Trip Report

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*photo taken in a GA gas station bathroom, just out of the shot are OBAMA SUX and HELEN IS A WHORE apparently inscribed by the same implement. This indeed, is why we can’t have nice things*

A bear lurking in the darkness can do things to the mind. The camp citizens were rattled after two days of cooler sorties occurring in daylight and darkness. Slabs of ribs, deli-wrapped packages of knockwurst and corned beef, dozens of eggs. Not content a thief, this bear destroyed things, tearing camp kitchens asunder and leaving his calling card teethmarks in coolers. There were babies to protect, and sorely few armed among the besieged.

We, our party of two, were not the cavalry. We should have left the van packed, and ventured into the north Georgia wine country. Instead we joined the refugees, failing to recognize the terror in their creased and inebriated faces.

Like all marked for doom, we huddled in packs and whispered.

Sunlight is scarce on this mountain, tucked into the crotch as we were. The day is spent in a cool shroud, where the night air never dissipates and harried campers hustle through chores because night is coming.
Night is always coming, coming ,coming.

In darkness we huddle around the oily fire of damp logs and the children sing songs against oblivion. We laugh at gallows humor and cut it short only to pull from a passed bottle of com-misery. We wander off into our tents in pairs and knots, hoping our camp is a bit tidier than our neighbors, our poor sloppy neighbors who bring this threat down on our heads. Let it be their Chorizo tonight, not ours!

We drift off into nervous sleep to the sound of, WHO’S OUT THERE? WHAT WAS THAT? and I THINK I SEE IT MOVING THROUGH THOSE TREES!

Sanity is always the first victim.

Juancho

Cheaha

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Wow, talk about your schadenfreude hangovers. I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not. I still remember 1996-2004. Cut a brother some slack.

It is time for the Cheaha Trip, which is well chronicled in these annals. That means time to transition to a different hangover this weekend. Not like that silly! I mean a hangover from being with friends, huddled strong around a gigantic fire, telling whoppers and recounting 20+ years of mishaps and incidents like:

“Remember when Bird sliced his leg with the axe? That was so funny!”

“Or when Mystery broke his collarbone and slept sitting up in the truck all night before going to the hospital?”

“Remember when it snowed on us in Pisgah and we stayed up all night so as not to freeze to death?”

“Drive slow through Warner Robbins.”

“Let’s try this shortcut back to camp.”

Ah hell. We are getting old, and our songs are tired, but we’re still funny.

See you in the mountains.

Juancho

Partisan

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This blog is biased towards-

Unkempt trails
Rides with unscheduled appreciation breaks
logs
dinner with 4 people or less
contemporary, experimental fiction
Rap music
brown rice
GMC Safaris
Apricot Poodie-cocks
Cats without tails
tiny trailers
black coffee
Scofflaws (What up Rev!)
good conversation
managed risk
specialists
barbed wire
turpentine
the other side of the coin
Freaks
Queers
Has-beens
Never-rans
tin-can knights
weekday warriors
the wide open day before me
-and Barack Obama.

I can’t agree to disagree. Get it right America.

Juancho

Giddy-up!

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So much going on this weekend I’m just going to give it to you in a montage

Bill Clinton
10 Unicorns Walk into a Bar
First Friday
Greek Food Fest
30 miles off-road for Mental Illness
Chess combat on 3 fronts, 2 continents
5 dogs
6 cats
1 lost ring
All the Saints
Hank Saints
Website
Hot Pink
Pwn Facebook

That should cover it. None of these links will work in a year, then this post will become poetry.

Juancho

Special-versary

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One year ago today, the Angry Monk retired. No more barbed wire for breakfast and turpentine for lunch. Hate is a powerful motivator, and I thank Hate for all it did for me, but Love is better. Now I am one happy kitty. Meow!

Juancho

Dynamic Tension

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Friday: 10/26/2012

The cat resists the dog. The pedals resist my pushing. The sand resists the wheel.

Dogboy and I at large in the forest, let’s call it 30 miles. 4 on marked trail, 12 on surface roads, the rest in off-road no man’s land. I would consider it a long ride except I hear Bike Church went 87 miles on Sunday, bartered or begged for a ferry across the St. Mark’s river, chased bobcats, made the bonfire party at Ouzt’s Oyster Bar, and still got home before dark. I will just call our ride a ride.

We talked and slogged, coming again and again to the same conclusion, “Yes, a healthy tension is a good thing.” Someone must push for new trails, and someone must push for no trails. The tree stands stronger when the roots pull against the earth.

The next day

Running a lap around Munson by myself last night, contemplating the unhealthy tension of work and pounding, nay, crushing the pedals. I am the fastest man to ever wear a pair of Dockers. I am the King of the Pogues! I see the chilly October sunset off of my starboard bow and a radiant ascending moon at port-side stern. A rider appears in my path ahead and I tack to unleash the spinnaker and go booming around him. Wait though! It’s not a rider, but God, speaking through an old friend who once reminded me that my body was mine alone, and I had free will to do with it what I wished, including smoke cigarettes or revolve my triangle.

We stop. We sit. The moon rises, the sun sets, and there is that healthy tension again. He escorts me back to the trail-head, and as dictated by custom we sprint for the gate. I go way early, he comes around grinning. I lob another assault on his redoubt, and come up short-ricocheting off of the Canadian headwind. I find a pocket of strength in my right quad, the exact dimensions of a hotdog bun, and spend it on a final attempt. He coasts by me just at the line, knocking off my pogue king crown.

I hear its tin tinkle and skitter down the pavement and without looking back I relinquish that throne- I am just another proud pauper of the woods again, in that kingdom no one reigns.

Juancho

Write one for us

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I spent a month on this guy’s couch in 1996. Seven of us returned from all corners of the earth- Oregon, Ft. Myers, Sarajevo, D.C.- to organize an event in Tallahassee to help the Bosnian people who were being shot in the streets and starved to death.

It was a heavy time, and we were by and large a bunch of young unemployed dipshits. While we sat around this guy’s living room drinking Scotch and making international phone calls, he went to work every day to make signs. Big signs, little signs, vinyl signs, metal signs, it didn’t matter as long as he made people’s signs NOW!

He came home every day to a changing scene. One of us adopted a puppy that ate the couch and crapped indiscriminately, thanks Tim! Another day a busload of Rainbow Gatherers appeared and laid siege to the house for a week in a passive-aggressive occupation. We skirmished with the hippies all day, fighting for control of Chuck’s thermostat and remote while he made the signs, paid the bills, and came home to play guitar in his room and sob quietly in his sleep.

You know how that story ends. With a little help from Bill Clinton and Richard Holbrooke we saved Bosnia, went broke, and left Chuck to clean up the garbage bags of moldy bagels, the dirty ashtrays, the empty bottles, and the dogshit.

There are no friends like old friends, right?

Now Chuck is a full time artist and a musician who makes signs for no man, woman, or child NOW or any other time. Signs can kiss his ass. He does it all, living the dream by playing in three bands, making art, and supporting the work of his immensely talented fiance, Kelly Boehmer.

Together they are anchor members of the art and music ensemble The Glitter Chariot. The GC is a family, and when love found me last year, the GC were quick to adopt her and draft her into service as a hair and makeup artist. We love the Glitter Chariot and everything they stand for, and the shiny, tiny horse they rode in on.

This new song was written and recorded here in Tallahassee at Harmonic Cycle Studio, by my friend and first bike mechanic at Joe’s Bike Shop. The yellow guy (sad Bert) in the video is Ryan Berg, Glitter Chariot co-founder and pioneer. He drives the GC vision like a stolen Prius and he loves the wings at Hooter’s.

There a lot of links in this post, and there truly should be more, but the talent runs too deep in this group to list everyone here. There are many links because we are all connected.

All I’m trying to say is that I am so proud of my friends, especially Chuck, who knows hard times and heartbreak, and wasn’t afraid to share it in this sad and gorgeous song. He got the girl too, and now he has this.

Take a moment to unpack your baggage and listen by clicking here.

Juancho

Zugzwanged

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I was recently challenged to a game of chess by a friend, Mel (not his real name) who resides in Singapore. I delightfully accepted. This led to an invitation from another old friend who hails from Hoboken, NJ. We don’t see much of each other anymore so I thought a vigorous battle of wits would be a good way to keep in touch and enjoy a bit of the old camaraderie we enjoyed as planetary vagabonds during the nineties. I dispatched Singapore Mel in the first match after a hard-fought pawn battle for the west flank. Our rematch is underway and he recently described the board as “an anthill that someone has kicked over” and this before a single shot was fired.

The second match, against Hoboken, became an epic struggle. Like an alligator eating a snake which is in turn eating it, we grappled. Oh the bloodletting! The traps and hard bargains! The mental chessery of it all! 72 moves later, his king quietly succumbed to my persistent army and I walked away delirious with victory. In preparation for the rematch I studied legendary games such as the Opera House Massacre and the Immortal Queen. I devised a strategy comprised of ideas I could not understand and tactics with which I was aggressively unfamiliar. I crowed to my beloved incessantly. The fool! He has no idea what awaits him! When he falls for my knight’s sacrifice it will be brilliant! Oh, if only I could see the look on his face when he realizes the fix is in, that all hope is lost!

42 moves later I am wondering what went wrong.

The number one rule of chess is never forget that your opponent is trying to win.

That goes for a lot of things.

Juancho

Follow the tracks

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Thanks for the kind words y’all. We feel better over here.

Look at this picture. I look happy right? Hale and hearty? Ready for the World? That shows you that a picture lies a thousand words. The Wrecking Ball and I had a Tallahassee bloggers summit meeting, attendance (2) today.

I felt awful. Legs of broken glass. Lungs like tiny ketchup packets of air. Just awful. It was a beautiful blue bird day though, and we set the world to rights-proving once again that the bicycle is magic.

Juancho

On losing someone close-

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I ask the world to break my heart and leave her heart alone.
The world says I can’t do that and it cuts me to the bone.

I’d rather cry a thousand tears then see her cry just one-
but grief’s a selfish gift and so her tears are not my own.

If I could beat it senseless grief would fall into the dirt,
but grief’s the one who does the beating, the one who leaves us hurt.

I’ve said that grief’s a gift, and an honor to the past-
We do not miss the ones not loved, forgetting them so fast-

but those are empty words I throw into the great unknown,
I ask the world to break my heart and leave her heart alone.

Juancho