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Never lose your will to rock. 

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Cycling on 35mm film. 

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Seattle, sometime back in 2014. 

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One time, my old pal Ethan said the difference between “new” U2 and “old” U2 was that “It’s not easy to find the will to rock when you’re not hungry anymore.”

That one still sticks with me...

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Rochester(ish), NY. 2016. 

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Last train out of Buffalo, 2013. 

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2016. Rochester. 

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Back in 2012/2013 I lived and worked and hung out and rode bikes in Buffalo. 

It was pretty fuckin dope. 

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2018 Road Rides w/ The Babe’s Babe. 

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I wonder how many white mountain bikers in Western Washington consider whose land they’re (we’re) riding on when we drive our cars to the trail head to go rip it up. 

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Nelson. Fucking. Vails.

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Sittin’ here with nothing to do. Sitting here thinkin’ only of you...

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This. 

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Somewhere near Wenatchee, 2018.

Sometimes I think about how “quiet” moments like this felt or how good a well-loved house cat seems to have it- how those moments and those house cats sort of seem free from the noise, the racism, the arrogance, the ignorance, the hate, the anger, the frustration, the vitriol, the blame, the GOP, etc etc etc. 

Other times I think about how cis and white cycling is and how it’s so full of privilege. And yes, I am a cis white dude with all kinds of privilege. And I think about all the people who got mad because the bike shop did not drop everything to fix their bike on the spot. Most of the time, these are white dudes, often times (in Seattle) who own mountain bikes (who generally take zero care of their mountain bike) who are upset because they waited til the last minute to have their bike looked at- an after thought though it seems to be SO IMPORTANT. 

And then I think about all the black people killed by white cops and the Asian folks getting harassed by white people and all the members of the LGBTQ community who are harassed for no good reason what so ever, and all the women sexually assaulted and harassed, and it makes me wonder what the fuck am I doing with myself and my time because in so many ways, bicycles are toys to 95% of the population in this country. They are luxury items or a thing for kids to most- yet there’s a whole host of people who need bikes to deliver shit like food to rich people so they can hide from a pandemic, meanwhile local restaurants and the gig economy workers get left to bleed out so some investors can try and get that ROI. 

As usual I don’t really know where I’m going with this. But I know that I want the world to be a better place for everyone, especially people who aren’t cis white men. And I want to help at least make cycling a less cis white enterprise that has a little more awareness. 

End rant. 

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Seattle to Fay Bainbridge Park out-and-back loop, February 2018. 

Shot with Fomapan 35mm on an Olympus Infinity Jr. camera I got at a Goodwill in Rochester, New York, for $5. Occasionally it has a light leak. 

This was (I think) the first ride I did on my Pacer after putting full fenders, SPD pedals, and an Ortlieb handlebar bag on for full nerd-style PNW winter riding. Part of the impetus to do so was practicality (my winter shoes use SPD cleats and clip-on fenders just suck) but also I was feeling the influence from back issues of Bicycle Quarterly and that video of Ira Ryan racing the Oregon Outback. 

Because you gotta find inspiration where and when you can...

And at this point practicality beats just about anything else re: cycling. 

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TFW you wish that heavy stoner metal was emanating from the trees on your moody AF winter solo MTB ride. 

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It would be cool if I had something profound to say. Often times while riding, or while stoned, or while drinking and watching Spring Classics from the early 90s on YouTube I will feel profound. This, however, is much different than having anything profound to say. 

Maybe that all sounds like bored/sad boi/white dude drivel. And it likely is. But as March, April, and the first half of May have evaporated into the ethers and the full volume effects of a global pandemic, well- I have sort of found myself mentally and physically and emotionally back in places I haven’t been in in a long time. And it’s not very good. Too much drink, too much getting faded, too much anger, too much resentment. 

And for what?

For not much, really. 

What’s the point? 

Will I ever know the point?

Probably not. Because I don’t think there is ever that “ah-ha!” moment that movies/books/tv/podcasts have us believe there is. I think there is just yesterday, the right now, and tomorrow and I’ve found that I’m better able to live in the right now when pedaling a bicycle or building a wheel or scrubbing that cassette with a Park Tool cleaning brush. Which feels dumb because I have half of a good biological family, a good not-biological extended family, and a solid group of real friends that I know I can lean on when I need to and vice versa. 

This is where I’d likely try and say that “profound” shit about how riding makes me feel “connected” and “in-tune” and whatnot. And it does. But more likely I think it’s a way for me to tire myself out so my brain doesn’t have time to do it’s dirty work and tell me how awful I am and how I’ve wasted the last thirteen years working in bike shops for too many hours and not enough money, etc etc etc ad nauseam. 

Which, obviously, isn’t true. Or, well, entirely true. The add nauseam part is. And so is the too many hours and too little pay thing part. But the flip side is I’ve gotten to go lots of places, meet lots of people, and learn a lot about myself and others via the ol’ bicycle. 

Plus, my partner, who really does love me, likes to ride bikes with me. A lot. 

So I guess the point is I should just kinda shut up, clip in, and ride on.