an Intro to Kevin Morby

I am an awful writer.   I have no need to convince myself that one day I'll be better.  I won't
I've thought that the mtb bike had a better chance rolling down a hill, without the rider on top of it.
and that notion, helps me ride smoother.
instead of fighting it, hold on, and do the best you can

Logic, grammar, form, foreshadow, ...words hardly roll outta my head.  More pushed.

Kevin Morby,  from his new album Harlem River, 
"Miles, Miles, Miles"

I've seen Mr. Morby in two other incarnations of his bands.  The Babies,  and Woods.

He has a new band, and running it under his own moniker.
a good record, mellow, loose.  It'll be interesting to see what LA does to him.
from what I've read, he lived in Brooklyn and most recent moved to LA.
It seems to me that he's on the road a lot,  so I'm not sure it matters where he calls home.

Him and Cate Le Bon are touring together, still playing very small stages.   In Philly it'll be at the Boot and Saddle.   I'm not sure how he met Ms. Le Bon,  suppose out in LA, since she has moved from Wales to LA recently.

God I remember in the past, college, having to write a paper.  To type it out.  even on a correcto-matic electric.
I was fucked.
I might of as well pushed thumbtacks into my eyes.
that'd been less painful.

you who can write,  my sincere apologies, and ut most respect.

become his friend of FB:
check it out at the Label:

or go see him at the Boot and Saddle: 1/1714

cheers, d.



Oldenburg.  Kent.  Leger. Anonymous.


This little Leger was not invited to the show, just hanging out in a hall, unnoticed, and is allowed to be photo'ed.  

 Vandalized bench plaque.  

not a pedaled stroked today.  to the museum. Surrealist and Leger.  Tomorrow I'll ride hard.
Sunday clean up a bit for our guest.  SS cx f'n W are coming to town.    "phila.?"   you don't know what's in store for you, for sure.

Cheers, dlowe.


45+ PA state champ

One of the worse parts of racing for me is answering the question, that those who know you raced ask.  "how'd you do".

For me, not too well,  like back in the teens is an average result, once in a while I've been cracking the top ten in smaller fields.   

and when I tell them "16th",  I know they wonder,  .... "what is wrong with you?"

I don't know if its worse that at the end of the season, they stop asking, they know how you did.
and are thinking "whatever is wrong with this dude?  he should get it together and kick some ass,  get up there on the podium,  I can understand not always being first, 2nd's good too,  but common. 13th!"

and when I start,  to tell, why, my reasons,.....

Then I look for the little things to make myself feel good.

1.  Carlos got a cool pic of me.   I look cool, for sure.

Photo: Carlos Cabalu

2.  Prepared.   Everything ran like a champ.
3.  Still racing, didn't bag it, cause I'm tired, it's late in a long season, or cause it was windy and cold.
4.  Fucking I race Cross!
5.  I am 13th in the series.  13 is a badasses number.

this race, was good in many ways,  a Grand course, tough conditions, and tough foes.
I did come in 16th.

so often I write the count down to the start of the season, the anticipation.
but now, I don't want to believe, maybe 2, 3 races left. 

Life's been full, balanced.   I've not been the fastest.  but even still I yearn for it.   and to punish myself, I do suffer more, deeper,  its harder.   I've learned more this year.   Pacing, tactics, protection. 

Cross is grand.  I'm giddy.   I'm lapping it up.  

My regards losers, dlowe.


a Grips life.

I want to make sure that you know,  I like to toil.  To work.  Suffer.
There is a beauty in my work,  I work with light, helping to capture an image.
and it is a joy for me, to work for someone talented, with a good eye, and fair personality.

riding my bike is not my career.
its a love.
Again I toil, suffer, and pedal endlessly repetitive circles,  million of minutes, for loads of miles.
I want to have the opportunity, to make my luck, skill.
and if its to suffer, and come in 16th, Sunday at Kutztown cyclocross race, then that's it.

It took me a bit to get into the race,  the 1st laps, I pedaled with,....  not total conviction.
Not until I saw Marks wheel up in front of me, and felt the two men come on strong to my aft, and soon to capture me, was I able to dig deeper, and ride.

I could never figure out this line, I'd slow so much, lost mucho time here.
photo: c. cabalu

Saturday, working at Belmont.  I carried stones.  Whacked weeds.  Used a spay to move the earth.
Just to move mother earth a wee bit.  
I don't think there is a word more proud,  more yearned for.  Work.

I can't say that I minded the manual labor, done, headed back.  to ride.  Photo: Damien Talese.
and behind the dolly, working into the night,  a fake snow fell.  a good DP.  a beautiful shoot.

somewhere, just more recent, I think that the pride, its been a bit lost.  It's more than just capturing an image, but to capture it with a pride, skill, purpose.  Cheers to the good Cinematographers.  a knowledge, skill, love,  to write Motion, an image, with light.




I could live today over and over again.
I feel guilty, for what I got out of the day, compared to what I gave.


and to The little grovel hole of Kelpius.



the season

I've been more off the bike than on.   as of late.
today, went back a bit and just worked on skills, starts, dismount remount, off camber, and cornering.
Did a bit of running, slow.   Then went off into the woods.  To find an old overgrown trail.

I won my first ever race at Belmont.  At the last mtb race that took place there.   I won, and all the friends I rode with, they also raced that day, and cheered me as I went to collect my prize.  An x-large purple helmet.  

I passed Meach at one of the numerous log crossing, "yo, Meach" I said,  "go get 'em Dave" he replied.

The brush is thick fast. and many things have thorns, and numerous slaps and pokes as I trapesed on.

The trail use to follow the fence,  but on up the trail, down by the creek a big tree fell.   That closed the trail.  Quick grew the plants along the fence, and, it was impassable, and forgotten.

The trail followed an old trolley line, it was off to the right.  I didn't notice the old line, that rose up and away, to an abrupt drop, where the bridge that was once there, spanned the little creek valley gap.  

It was a pretty big thing to miss, that old line decaying in the woods.   Easy to miss cause the trail on the left of it,  had a nice bump, and was a fast place.  To a bit of a trick crossing, then hard pedaling to just keep at racing speed. 

Meach hitting the bump, on the old trail,  racing,  a few years before I started riding.

Patrick our cat, we had his leg amputated.  He just went running by, on the wood floor.  I looked over at the new pattern of sound of paw steps.   He's doing well.

In a way, despite the early dark, and quickness of cold.  I feel potential, work on the skills, keep the thoughts hard in the mind,  its a new season now.    Its now cyclocross season, for real.

Cheers, d.



when I first thought of moving to Philadelphia, back in '86.   The art work that came to mind was the Clothespin '76 (Oldenburg).

I got down to the ride for PHL spookie cx a bit early,  swung by the pin to take some pics, and grab a pretzel and coke.   Before the group ride out to the course location.

Its a hard piece of public art to view, and especially hard to take a nice picture of.
Its stuck in a stubby skyscraper corner, its base obscured by landscaping brush.  In a cement planter, that hidden steps take you down to the underground train line.

I thought about this statue trying to figure it out,  an embrace?
Oldenburg said that the spring that held the pin together, makes up the number 76,
and 1976 was its commissioned year..... for the bicentennial in the USA, lots of art/events and decorations were done.
Many of the fire hydrants were painted as patriots, or like the flag; a field of blue, stars, stripes.
to Oldenburg's Bicentennial tribute  he stated "Not only does it have a crack in the middle but it resonates like a bell. If you bang it, it makes a lovely sound."   I don't think  many would be happy if I hopped up and in the planter box, made my way over to the towering Pin and gave it a bang.
....I like the idea.

America was a very strange, strange place those years.  The late '70's

Spooky is spooky, and its not, for me about writing about it , its something you've got to do sooner or later.
It took me till its 4th year to make it out to it.   I took off a day from official MAC  cx racing.  

the pin to me.   both sides pull away from each other bound by an outside agent, the coiled fulcrum.
It's a tool I use at work often,  commonly know as a C47, bullet, pins, or pegs.
It is used to attach gel/diffusion to a hot light.
Its a curious device, very clever, and it does look like two people clasped in some kind of embrace.

Well I enjoyed spookie a lot. 
had a grand day, and learned a bit too.

cheers, d.



MIA - "Like This"

I searched the fridge, for a hidden, the hidden beer.  Not my fridge, and was not being real apparent.
I road the seam, the gap in the tape, between the step up rock, and rolled up the grass.  It was available.

Not with the intention to cheat, or steal.
Just, you know, that, rules get bothersome.  
and that some of the spirit, that its there to find the advantage, a cold one.
I've come back to an empty cooler, my hidden quencher, gone.
As sad as it was, it was more funny.
I don't know how many beers have been given to me in life.
or how many, many, I've given away.
I just want to live within the spirit.



It was not sunny, damp, windy, good for riding day.
and I listened to music.
thinking a lot,
some so important thoughts are gone, when I put the key in the lock.
One today.  so if there is a heaven, don't you think that maybe the system to get into it would be like a group ride, race day.  You'r the promoter, leader, you can't get into heaven, till every last one of all the others, the bastards, cheats, dullards, wimps, and weak links.
Till you lift, and push.  Honor, and concede.
They make it to the end.
that then you, you follow, and are the last one in.

I think mudhoney changed the world.  I was in this basement.
I found a beer in this stranger's houses fridge.
I bummed a couple more in the backyard.
and I watched my history standing next to a washing machine.

flip'm the bird.  dlowe.



I  regretted getting a hotel room, it would of been easy and quick just to drive home after Saturdays race.   but I'm tired of getting up early and getting in the car and driving somewhere.
and I love cheap hotels.
so I checked in early, did a bit of stuff took a nap and went down to a local.  Brew pub.
I read.
and had a couple of beers.

Saturday, a course with features a plenty.  Off good, and flatted.  and hot shotted it too much to make up the lost ground.  but I'll learn to be steady. 
I think of lifting a shot off the bar.  The booze  bowed up over the edge of the rim.
To my lips without spilling a drip.

and if I can manage my legs, effort, in just a little better way, it will go quite a good way.

Sunday, f'church.  I'm in the grid. on a brewery access road, shivering as the officials figure out whos names go with whos numbers.   A hundred yards in, my head out talked my heart and I gave up a bit.

John Lux and Charles Kline came on, and we battled, I dragged on 'em.  held on. but in the end they both took me well before the line.

a good weekend.   I fell asleep at home, and was awoke with a jerk, my legs kicked, my toe clipping the top of a barrier.  I woke.  Took out the trash, raked some leaves.  

Sweet Baboo:

I remember standing next to him at the small bar.  He played bass on tour for a band.
I know him, of him, and in fact, he's a novel I haven't read,  I wanted to chat.
But I said nothing.  just Put down my empty glass on the bar.  and acted like he was another stranger.
and left. to a hotel room. I'd been racing cross that day. and went out that night as a bonus.
I like cheap hotels.  Music. a small bit of booze.
That's my adventure.