Playtime is over and now the real riding can begin.
Unleashed
A brief note on the pace-
When I am the fastest man I will lead rides with benevolence and dignity. I will choose trails that accentuate the skills and disciplines earned by hard work. I will provide opportunities for communion and long turns just above conversational pace.
I am not yet the fastest man.
The fastest man yesterday rode as if he hated the woods, and wished to be out of them as soon as possible. He sought to kill us by attrition. For 2 hours the beating continued as we rode up all downhills and sought the washed-out and vine-entangled remnants of trail on the north side of Tallahassee. I rode strong and fast and angry. I was nimble, dab-free, and fearless on all terrain, but I was not the fastest man.
Riders tumbled and bled as they submitted to the pace of the fastest man. I cursed him and assayed him for weakness. Even the fastest men must sleep. We all fear something. I do not fear him though, the fastest man, I could see his wheel just ahead in the forest, a man on a bike like anybody else.
When I am the fastest man they will drown on my dust and fill their guts with chagrin and remorse. If they don’t cut the oak down early it grows too strong for their axe.
Juancho
Easy Does It
Turns out that if you you take too much of a few vitamins your ears can ring. I suspended my doping procedures and my ears are returning to normal. That’s a little scary. It fits right in with my tendency to pile on. When my body was a landfill I could dump anything in there and I would only feel mildly different on the yum to yuck scale. Now, if the oatmeal isn’t organic it is enough to throw me into a tizzy. I know just how Gwyneth Paltrow feels.
I deployed a new robot on the trail last night. This one is a total winner. Rather than building them out of scrap parts and dashed hopes, this one came to me functional right out of the box. He bought a Giant hard-tail from the rental fleet at Great Bicycle Shop and we hit Munson for the last rays of daylight. He’s ready. All he has to do is remove the kickstand.
I would love to spend some time here and try to write my way out of stupefying boredom, but I have to go make that paper y’all.
Juancho
Grudge Speed
I used to think my friend Tommy quit using the internet around 2001. As soon as the web went 2.0 he gave it up. His email address is luddite@dotmatrix.org. Don’t bother, he doesn’t check it.
Or does he?
We rode together last night and he was turning the cranks at what I have to call “grudge speed.” If I didn’t know better I would suspect he knew he had been compared to a baby seal, lying helpless on the ice. I am going to have to be more careful or start assuming every hollow threat I make on the internet has been taken to heart.
In order to keep it together and not get dropped I had to call not one, but two mechanicals (the old tire pressure gambit) and one nature appreciation (isn’t it beautiful out here Tommy!) He just stared at me, only one foot unclipped from the pedals.
We ran at speeds more common to a road bike, and we traded body blows in the trees and on the hills. I’m going to call it a draw, and if he is reading this I hope he can leave it at that. If he has someone interpreting the internet for him, tell him I take it all back.
Juancho
Patience
My ears ring. I don’t know if they always rang, or if I just noticed it at some point and now I notice it all the time, but they ring, or whistle. It is not related to high blood pressure, I’m averaging 118 over 67 thank you for asking. Anyway, they ring, but I am learning to live with it for the time being.
I don’t notice it when I’m riding, so that means I didn’t notice it much this weekend. The Wrecking Ball and I set out on a duet Friday evening that took us out the eastside trails then all the way down to Railroad Square for First Friday. We ate Krishna food and rode laps through the milling crowds. The mohawk is back big-time. The fluffy, 80’s style mohawk. It is back for boys and girls alike, and seems to have no relation to a punk-rock ethos. I even saw a Sunday-school mullet at the bagel shop. This country only has about 4 decades worth of trends then they start over at the beginning with suspenders and highwaters.
Saturday was for open warfare and unapologetic bloodletting between the Torso, Mystery, and myself. I was so wound up to ride I kept rubbing my bald head looking for hairs to pull out. I was excited and I felt amazing. I tried to club them down like baby seals, but they hung on-taking blow after blow, then dishing it back out.
Then the rains came, and we settled in with FSU football, pull-ups, and yoga. This is a college town, and the University places a high value on the lessons learned in organized sports. They compete in a league against other schools, and football is one of the games they play. This much I know for certain.
-Juancho
Getting better all the time
Winn Dixie ain’t Publix. Anyone can tell you that. It is a second-tier grocery store hanging on to a dwindling market. That’s probably why the Wrecking Ball and I felt so comfortable lounging in their plastic chairs. Permanent “B” group riders, the also-rans, the Mister Congenialities of competition. Everybody else seems to have peaked in August, and I took the month off the bike. Wrecking Ball is discouraged, I have been otherwise engaged. We both feel like we are perpetually healing and never well.
We talked about nutrition, and sleep, and brilliant green chlorophyll dumps. We talked about hating people because they are beautiful, or maybe just for acting like they are beautiful. We talked about being hopeless and drinking the mistakes- sitting at the end of a bar. We have both seen worse times than this.
Things are looking up for me lately, really up- so up I have a crick in my neck. I don’t have much to complain about, and neither does the Wrecking Ball, but we would never let that stop us.
-Juancho
Southern Tour
I said I would be back and I am working on it. I am now at the boomerang point of my trip- West Point, Mississippi. Tomorrow I start the rewind process and haul it back through Alabama and across the Apalachicola River into Eastern Standard Time.
There’s going to be some serious bike riding going on this weekend. Holy smokes will there be some riding.
-Juancho
Rest Easy Daddy Mention
I was driving down I-95 yesterday with the split ends of Hurricane Irene’s long hair whipping rain across the road when the local public radio affiliate out of Jacksonville announced that Stetson Kennedy was in palliative care and not expected to recover. It broke my heart.
I looked out the window to the east and the sky was dark, dark blue with clouds stacking up on top of clouds, with a big anvil-edged nimbus crown leaning in over the coast. The report said he was in and out of consciousness and I wondered if he knew the storm was coming, and if he was waiting for it to carry him away?
I felt the urge to get off the interstate and go to his home in St. Johns County, and wait with other friends and acolytes who no doubt have gathered there, but instead I turned west towards the rest of my own good fight.
-Juancho
Juancho’s 2011 Not Recommended Reading List
A little discussed aspect of my wellness program of 2011 is literature. When you give up certain behaviors and habits they must be replaced with something. Brown rice and kale are only part of the story. Books are an essential part of my continued turnaround. I have always been a reader and a lover of books. I worked in the FSU Strozier Library for the Inter-Library Loans office my first two years of college. I would rush through my rounds of picking up and dropping off titles to be loaned abroad so I could have the rest of my shift to browse the stacks and take naps on the ledge of the 5th floor, where they keep the Early American Literature.
In 1995-96 I worked for Powell’s Books in Portland, OR. At the time it was the largest independent bookstore in the country. I worked in a satellite store that specialized in books for cooks and gardeners. I was the guy who produced the UPC Scan stickers and put them on the books. I was happy to do it.
In recent years my taste became lazy. Challenging books began to intimidate me. Why bother? It will take forever. It’s probably stupid. With an entire bookcase of Louis L’Amour to work through, why would I ever ride my Appaloosa in off of the prairie?
Last September I set a goal of reading one book in particular, Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace. I had read many of his non-fiction books and found his voice and breadth of references exhilarating. Reading DFW is like sticking your finger in the light socket over and over for fun. Infinite Jest was his most powerful wattage. This book was big enough to replace all kinds of demons and hobgoblins. So that is how it began: Brown rice, yoga, and 1,079 pages of compulsively footnoted compound sentences. As my brain woke up to the rigors of such a demanding read, I added new books to the list. I added some only because of their daunting reputations, and others because they caught my eye as books do.
I do not recommend any of these books to any of you, because recommending books is a lost cause. Books find us, and no third party can make a book the right choice for us at any given time. I draw inspiration and food for thought from many of you, so consider this a vanity post. As I pat myself on the back, feel free to read over my shoulder as you see fit. I will keep my comments brief.
Titles are linked, if you can’t tell.
Infinite Jest– It had to be done.
The Instructions Instant Favorite. Join the Side of Damage.
Chronic City– Late nights with Perkus Tooth
Cloud Atlas– The best 3 short stories and a novella to ever pretend to be a novel.
Freedom– Held my nose through the entire story, loathing everyone, then cried at the end.
State of Wonder– Chew all the flavor out of this one.
–A Visit from the Goon Squad Rock and roll as high art
War– Happening right now.
Matterhorn– Dude must know people. Reads like an 8th grade book report. Not a good one.
–Stephen King On Writing Stephen King must have serious issues with Infinite Jest.
Libra This is a fantastic book if you have trouble falling asleep. Well-crafted, but oh so what.
The Unnamed, by Joshua Ferris. A tender account of an American affliction.
How about you guys, read any good books lately?
-Juancho