Phoenixvile, its not a long ride, 30miles, and its flat all the way.   I listen to music.  Stop, for a soft pretzel warm out of the oven, got three,  and a coke.   sat on the stoop.   and pedaled back to the art museum. then home.



The kid asked me why?, and that stumped me.
The man.   younger than me.  Not a boy.
23 or 24.

I'd said, "clean your bike, its really dirty".
I'd stopped.  Waited for him.
He walked across the road, pushing a trek, with clip-ons.
The front tire, holding no air.

"you need a tube"

Why,  clean the bike.
I road up the last hill thinking,
and in the shower,
I kissed my wife as she left for work, to work.
She is a make-up artist, and she's signed on to do a few, 10 days, on the pilot being shot here.

I sat on the threshold to our old, real old house.  Nice out.
I watched the cats.  Waved as she left for work.

Why'd I offer to fix his bike.
It's not vanity that I check my reflection in the front window to make sure my helmet is not cockeyed.

It was nice to pump up the tire.  to set the wheel into the fork.
and hand it back to him.

I did not have an answer.





 Forbidden Drive was frozen, slush, pellets of Ice.  I pedaled as hard as I could, sometimes moving only a bit, sometimes picking up some speed.  I was into the chasing to win,  and I was 20 seconds down.     I flew off my bike and into the air a couple of times, down into the crusty pellets sliding to a wet halt.  I'd get back on and try to make it to just down by 20 seconds.

All I could hope for was a mechanical, bad luck on the leader, and I couldn't.
I cross the line, with disappointment.   Shook hands.   I wanted to be changed by the time 3rd place rolled across the line.  I drank a beer.  Cleaned my face with snow after I was changed.

I wanted 2nd to look good.

Stage III Philadelphia Spring Classic.

Cheers, dlowe.



sipping coffee, looking at photos,  feeling it, Racing.
I'm in no shape to go hard.

The grounds still snow covered.  Ice hats for the spring blooms,  just waiting to poke their heads up into the sun.

I am close to fighting weight.

I'm going through Carlos Cabalu's photos from cx.

Relaxing, I'll pull out the Single Speed Cyclocross bike most likely today, to ride.
Good for the potholes,  and salt crusty roads.
and getting crushed in a crit, gasping wondering if I will be able to close that small gap up to the last wheel in the pack,  or if I get popped.   is not that important, right now.

I'm fit. ... and it's not time to be in fighting shape.  Not yet.

                                       photo:  Carlos Cabalu  check out his works  @

gym work today, and riding.

I look forward to returning to Freddies bar in Louisville, and been reading up Pete Dexter a lot.

cheers, dlowe.


au gratin

I am a man of habits.
Simple, I like 'em.     I like crits, the same lap around and around.
On Mondays its half price growler fill.
Which is good.  Then added movies night too.  then, add, cheap greasy Pizza.

I am a loyalist.   Married now since 1986.  I don't know how, sometimes.

I've become more not resistant to change but more appreciant on not changing.
Even the weather,  I'm used to winter, now.

I want to stay with it, that mood, grasp it and make it hang on longer.

I'm plowing through books.   the last one, Pete Dexter's, excellent.

thee next?

William Bartram

I often go to the Philly art museum.  and I go back to see my favorites.

the same guard stands at the entrance, and I'm getting to know him, he's more friendly than some of the others.  I nod, and walk into the room and right to the one I like most and stand in front of it.  Its a large painting.  Just stare at it.

 "like a fire that consumes all before it"

I get my fill and say goodbye to the guard,  and go visit the Duchamp's.

and if I could hold on to it, just a bit longer


been thinking,  If a few people want some portraits of themselves taken, drop me a line, I'll do it, for free.


to graces place

not a long ride today.
but nice to get out for the short bit.
went to see Grace Kelly's house.
was up early for breakfast.