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No longer spring and not yet summer,

Garden sowed, not yet plundered.

A woven ring in humble splendor

waits to rest upon a finger.

Wheels somewhere rest unridden,

Juancho waits and watches.

No longer spring and not yet summer,

All of us for something wonder.

Will it, won’t it, has it ever

thought or fallen, carried over

been forgotten, lost, remembered?

Next shoulder season comes September.

Juancho

Words have consequences. We met at the cement plant late in the morning yesterday. One of us was shaking off a hangover brought on by some extemporaneous guzzling the night before, and it wasn’t me. The other one was vectoring out of a deeper bender, the kind of spree brought on by a free weekend prior to the birth of a second child. Obligatory drinking. While laughing at the highlights of the night before, somebody got called a sorority girl, which immediately became shorthanded to Britney, as in, Brit got a little wasted last night and flashed everyone at the club. Two of us thought this was so hilarious we began to wear it out before it even got started. Britney, Britney, Britney all along the trail. Next thing we knew we were experiencing discomfort and stress. The sun was hot, the trail was sandy, and Britney was doing his level best to ride us into the ground and leave us for dead. You might wonder how someone can perform athletically after a hard night of drinking, but I am here to testify. Some of my best rides followed some of my worst nights. The self-loathing, the hate, the dull pain, it all servse to motivate the hungover rider, not to mention all of the carbs stockpiled for deployment. He could not be un-spurred, so we hung on and made the best of it. It was an eastside barnstormer. Weems, Falls Chase, Pedrick, Caddy, TBP you name it- he kicked our asses from stem to stern and gulley to gullet. It was fun while it lasted, but unlike the real Brit-girl, we retired that name after the ride. _Juancho

Something good is happening. I have slept through 4 of the last 180 nights, and that is a big deal. I thought those days were over and I was moving into the twilight of my years- soon to be doddering around in the night with a flashlight looking for dust motes to corral with my Swiffer. Maybe not. Exhaustion seems to be the key. Endless miles of interstate and coffee are a hell of a nightcap. Whatever the reason, I’ll take it. I feel like a $20 bill. This bike search is speculative and far-reaching, ranging all up and down the economic scale. First I lust over $4,000 machines, then I go Luddite and shop Craigslist for 1991 Bridgestone MB-4’s. Chances are I belong plumb in the middle of those options. I talked to a guy at a shop yesterday who preached the gospel to me about his carbon fiber hot rod. I hope he is as fast as he claims, because I have a $700 Redline that wants to find out. The forest ride is tonight, and I can already feel the gravitational pull of trees, the rising bile of lactic burn and seemingly endless flow. It does end though, mercifully, and it is always as good as a bike ride gets. Juancho

In a peculiar and predictable twist, the universe made things difficult and parked the SCOTT BIKES demo truck at the Tom Brown Park trailhead on Friday. One thing led to another and three of us rode out on full suspension 29’er carbon fiber rigs. This was not even a consideration for me in the new dream bike project. But the smooth ride and the endorsement of such a monstrosity by trusted confidantes just makes everything more complicated. If there was only one bike in the world life would be so much easier. I would want it, and hopefully I could have it, and I would ride it. The end. That is not the case. There are many bikes in the land. To be honest, the big plush ride of the SCOTT was a little ho-hum, with so much speed for so little effort. What’s a ride without the numb hands and teeth-jarring impact of roots? Should all of that superior technology make me feel less connected to the trail? The sad fact of the matter is that if I can move across the surface of the earth a little bit faster than the day before I can learn to accept a less organic ride experience. Vanity wins the day. Full suspension big rigs are officially in the mix, and that means we are all the way back to the drawing board. -Juancho

I am on location in Ybor City, Tampa currently, which is an entirely uninspiring location. It might have offered something 50 years ago, or even ten years ago, but now it is officially a dud. Nike is getting into the skateboard scene, and Ybor is a parody of the culture that put it on the map. The sellout is complete. I hope someone got a receipt. Instead of offering further lament, I am going to share a private correspondence that I believe is inspiring- a message from a friend currently at large in China, and rediscovering the world at 146 years old.

what up lil biscuit eater…China is well…China. I am settled and excelling at teaching sophomores who ‘speaky no english very good’. My style of interaction is a hit with the 300 students to include 8 boys. Lots of young ladies who are very timid and sweet. All have adopted english names and most look alike. Huaibei Normal University has about 18,000 students most of whom are eager to say hello when we pass on campus. I have formed many impressions thusfar and believe on many fronts China has it right. There is no violence, crime in the streets and vulgarity. The students are wonderfully naive and eager to learn although scared to make mistakes, the whole ‘losing face’ phenomena.

They are genuinely astounded as to my experiences of travels and no wife or children. They have taken english since age 12 but have had little to no opportunities to speak it in conversation. Most believe that their second language skillz will provide them a better chance at landing a job. I am getting bits and pieces of information about both old and new China. What I love is that at the end of this year I will have come to some of my own conclusions of what is and isn’t.

I am playing on a faculty basketball team and we are old and rickity and terrible in leauge play, but beloved I feel. I play ball about three days a week with the zillions of boys/men that crowd the courts everywhere. Lots of goals but not a single net. They are delighted by my will and skill. Tenacious I still am with an authentic smile and clever passes. Feeling like I have purpose in my life and am delighted I got out of Myrtle in the nick of time.

Nothing but net in this email JJ, watch out for sharp and courteous elbows!

Juancho