In general, I'm not one to talk about my pains, physical.  or events, accidents.
the terms, I see, are used in general, for attention seeking, or sympathy.
I seek out neither.
but this, its more as if a story to me, that I read, I got to the end, but I don't understand.

well into my ride, on the cx bike, down the rolling hill, off the Belmont Plateau.  Fast, thru the grass, sitting back skipping along.   My front tire sank, into a hidden hole, the ones that I know litter the park.  That dread, my hands on the bars,  gravity rolling clock wise forward,  the center of the pin, my crank and me  soon, quite quick, reached the ground.   Forehead. a bit tucked, ear turned under my right shoulder.   I slammed
Stopped.    I turned, stretched out, air came in, my eyes were open, I had vision. Sensation. No pain.
I turned much like in bed at night, onto my back, to stare up a bit and think.  
All seems well. no pain.  my neck works, my teeth all seem to still be in my jaw.  no taste of blood.
I stood, not like a knocked down boxer.  Like a liberian, after putting a book onto a bottom shelf, and the next goes up higher.   My legs held, no twitch, no buckle.
Over, a bit across the grass and small group sat on a blanket, "you OK?"
I waved my right hand.   the thumb unsure, pointed down, then up "I'm fine",  ...... am I?   I left it at that.
I'm fine?
the bike, fine, my ear buds, popped outta my ears dangled free. I rinsed with the water bottle.
stood in the shade of the trees, my back felt better, I felt better than before.
so I just got on, rode on.
this photo is from the 3rd floor room, out the window of the small building that stands to the left of McPherson house, the house that stands overlooking the Wed. cx practice.   With a few kind words I was allowed to crawled up the narrow stairs to look.
I could of sat for a while, if the window opened all the better.
I took only a few seconds, a glance about, and a photo or two.

Cross is a long season, a season I used to sprint into, and had to hold hard to finish.   The challenges, are quick upon you.  You achieve.   and attending the clinics and grass track, and workouts.  I keep it in my mind, don't look at CX as one race or single battle.   It is a multi course meal, you must savor and enjoy, it takes a while to unfold, the racing season.   Just race along, and use each bit as a bit,  let each flow into each other, continuous, a season, the season. 

cheers, I think I'm alive, still... d.


the Voice, and first blood

I know that I dive deep into things, and feel it sometimes just sitting inside my bones.
be it music, the bike, beer,  shooting pictures, reading,  searching for the new fix.

I like the spark, that sensation, for me it comes with making my own discoveries.  I look and listen and get the info from the various places, sometimes friends, by chance.

Like Rockwell Kent.   Went back to the phila. museum of art, a while back.  With meisha, he wanted to see the Arcadia show, me, why not check out the prints.

I walked into the room.  The first one grabbed me, bold, clear, illustrative.   Rockwell Kent.  and I went print to print, it was a large number of his works.  From a placemat he made for a diner he ate in in upstate NY, to the jacket art for Moby Dick.

King Krule, stolen from a twit post.

This is some young kid, ..., I bit on it, not in love.  maybe it was on Sirius, got the album.   Didn't listen to it much, not a fav.   but I saw a link to his  stuff up on twitter, checked in again,  that did it, good stuff, and I figure with plenty of talent, and cool mindset to put forth plenty of good stuff in the future.

the camera came out last night, as I tried to capture a pic of the spider by the back door, the photo is not what I had in mind, had to use the flash to get enough umph, and liked the abstractness, so just ran with it a bit.

water ice ride, good ride, anne rock photo.

A Rockwell Kent print lifted off the web.   Reading his N by E novel, its very good.

and the first blood of the ride, not much, but finally blood.
from the Featherman blog              cheers, d.


under garments

I lingered after Monday night grass track.     I heard the car door, I looked back to check and see that my car was fine.  These ladies skipped by, the pink dress a bit more jovial.   and as I was turning my head back just to watch the night set on the city, I saw, just outta the corner of my eye, not really looking, her short light dress lift, a glimpse of her brief under garment. 

tonight, I washed out my front wheel, over, over, over, again.    I kept at it.   Till I didn't mind so much.   The Philly cx workout, changed, new place, new life.   but tight, clamping.  The course, its good, corners, work, brake, or coast, attack outta corner.  
east park, new location

I've not taken any pictures, the last five or six days.   In fact, not of much has gone through my brain, as far as, do something thinking.   I have a yearning just to stare into a fire,  to sit. 

my camera, sits, the photos I've taken, really not inspired.     I've worked hard at learning, the reward, skills that are harder to use.  Which is good, to say that what I hope that I can do, means more.  That I have to say something.

and that staring into fire,  fine, long can I sit still? 

and before I know it, I'm rolling down a hill , again, a bit scared, but a lot happy.

cheers, d.


one eye on you

I believe in anarchy, not the spray painted circled letter a.   more of the smart A.   funny to me and government structure,  I tend to be liberal in my acceptance of others, and Conservative in what I want the others to do for me.

so today was the 4th public cyclocross water ice ride,  i do the loop plenty of times, by myself.  but just a few times a year, I'll open invite all with the,  self judged  'Ability to keep up',   to join me.

Cross has been very good to me.   Many people put in hours and hours of time so I can race, train,  and learn how to ride cyclocross.   

I try to make sure everyone makes it back to the start.  Somehow I lose someone some where.  ahh, that's the anarchy.    I don't make any rules.   its worked so far.
I try to watch out for everyone, with one eye, but again, .... I ask for your respect, not verbally, but I expect it.  .... Of the other riders, other trail users,  whoever.
everyone is friends, gets along, we all roll along,  the few new faces, don't really know whats in store, so are sorta quiet.   I like a new face that is quiet.

Its funny to ride next to someone and chat it up, and later this year, I am going to be tempted to dig an elbow into 'em to get around them, to beat them.

Riding a bike in general, is a lot about respect.   I like the people who race hard, but  know how to separate the race, from the rest of life.     cross fosters this to its core,  usually the first person I want to share a beer with, after a race,  is the dude who took the corner from me,  that beat me.  
I like this time of year, full of energy, mystery, hope, and good moods.
Cheers, d.



set course

at this time, today, I stand at the base of the season.  
I do not know anything,  just looking out at the horizon, and I hope that at least I'm facing the right direction.

I have had many small parks, that I use for my private skill sessions.  Blue Bell, Lower Belmont, Bala, Georges Hill.  Just places I go to ride by myself.  I find a log or something to create a barrier.  Create a rough course, a start grid, a balance course, a hill to hit up.

I'm back to Georges hill, the top, so a bit different.   This is the first place I went, that a friend I knew, that knew cross took me to show me the ropes.

but I know more now,
I ride past a shrine to the virgin mary, who appeared here in 1953.

I've read stories about a place a block down the road, where the first bike shop in phila. was.  cool stories, the building is gone, now a '70's fire station.  but the stories are still cool. 

I do some start sprints up this hill, this underpass, you never know, whats, who's down there, so I get a good adrenalin rush.

and this bit of land, it has a great view of Phila.   donated to the city by the Welsh Georges' family.   Never to be developed,  some how the Mann was built here.  No matter, the park parts of it are overgrown, and there is hidden secrets in the woods, old tunnels, a meadow, piles of cobbles, 1000's of empty bottles of beer,  hobo camp sites.

the other night 4000 people were standing here watching Sigur Ros play.   I was there.  tonight all packed up and long gone.  just an empty field again.

this year, I look forward to seeing the friends I race against.  To doing new races, to suffer more, to win maybe,   to get crushed.     to standing in the pit yelling at you as you roll by.  

and there is not a better barrier, than a big limb.  Pulled to a nice patch of run up soil.   a bit of speed, leg over the saddle, step through, one step over, one two swing back over, and clip in smooth. 

you feeling fast this year?   game on.

cheers, d.