Summer storms.

Just missed a big storm that hit NYC today. Raced it over the 59th at
bridge and made it home just as it unleashed on Brooklyn. Michael
Jackson playing outside my window and from every passing car. RIP.

Red Hook

2 a.m jam from the garden.

And the days get shorter.

It's two in the morning and I feel like I could pull out a 9th lap on the 24hrs of Big Bear course. Last weekend was painful and humbling. True to the mysteries of form, I'm feeling stronger and snappier than before that naked leap into an icy pond experience. It shocked a few things back into place. My heart is beating in a more regular rhythm and my legs have that nice tension thing again. Karl was amazing and proved that regardless of my past, he's likely the more talented one given he had never even done a race over 20 miles before and certainly no 24 hour nonsense. That guy can spike his way up a big tree in the rain with chain saws hanging from his waist. So, nice job Karl. I'm still impressed even after recovering from the race and forgetting how painful it was.

This weekend was full messenger playtime with the bicycle film festival going on. Friday night was amusing. Raced my cycle hawk buddy Fly during the Goldsprints in Williamsburg. First time with that madness. Fun though, and I felt like I pulled a hamstring after the 250 meter 150rpm dash with no resistance. I finished my delivery shift around 12:30 a.m. and the party was still just getting started among the mess crew. Squid and Carlos were the master event officiators keeping shit loud and the people rabid. Those guys are the pillars of the scene here in NYC. Finally caught up with Squid in the early hours of Saturday since I road over the bridge in May. Good to see you, man. Road home with the sun after pin-balling between the gold sprint venue and local bar, the Levy, drunkenly. And holy shit can these guys party! In an alternate universe that kind of talent would be (Le) Tour worthy! Saturday came sharply with work in all day in the rain. I ran away with Mimi to Red hook for some string band action at the Jalopy theater. Her Boston friend and undercover musician badass, Dan Fram (spelling?) and his friend Aaron were there there as well. After Show #1 we drove through the misty darkness on Cobbled streets that reminded me more of Ireland that Brooklyn. That explains Red hook -by the water, quiet and different from its' city neighbors. We ended up at another after- show jam bar with the whole session thing going on. The Fram has talent and attracted questionable attention from all the married jammer ladies with his fiddling. The Meems had the Ukulele. Aaron and I discussed not having any particular musical talent, at least that we know of currently. Meems and Fram rocking ensued. Followed the sun home again.

Bike jump

Early a.m. Brooklyn bike parking.

Fly?!

My cool guy bike got stolen. Ahhhh, feck! Yeah, so my false sense of security from living in a place where I could get away with never even locking the front door to my house caught up with me. Even for one minute, man, this city will bite, snap and attack so fast you'll wonder if you even got off the bike before it disappeared around the corner. And it did, my friends. The day before was my last day at Cyclehawk messengers in the city. Already a big deal and I was stressing about it and getting all emo days before that! I know the turnover in the messenger industry is high but parting ways was tough. I was over the Williamsburg Bridge at my normal hour of 8 a.m. and met Fox man on the corner of Delancey and Christie ave. The sun was out and Spring seemed there to stay. I had the last day of school feeling in my stomach. Kinda bummed, kinda stoked... I hadn't really talked to Fox yet since I gave my notice to Squid so I was a little self conscious of the fact that I was jumping ship on the crew with the utmost respect, of course. I called in on the radio, enjoying the last of the routine, and said good morning. "Good mornin'," Kid answered with a slightly annoyed but acknowledging tone. I told him I was with Fox. We spent another 20 minutes or so enjoying the novel weather that seemed so overdue after suffering through an intense NYC Winter on the streets. His radio chirpted and vibrated with a pickup downtown, staying downtown. The last week had been super slow because of the warm weather so instead of waiting for work, I jumped on Fox's wheel and followed him around on his downtown runs. This is always a little sketchy, kinda like an alleycat race exploding into traffic, every rider for himself. Following people is a completely different style of riding through non-stop traffic than riding by yourself. The flow is just a little different and can be catastrophic if you don't pay attention. Eventually it feels as normal and flowy as riding alone, you just learn how to carry on a conversation whilst weaving in and out the constant flow of people and cars, halting and restarting a conversation when you meet back up a block down the street. I did a handful of runs that last day at Cyclehawk. Spent some good time in the office talking to Kid and getting a some dispatch system breakdown from Bobby. "Everybody has a number", he says. There's a count down for time-till-pick-up and one for time till delivery. Half hour for pickup and an hour and a half for delivery from pick-up. The color codes illustrate the state of urgency based on the time left until a package is officially late. That's when we (the riders) start getting calls. "So, how's that pick-up going?!", they'll say. Once a signature hits the system the run disappears from the screen and Bobby knows it's been delivered. It gets intense for those guys when it's busy with constant refreshing of the screen, jobs disappearing and new one arriving in need of a home in a riders manifest que. I'm riding light these days having traded in the oversize bag for a hip-holster and medium sized chrome bag. Snap has me busy rushing food around Williamsburg and Greenpoint and a few long-range messenger runs a week. I like the messenger runs as they're a good mission that usually sends me deep into Brooklyn/Queens and over a bridge into the city. My hours are all evening 'till midnight save for a two days a week. This is a shift from early work in the city lasting all day leaving me destroyed in the evening to late work in Brooklyn leaving me with a kick at Midnight and 1 a.m. Both routines leave me struggling with the prospect of staying awake for an entire movie at any hour. The city has become green since I left a couple weeks ago. The trees have all turned into giant pieces of Broccoli that shade the streets and create a canopy of green in some the cross streets. It feels like a different city to the one that blew cold ice, rain and wind in my face over the last five months. I haven't loitered a Starbuck's seeking refuge from the elements for almost a month now! When go there now I recognize most of the messengers in the city still cranking stuff around not missing a beat from one season to the next just now they're riding one handed with cold cokes. There're a handful of fair-weather messer's out there, too. One big difference in the city feel is that it's missing my friend Fly who has mysteriously vanished from the face of the messenger scene without a trace. If you're out there or reading this, call me. Get in touch. Let the crew at Cyclehawk know you're ok, homie.

The draw of knobby tires, mud and chainring marks on my calfs is beginning to churn again. Karl (my brother) and I are making some 24 hour of Big Bear plans...

Riding over the bridge.

Today is my last day at CYCLEHAWK. These guys have been awesome to me and I plan to visit the office and loiter often. I'm on now on the list for professional emergency "Pro" backup. Squid, Kid and Bobby, you guys fucking (25 cents;) rule. Thanks for everything. New gig is SNAP in Brooklyn.

Spring!

Back to the Homeland

I'm headed to WV today. First I'm into the city to deliver things. I got some sleep last night and feeling a bit more on the bright side today. KBS seems to be feeling bright as well. They've been winning shit abroad. The Mtn. Bikers are all over the place as well. The season is in full swing. Feels kinda funny and kinda right not to be apart of it at the moment. Been drinking yerba mate the last couple weeks instead of coffee. Another manifestation of bike racing delinquency? Maybe. I'll be rescued from Times Square this afternoon at 3 and in Canaan by 10 or 11. Seeya there.

Roadside fly.

Eric has been in the NYC messenger scene for while. He now works for
Cyclehawk, is super quick and has no room for new tattoos.

Almost time for some Vaca

It’s been months now. Months of clockwise and counter clockwise riding around the three boroughs of my home in Brooklyn, Queens and of course, the grand island of retarded real estate, Manhattan. All of them connected by a selection of arched and tethered bridges. Some of them are steep and some are full of gawking tourists that have no sense of direction. I don’t ride over the Brooklyn Bridge anymore and it’s not just because it reminds me of my first nightmare of a living situation. It’s just that I don’t really go that way anymore. I went over the other week for a pick-up. The route followed my old route home so I felt smooth and in control like a well tuned barista creating perfect crème on top of an espresso. I’m meeting people and showing up to some of the events. The community is much smaller and tighter than you may think in a city like this that from the outside seems so huge and chaotic. It’s that and it’s also a place people end up finding a home and routine that defines their lives. It’s like no other place I’ve ever been. Once you’re inside the walls, behind the toll booths and under the tunnels, you kind of get the feeling there is no other place on earth and everything one needs is here. It’s a tough place but has its flow. I’ve not been out outside the borders for months now. I’ve had one sick day and maybe a couple holiday weekdays off. I’ve moved once and ordered pizza a couple times. I’m not from around here and by that I mean those of you who say, “Yeah, welcome to the real world". The 9—5, 7 day a week grind that defines most lives. I’ve lived a charmed life I suppose, a life that’s been full of support and opportunity. Travel and chance, food and wine, massaged and catered to is what my life has been all about. What banter! I’m just flexing my ability to be cynical and write stuff about stuff. I bought some crazy Brooklyn Bagels yesterday morning and Mimi and I had more this morning. I can’t get over how much better these giant, hand-rolled and steam boiled bagels are than any other bagel I’ve ever sunk my fangs into. I mean, I admit I was combative and took offense to my old roommates attack on Mr. J’s Bagels in Harrisonburg. “These things are puny little emaciated bagel-shaped pieces of inferior crap!” he would say. Well, yes, I now stand thoroughly corrected.

59th St.

Snapped by xxx (Carlos) yesterday morning. I'm still encrusted in salt
from the storm the day before.

School ain't canceled "Tank".

A.M. Winter.

Extra-cycle

Squid on his way to deliver the living shit outa some packages!

Pass'm out.

Big release from one company sent us sprinting everywhere on Tuesday.

Cycle Hawk at News 12 The Bronx

Bloody, bloody nose.

I had a Bloody nose on Friday. Kid saw it then put the nix on my
midtown nightmare alleycat plans for that evening. In hindsight I'm
sure it was a last ditch effort of my upper handlers to save me for my
grand tour destiny. I went to the start after meeting Mimi at the top
of the 59th st bridge and riding 50 blocks down a cold, dark and
trafficy 2nd ave. Everyone was gathered at the north east corner of
Tomkins square park under the cover of night. Squid brought a bunch of
coffee from the 'Bucks courtesy of Chrome messenger bags, a sponsor of
Cyclehawk. Messengers were huddled around enjoying an after-work, pre-
race cup of steamy go juice. Most were there after a full day
shuttling packages around. I love the fact that since it's a messenger
race everyone races in full on messenger gear. Bags, chain locks wrapt
around their waists, radios etc... For the start everyone set their
bike up in jungle gym area and then piled into what reminded me of a
batting cage, tennis court, animal cage or something. It was a racer-
keeper that night and of course bottle necked during the LeMonds-
style start-the punk rock version. When Stoned Tone said go it looked
like roaches scatering in every direction after you turn the light on
in the kitchen at night. The racers poured into the street and into
traffic. Stop signs, lights, wrong way signs need not apply. To people
in cars it must have looked like they drove right into the path of a
charging stampede of cheetas with wheels. At the first check point
people arrived from every direction, throwing their bikes in a mass
pile, leaning them against parked cars and pushing through the crowd
to get the signature.
Best part is that most people road with out brakes. NYC! I didn't
stick around since it was too painful not racing. The finish was at a
bar in the east villiage. Big one called monster track in a couple
weeks. We'll see.

Wings