About a Bike

its what'd I'd say to my two wheel steed.
It is about the bike.

the sound of the fountain blanks out any issues, words
thoughts or ideas
perfect

 

For a recovery ride, this destination
its where I needed to be

I brought a themas of La Colombe coffee.
a navel orange
stopped on the way
to get, one chocolate, one almond, croissants.

My bike she's done.  Added the baskets.  bought a lock.
I feel good with it.
Maybe a some tweaks, kwell a rattle, toe cages might not be right for a drunken ride.

I owe'd it a portrait.
The water sprays, pressurized up into the air.
Millions, Billions.  of droplets pound down clapping against the surface tension.
drowned out
any thoughts I had.
Who cares who won Flanders.


My mind is quiet.
I sat not thinkin
A few tourist. 1/2 dozen homeless. couple of cheerful young kids, running the circle.

it is not about me at all its about my bike

see you out there, dlowe.

live skull

I tapped the white porcelain cap against the brown bottle
trying to get a bit of attention
from the rowers

kris kristofferson - "stairway to the bottom"

the new Kris Kristofferson album is so far my #1 this year.
its in his voice.   you can tell his age, and that he's not hiding anything, just singing, his songs.

I've fallen deep in love with the Free Spirit.  Its been put to pasture, no more SScx racing to be done on it, that'd be not fair,  I don't want to rattle its bones apart.
I put on a rack and a kick stand.   Then headed out on my recovery ride, to get some beer.
sat by the river and ate my lunch.
with ear buds in
looking at the river, and 76
listening to jake brakes and Kris
watching the water lap up
from the skulls wakes.

a Nap, ... out tonight to see the great Thalia Zedek at Kung Fu Necktie.

cheers to recovering, d.


Wide Awake and "Feeling Mortal"   check it out.

E by SE

just on the bike path, headed back from Valley Forge.  Mesmerized by my pedaling shadow.  Leading me out to the front, a bit to the left.  Upper body smooth, chin tucked in, like a boxer.   Steady, into the wind, with the wind, and then a cross.    Along side train tracks,  freight cars.   I pass the engine.  Hand the red lantern to another bloke this time.  


I'm looking forward to work tomorrow, not that its a paid day.    better.  
I'll pack all the gear I have, the Canon 5d, the bits,  and the bike.
to the opera house in Jim Thorpe to shoot, I hope, get some shit useable, for the music video.


now, I look at my bike.   Facing left.  Front tire almost seems stopped from moving on.   Square to the wall, just touching.


I enjoy writing.  I'm poor at it.   but some how, its what I feel connected to.


so many things are easy.
but this one thing
maybe
I'd
should work at it a bit
maybe
I'd get you to feel, to conjure up some image, scene.

I won't forget that I'm a minion.

funny not to have some editorial photos,
I'll put my head on the train tracks, an ear on the rail, and listen.

Cheers, d. lowe.

Perceived Exertion

I stripped on the porch,  my white pink toes on the cold red brick.  Leaving damp prints through the house, and dripped into the closet.

I wrapped myself with the towel I'd bought on a trip to southern Spain.  I sat on the beach with my wife,  hot days,  long evenings, the sun didn't set till late.  I drank big bottles of San Miguel, I bought and carried back from the corner market.  The small glass of beer from the hotel bar was to $.   and the richer rented small villa, net draped beds, and lounged.  We sat on towels bought at a market.  on the waters edge, for free.


Today the pedals turned over easy, I was shifting up, and legs feeling good, turned the gears well.

I just got on the bike, headed up the driveway.  36 degrees, drizzle.  Turned right and went towards Gladwyne.   Pedal through the school zone, eating some bread and cheese.  Down the hill.  and wove around the small hills, following the creek down to the river, and the climbs back up to route 23.

Must of been the team intern, in a team vest, over a cotton grey sweatshirt, waving a bit of newspaper, the lad was shivering, I must of been the last to crest.
Grabbed and slid under the base layer against my damp chest.
Hit the downhill, coasting soft pedaling along side of a black range rover.  going 36mph
I stuck out my tongue like a kid, taunting, at the kid sitting in the front seat.
I leaned my bike back and forth, like Steve wonder playing a tune.
Jump a few pot holes and I gave him the Rock n Roll devil horns.
he was sped off to school.

I was ether off the front, in no mans land, or dropped I don't know.  but  I pedaled on.

In traffic, headlights, oil on the high center of the lane and puddles in the wheel troughs.

I crossed a painted white line.  that was it. done. soft pedaled.  a small can of coke was handed to me.
I unclipped,  pedal and pushed one legged up the drive.  Sipped, stripped and steamed.

I'm not quite sure how to enter this one into my training journal. 
and mind is quite full of thoughts, stories, truths and fiction, too many to write.

Off to work, then to see Nick Cave.

CHEERS!   dlowe.