The damaged-in-the-head race: Amsterdam to Paris in one go.

This transmission is coming to you from a french keyboard in the outskirts of paris, so bear with me through stupid spelling errors. For example, this next sentence I'll type as if I'm at home: My nq,e is Dqvey Dqvis qnd Im, in Pqris hqving the ti,e of ,y life zith Dqvid Zood: Cool huh%1% Qll ,y friends in Qmericq qre suoq)cool:

July 5th- A Day After the Amsterdam-Paris Race, outside a REAL French Chateau.

There are chickens in the yard and 1800's buildings in shambles dotting this old, elegant place, a strange relic that could exist only in Europe, reminding me of a squat or a commune as much as an emblem of the finest and richest citizens of the old world.

The race... the race was unlike anything I'd ever done. I had my expectations of course; giddily explaining to David the way I thought our bodies would feel after 100 miles, 200. The first 100 would be fine, I said, the second impossible, and after that something unforeseeable and indescribable would occur. I guessed at all of this, both of us having never biked more than 120km (70 miles) in one stretch. We only had Peter's word on what would happen. But Peter, I might mention, is totally and insanely awesome. Let me back up. I had never thought any of this was a good idea.

David and I have been having an amazing trip, an impossible trip, one that has been non-stop perfect, saturated good experiences. We bike, and see amazing things, enjoying the simple cadence in our bodies, getting lost and finding our way; arriving exhausted at the next city where we call up our couchsurfing host, make an amazing meal, and sleep after hours of partying, talking, and sometimes dancing until 4 am. The next day we do whatever: bike around with our host, check out street fairs, relax in parks, go to museums, or just lollygag between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. In Hamburg we went on huge explorations across the city, going through the Elbe Tunnel, a laborotory of transport, long alien tubes engineered far before I would have imagined there existed the technological capablity. In Bremen there were accordion lessons from a punky hitchhiker named Hanning, followed by an evening concert in the bremen cathedral that David spotted. We scarfed down kebabs on the steps before running into the performance and getting seats in the back, a lovely spot where the reverb and resonance turned my thoughts into long, churning notions about different ways to be. In Groningen we arrived to a bumping house party above Daphne's flat, where we dance with beautiful people all night to an amazing 90's american rap/funk cover band. It was the day Michael Jackson died and right as the night was getting hectic and good the band merged Skeelo's "I wish I was a little bit taller" with an improvised chorus of "billy jean" sung in a hilarious dutch accent, creating possibly the most perfect farwell tribute MJ has received.

Between Groningen and Utrecht was the Netherland's farming country, and we were perfectly content to cycle along rivers and through picturesque towns munching on fruit, yogurt, sandwiches, and our new favorite find: the dutch stroopwaffel, a brittle waffle cake with caramel in it. We had arranged to stop in Laag Zuthem, the smallest town with the worldliest woman, Anne-Marie. She knows much about life; this single mother of 38, much about pain and trials. She provided the first real conversations and connections of the trip, and she has Jessica's copy of The Poisionwood Bible. In return I got a Carribian version of The Illiad called 'Omeros' which seems really cool, but first the english patient. Having time to read has been a highlight for me, of course.

In this vein I was excited to meet Peter, in Utrecht, who had just returned home after 4 years of cycling around the world. He was more hospitable than anyone I've ever met, very relaxed but expecting you to eat all his food (which was disconcerting after so much precise budget-sharing with other surfers).

Within 30 minutes of meeting peter and his girlfriend Pietra we were talking about this insane thing, a 500 km all day and night and day non-stop ride to Paris from Amsterdam. Pietra had been training for it and Elco, a couchsurfer from amsterdam, had mentioned it to us by way of denying us a couch. At that time I had thought it was totally crazy, scoffing to David a few days earlier, "That dude's going to ride the whole second leg of our journey in one day!!" We had laughed about it, but this clear insanity had somehow gestated into a posibillity in the time that passed; for after Pietra finished telling us about it David and I turned to eachother, "why not try it?" We had that look of maniacs we sometimes get. Pietra tried to discourage us, saying how much she'd trained and so on, but Peter was all for it, saying how possible it was. "You wanna come?" "Sure" he said. I failed to bear in mind that this tall, tan, stringy man had just returned from biking every continent on earth for as long as I'd been in college. At this point David went into rapture about it, saying how good the story would be, etc. I took a step back, looked at everything, and realized there was no disadvantage to trying, aside from certain death. Our trip was about chance, versatility, and spontanety; and here the chance of a lifetime was staring us in the face. A'dam to Paris, an old world triple-century.

A word about centuries: a century is american shorthand for a long-ass way on a bike. Why? because it's 100 miles! 100 miles is a long way for a motor to go, let alone me with a piece of metal and a pair of waffle-filled legs; most people consider it an achievement to ride one. I bike every day, for work, transit, and play, but I've never ridden one. My longest day of biking was on this trip, 70 miles or so, and after that distance your bum is sore, you feel like you need some food to be functional again, etc. Here we were planning to do 3 times that, through 3 countries, through the night carring with us food and water and the hope that we could stay awake to hour 30, our optimistic goal. A few people, Peter's roomate included, had raced this course in 24 hours, we thought adding 6 was a safe bet.

Sitting on a bench with a park-like expanse in front of me, dense jungle behind, Paris over the horizon and and honest-to-god pointy-roof killed-by-the-butler Chateau beside me, I can't believe what's happened. I can't believe how I feel, only 24 hours after we stopped biking. I feel great, I can stand up, and breathe through my nose and mouth. The temperature is perfect, and somewhere a team of over-stressed dutch girls is preparing me dinner. But in between that moment of incredulous, fast-paced planning and this guest bench the most intense physical experience of my life passed, and I emerge with tolerances and feelings that I never could have imagined. My body is a quiet lake, placid after a 300 mile meteor shower; flaming stars swallowed into the depths.

WE were so lucky to have Peter with us. Without him we would have surely gotten lost, missed the start, grown slower until we fell over, asleep; or just been distracted into one of the many fruit stands along the way. But the first thing was the food. The day before we went to the store and mimicked item for item what Peter bought. No sweets. No fruit, mostly water he said. But 2 loaves of bread, 800 grams of pound cake, another 800 of grainy breakfast cake, and a jar each of peanut butter. Our additional plan was to stop at Peter's parent's house and have a big dinner before continuing on through the night. The other big win came from his roommate, Geert, who unflinchingly lent us his cycling shorts for the crotch-crushingly long ride. Having never worn a pair I was skeptical, thinking myself too punk-rock for such luxuries, but in retrospect I probably would have been hospitalized without them.

Being total reckless ridiculous badasses we decided to cycle the 25 miles to the start from Utrecht to Amsterdam. "Why not save on the train fare," we thought, "and the extra 40k will just be a drop in the bucket compared to what we are planning, right? Right? "
We arrived within 15 minutes of the start, sweating, dropped off our bags and stepped into the preparation hullaballoo. A stressed looking Dutch girl, Janneke, approached us with a clipboard. "Racing?" She asked in Dutch. "I guess so!" We said, talking in English. She looked shocked. "Are you guys prepared for this? I mean, I haven't seen your names on any of the rosters until today." I smiled. "Well, what happens happens, you know?" Her face fell and she started to stutter. "You know the organization isn't responsible for what happens to you, right? Once you start we're gone, driving to Paris, 4 hours..." I just smiled even wider. We took our places at the start. It looked like rain, and we and the other 12 maniacal teams were nervously eyeing the clouds. I pulled up next to a short girl with pretty freckles and blonde hair. "Ready?" I asked with a smile. "No" She said, glancing ruefully at the sky. We had no idea what we were in for.

With a cheer at noon off we shot through Amsterdam traffic. "Nice city," I thought, barelling through groups of old ladies, schoolkids, businesspeople, and beautiful women cruising the sidewalks on creaking city bikes. "I'll have to come back here some time." We are in a great mood and humming along for the first hundred miles, eating, drinking, and joking while we rode, sometimes listening to Peters stories from every corner of the earth or ribbing David about his ex-girlfriend, sometimes just pedaling in silence for miles and miles. We load sandwiches and peanuts into our jersey pockets, pulling them out and hoping for a nutella one as we ride. Peter's stories really are amazing, a cumulative feeling you get after he modestly tosses out some thought he had through months in Tibet or 5000 meter climbs in Argentina. I'm honored to meet the guy, frankly, let alone keep up with him as his partner on a 500k race. He's an extraordinary being to behold, working 2 days a week so he can pay for his bit of a condemned government apartment that always has 2-3 visitors sleeping on the couch. He bikes everywhere but in the typical dutch fashion, not making a big deal of it, and not even having a bike that he really babies, just hopping on and going for 4 years or so. The way he tells it he didn't even have any money on his trip, surviving only off the kindness of strangers which, as the journey got more epic, gradually ceded into sponsorships.

It bears mentioning that we were disqualified from the start, for having a 3 person team, but that didn't really matter as we weren't trying to win anything, merely see if we could physically do it. Furthermore, our course was longer than the direct routes of the other racers, through Eindhoven, and we thought we would arrive late. We reckoned it was about 50km further.

Just as we were getting tired we arrived at Peter's parent's, who presented a feast as well as discouraging predictions as to the distance. "450 kilometers," said Peter's dad, making a face like he didn't think we could make it. It was evening now, and I'd thought we'd done about 200k, with the first Utrecht leg, so that prediction was discouraging. Later, in Belgium, we were sort-of accosted in a friendly manner by a basketball coach who made a similar prediction of the distance. We pedaled on. The Belgium border came and went with no more fanfare than the most beautiful purple-to-yellow sunset I've seen, cutting through cow fields and fences in irradiated brilliance.

As the night grew later things got really tough. The surreal passage from country to ghost cities left me nearly hallucinating at the motion of it. I wasn't exhausted, but instead sleepy, nodding away, while simultaneously being cold, bitterly cold as the night deepened. Sore spots became frozen and the sandwiches hard and inedible, something to choke on. I dreamed of in-and-out burger, the campsite in Paris, the Eiffel Tower, the French border, anything. Eventually I just dreamt of the sunrise, and the hope that it would trick me into not being so tired, or that a bakery would open and I could get some real food. Then the hills started rolling. We attacked them at first, enjoying the challenge and the rest down the other side, but then they began to slow us, and as our enthusiasm flagged they got taller. There are less bike paths in France and Belgium than there are in northwest Germany and the Netherlands, less grandmothers on bikes, and now I know why. These rolling hills kill, especially after doing something the previous day I had formerly deemed impossible.

David quickly went from bad to worse, so much so that I was annoyed with him for a bit, because he hadn't mentioned anything. He had been trying to trick himself, to stay positive, but it was too late. When he collapsed in front of a house in some nameless village it was close to 5 a.m. We'd been biking officially for 17 hours, unofficially for 22. By our prediction we'd gone 320 kilometers, and according to reason and the people we'd spoken to we had about that far to go. Expanding the course from 500k to 600 this late in the mental game was crushing. We decided we would take David to the nearest train station and send him to Paris. In Namur, after biking 350km, we wished him well. Shivering and bleary eyed he went into the station.

30k later Peter and I couldn't stay awake. Our progress was so slow, nearly a crawl for me in my easiest gear, and we decided we had to sleep just as the sun was coming up, from 6:15 to 7:00. "A power nap!" Peter said, delighted. He was exhausted too, but clearly still enjoying himself. I fell asleep on a bench, shivering in spandex shorts and a lightweight raincoat, feeling drained of all heat and energy and being. I fell asleep instantly, not thinking or dreaming at all.

Waking was like rising from the dead, death by drowning, in ice with no survivors. I snapped from nothing to a huge gasp and a shiver; non-stop and frightening, rattling my bones. My sore legs felt like coldpacks, solid chunks of dumb pain. I fell into the center of the road in a patch of early morning sun, crosslegged, worshipping the warmth, feeling the paltry sunrise like a flavor in my skin. We started to bike again and I knew I was done. The cold, the distance, David gone, all the negativity hit me like a brick while Peter was fine, refreshed by the sleep, his eyes calm. Our route took us through incredible, spectral towns, European ur-fortresses on the french border, with castles and cliffs and winding rivers and cobblestones. The cobblestones actually caused me to spit out the worst string of words I've ever combined out loud towards the Belgium and French notion of what a sane biker could travel on, as these killer monstrosities lay below plainly marked bike path signs, as if saying with a French shrug, "We gave you your path, what more do you want?" Every bump was pain, I was livid.

The next we stopped I hatched my plan of escape to Peter, slurring how he should go ahead and I would find a train station, but he firmly countered that he would come too. We had gone nearly 450 kilometers, to Charleville, but our route was too long, we were still around 210 away from Paris, it just didn't seem possible. It would have been 10 more hours of biking, and I was done. 280 miles straight, it was 200 more than I had ever done in one stretch, and I couldn't see beyond my situation. But context is everything. Had Paris been over the next hill, I hope I could still have made it.

It took us from noon until 10 PM to navigate the trains avec Velo however, and we joked the whole time that biking would have been faster. In the small town of Fauney I got my first French baguette and chocolate croissant of the trip, for 65 cents each. So I was indescribably happy. After that ride, sitting in the sun with a bit of meat, cheese, and the best baguette in the world I was absolutely content. We also had plenty of time in Reims to see the spectacular and famous Cathedral, which is all it's cracked up to be with its huge sweeping arches and ornate overpopulated exterior.

I don't know what's next on this crazy trip but I hope it's relaxing. Until the alleycat in Paris, of course.

A day later, I feel good, legs sore but not as sore as they could be, impressed by my body's capabilities and the depth of its reserve. I am even more astonished by the huge rewards that an open, adventurous life has bestowed upon me, and the powerful results that good friends and mad recklessness can provide. Read More......

First Foreign Alleycat, Paris '09

Paris 2009
Originally uploaded by dayabay

Well kids, I'm still alive, a world's passed in front of me, and I have yet to slow down to record it all. But this picture sums a lot of it up. I'm in Paris, having been connived into a non-stop overnight race from Amsterdam to here that took 30 hours and the fiber of my being. A few days later I've completed my first foreign alleycat in this spiral of a city, roundabouts and crazy traffic and one way streets. I was in the bottom 5th, place-wise, but I'm stoked. It was the most confusing thing ever, and the directions were in french, which I don't read, so C'est la vie! Check out some of Zach's other pictures to get a feel for the event, and I'll hopefully have some time to crack up a story or two soon!
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We're here! Hamburg

So of course we've arrived safe and sound. I spent the whole plane ride pretending like our bikes were already missing from the plane, just so I wouldn't be disappointed when they were. Actually I spent the whole plane ride watching Harry Potter Movies, eating Jimmy Bean sandwiches, and talking to the very interesting and very wealthy German-American filmmaker who sat next to us. We tumbled off the plane and were handed two huge bicycle boxes by fittingly strapping young german men. The rigs were safe and sound.

The trip has been a blast so far, the pace insane. We didn't sleep for 35 hours right off the bat, drinking and partying until 3-4 am on Hamburg's teeming Reeperbahn. Our bikes work great. Our hosts are cool. A 6 pack of good beer costs as much as a single regular beer in the states.

TO skip TO TOday, We dropped smack in the middle of a evironmental transportation festival, which meant LOTS of bikes. Everyone in Hamburg rides bikes, so we don't really stand out, except that our bikes are way racy in comparison. Everyone rides 40-year-old cruisers every day, everywhere:



It's really great, except everyone rides on the sidewalk in these crazy omnipresent bike paths, which are really slow if your used to getting around at a car's pace on a bike. But the cars go crazy fast on narrow streets, because they're german and used to bikes on the sidewalk, but I digress. We ran around with Cate, our first Couchsurfing host, who is totally cool, and rides a bike from the 40's which is so flexible the frame wobbles with every pedal stroke, an astonishing characteristic for steel that appears to be mostly cast iron (again, digression). We went through a fantastic tunnel under the Elbe designed in the 1890's with elevators for horses and now for cars and bikes, running into a crazy one-man-bike-collective guy on the other side.

Actually, I don't know the point of this story. The whole reason I started writing this post was to tell you about Cate's friend Tomas, who is a crazy Artist/Poet/Philosopher and totally amazing. He paints pictures with names like "I Fucked the Machine and Lived to Tell About It" and "Biomechanical Woman:'but I shall never again be able to kiss you!' Dr. She-Va-Go:'...'" and so on. They look more or less like this:



Plus this:



Anyways, the real point is Tomas told me about Zizek, a groovy philosopher with more accents on his name (and speech) than I know what to do with. Here's a rad taste:



He is also central to a film called "A Pervert's guide to Cinema" that seems pretty clever.

Aside from that I've mostly been having the time of my life. We went to a complete catalouge of Herbert Tobias' work, a gay 'straight' portraiture photographer (that's a convoluted art joke, fyi) who worked from the end of WWII until the fall of the berlin wall. He's famous for images like this:



But the show was primarily in this vibe:


Damaged, glowering, rugged young men flirting with the camera in a way that is brutally both strong and traumatized. VERY German. I spent a lot of time thinking about layers of history and the way they are read over entire lifetimes as well as physically in the space of a city or culture. Hamburg is one of the best melds I have seen between old and new, huge brick and stone structures mated with commercial glass and girders. All of Europe is built upon the ancients, but Hamburg really owns it. I want to do a photo study when we slow down for a second. Brick buildings with 1850's ornamentation will end suddenly in a sheer window wall, and be encompassed by a conference center pavillion. Whole stained glass banks in stone arches replaed with mirrored tempered panels:



David also found this really cool building, The Chilehaus, massive and made of brick:



In our neck of the woods little tremors would bring this puppy down. Very cool to see.

The trip has been great so far for these and a thousand other reasons, and we haven't even ridden our bikes yet! I'm looking forward to that first day of riding, hopefully out of the rain, which has been pretty relentless and challeging even with places to stay, who knows what'll happen on the open road (w/o fenders, or a rain jacket in david's case Ö). Read More......

SF Dreaming

It's been a hell of a trip in SF so far.



We barreled across the desert, only stopping to ride on the salt flats, where salt clung to our bikes like plastered snow, or the worst icing ever created.



The light was surreal, the car ride sifting us through mist and fog and rain all the way through. Santa Cruise arrived through the night after the insane blackout rally course that is highway 17, where the darkness obscured the crashing scars from ill-cambered turns.

My sister Elaine's place is great, something that adults deserve, a place you'd settle down near the beach after a well-earned life. So lucky she can live there. her life feels good. Pride parade was bright and hilarious, transsexuals galore.



We visited the Bicycle Kitchen in a new building, the prototype of the collective, clean and efficient. Instead of selling whole bikes, you give them $30 (or $60?) dollars and earn digging rights to cobble together a single bike. Paging McGyver.

Jessica and I bike everywhere, the city is easy and exhilarating, potholes and rushing traffic, keeping you on your toes. Everywhere's a race. Today we actually did a race, the sprawling, intimidating, epic Annual Oakland Rad Massaker Alleycat (formerly the Oakland Skrape. It's an insane 40+ miler that spans 5 cities in the east bay; Oakland, Berkeley, Piedmont, Albany, and Richmond. 160 riders show up, and they're mostly all crazy hardcore.





For example, the framebuilder for Broakland bikes was there, riding his own custom whip, and he's a beastly guy.



Guys from Mash/Macaframa, etc. But tons of punky east bayers with every description of beautiful bikes. Bikes cobbled together from random legit parts. Colnago frames. Custom track left and right. Tons of vintage rides bearing braze scars from repairs.



The race took us up the coast to all the different harbors, and then inland up the Berkeley hills. I was just blindly following people who looked fast, apologizing to the different groups for being a hanger-on out-of-towner who had no idea where he was. I got lost a couple times and was stupid tired, my legs cramped up and even though I was on a geared bike I could barely make it up the final hill. After 2.5+ crazy hours we collapsed in Willard park. I got 21st place, making me the fastest out-of-towner. Jessica, though, got 2nd fastest girl, blowing everyone's mind!



This guy won, which made me happy because he's a scrawny little guy like me, and there was some CRAZY competition on race bikes, etc.



EVERYONE got prizes, too, because the organizers hooked it up. Crazy number of things.



Here's an organizer hooking it up.


I was gunning for a helmet but it got snagged, so I got an ironic cycling cap.



Very cool crowd and very cool time. It was also my birthday. Things are going great. Read More......

Don't worry about missing me...

I'll be here ;)



Apologetically wishing you a happy summer wrought with cheesy ads, sandwiches, and bicycles. I'll keep you posted.



Tonight's the sprint up City Creek, see you there! Here's a shot from my practice the other night, laden with my gear for the trip, seemed doable though tiring:

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48hr Winnars!

So if you recall, we participated in the 48 Hour Film Festival this year. Good times were had by all, our spirit as a team was indomitable but we weren't in it to win it, so to speak, just trying to make the best film we could.

.... well, we also WON! Yay! The award of Best Film was presented to us, we get to go on to the NAB confrence in Las Vegas next year. In celebration and as a very special treat to you, I present you with our 48hr film festival submission, Halcyon. Enjoy!:
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STRAIGHT UP!

Before I go for the summer I want to cobble together what's sure to become an auspicious event, the 1st annual STRAIGHT UP gnarlycat in Salt Lake City!



What's a Gnarlycat, you ask? Well I just made that word up! But this one's simple. Meet at Gallivan (where else?) At 10:30 PM on Wednesday night, May 3rd, and fire the race firecracker at 11:00. First one to the top of city creek canyon and back to Gallivan wins! No prizes, no spokecards, no entry fees, and no sponsors. Single speeds get mad props and are heavily encouraged (like, if you have one... ride it).

This race is tricky, because there are multiple routes to the top, where you'll get checked off, and racing back down you must do your best to not kill any of your friends, the riders still heading up. So lights are pretty much required too.

**edit: I just rode this bad boy last night, there's no way we can race back down, it's too terrifying! I nearly killed 4 deer and keeping a racing pace is insane in the pitch black. So race to the top and then friendly cruise down. And bring a little jacket, it's COLD coming down.

See you there!


.... In other news, I have an absurdly practical bike (by my standards).



You know what that means don't you? Euro-TRIP! Dave Wood and I are leaving to the olde country for 2 months for some riding around and cheapskating through the summer.

We're flying to Hamburg and biking to Amsterdam, then wending our way through Monk and beer country to Paris. After that we head east into the great unknown. I'll be documenting our trip and using this blog as a vehicle for my ramblings and exploits.

The bike is a 55cm Salsa Cassaroll, Salsa's foray into swiss-army bike territory oriented more towards the road than the Surly Cross-Check. Fairly light double butted Salsa Chromoly tubing with slack geometry and clearance for 32mm tires with fenders makes this bike a sweet chameleon between slugging it out as a fixie in the winter and a very plush tourer-commuter in the summer. I'm hoping it doesn't get stolen in Amsterdam, as it's essentially 2 of my bikes in one. I've got it set up with 32c Schwalbe Marathons and a 20spd SRAM rival grouppo, which I quite like. It's like the worst touring gearing ever by most people's standards, but I'm a singlespeed rider for chrissakes, a 34x23 shouldn't be a problem.

Thanks a ton to Mark at Saturday Cycles for the bike, he's got the coolest taste in bikes in the state. And he's only open on Saturdays. Read More......

Movin' On.

I've finally decided to sell my ole cafe racer. Guess I'm entirely a bike boy now...
It's still everything a motorcycle should be, in my opinion.

*Sold! This one's next, some day...
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Alexander and Chris, at it again....

Ok, so not only did Chris Ginzton of the Dada Factory decide to place first in the Expert Category at this year's Sundance Downhill competition, Al of the Dada Factory decided to film an excellent coverage of the race, using a different racer's run for each step along the course and brilliantly editing them all together into a cool feature THE SAME NIGHT HE SHOT IT! The bar sure is high around here. Really freakin' high :).



Well done both. I've got some footage lying around that Chris and I shot a month ago, guess how much I've edited? You've got it! Zilch. I suck at life compared to these over-achievers, but I wouldn't have it any other way :). Read More......

Manifest in Reality: Velo City Bag!

Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:




Very happy with this thing. Nathan did some very cool extra work so I could keep my camera+extra lens inside it, and so far this bag's held up admirably under quite a beating. I've used it every day at work of course, and loaded it with all variety of things. Its first job was to haul a frame to 50th south the day I got it, the compression straps are long and work great with odd-shaped objects. The bag is very classy, maintaining its shape while empty and with no extra straps showing when you don't need them. The detachable waist strap is a nice touch, as are the hiding spots for the front flap compression straps. No complaints so far (though I may cut the U-lock strap, I never use it and it slows down replacing the lock). Yesterday I go caught in a deluge of rain coming back from Centerville and the inside of the bag was fine and dry.

Nathan Larsen builds the bags up here in Salt Lake from his apartment. His monster of a sewing machine and materials take up the whole room, it's great. Here're some shots of Nate's process:








Some Dork with his new bag:



And seeing if it works:





I likey. Order a custom one from Velo City Bags or pick up a finished one (for cheaper!) at Model Citizen. Nathan's just released his simple messenger bag as well, which is very cheap and just as nice. Checkacheckit Read More......

Clean Rooms Kill Communists.

...That's a good thing, right?

(what's that hanging on the wall?!?!) Read More......

I have a little problem...

This pile here is just my road bikes. That's skinny-ish tires and 700c wheels, not counting my polo bike. I have 6 %#*#ing bikes, and another on the way! END THE MADNESS!

I have a solution, though I love them all. I'm selling two (clicky picture for the craigslist ads:



edit: schwinn is sold! Bye bye old buddy!


Aaah, that'll take me down to only 4 bikes. Feels better already! :) Read More......