bucolic

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.