100 per cent

Le Noise
"Details about the recording sessions for the album fuel the legend of Neil Young: He only recorded on nights when there was a full moon and brought out his infamous big white electric Gretsch guitar, which was used to record some of his most famous records in the late '60s and early '70s."

some say phila. is a dirty city.  Filth.
My attraction with philly started with the watching of David Lynch's Eraserhead.
In his philly induced film, he created something beautiful, the buzzing, grotesque, damaged.
"There was a sense of dread pretty much everywhere I went. I didn't live in any good parts of Philadelphia, and so dread was my general feeling. I hated it. And, also, I loved it."

Neil's album, which includes a real nice downloadable J'card booklet, won't be played as one of  his, thee Beloved albums.
but much like Mr. Lynch's movie,  this searching, in the dirt, something glimmers, in the distortions.

  records and movies...
they stand alone in there finished effort

a race? the feelings are fleeting, but embedded.

that pain

a release, a way to fight back,  a need to conquer
ourselves, or others
a simple stupid joy



I'm home from L'ville, and the "big time"  USGP race.   I got to thinking about the Soul of cross, what got me thinking was watching all the kids racing, a lot of kids racing.   They've been given the skills, the equipment, but how in life do you give the Style or Soul of what I feel is cross, to them?   I guess that's why I write.  Life should be full of personality, not imitated, manufactured, posers shit.    I can't help myself.

and the world of blogs, webs, twits, videos, and even paper magazines. (still  prefer the real thing, like Cyclocross Magazine.)   can water down, or enlighten, this cross racing nation.

What cross has going for it, is that it is hard, and most of us lose, repeatedly.   I came 18th sat. and 28th sun.  I looked for some consolations, found none.  I got beat by faster, more motivated racers. Period.

I rode yesterday, my big loop, and I felt stronger than ever.  The climbs I powered up, when I hit the single track I just whipped the bike, not thinking.   3hrs of riding.   Racing makes me faster and a better bike rider.
Isn't that important?  Sure I've got my training intervals and  shit, but most of the time on the bike is this "riding" time.  

Style:  Penguin or Perry?

the American

 or the Mod?
I suspect we will see Team Sky (I'm liking their style and speed), them English blokes, be outfitted by Fred P.  when they are off the bikes, next year.   and why not?  Bike racers are the right build for the clothes.  Thin, gangly.   

      my choice?  maybe one of each, .... but mostly I like t-shirts and jeans.

but  I might be ordering something from Fred P. from the Amy Winehouse collection for my wife. 

speak your mind especially when you r drunk or been drinking lots of coffee, and you can't hold it in or edit.

shit, dlowe.



Its the men, the ones racing elites, that try to last, knowing somehow they need to just keep going hard. Because sooner, or later, that officials gonna blow a whistle or just point at you or, wave and shout, and with that authority, your racing day is done.  and all that pain, was just wasted.  Today ain't your magic ride day, where somehow it all comes together, and you ride across the line, with your salute, arms raised, fist pump, or ya gang sign.

If your number is above 20, most likely you'll not be in the top 10.  Most likely you'll race to not get pulled.
..............and to finish with the leaders, on the same lap,... That is what cross gives you, the privlege.


Sanity, finally.

Well day two, 28th.  Not to much to say.  I felt good, fast, the course was a lot better, a bit more added to it.  Somehow I went backwards.  The new Mogul, was a tinch bigger of a hump, and every lap I'd have to look at the bloke, laying off to the side of the course. who hit it a bit too fast and went front wheel down.

Video from yesterday, the start of the women's race.   The barriers were up close to the mogul, and with the dust and all, it made it tough.

L'ville USGP UCI Elite Women Day one Crash. from David Lowe on Vimeo.


I've got scratch

I've made my La Columbe, this morning I don't have those bombastic, flamboyant words.
I just searching through my pockets for a bit of spare change,and I don't have much left.
Maybe, like, 13cents.

I know that each race, brings its own style and kind of pain.
This course, L'ville's USGP course, its not right.
Despite all the a glow about "worlds" coming here.
It needs some tweaking, some more land.

but I race,
today only the strongest will survive.

yesterday was a reminder of how human I am
what I really had in my legs.
Started 18th, ended 18th

I'm sitting at that little table on the left, tapping my fingers to the sound of Stornoway, its dark, the room smells like strong sweet coffee.    To the lobby, to fill up on cheap, free hotel food.     Today I'll start 24th,  I'll aim for 18th as a finish.  Cheers, dlowe.



I've grabbed life between my fingers, I've pinched the top of its ear and I've got it on its knees.  Just a little friendly reprimand, don't fuck with me.  

I'm a bit pissed.

My bikes, they are not set up the same, I've got the twitchy one, a bit tighter, good for climbs and off cambers, the seat a tad lower, and the bars are shallow.  It's got a bit of the Mod flair, with white bars, and red saddle, white trimmed seat post.

The second, who'll probably my #1 tomorrow, is set up a bit longer, a motor boat, full power, and plowing through.   and I like 'em like that, not matched.

I'm down in L'ville doing the new "worlds"  cyclocross park.  Its daunting, and packed in tight.  The ground is laying like a repacked grave, a bit loose and dirty.  

I hopped on the course and hit up the start, straight down the pavement to a left onto strips of old sod covered ground.   Down the straight to a hard left and then what I thought was gonna be a cool series of moguls, but was just one hump, and I pumped it full speed.  Not expecting barries to be set blindly behind it.  I clipped my toes, my bike, and frickin did some kind of super stride, but made it over them.

180 corners on the bottom of steep drops,  dried up teats of a course, I love it.  Gonna run my Moto X tires, the tufo Cubus.  

I remember when I heard Punk was dead, I thought, thank god.

and I embrace cross, I hold it tight, to my chest, close to my heart.

I know that I've come late to the sport, and I don't expect or want some kind of exceptance. 

When I race, Its the devil in wind I want to beat, my demons. 

and with a spade I throw a bit more of this loose,dry, Louisville soil into the deep grave that I've crawled out of.

and that dirt and demons, the full moon in the sky tonight, my apprenhensive fear, with spital drooling outta the side of my mouth.  eyes wide, open trying to understand the pain, my heart can't keep pace with pumping blood, the brain, just fends, with its short supplies, trying to figure out if this fake pain is real, and go harder, go harder!  thats the life I want to live.

F it all!


Safe Word

you Miss Queen, Madame Granogue Cyclocross race, you and only you are my dominatrix. 
 tomorrow I'd like to wake, dress in a well worn Linen suit and Just sit on my porch in a rocking chair with  A tall glass of some kind of spirits and pass all the day.
its not everyday you walk a hill and come over the crest to a poised scene.
thank you all, as much for the racing and great weekend, but also, more so, for the candid laughter, and good natured camaraderie, that I eves dropped from you and the Granogue air.

                                                                      xxoo     d.lowe



neil young from Le Noise

sufjan stevens from Age of Adz

there is a magic that comes over me, a spell of some sorts.  When I used to listen to music, I'd be sitting in a dark room, a light or two on, late at night, with headphones on.   Studying something, the album, a fanzine, or just staring out the window.

I'd stare into the picture, look at the clues, embed the vibe.

so much of me is instant gratification, cross, beer, music, food,... all good, all stimulants aimed at something inside me, seeking a spot to land and explode.

The amount of stimulus that I bring into my life, what I've sought out,  immense.  But somehow my life seems simple.  My world seems small.

One of the best nights of this year was dozing of in a church pew listening to Hope Sandoval sing
Sitting in church with Anthony and George drinking a cheep six pack, pulling cans from a brown bag.

I'll listen to Neil and Sufjan tongiht.
maybe just sit in a chair

Ha! dlowe.


Government Standard Issued Blogger

Workout:  Standing Hill repeats 3 sets x 5 @ 30 seconds.   I picked the cobbles.  This short  type of interval is hard for me to ride with good form.   Riding the cobbles makes "form" the all important aspect of this workout.  The rough uneven surface of the cobbles, jostles the bike.  The wheels skip, spin, its hard to keep steady, fast traction.  This challenge makes body positioning/balance more pronounced.  I concentrate on  driving the bike into the ground, keeping the rear wheel in contact.   Ass back a bit, but still pulling on the bars, with the back, arms and core, driving down and forward, a complete use of the body workout.   

Here is a link to an interesting article about doping:

A great interview with Mr. Cave, I've had some of his new band Grinderman's music up recentlly:  

It was a All the Mod Cons playlist in my head during my workout, Watch:

part II:

watch the rest when you get a chance there on you tube.

Fall, its the most pleasent time of year.
Beer tonight? You bet, how bout a Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye.

Ann I'm all about Raw Power!
Cheers, dlowe.



Royal City, cause, don't we think we're above the rest of mankind, the crossracer?
"A Belly was made for Wine."

Tweaking my race caboodle, test/working on brewing up some Turkish coffee for before racing.  A little sipping, civilized, and to get a pop on.  For any fool that would want to stop by my EZup and sip with me.    its Just to jangle the nerves a bit more on the line, in the box. 

Is it just an imagined royal landscape that the cross racer lives in?.  The workouts, the training, tweaking, the impossible task of making yourself go faster every second, every moment of the race you are in. Ha, how it brings me joy!

                                        Of the dirt, I am.

My hands, my fingers are red, from slicing up beets.  I'm sure my excrement will be a scary intense red also.  I'm eating Beats, a lot of em, I hear its the "blood" vegetable, I like them, and I'm sure my blood can use some help.                                                         

oh boy, cheers,  d.


Wings of Desire

HhV.5 from David Lowe on Vimeo.

a tripod does so much, I got mine for 14.99 at target. shot on a flip, just mashed by the computer.
sure I've got a ways to go, but I see some stuff I like and the rest, just in the barrel, or onto the floor.
Its hard, I love to race, to be in the pit. to be prepping in the tent, to be shooting video, and just enjoying the racing with a beer in my hand and screaming as you ride by.    Damn,...  and enjoying it all with my friends, my competitors. 

Granogue, oh granogue.... I sing your praise, bring it on baby...
Ls'ville, you young 'en, I'll try my hand on yaa, as you play crack the whip,  I'll try to climb up  the swinging tail.  I'd love to stand on the podium one day at a USGP.
Beacon, that's just pain, I'll pedal as fast as I can. and AS my eyes roll back into my head, I'll hop back on my bike and try to catch you or pull away.

 its been one weekend without cross racing and I'm standing on my rocking chair trying to drain a growler.

cheers, d.


With this being a no race weekend, my mind is haphazard and all directionless.  Quite disjointed.  It is also very alive and cantankerous.  Smiling inside, to itself, making me jab my finger into the ribs of my friends, and people who've I've come in association with.  A bit cruel, but I chuckle.

The work week ended with a nice Greenscreen shoot.

                   Overhead diffusion, bounce board, flags, sandbags,  the basic tools of my trade.

 Done with the job a bit early, gave a treat feel to the day, and it was hard to stop myself from adding more bottles to the shopping cart.

Nothing specific cross wise, but I was provoked by a Fred Carrot. Gave chase, and passed.
as I came back around the hole blurred into view.
all I thought of was don't case it, and up and over in the air, I cleared it.

To marchianos, to get phillies-ed up.
They are selling shirts from a card table in front of the shop for $5.
Got one for Anthony and met him for a beer,
We cleared our heads of some of the real cantankerous problems in our current lifes.
Cheers'ed and each of us headed on our way home to watch the game.

I rode back to the hole I jumped, to take its picture. 
I was disappointed, it was a gap, but very ride-able, there was no need for me to jump it.

cheers, I'm keeping my hands on the back of the world and trying to push it forward,  a pawl.
your pawl, d.lowe


Damp and chilled in Phila.

the weather here is just starting to turn, a damp soft ground that will linger and cold winds that will sneak down my neck, like my wife's, drunk on wine, fingers.  ah those pointy nails,...  fall... to sambas, to cool... personality.

Tom Ze  O Céu Desabou- .

                                    the clouds roll in low, hanging heavy, full of damp cool air.

I just went steady, out on the cross bike, bigger gear, for a bit.  Coffee, pick-up stop for some fresh rolls, my lunch.

shower, nap, out the door to buy a king size bed.

and then to give a first timer a cross lesson, and Wednesday Night Cross practice.
a chilly PBR, and a good nights sleep.
cheers, dlowe.



 The Hillbilly Hustle.  a real humans race, one when you walk down the drive, you walk into a new world.  You live, breathe, race, cyclocross.  All is taken care of.   A lived in look, tents, fires smokin, dogs, kids, makeshift food stand, and cold kegs awaiting.   Everything is done right, with a down home love. You are given a chance to step into the more real world, the one where someone says go or a whistle is blown, and you move forward as fast,... with as hard of a pedaling as you can muster.  Your life stops while you race.  You are the main character in this story. 

Images, brief intense thoughts are buried in my mind, from the race.  Split second bits of in focus.  Scattered. 

no recap for me tonight, just a real heartfelt respect to all those, the one who stepped up and made it possible.  

an incredible storm poured rain down on Philadelphia the other night.  I awoke to the sound of it pounding down on the roof of the house.
The river came over and up, blocking my interval trail.

I turned around and stopped for a bit, I pulled the ear buds blasting the raging music, motivational in some way, out of my ears.  I listened to the rivers deep growl.

was a good race day today.  thank you. dlowe.