ok, de Mestral is a Swiss guy who invented velcro.  Last night was grass track.  My tires struck in the corners like velcro.   and I battled the swiss riders.  There.

Kelly Kline's Grass Track from Geronimok on Vimeo.

I did not get to talk to Geronimo yesterday.  but during one of the races I thought I was going to take him out in the hard corner, about 4:10 into the video.  He slid left and gave me a hole. 

I feel good, strong, relaxed.  Whatever cross brings this year, it will be good.  

Thanks to all the people who took pictures, and to Geronimo K for the video.   To be all sentimental, I'll remember those grass track nights as a really special time.    

Cheers, to the do gooders!  dlowe.


De Mestral


I need to get up.  I need a beer.  I left the rolling cooler full of ice and pbr's out on the porch. 

grass track is done.  the crashing, the nipping, the beers, the end of summer heat.  Grass track did not make my lt level better, or my legs stronger.  More.   It went straight to my soul.  The field. a great group of riders, it all seemed so easy, the dust and August heat. 

Tonight's a night where I don't have to get up to work tomorrow, tomorrow is a day I'll be workin on the tubulars, and looking at start list.   ---Think how to ride, ---to ride... within my means, relaxed at my maximum effort.   Cross gives me something that it does not give anyone else.  Its my own.

Cheers!  dlowe.


West sanctity

I'd have a hard time coming up with words to tell you what West Philly is like.

I really like the light at dock St.  Its like stonehenge.  Its just the sun light. and it blast through the windows.  To me its a sacred place.  The tattos and tight jeans, the bearded and ordorus, the professororic phalanthroripic.  The moms, dads, trying to not be wide eyed at their college students home.  The darkest black skin. Fixed geard green.

The sun sets in the West.  The windows of dock st.  an old firehouse,  face west and north.   As you wait for the wait server, or tip the glass of good ole Rye IPA, the gold and shadows scoot about the room.

do you know why there are spiral staircases in firehouses? 
the livestock, um, Horses could not climb up a spiral staircase,  to stop them from climbing the regular staircases and  wandering the rooms of sleeping firemen.

West phila, abandoned, rich, burnt, soulful, living off its means, unsurpressable, urban, human.

tonight was Dock St. brewery, some ripe Rye ipa and pizza.  Gonna try the big  X loop tomorrow and keep my hands to myself.
cheers, dlowe.

I did ride today, overly big geared up and down forbidden drive.
more, yes, Peter and the Wolf.


the build-up

this slipped into the mp3 playlist
the calm, the build
I worked at the Please Touch Museum, where this nice restored carousel now lives.

all the animals on the  carousel have that look, spinning around with oblivious tots on their backs.
that look, its in my belly.  Chomping at the bit wild eyed.  Its so close, the time is upon us.

my pit  bike got its maiden voyage today. 

I like it. Just to break it in. 




there is nothing more romantic than having your second cross bike built,  and 2 sets of glued-up wheels left on your porch.   a few cold Sols in the belly.  a thumping song in your head. a cold damp night to put you to sleep.

Stornoway.  a beautiful album, and a beautiful web site, much akin to Wes Anderson.

old parts are moved over

and its hard to wipe off the finger prints, Anthonys.

I have a new shot glass.   and a new hat that came in the mail today.  So I might as well put on my cap and do a shot.

cheers. david.



I have my own course, my turf.
It takes me about 5mins. to do a hot lap.

Today after a couple of asprins, I headed out into the wind, to do just that, hot laps.

Its got a pile of dumped wood. Bottles, Ruts, Sand, Cement benchs, straight paved empty paths.  A lot of open space, nice greeness.

3 sets x 4 laps

I was lucky, a rain fell just as I started my sets.

I seem to be riding well and feeling speedy, who knows, till I meet up on a real course, and go head to head.
and we each bring our laps to the table.
I have in my mind, strong in my mind, that its a long season.
The more I enjoy the ride, the faster I'll go.
cheers, speedy d.


V is for stupidity

like the upward two finger salute,  all I tried to do was pull an annoying long, loose, grass weed, from the hub of my front wheel.   Seemed fine, rolling along dangling catiouslly and ready to pinch.  Instead of a pull out, in went my hand, and to a complete stop, wedged like a snapping turtle.   The suddeness and the stupidity on my part I sprung up as a punch drunk fighter, ready to roll on.

too much damage, not much physical, a bit of an adrenaline fog embarassment.   Two shreded spokes, and a way out-a-line wheel, a slow roll home. 

I don't have much patients for healing, or respect for pain. 

I shared wonderful birthday cupcakes with Lee, My birthday.
a home made card.
a dinner.
and a penguin Polo shirt.
Quite nice.

Cheers, don't be stupid. d.

 charles and ms pumpkin



i remember coming around the corner, with speed, lots of speed.  The grass was tight and was holding me and the bike against the gravity.  Holding till I popped the top with the church key, just a bit of a wiggle, letting go of the line.  I became unglued and sprawled out sliding out into the arch, burnning green into my jersey and letting the rider on the inside, I think it was Mark V. go, they road away from me.  All I could do was get upright and back on and pedal like hell.

I'm recovered, so much so that I can't sleep.  Too much energy.  I have never felt like this.   I started riding, I guess in 1999, and any chance I could I'd pedal myself silly.
Its gone on a long time.    This time off, just feels like bitting my tongue, I need to be tired.

This, this is what is feeling good. Leeches of Lore on Flying Midget Records
if I lived in Boulder, I'd drive to Denver on the 21st and buy the 2 guys drinks.  I'll send ya the dough.

I wondered whats in your pile, I tried to read, made it throught one real good Bukowski one, and then gave up. 

did a bit of practice stuff, the remounts, clip ins, onehanded riding and one footed riding drills I love and went to see the horse.

hes a frickn smart ass, fucking holding onto that one blade of grass looking tough ass.  shit.
cheers, d.



I was quite inspired by my conversation with Hope last night, but I've given up trying to put it into blogger terms, so heres a "letter" I sent befor hitting the hay.
"How’d was your weekend. I’m a bit tips-yed. Helped george make cement and repair his front porch, Nice. Fixxed up a spat between Lee and I, pffft, good. And road over to the mann to sipp some beer and listen to MGMT. Hope was hovering at my bench. This mis-guided sorta lost winnonna like girl. Sat and chatted with hope. Was strange. Then road home through a dope-heavy thug party picnic, like apocalypse now scene. Weed smells so good. The thugs let me go, and the music was good. Now to bed. Cheers! d. "

not much I can add to that.  I can't decide if I believe in "hope" or if its a wasted effort, and you make your "hope". 

grass track tonight was nice, Joe Wentzel supplied some cold PBR's, a good turn out, strong racing, and the mingling afterward again shows me, that the love of the Cross Effort makes good people.

I want to race in white socks, I'll need lots of fresh, crisp, new socks.  For the pre-ride warm up, and a new pair for the starting line.  I'm thinking maybe  40 or 50 pairs would get me through the season.  I'll just use the old ones in practice.
cheeers, dl.


bottle island

sometimes "improving" on something, or fixing it means leaving it alone.   The bike, life, food, a fight with the spouse. 

there is a bottle buried in our back yard.  Its an old plot of land, with our house being over 150 years old.  Not that the bottle has been there that long, it could be just an old Heinz 57 bottle that fell outta the recycle tub when we were getting our kitchen addition done. 
My mind says "grab a spade and dig it out".  I won't.

who knows.

I'm still trying to find the difference between standing up and giving my opinion, and patience, for all to fall into place.    I don't feel that just being mute is the solution.  Never saying anything, letting others stick their necks out for you.   So I take my consequences, and learn to rephrase, appologize.
Like hitting the ground, brush it off, and pedal on.  There is still some amazing riding just ahead.
cheers, david.



I wish I could race grass track, as real racing.  It suits me, just a of couple gears, a few elbows, the trust of your tread biting the sod, and sticking your nose where it should not be.

and it seems, from the awful animal collective album to some of the good stuff, heavy handed reverb is layed onto  it all.    

around here, not that I see myself as one type of bike racer, road racers are in power and have blinders on to the other types of racing.   I don't know why.  Even on my team, road rules the roost.    In my last PA cycling email, it says "As the season winds down it’s that time of year when riders begin to look at where they rank in the PA BAR standings and scour the calendar to determine number of races left that offer points".  F that.    I love to race on the road; crits, tt's, circuits, road. 
but the Mtb community and the Cross community and I'm sure the Track community do so much more than race.  Check out a MASS race, so well run, timing chips.  and the Hood, MAC it kicks out the jams mother fuckers.  Really well run, cheap, and again a great community.


I bought a basket of tomatos at the nice Maple Acres Farm for 5 dollars. I have so many that I'm going door to door, a bit tipsy, around the neighborhood, and giving them away.  Drinking terrapin's Rye.

I bought some JuJu and got a growler filled, join me, not that I promise to make it but I should be there, at the back of the Mann Sunday night.  I'll fill your red cup, and listen to you talk while the air carries MGMT in lapping waves to our ears.  

I don't know why I'm so rye tonight, maybe cause my early music father was Ron House and here is some of his music.  The Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments!

cheers, watch out, d.



I wish I could do this everyday.  Finding something to write, some music, and a picture.  It seems more to just happen when its ready. 
my carpet.

my music:

I got up early today to get a ride in before leaving for work.  It was just light, the sun was not yet over the tree lines.  I road in the valleys, in the shade. Very cool, I kept soaking it in.  and I just did tempo, and kept to the tempo.



things come together sometimes,... wait for the spark, try to force the spark, ...and then fire. 
I saw Bob Crane today.  I've know him for about three years now, always sitting in the same spot.  Sometimes the water is high, and sometime low, like today, he stands on mud.  but always the same spot.
I tailored  rides around this corner path, looking to see him.  "Hey Bob!".

This is some interesting music, sorta based off of country, distortion and the power of repeating riffing, I'm into it but not quite yet sure how deep.
Its taking all of my powers to limit my riding, and to follow my "plan", pray for me fellow sinners. cheers, d.

oh yeah  The Cyclocross RaceR Presents:  Oakley Hall.



as my friends went in circles on the grass I was driving home from work.
walking up the driveway to our house I could here a faint Spoon playing, a big gust of wind carried enough of a song for me to recognize.
George joined me on short notice.  We made it to the bench, pulled the cork on the wine and poored a cup.

Arcade Fire, we listened, and sat quiet for the recording of a whole song.  but in the end, they were background music for our Gabbing.
Untitled from David Lowe on Vimeo.

early already, I've looked at the pre-reg list.  Is there a place I can push my fear and intimadated apprehension?  some place that will make me a stronger rider?
I'm just going to jump into the fast moving currents and swim as hard as I can, some way I'll make it to the other side.
With nothing to lose, I have nothing to fear.
Wine in a Red Cup.



I sat in the easy chair last night, with a book, I finished and moved on from Joe Parkin's Come & Gone to Charles Bukowski's Portions From A Wine-Stained Notebook.  I've almost read everthing CB's written.  Some good stuff in this book, other stuff, not so good.   and I've got the Touch and Go "The Complete Hardcore Punk Zine '79-83 Book as an inbetweener to read also.

I turned out the lights and just listened to an Album (more listening to the Tokyo Police Club), then went to bed, sorta early.

at the end of the ride today, in the good drizzle, I saw a horse, and went to say "Howdy".
he had quite a personality and would not hold still for a photo.  He smelled good and rich, the deep type of smell: coffee grounds, peanut shells, truffles,locker room.

When I whatcha a race, cross racing, I love to watch the early races, the C's.  I like to look in the faces of the riders, in the eyes, they are not empty, they are full, that is my fuel.
cheers. dlowe.