biker shit can be gey, too

while waiting for a mo-fo slow data transfer on antiquated machinery ...

pedalins.

- - -

Finding myself wanting to know and see more of the Pilarcitos races, the Verge series, the Cross Crusade shenanigans than anything to do with Basso transfers or FLandis lawyerlies. Cycling has become very, very local for me lately. I want to know about the winning ways of amateurs and the mighty sufferings of hackneyed old men as they struggle to flip bulging guts over five thousand dollar frames.

I want to wax poetic about women on the edge and kids eating dirt. I want to sass together vid after vid of hoe-downs and tiki boogaloos, ass-over-kettle endos and daddyO cheers from kids in strollers. I want to see the youngins breaking through the mindful barriers of iPods, TVs, and pushbutton pleasures fumbled by plumply fastfooded fingers.

i want to reach out and touch it all as it happens ... taking home the sensations and remembrations - to spin, to shake and percolate inside the white-washed noggin. Waiting for that ripe moment ... to let fly the swirled colors and splashing sounds of what was true, real, and cherished.