WCCX II I picked up my number to race, and it was an 8. That is an unusual number for me. First thought, was, infinity.   then, blog post title, and then infinite osmosis and that was it, no words followed, no easy stream.  just short burst of emotions, ideas,  I pretty much thought I'd give up, and not write anything, too tough.  How many times can I say that is has been a special season.  This year one of the most.  How much I am surprised by people, THX!  Sturdy Girls for bringing back Nittany.  THX! Instigators for bring the enthu ..read more

 My first day walking into junior high, through the front doors I pass the office. On the right, a glass wall to look into.  The office.  Hanging on a wall was a beautiful paddle. The word "good" was painted on it in olde English lettering, it had a waffle 9 holes. I suppose to reduce air flow on the swing, on the way, to smack righteousness into your ass.  My days at school seemed like as long as you did wrong, respectfully, outside the boundaries, clandestine, nonchalant, you got away with it, no one looked too hard for it.  Maybe no one had the time to deal with it ..read more

   Some say cross is dead, nil.  Canceled.  Reeling and reeking of an ugly stench.  A disgusting beast, of swill, drooling, machoistic, the soul of the most honest to the bone internal self-abuse every invented. I find it comes easy, and to me, quite normal.  And from the first pedal stroke, my heart rate is beating as hard and as fast as it can. I steer a bit wide into this corner and punch it quick to pass on this small patch of dirt.  Cross is a conscription.  Cross looks easy and fast, as I watch others race.  Cross is a family, after your ..read more

There is a jawnty style, a swagger that is a non swagger. a free floating confidence, happy, loved, strong, alive.        photo: Brian Biggs A spirit that floats, made up of the tinyest specs of life that moves through the air, through us. If a small breeze comes along it lifts the ballon and the short cord slips through and released from the hand of a child,  we float, for a bit lifting up, but not away,  looking down at, and decided to return to the child's hand. A funny thing about luft, is you can't rule it, but that it has rules.   And luft on ..read more

I just want to write like old days, like a garden hose left on, and the water gushing out, on a hot day. a Niagra Falls on dopey 4 year olds, in underwear, and smiles. Flowing free, un-restricted, and cold. I've had so much other stuff on my mind. but today, I pinned up, clicked in, and raced. Not a smart race, like most of my crits, but a dreamy race, and pretty good legs, feeling like there is lots of potential. At a recent Thursday evening GV30 training crit, a rubber band snap I was right where I always was again, closing a gap, big gap, unfathonable doable gap, and behold a rider is with ..read more

and Pffft, just like that something appears. I have a few bikes, a road, mountain, beer-beater, and cyclocross. I'm a cyclist more than anything eles. I love to ride. I'm happy on all of them. but, sometimes, more often than not on my cross bike, I see something, a downed telephone pole, that I have to hop. A narrow ribbon of dirt off the gravel road, and the bike I and pull to it, turn up the effort a bit and get at it! My cx bike loves the spewn decaying streets and urban blight as much as it does, the paved path to Valley Forge. Around here there is a lot of stuff, if brave enough, I can r ..read more

I don't mind riding in the humid summer heat of Philadelphia.  I just try to measure my effort.  As if nursing my old AMC Gremlin along, windows down, hot air smashing in.  Watch the temperature gauge, and hoping and trying to keep it out of the red.  That once it is too hot, you'r done, for a long bit. Happy Birthday today to Marcel Duchamp, and to his ability to make me wonder.  I imagined he had a love of cycling, and knew a bit about suffering out on a ride in the sun.  The table on our porch, on it I have waiting, to greet my return, from my summer ride, a co ..read more

The cheap cologne, sweat tobacco and bad weed, made for a familiar philly aroma as I rode my bike through the East Park. I remember early on when I moved to Philly from Ohio.  I went to see Sun Ra at the CEC center, a small spot in west philly.  Sun Ra was like a god from another planet rolling out to the piano.  It blew my mind.  That was philly for you.   This community center, a dopey white naive kid from ohio, seeing god. That is how it is in philly.  It's a simple route, Belmont, The Boxer Trail, up on the road and around the ball fields, pass the box ..read more

I am a learner, that comes by knowledge usually picked up, by painting myself into a corner. I brake bits, strip, dent, snap, drop and lose them, quite easily on my first attempt. It was a good, the last three days of riding, the heat and humidity did compound itself, and by riding home, Sunday, I was a bit more loopy, than my normal self. Friday I did some workouts on the bike. "Stay Fit!"  I say. warm and a light rain, I'm a cap wearer.   and I watched the water drop form and rock on the brim. Saturday it did not take long at all!  To realize that what I'd thou ..read more

I'm a real simple person.  If I ever did something incredibly grand or important, the people of the town wouldn't make DLowe Avenue,  it'd be more like Simpleton Street.   I like that, being simple. I'd hope the street named after me, not that I can every imagine doing something grand and important enough, came to and made an intersection with Common Sense Street.  And on Common Sense Street we could build a few very nice but modest houses, and we'd house our most modest intellectuals.  Maybe a couple of young hipsters.  The States Supreme court Justice could ..read more