I'm just sayin'.
Update: I've since found a brown I think would go even better -- though it's not leather, sob!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Proper Thanks
If any of you want to thank me for my tireless advocacy of sanity and connection to ourselves and our planet through our bicycles... This would look painfully beautiful on my root beer brown Vaya.
I'm just sayin'.
Update: I've since found a brown I think would go even better -- though it's not leather, sob!
I'm just sayin'.
Update: I've since found a brown I think would go even better -- though it's not leather, sob!
Sunday, April 29, 2012
New All-'rounders
There are some beautiful bikes being built out there under the "touring" rubric that might do very nicely the "all-'rounder/monstercross/Swiss Army bike" thing that my beloved Vaya does for me so very well.
If you think you're a dyed-in-the-wool roadie (as I did), get on one of these do-all bikes with at least 32 mm tires and go ride some gravel or light singletrack. You'll see.
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| The Brodie Elan |
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| The Steelwool Rover |
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Bird's Nest Satori
Every April, I am stunned by Nature's prestidigitation.
What she does with the tiny seed-specks my wife pushes into in the chilly black soil of our garden seems nothing short of a miracle. Just a handful of days and a sprinkling of water later, there is life where there was none. It's surpising how a fragile stem and a couple of pebble-sized leaves can convey so directly the rock-hard durability of Life. It literally never quits.
This is a message I am very attuned to this Spring, after the death of my beloved father last Fall. I still ponder the whereabouts of the Life that was in him.
On the external wall by the window at my office, there is a metal conduit which accepts power and phone lines from the nearby utility pole on the sidewalk. Sticking out of that conduuit are tufts of straw and twig, and from within those tufts emerges the loudest and most constant peeping sound I've ever heard. There are baby sparrows in there, and they are hungry. More than hungry -- they're demanding nourishment to power their new physical presence on this planet. Their parents flit back and forth from the ground to the nest all day, every day, seeds and other tidbits in their beaks, trying to sate the little guys' appetites.
While I talk inside with parents worrying over their own children's more human, but no less urgent, cries of need, trees all around the neighborhood explode in a blur of white and pink petals.
Spring is certainly an easy lesson to take. From hardness, softness. From grey, technicolor.
November is a little harder. The shriveling, the fading, the drying-up. Finally, quiet and cold. I don't like it in the seasons, and I resist it fiercely in myself and my loved ones. I would have a one-way street, all growth and no decay.
And yet, as my body tires and creaks more than ever, my heart and mind expand. I am decaying and blossoming all at once.
Take that, November. And April, too.
What she does with the tiny seed-specks my wife pushes into in the chilly black soil of our garden seems nothing short of a miracle. Just a handful of days and a sprinkling of water later, there is life where there was none. It's surpising how a fragile stem and a couple of pebble-sized leaves can convey so directly the rock-hard durability of Life. It literally never quits.
This is a message I am very attuned to this Spring, after the death of my beloved father last Fall. I still ponder the whereabouts of the Life that was in him.
On the external wall by the window at my office, there is a metal conduit which accepts power and phone lines from the nearby utility pole on the sidewalk. Sticking out of that conduuit are tufts of straw and twig, and from within those tufts emerges the loudest and most constant peeping sound I've ever heard. There are baby sparrows in there, and they are hungry. More than hungry -- they're demanding nourishment to power their new physical presence on this planet. Their parents flit back and forth from the ground to the nest all day, every day, seeds and other tidbits in their beaks, trying to sate the little guys' appetites.
While I talk inside with parents worrying over their own children's more human, but no less urgent, cries of need, trees all around the neighborhood explode in a blur of white and pink petals.
Spring is certainly an easy lesson to take. From hardness, softness. From grey, technicolor.
November is a little harder. The shriveling, the fading, the drying-up. Finally, quiet and cold. I don't like it in the seasons, and I resist it fiercely in myself and my loved ones. I would have a one-way street, all growth and no decay.
And yet, as my body tires and creaks more than ever, my heart and mind expand. I am decaying and blossoming all at once.
Take that, November. And April, too.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A Lovely Rainy Day in Four Images
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| A slice of heaven on Juggler Meadow Road, five miles from my door |
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| A commuter train rockets by the Cushman Café |
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| Waiting for a hot cup of tea to take the chill off the rainy day. Riding home, it was pouring and 48 degrees. |
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| The cup of tea -- and the musicians, on break. The woman who belongs to the elbow on the right turns out to own a tri bike with a cow-print paint job and pink pedals. |
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Joy of Neighborhood Trails
This evening, as I got in the car after a long day in the office, it was a perfect 68 degrees and sunny out. Mrs. V is away for the week, and I was sorely tempted to ride.
But I promised her before she left I would get a small list of household chores done, so when I got home, I sadly, dutifully put on my work clothes and picked up the paint brush.
HA! If you believed that one, I've got an old radio show about aliens invading New Jersey that'll scare the peewaddins out of you!
Got home, jumped into some shorts, hopped on the Vaya and flew down to that network of neighborhood dirt trails I discovered last week. I can't stop thinking about them, even during the work day. They're just perfect for monster cross -- challenging but not super-technical, with some nice helpings of deep sand here and there to improve one's power numbers. You can do a little roller-coaster action, or stomp up stupid-steep ramps. Just enough roots and crap on the ground to keep my head up and make me feel tough when I roll right over 'em with my new 45 mm tires. (Heh – gotta pay my friend for those...)
Had just enough time to discover a few more short branches of trail. There's not much down there, all told – maybe you could put together a mile or two without repeating any segments – but it's so stinkin' fun, I don't care. Plus, I haven't seen it all yet -- every time I go, I have to turn back without exploring one or two more turns. Clearly, this is going to be my go-to short-ride for the Vaya. (Hope I don't get kicked off of it. No one's yelled at me yet, though I'm sure it's all private property; there're plenty of houses and barns visible.)
I just can't believe how lucky I am to have even a small network that's so fun and so close to my house -- maybe two miles, max.
As I rolled back, the sun was edging the tops of the trees, the breeze was warm-cool, birds sang their springtime hopefulness from the branches.
I will get to that brush clearing and cabinet painting this week... maybe if it rains...
But I promised her before she left I would get a small list of household chores done, so when I got home, I sadly, dutifully put on my work clothes and picked up the paint brush.
HA! If you believed that one, I've got an old radio show about aliens invading New Jersey that'll scare the peewaddins out of you!
Got home, jumped into some shorts, hopped on the Vaya and flew down to that network of neighborhood dirt trails I discovered last week. I can't stop thinking about them, even during the work day. They're just perfect for monster cross -- challenging but not super-technical, with some nice helpings of deep sand here and there to improve one's power numbers. You can do a little roller-coaster action, or stomp up stupid-steep ramps. Just enough roots and crap on the ground to keep my head up and make me feel tough when I roll right over 'em with my new 45 mm tires. (Heh – gotta pay my friend for those...)
Had just enough time to discover a few more short branches of trail. There's not much down there, all told – maybe you could put together a mile or two without repeating any segments – but it's so stinkin' fun, I don't care. Plus, I haven't seen it all yet -- every time I go, I have to turn back without exploring one or two more turns. Clearly, this is going to be my go-to short-ride for the Vaya. (Hope I don't get kicked off of it. No one's yelled at me yet, though I'm sure it's all private property; there're plenty of houses and barns visible.)
I just can't believe how lucky I am to have even a small network that's so fun and so close to my house -- maybe two miles, max.
As I rolled back, the sun was edging the tops of the trees, the breeze was warm-cool, birds sang their springtime hopefulness from the branches.
I will get to that brush clearing and cabinet painting this week... maybe if it rains...
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