in the morning...
The one that buys you helmets and brings you bread when you don't have a dollar to you're name...
He's also the one that does the best interpretation of Curtis Blow I've heard in a while.
Who reads you, childrens barn animals book while you lay in the e.r.
People tend to call him "The Professor" because he's a smart ass.

The Bandit is in such joy that twenty seven years ago your mother & father decided to do the dirty thing, side ways and freestyle.
Pushing pedals wouldn't be so fun without you by my side.

Happy Birthday Jerk Off :)

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Is the bike lane not sacred anymore?

Asking myself this very question as the paramedics lifted me up on to the stretcher. It seems that cars and I have a very complicated relationship. Well, there really isn't much of complication when laying bloody, disoriented, and adrenaline rushed on the pavement.
The picture speaks for itself.

"It could have been worse" seemed to to be the phrase of the day as I made my way from the pavement, ambulance, and emergency room. Laying covered in abrasions and my head still intact made me realize just how lucky I just was. In less then a year I've been involved in a "door" accident and now a side swipe collusion with a Benz. This must be a calling from the helmet gods to get my act together and protect my precious noggin.

For those of you that don't know the full story, on my way to the good 'ol cookie factory Tuesday morning a valet driver in a Mercedes Benz
(decided that right turn signals weren't very vital to other's who share the road)
took a right into the very bike lane I was rolling straight on and next thing you know, SLAM!

If anything the whole production was more bark then bite seeing as how I did more damage to the Benz then it did to me. Must thank the Canteras for such strong thick bones! I hopped away with a pretty banged up body and a temporary scare of the roads.

I will say, the police officer that was handling my report was more than attentive in dealing & reporting the whole accident. Plus, he also mentioned how not wearing a helmet was reportedly going to be against the law soon? Does anyone have any insight on this or was he trying to scare the trick or treater from not taking unwrapped candy from strangers?

Look, Drivers! You pack more steel then my 160 body and frame provide. Signal, be aware of you're surroundings. Then I won't have to deal with going threw two insurance companies and police stations for Christ sake.

My father, who was a dedicated cyclist (as you can tell by his rad shirt below) that is until the last run in he had with a car left him for "dead" in a ditch after a horrible hit and run.
Knowing first hand how dangerous it is for cyclist he called me as soon as he heard about my run in with vehicle. His message was as follows,
"I really wish you would stop biking Jen, it's too scary out there for you and I don't want anything to happen."

Life without my bicycle would not be a life worth living, I'd rather take the chance and die on something I love then spend the rest of it missing out on that feeling of flying, of freedom. That's the risk we take daily, every second we spend pedaling. I wouldn't give that up for anything. No big bad Benz can scare me of the streets I ride.

Now to my original post some days back before car's were involved...

Alley Cat Double Down!

(Thanks a ton Chris for the photos and video!)

Prostitute cats, shot gunning watermelon flavored slurpees, Spelling tar and pit in east side playgrounds, dumping sweaty heads into buckets of water and shampoo causing temporary blindness, to pulling monopoly like cash from shirtless biking boys pants.
The photo's and videos are up and running and doing races such as this one is always a blast for those participating and volunteering.
This was our route...

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These are , our tails.