I'm basically a philanthropist.

I'm still in the same place. Haven't moved. Stuck. All the roommates where I'm staying either moved out or are out of the country. That's a good deal if you're renting one room and getting the whole place to yourself. I'm happy to take up some space here for a little bit. I do what I can. In that respect, I'm basically a philanthropist. The corner of the kitchen looks like a touring bike threw up in it.

I made tacos. I'm not a good chef, but I can mix stuff with rice and put it in a flour tortilla. I can also help try to kill a bottle of vodka. I'm falling into a rhythm. I can almost put together a sort of itinerary.

I know I ought to hit the road. This has devolved into a people-trip with some annoying bicycle riding thrown in. But when I look at the weather report and see some kind of rain every single day, it doesn't inspire me to load up my bicycle again. "You know I'm going to stay here for a week." I mentioned this casually between shots and tacos. She claims that she did already know this. Good. I don't feel like I'm wearing out my welcome yet, so I can hover around town in my party socks until I get the inspiration to see what the rest of the country looks like. Soon enough. Sharing a bed has been nice, but it's time to get back into the woods.

Endearing Kitsch and Discounted Margaritas.

Like I said, this day started with Waffle House. It's not that I like the food, but something about Waffle House compells me to go. Again and again. It's the endearing kitsch.

I didn't do much today. I'm still wasting time. I'm waiting for my muscles to magically get stronger on their own so I don't have to put in all that boring effort to get strong the traditional way. My ankles feel pretty ok, and I'm looking forward to shutting my trap about my stupid ankles.

The fun in town? It's discounted margarita day at the Mexican restaurant. Yup. That'll do.

This here was one hell of a day.

Wow. This here was one hell of a day.

I woke up in the town of Vesuvius, where Miss Gertie herself fixed me breakfast while we chatted. I got on the road in the wrong direction, and put in a definite ten miles to nowhere. I thought I fixed my course, but 25 miles later I found out that I was at least 30 miles from where I wanted to be. My plan for the day was a quick 18 miles total, and disappointing doesn't quite sell how this felt. All this occurred in a driving rain with sore muscles and lots of climbing. I was not a happy camper.

I made it to a main road that went straight to my destination, and stuck out my thumb. This was supposed to be an easy day, and I was keen to glean any residual rest I could manage. An old blue pickup pulled to the shoulder, and don't let anyone ever tell you hitchhiking isn't easy. So far - in my experience, anyway - it's always worked just fine.

An old guy named Marion pulled over his truck, and I chucked my bicycle and my sopping wet gear into the muddy bed. It sure simplified the final 25 miles, and Marion even treated me to McDonalds. He was a big talker, and clearly an all-around good guy. Lived in the area all his life and never much reckoned he'd care to travel. I do. He dropped me off at Wal-Mart outside of town and wished me luck. We shook on it to seal the deal.

I had a place set up to stay, and I was looking forward to drying out some gear. And the girl I'm staying with looked pretty good on the internet. I was thinking it would be much nicer to be there instead of riding a bicycle in cold rain with my directions turning to pulp. My situation was drastically improved in the early afternoon hours.

Within an hour I was showered and wearing some clothes that were passably dry. I was also drinking a shot of proffered vodka, and that gave me a big smile. I put on my party socks to celebrate. The shot was a pre-game to going out to one of the two bars in town for a couple pitchers. We got back to the house where I played iPod DJ amidst several more shots. Back out to the other bar this time for some lessons in townie culture, and that could be a whole different post. Then home; soon sex. Anyone who's been reading my words for a long time will know it's not for nothing. I'm relieved that I can be a normal dude without the crippling sexual hangups that I suffed for those desperate years in my earlier twenties.

(A note about writing every fucking thing that happens in my life: sometimes it's not easy. Sometimes I take the challenge when I should shut my fucking mouth. Yes, I do miss Tara. I agree with her that it doesn't feel 100% like we're broken up, but we are. Emotional inertia doesn't stop like hitting a brick wall. Has force; takes time. At least I'm not a squirrelly liar of a guy. I say this defensively; without need.)

As I walked to the Waffle House this morning, I played the Discovery EP in some headphones and reflected on the day, and my trip, and my life in general. I'm going to be ok.

Back to Bicycling: Cookie Lady, Blue Ridge Parkway.

I started the morning by making some tacos to go and sending home some books and disused items from my luggage. I said my goodbyes to Will, and I sincerely hope the next chapter in his life after graduation is fulfilling and rewarding. He deserves it.

I was happy to get back on the road, and after three nights of rest in Charlottesville, I didn't feel much pain in the ankle department. I'm finally following my guidebook, Bicycling Coast to Coast, and the directions were easy to follow. I'm finally riding on the official TransAm bicycling route, and I'm happy with the easier directions and a selection of roads which I can trust with confidence.

I cut two pages out of the book with the knife on the Leatherman that Tim gave me, and I clipped the pages to my half-aero-bar unicorn-command-center.

In the middle of a beast of a long steep climb is the tiny town of Afton. Just up the hill is the home of June Curry, the famous Cookie Lady, who has been providing cyclists with refreshments and housing since 1976. I knocked on the door, and she came out to chat and give me a key to the bicycle house, which aside from lodging is a sort of museum. There are hundreds (thousands?) of cards from well-wishers. There are heaps of parephenalia from touring cyclists from the past 35 years. What a sight.

June is getting frail. My guidebook is 15 years out of date, and the photo of June in the book is of an already elderly woman. She suffered a stroke in 2005, but still manages to get around slowly using a cane. Her hearing is on the way out, and I was self conciously aware that I was talking way too fast and not making enough sense. If you're riding by, it's worth a visit. I filled my waterbottles with the hose.

Next was the Blue Ridge Parkway. This is a famous scenic road, and the long climbs beat the hell out of me. The scenery was nice, but when the sky opened up I stopped having so much fun. I was soaked from all directions with sweat and rain as I slugged it out over the long inclines through the mountains. I sighed and muttered, looking forward to the day when I'm stronger and my muscles can catch up to my efforts. These mountains are really working me over.

As I said, my guidebook is 15 years out of date, and the campground at the end of the day no longer exists. I stopped for directions at Gertie's General Store, where I was invited to camp out back. I took them up on the offer, and I was pleased to have a break in the rain to set up my tent - staked out with rain fly and everything. The sky has been dumping rain and throwing down thunderstorms for days, and the rain fly proved necessary.

Charlottesville Continues: horsing around.

I had another low-key rest day. Charlottesville is a nice place once you can stash your gear somewhere and set out on foot for a change. I spent the afternoon reading and drinking coffee. I'm nearly finished with "A Walk In The Woods," and once again I have to point out that this is a wonderful book. If you have the most passing interest in the Appalacian Trail, or even just know what a tent is - this book is for you. I promise you'll think it's worth the effort of getting a copy. I dodged yet more rain at Java Java down on the pedestrian mall.

I've been sleeping in an attic. The attic of the house where these guys live is a great hang-out zone. There are a couple couches, and open windows on either side. The weather has been perfect for sleeping up there, and I was happy to be spending another night.

Later on there was a fun little psychedelic gathering. The third roommate, Ben, had some people over and the attic was transformed into a party room for the small gathering. A black light, a laser machine, a Thievery Coroporation album, and some beer and weed. I had a good time continuing to talk too much. I was happy with the festivities, but didn't want much to do with shooting BB guns out the window or throwing rocks at passing freight train cars. Those days are securely behind me, I'm afraid. I just read some more of my great book.

Couchsurfing success in Charlottesville.

Last night, when everything was getting a little shitty, I called Shelly for a chat. She mentioned Couchsurfing.com, and that closed a loosely connected circuit in my head. It's a shame I can't afford a secretary. I have some seriously loose connections in the cabeza, and too often an obvious hint comes through as an epiphany. Duh, Couchsurfing.com. I've had an account since 2007, and it didn't occur to me that this was a much better way to meet someone with a spare couch and an open mind.

I made up my mind to try to stay in town, because my ankles are shit. My ankles are total shit because I beat them up. To be fully accurate, they're on the verge of feeling okay, but definitely not good enough to trust with confidence on a long ride over the difficult mountains which lay immediately ahead of me. Rest is smart; crushing pedals out of town is hasty and negligent.

I got up this morning and proceeded back to the pedestrian mall to get a coffee and open up my computer. Couchsurfing.com listed 255 potential hosts in Charlottesville proper. Yikes - what was I doing not consulting this resource? I contacted a few promising prospects, and within a couple hours was heading to a house where I was welcome to stay "however long."

Will is an amiable couchsurfing host, and I am proud to be his first actual guest. Actually, there are several guys living in this house, and they all go to the University of Virginia. Actually, Will just graduated a day earlier, so this is an exciting time for him.

I am a lone traveler, but a reasonably social person when it's time. When I don't talk to people much for awhile, I seem to make up for lost time when the opportunity arises. I was happy to talk a whole lot, and I tried not to make it one-sided. It was surprising how much we knew about each other in about ten minutes. Will and his roommate, Hunter, are obviously good people. I seems like that's par for the course with couchsurfing hosts... by it's very nature it acts as it's own filter. How great is that?

I killed a billion hours today happily walking without my bicycle and all of it's associated encumbrances. I bought a book and read it for hours. By the end of the day, I'd read half the book. It's a great book: A Walk In the Woods by Bill Bryson. This guy is an author. This is must-read material. Yes - I did laugh out loud, and quite a bit. It's about hiking the Appalachian Trail. It's loosely based on subject matter that overlaps with the spirit and nature of the weird adventure I'm involved in. It's a great book.

The highlight of my day was walking in a group of four around the UVA campus. The chemistry building was open, and in the midnight hours we watched the movie "Speed Racer" on the projector screen in a large lecture hall. Hunter got some snacks with the remaining credits on his student card. It was a beautiful campus, and the word serendipity keeps ringing in my head.

Charlottesville / Remember: it always works out.

Last night I found good camping. I decided against the Family Dollar location because I didn't like the idea of some addled junkie tripping over my tent. It looked like I might have found that sort of a place. I raced another ten miles down the road, and pushed my bicycle into the trees beside a horse farm. It was clearly marked that I wasn't invited, but the light was getting dim and I was confident that I wouldn't be seen. The house seemed about a mile down the driveway.

I drank about 20 fluid ounces out of my 40 available ones, and read some more Steinbeck in my tent. I didn't read far before I put out my light and laid back to enjoy the sound of insects from the safety of my bubble of netting. I enjoyed the dimming light and felt comfortable in my wooded surroundings. This night ended well.

I woke up feeling rested and alert at 6am. I broke camp and got to sneaking out of the woods. The road was busy enough to make me cuss, but happily I was closer to Charlottesville than I thought.

Country ham! Yes, that sounds better than the normal stuff. I had some flat salty slabs of that along with the rest of breakfast. I was fully damp from sweat and a misty morning, but otherwise feeling good. I soon reached the downtown pedestrian mall in Charlottesville, where the sky continued to threaten rain.

Two idiots who turned out to be unfortunate and bigoted smoked me up beside the library. (I have some green hair and a malt liquor patch on my shorts, so they knew I was their type.) At first they seemed friendly, but I was let down when they decided to eagerly confide their prejudices to me. Drugs can be such a chore. I decided to watch a movie, and that gave me plenty of time to lose the low-grade high which I would have smartly declined if not for my endlessly curious nature.

The rest of the day was a waiting game. I had a line on a place to stay, and I was hoping it would pan out. I looked to the sky and hoped it wouldn't open up, and I kept checking my phone for a text. As it got later, I decided that I would need to make a move. If a couch could not be confirmed, I would have to hit the road and secure a place to hide a tent. I was anxious, and it seemed that all aspects of my situation were putting me ill at ease. I knew that drinking lots of beer would help, but I didn't seem to have the desire to implement that simple fix.

The call came through, and I met some wonderful hosts. I was welcomed into their home in time to miss the rain, and I had yet another comfortable place with good people. There are enough truly goodhearted people in the world to make me feel better about the sad human specimens who I met earlier. These were some of the good people. I was happy to meet them, and cancel out my doubts.

Malnourished slugfest.

Fuggit. Today was tough as hell. The day started out with an 18 mile stretch of too many trucks and not enough shoulder. I was happy that Nick and Lael gifted me a reflective construction vest. I think I can notice a difference in how vehicles treat me when I'm wearing it. I'll take whatever I can get.

The trip is what you make it in most cases, so I can only blame myself for a lot of today's difficulties. I was tired, and I ran out of water. No water = no cooking. I needed a rest. I wanted to stop at about 40 miles, but in spite of directions and GPS, I got fairly lost and added about 10-15 miles to the route.

I didn't find water until 60 miles or so, and I was feeling worn out. I didn't eat very well, because I'm not very smart. I had a sub and a Clif Bar today, and now I'm sitting in Subway drinking a Coke and wishing I had a better place to sleep. It's 7pm on the dot, and I've already covered over 80 miles - much further than I was planning, and I don't want to go overboard and hurt myself. I'm already feeling like less than a normal human, and not in the good way, either.

On the upside, I'm close to Charlottesville. Charlottesville is on Adventure Cycling's TransAm trail, and I will be following that all the way to Oregon, god willing. I am hoping to meet people, and take my time. I have a guidebook that breaks the trip down into manageable sections of about 40-60 miles per day. I'm ready to start using the book and go into putt-putt tourist mode.

I'm writing this paragraph in the present tense. I'm going to decide between sleeping in the crunkest clearing that's sort of used as a trash dump behind a Family Dollar, or bust it even further down the road, hoping for something better. I technically feel good enough to continue, but I'm also used to beating myself up until I'm delirious and in pain. It's something I need to quit doing.

On to Manassas, VA; Yet another friendly host.

My ankles still felt sort of messed up, but it was time to hit the road. Yesterday, I contacted a potential host, Matt, in Manassas Virgina, and that should be 25-30 miles. Not too bad! I emailed, and he called back within an hour or so to let me know I was welcome to stay on his couch. Awesome! I'm too blessed.

At 7:21pm I was sitting in a booth at the Philadelphia Tavern in downtown Manassas. There were four of us at the table enjoying burgers and wings - today's special. I housed several happy hour beers, and was a bit surprised when Matt picked up the check. No complaints - I would do the same. I would like to note that so far I have spent exactly $1.49 on this trip.

When I stood up to use the john, the Tori Amos song Cornflake Girl was playing on the juke box. I always take notice of this song because Jawbox covered it and made it a hidden track on one of their CDs. And I love it.

Matt invited me on a bicycle ride, and in spite of questionable ankles, I didn't decline. I was feeling good enough, and hoping the pain would simply go away. I have reason to think this. I read a book about a unicycling minister once, and his ankle pain went away naturally on his cross country trip. Nat also experienced disappearing ankle pain on our '07 tour. So maybe it will just go away, and I won't die.

We rode out to the airport and talked about bicycles. He's into Rivendell, and he's starting to work on bicycles. He has an interest in the right stuff. He can appreciate the details of my setup, and seemed genuinely excited to see my bicycle and mentally dissect the component choices. I think he will create something similar - an older pre-suspension mountain bicycle or hybrid set up for camping and goofing around. He wants to ride the C&O Canal path, and I can't recommend that ride highly enough.

We watched a movie called Bikecar, and now that I know about it, I can't recommend that highly enough either. A professional snowboarder built a funny pedal-powered car, and him and some friends rode it to all kinds of mountains to snowboard. That's the spirit. That's the right idea.

Matt was a funny dude, and we had plenty to talk about. I slept well on the couch. Once again, warmshowers.org proves itself to be a great tool for the touring cyclist.

Ankles, Electronics / Chili Dogs, Cheeseburgers

This is a day off. We all went to the Vienna Inn for chili dogs, and I could barely get one foot in front of the other in the parking lot. I gave my achillies tendons the business yesterday. It wasn't smart, and now they're sqawking at me. I hinted gently that I might be interested in staying, and I was made to feel welcome for another day.

I messed with my netbook and tried to get familiar with it. I've had this little computer for awhile, but for most of that time it's only job was to play music at the bicycle shop. Today I got cooking. The netbook uses the Ubuntu operating system, and though it's easy, it's not exactly like the Windows XP I'm used to.

It took some time to make it operate more like my big laptop at home. I figured out how to finagle some 3rd party voodoo to save map code text generated by Google Maps, and save that so it can be planted on my GPS. To my surprise, it actually worked purdy good.

At 7:21pm, I was sitting outside with a beer and our whole group was enjoying delicious cheeseburgers. I tried to keep and eye on filling my pint glass too many times. I didn't want to become a floppy-wristed democrat. I am a silly, silly person at heart. Experience has taught me when to mix it with some stoicism. I never mind a difference of opinion, but sometimes I don't want to squawk out every single one I have. That is where more beer will never help.

Onward to Virginia! Family Unites; I Enjoy Meatloaf.

I rode out of Annapolis and set my sights on Doug and Shev's house in Vienna Virginia. Older cousins or family of sorts. Six miles down the road, and my achillies tendons started screaming. I had a destination, so I kept going. And going, and going.

I rode through Washington DC, and the commuter path into downtown couldn't be more inviting. I rode past some nicely rendered graffiti, and had some nice industrial views. The path was smooth, and my heart begain to sing. I rode through Bunker Hill. I rode along the mall. I rode past the Washington Monument and paused to look up. I rode past the Lincoln Memorial and across the river. Then a convoluted series of paths made my ankles start to scream louder and louder as the grades became steep.

I finally got to Vienna, and everything was ok. First thing I did was jump in the pool. My skin was scorched and the water felt great.

Doug is some sort of cousin. I don't know my own family tree so well. Doug is a connector in my family, to use verbage from the book The Tipping Point. He has everyone's email address and phone number, and his house is where the family reunions are held for my mother's side of the family. We aren't the closest family tie, but it was easy to call him because I could assume I would be welcome. I was. There was other family there, and when I sat at the table outside I was the sixth person. I was the only one under 70, which made for an interesting contrast, but no matter.

There was beer on tap, and wine being had as well. A plate of cheese, crackers, and pepperoni sat on the table under an electronic retractable awning. Amidst the usual talk about pills and pains (the "organ recital" as Doug calls it), I got some bits of stories about my family that I'd never known. These folks all knew my grandparents who passed away before I was born. I learned a couple details about how my grandparents met, and a couple details about my parents when they first met and when they married. I don't know this stuff. I have no source to hear about this stuff. It's not that I'm not interested, I just don't have occasion to hear these things, and I'm glad for the rare opportunity.

We went out to dinner. At 7:21pm, I was eating meatloaf. As a guest, everything is paid for, and I am enjoying the top possible hospitality.

A Lazy Day in Annapolis, Culminating in Self Doubt.

I have a Kindle with me and I'm reading The Grapes of Wrath. Kindles are great, but they won't outmode shared paperbacks just yet. This book is great so far. I've read most Steinbeck, but haven't gotten to this obvious title yet. I was saving it till... now I guess.

Today was not full of action. It was more of a recovery day, and I literally took the time to watch Platoon on VHS.

I'm a little nervous about the long ride which lies ahead of me. I'm just getting started, and I'm prone to anxiety. Sometimes I can blame it on palpitations brought on by coffee, and I think coffee was half responsible this time.

I get nervous about what lies ahead on the trip. I'll have burnt skin and aching muscles. I've built up the romance in my head until my expectations are at a rolling boil. If my experience falls short of magical, then what? I don't want life to be as straightforward and disappointing as it looks sometimes. I don't want to come to the conclusion that I should get a steady job, chase money, and buy a house. I don't want to find out that I can't cook up my own magic.

I'm getting back on the road tomorrow. Maybe I should be staying longer, but I have all these maps and all these bags to strap onto my bicycle. It's time to keep exploring. Annapolis made for a great weekend.

Fours and Futures: a beautiful day in Annapolis

It couldn't be a more beautiful day. No small change in detail could make this weather even the slightest bit better. Nick and Lael and I rode around on an errand run, and my bicycle feels nimble and as light as a feather without the copious amount of gear and electronics I've been schlepping around. We cruised around Annapolis; friction shifting, platform pedals, leather saddles. We cruised easily with confidence, and this is what everyone who doesn't ride bicycles is missing. I couldn't live without these times.

We stopped by Parole Liquors for some Four Loko and a nasty 40oz beer. Uh huh. Lael had to work, but me an Nick made it to the woods later overlooking the water. We had our first meeting about the component business we're going to start. We discussed a couple designs that don't exist, but should. The ideas have a niche market, and we're both confident of success if the components can be made affordably and to a high standard. More about that shit later.

We had our extremely important meeting about this future endevor while drinking Four from a mug until the mosquitos got word. Then we exited the park and dropped in on Lael at work. She's a server. She served us lots of beer and a gourmet pizza while we sat on a patio getting further and further goosed. Nick's friend from VO joined us, and I told him how much he was wrong about properly adjusting an AW hub. Then we cruised back to the apartment, and I took a sideways detour into some gravel and split my palm open a little.

It was a rad night. I listened to some of the new tunes on my iPod, and so far I'm impressed. I stayed up until 4am when Lael finally got back into the house. Then I slept.

Bananna Pancakes to Bicycle Business

I woke up early on the couch in Baltimore. Me and my hosts kinda hit it off, and I know their cat liked me. It's strange to think how we could be friends, but if we were neighbors we might not know each others names. In a city, you often don't know your neighbors in spite of similarities and shared interests. You're lucky to get a name. But these girls got up early to put butter in a pan. We talked some more and shared a plate of pancakes before I loaded up my gear and hit the road.

Baltimore is a beautiful town. As per suggestion, I went up on the big hill overlooking the city and the harbor. Then I descended to the harbor and looked at it all from another angle.

I felt good to get started, but the bottom fell out of feeling good after a few miles. By the time I arrived in Annapolis, I could feel the pain.

My good friend Nick is more of a bicycle dude than anyone else who I know. Our specific bicycle interests overlap thoroughly, and the casual enthusiast will have to take my word that it's a little uncanny to find such a dude. He's been dating Lael for awhile, and all three of us spent a lot of time together in Key West.

Now Nick is living over toward the east here in Annapolis. He got a job at Velo Orange, and that's where I met him directly when I got into town. I got a tour of the place, and I got to see a spiffy new cassette hub design from Taiwan. I got to see a new fork for their Polyvalent bicycle that is raked much prettier than the last one. It wasn't a busy day, and we stood around as a bunch of color swatches were flipped through. They seemed to be leaning toward a boring gray. I didn't bother to mention my preference for a hot pink, or a gold sparkle. I just admitted I was color blind.

My bicycle was leaned on the side of the building, and it doesn't look like a rich man's ride. It's as cheap as can be, and it's on the small side. I was a bit sheepish about it, but I know that it is my ideal machine. It's tough to convince some people that cheap old bicycles can be comfortable and useful, and usually I don't bother to try.

I'm staying here for the weekend, and I'm happy to be among friends. I haven't seen Lael since Key West, and she's too good to miss for that long.

I stayed up late with Nick and another guy from VO. The bicycle talk was thick, but everyone was fluent in the language, and it seems like the subject never dies.

Oh, The Mentality!

Bicycle touring all by yourself can begin with a special sort of mental torture. Know that and be ready for it. I did, and I was. 

Around mile 40, I wasn't sure if my legs could get me through the day. I missed Tara, and I started to question myself. Why is it that I strive to put myself in these difficult situations? Is it textbook masochism, or a forgetful stupidity? My grand romanticisms play me like a marionette.

I laid on my back beside a tiny white shack in Maryland that said it was a church. I looked up at the clouds and put an arm over my eyes when the sun shined through. A crusty layer of salt had formed on my arms and face. My eyelids were salty, and to touch them was to risk getting salt in my eyeballs. 

I need to grow up. I need water; I need food. I have food, but first I need more water or I can't eat it. I'm at half a bottle, and that ain't right.

I've heard many accounts of solo bicycle tours through friends and acquaintances. A good portion of solo trips devolve into a level of insanity. Let me give you a quick synopsis of my personal history with this game.

In 2005, I was much less experienced. With everything. I thought it would be a great idea to go on a cross country bicycle tour. I was right, but I made a classic major mistake. I overloaded my Mongoose Crossway 450 hybrid to the point that I could barely lift it. I had no idea how lonely and disheveled I would feel after my first day of riding. I called in a reconnaissance team before the sun went down. My parents and Shelly pulled me out of Amish country a couple hours later.

Later that year, I began a solo tour down the Atlantic coast. On the first night, I drank Steele Reserve and ate a can of luke warm beans in the woods behind a church. The next day I arrived in Rehoboth Delaware where I called Shelly and bawled my eyes out. So lonely. I took a bus home, and couldn't have been happier to drink beer and watch live music that night.

In 2007, I planned a trip well in advance. Nat took time off to join in on the ride, and the trip had some great moments and memories. We rode for about a month, going from Philadelphia to Montreal, and spending plenty of time in Burlington Vermont. Nat's bicycle was stolen and it was time for me to continue alone. We'd already talked about contingencies, and this was in the playbook. Solo bicycle travel was always what I wanted to do, but I didn't have a track record of success.

We parted ways the next day. Nat invited me out to lunch, but my heart was beating heavily and all I could think about was getting out of town. It was as though I thought I could outrun an anxiety attack if I pedaled fast enough. 

I bought the best bivy sack that I could find (GoreTex and everything), and I mailed our tent back home. Then the scramble began. I ended up doing back-to-back century rides, even after getting food poisoning during the second day. I ended up delirious and malnourished before deciding that Val D'or Quebec was far enough. I took a bus home, and still have yet to see Nemaska. I considered this trip a success. I rode for at least a week or two alone, and knew that with this experience I could only do better the next time. I still wanted there to be a next time.

I remember my next tour as a happy success. I traveled north again with the loose goal of reaching Nemaska. It is well documented on this same blog. I rode my favorite bicycle, my Diamondback Outlook. It's not a bicycle which touring experts recommend, but I wanted to ride the one that makes me happy. I rode long distance on inexpensive equipment, and I had a grand time. I met the best people, saw the best scenery, and I think about it all the time. I could have been more disciplined about nourishment and booze-intake, but the adventure can't be replicated and I am still proud of the undertaking.

Now I am ready for a new adventure. I'm riding the Diamondback again, and I'm ready to capture the beautiful moments that we miss in our daily stagnant lifestyles. I know these trips can be bonkers to get started. I know there will be times when I feel beat up and abused by sun, weather, traffic and soreness. I'm at peace with it. We'll see where I get, and what it looks like when I'm there.

If you're planning a trip, don't don't be ashamed if you end up lonely and bawling on a cell phone, or have an anxiety attack over a broken spoke. We're humans, and these trips have high emotional stakes for some of us. You need to cross through the adversity to get to the sweet parts. Take it slow. Don't rush. Remember to eat properly.

Back to the church. Back to today. I was laying on my back feeling lonely and overwhelmed. The morning started cold, and the winds were strong and gusty. I cussed and strained as I dragged myself up hill after hill moving at a walking pace. I was out of shape, and the rolling hills were beating me up. I was glad to just be sore with no sharp pains.

I sat up in the grass and drank some more water. I threw a leg over my bicycle and continued.

My destination was Baltimore. As beat up as I felt, I was only halfway there. I crawled along and ticked off the miles. I had a bag of food, and once I refilled my water bottles at a Royal Farms, I began to open aluminum foil packets and bring out the goods. I packed two small tacos with rice, beans, and some roast beef. I brought hot sauce, and I made sure to use it. Miles later, I had a tough PBJ that I made four days ago. Delicious. My wonderful mother snuck in a couple ham and cheese sandwiches made on dinner rolls. These by far were the best thing in the food bag. I bought a 24oz Coke to go along, and that brought my total daily expenditure to exactly $1.49.

Then...

Baltimore! Mi amor! To see the name of the city in bold colorful print was a welcome sight. It was on an underpass as I entered the city limits. I did it. I thought I might snap a muscle first, but I made it, and I actually felt pretty good. 80 miles was a tough ride, but I had that in me and more.

I made it to my host's home just as she was about to leave. She races sailboats in the inner harbor, and I was welcome to hang out and watch. A dinner shindig was included, so I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity. While she raced, I helped set up for the Cinco-de-Mayo-themed after party. There were legit make-your-own tacos, and the margaritas had real live alcohol. I had a few of those, and a couple Modelo's for good measure. Serendipity is one of my favorite words. Having good people to stay with at the beginning of a trip is a fantastic way to start.

Day 4 (if you can call it that)

I've been sleeping out in my van. It's parked in the driveway at my parents house. I have a nice bed out there, and I feel at home sleeping there. I feel like I am sleeping in my home. Truly.

I woke up this morning to rain tapping on the roof. It was soothing, but I hoped it would soon stop. Ten o'clock came, and the gentle rain continued to fall. The temperature was in the 50's. I had a decision to make.

Fortunately, I think my host in Baltimore is going to be a good find. She quickly emailed me back and said that the next day would be fine. In fact, there might be dinner because she has a boat thing going on. I'll certainly know more about that tomorrow.

How did I find a host? I'll answer that. There is an established international network of touring cyclists. People sign up at the website warmshowers.org and offer to host people who are traveling through their area. If you are familiar with couchsurfing.com, it's like that - except it's a little bit tighter knit because it's just touring cyclists. I emailed 4 people in Baltimore through the website, and my host was the first to respond. She's very quick with the email. I dare you to tell me how technology isn't great.

I went out for wings and beers with family. It was just the Harnes. Just the original four of us.

Ha ha! I'm not going anywhere. Day 3?

I didn't feel like going anywhere, so I didn't. Rest is smart enough, and technically I have forever to take this trip. All of my ties are thoroughly severed with Philadelphia. I decided last night that I wasn't ready to continue. Then I stayed up until 3am watching an American Experience series on my laptop.

Today was full of more preparation. I printed out more sheets of directions. I secured a place to sleep tomorrow night (if my legs can get me all the way to Baltimore), and I ate cheeseburgers with my parents.

Boy do I ever procrastinate. This last minute preparation is like the bicycle touring version of cramming for a test. I never studied for tests; I passed high school with a loafy 2.0 GPA. Hopefully I can successfully loaf across America too.

Back to bicycle touring. What's the point? Hopefully I can start to answer that tomorrow. I have a long day planned. If 47 miles hurt on Sunday, then I hope 77 miles feels alright tomorrow. After that? Short days and some rest are on the "schedule."

Flying Signs or Going Cheap

To "fly a sign" is to write on cardboard with a marker asking for something. Booze, money, food, etc. It can be as simple as the classic "anything helps." I thought about it trying it. I've hung out with people who travel and write on cardboard, and they've all seemed like good people. If you really need money, then hold up a sign. Nobody owes you money, but some people will be happy to hand over their change. Some people will give you $20. Two people I was hanging out with in Grand Forks said they'd been handed a $100 bill outside of the Target. That's fine with me. We all ate great food around a campfire.

I'm probably not flying any signs, even though I'm fine with it and believe it's my right if I want to. I have a great selection of gear for this trip, and over $3600 in my bank account. I have an efficient alcohol stove, so I can cook cheaply. I have two Northface garments, and my mom bought me the second one today. I'm not a dude who needs to be flying signs. Maybe if I get sassy, I'll make a sign that asks "Can I have a beer?" If it works out then great, but it's harmless quasi-passable humor. It would be an interesting experiment in any case.

Fuck it. I don't know what I'm doing. But at a minimum, I'm going to to visit some people, meet some people, ride around, and cook something. I will definitely sleep somewhere. I will probably make something and fix something. I will probably cuss a lot, but rejoice at times throughout each day. 

Today, though, I just loafed around. I did some map-work and preparation. I made a list of contacts for people willing to host touring cyclist along my route. I printed sheets out of my mom's printer, hoping that some of them might give me the strong confidence that I wish I had. 

Bicycle Trip 2011: Day 1. I hit the road.

It all started out with getting up late. I can't put this in the proper amount of detail right now. Tara and I are parting ways, and loading my bicycle and kissing her goodbye was... difficult.

The bicycle was overloaded, so I cussed and whined about it. The moment was emotional with a nod to anxiety. I cussed and figured out where to stuff extra stuff that I didn't feel like bringing. The extra stuff will accompany me to Kennett Square, but no further. Once there I will re-pack and leave some stuff behind at my parents house, which is a substantial stashing ground for me and also for my sister.

I pulled away, and literally did not look back. Official goodbyes are one of the surreal parts in life. You can glance backward, but you've seen what's there. It's ok. I'll see a new version of all of it again.

The bicycle was heavy, but my spirits were high. I followed some fairly reasonable Google Maps bicycle direction printouts. I'm not in top form, and the bicycle was heavy. Hills became a burden later in the ride. I almost walked at one point.

I made it to Kennett just after mile 47, and managed to make it to bed without drinking. That wasn't the plan. I fully intended to do it up like usual, but my body didn't want it. My mind wanted booze with a lazy curiosity, but I let the moment pass.

Shows in West Philly

I'm leaving tomorrow, but tonight there's a show.

I rode out to West Philly to hang out with Shelly. We sat on a bench on her porch. We talked for awhile, until it was time to go see Mike play a guitar. He pulled out a couple old Mini Band songs, and I was happy to hear them. I was a little bit lit, and I sang along to one from my chair. My voice was on that track of the CD, so why not here? No damn reason. I love that song. It was track two on the "Wander Around" EP. We always offered free downloads for every song, and Mike is still making that happen. (http://www.miniband.com) It sure would be nice to re-unite some form of that band. I wish we never quit. Hey Mike - tell me why we don't start up Mini Band again? I'm up for whatever formations or instrumentation. I can also play the fuckin' drums.

In any case. Shelly got a text about Algernon Cadwallader being put on a show at the last minute only a few blocks away. Me and her and Tara went over there. I was already fairly goosed. We staked out a spot, and I took that opportunity to smoke mad hits just before they played. Those guys are always the best. Serendipity. What a lucky last minute occurrence.

I barely knew which way was straight when we left. I jammed my bicycle into Tara's car, and off we went.

My Relationship with Isopods and Females

Probably more important than the isopod in the shower is the fact that I'm slipping. I'm slipping into getting just really drunk and toasty every day. Maybe I need to reel it in a little. Jesus - of course I do. Shit.

I saw an isopod in the shower. Me and isopods are close. I've been hanging out with them ever since I was a kid flipping over bricks. I found two out in Kennett, and made sure to put them somewhere safe where they could converse. If you're thinking about killing any isopods, I recommend that you don't. They don't bite, and they never do a damn thing wrong.

At 7:21pm, there were no isopods in sight. My hands were on the steering wheel of Tara's car, and for once, I was operating the vehicle. It's rare, but it happens. We're going to the Outback. I have one 40oz Colt 45, and a 24oz can of Blast, which is also produced by Colt 45. (They're unopened, and I wouldn't have my hands where they are if they weren't.) I recently sewed a Colt 45 patch onto my shorts, and I'm not joking. I forgot to mention it before, but it's there. I like it a lot.

Later, we're going to a movie. We're acting like a couple, but we're breaking up in two minutes. It's a scheduled breakup, but tonight feels very much like we are together. It's a rare scenario that I'd never imagined before.

the big El Bar sendoff

Tara invited a bunch of people to the El Bar to say goodbye to me before I leave on my cross country bicycle adventure. Someone else probably told people too. I was happy and surprised to see so many people who I like. Most of the staff of the bicycle shop were there, along with people who actually had to drive a considerable distance. Tim gave me a Leatherman, which might prove useful on the trip. Plus, a man should have one.

I'm blessed, and I fully realize the fact. I'm humbly and happily blessed.

Swapping cranks.

I'm back at the shop again. It's after closing, but everyone is still here. I'm swapping my cranks out for the ones that I actually want to ride on my tour. 40 tooth middle ring beats my current 36t; 46 big ring is plenty for me. Otherwise, they're the same exact Sugino cranks.

This is me hard at work trying to get the least amount possible done each day before I leave.

Drilling up some rack struts

I was at the bicycle shop at 7:21pm. I let myself in with my keys. Mike and his new girlfriend were looking in the window when I pulled up, so I invited them in too.

I ran a drill bit through the rack struts so I could fit the holes over the new solid axle that I put in my Deore front hub. This is all very trick shit.

Waking up to a beeping watch.

I wake up with my watch beeping, covered in sweat. I either drank or smoked pot too early in the day, and fell asleep with a hot laptop burning my legs. It's like slapping awake a zombie.

Making glass beads in Kennett

The most important thing that happened today was making beads. My mom recently took a beadmaking class. She bought a basic torch head that screws onto a canister of MAPP gas. She got a few basic tools, and put the setup in her craft room. She showed me how heat the glass and twirl it onto a mandrel. From there, the bead is embellished then cooled. After it's cooled down, you remove the mandrel and that leaves a hole for string or wire.

That's a simplified overview. My beads are fairly crummy so far. Like everything, it takes practice. I've seen some really nice glass beads before, and this makes me appreciate the level of skill and difficulty involved.

I wouldn't say I caught the bug right away. I didn't work on beads for very long, and probably only made about ten. This is something I could see becoming a hobby though. I want to design and create some more difficult beads, and see if this is something I could get good at. Lord knows I need some new hobbies and skills. A very basic setup like my mom's is about $150. I think professional level torches start at around $600, but they are capable of working on much bigger projects.

Moving Out.

This morning was all about packing up. My hangover probably should have been a lot worse, but science doesn't always hold all the answers. I was groggy and sore as I put all of my belongings into feeble plastic bags. A whole garbage bag full of acquired Care Bears, several bags of clothing, a few boxes of bicycle parts and wheels. Not too bad. Aside from a couple bicycles in the main area downstairs, it all fit in Tara's car.

We're parting ways. She gets the big screen, and I get the bag of Care Bears. I'm probably coming back before too long, but I'm not planning to reunite us back into a relationship. I think we can do better, and I expect that we will remain friends. I'm afraid that I'm signing myself up for another long run of being lonely and sexually inactive. Still, I think it's for the best.

Rowdy at a show.

Shawn called and said there was a show in West Philly, and the music was stuff like 1994! who I like. I mulled this over while drinking a 40 and looking at boring shows on a computer screen. I mulled it over some more drinking a Four.

Tara drove me over there, and it wasn't long before the details get lost and only flashes remain in my memory. I'm pretty sore from apparently tackling Shawn more than once.

Last Day at the Bicycle Shop

I'm leaving on this long trip really soon. I still need to print up some directions, do a couple things to my bicycle, and sew some waterproof covers for my sleepshit.

Today is my last day of work. I'll be using the interim time to prepare and move my stuff from one place to another.

Now it is 7:21pm. I am sitting on the workbench at the bicycle shop. I'm talking to Shelly and Mark. Shelly and I will go out for a last-day drink. It's not a big send-off, but I have an Abita Turbo Dog and a Brawler from the PBC. I'll be back at the shop to pick up some odds and ends. I'll be back to move a lot of bicycles and wheels and stuff. I'll get my tools back, or a fair cash value.

Brake pads and closing up the shop.

I'm putting free brake pads on our best customer's bicycle. No. I forgot that a customer is someone who has bought something at least once. I pulled the brake pads out of our trash box because they're better than what he had. His spent front brake pad scraped a deep groove in his rim, and he brought it here just in time to avoid serious damage.

Then I found a free orphaned pedal to replace the stick of metal that remained when his previous pedal disappeared. He did a quick pass with the Swiffer to show appreciation, and rode home on an improved machine.

We closed up the shop and opened up some tall beers. I sat on the workbench and talked to Tim for awhile. This is a great bicycle shop. I won't miss certain difficult aspects of the job, but this here is a great bicycle shop. I'm proud of everything I've done to help it get to this point, and I'm excited to see how it evolves under Shelly's leadership. I will miss many aspects of working here.

Me and Tim drink a couple beers. I set the alarm, and we walk out into a warm comfortable night.

Walking into my bedroom.

My watch beeps as I push open my bedroom door. Tara is on the far side of the couch. She's watching a show on the big TV. It's one of the shows that wouldn't exist if everyone in it weren't extremely attractive. As soon as you realize that the show is drivel with a cute face, you want to punch it right in the premise. Knowing this, and avoiding any forthcoming underhanded commentary, she immediately hits pause. She looks at me with her big pretty eyes, and soon it's time to make dinner.

Perfecting my iPod

I downloaded a program to take the place of iTunes. The program can also grab the music off your iPod and put it neatly into folders. Now I am back in charge of my music. My music is now easy to navigate and edit. Now I use Winamp. Free at last, baby.

I'm downloading more stuff and easing my iPod back into some semblance of acceptability.

Best front rack setup EVER.

I wanted a front rack on my bicycle for my cross country tour. I ordered the Jandd Extreme, but fitting it wasn't possible with my current fork and brake setup. Fortunately, the bicycle shop can just add it to stock and sell it to someone who can use it.

Then I remembered that I put aside a different rack. It's free and possibly much cooler. It's an old Schwinn rack that attaches to the headset and acts as a spacer - and has curved struts that attach down at the axle. It's an attractive rack, and it also has a spring clamp to hold something like a book or a light jacket.

I'm lucky that Kyler is working here. He hung out after work and provided the support needed to make this project happen.

I should say that earlier today was the Fairmount Arts Crawl, so we had beers left over from that and were hanging out for at least a couple hours.

I held the Schwinn rack up to my bicycle and tried to visually determine if it could work. The cable for the cantilever brake was the primary obstacle. I was ready to call it quits, but we tossed ideas back and forth until a fantastic solution came to fruition. I drilled and tapped the clamp area of the rack to make a fully functional barrel-adjusted housing stop. So simple, so beautiful, so functional. I was a little skeptical and OCD, but Kyler kept egging on progress. It was a good time that yielded great results.

The front rack is where I'll probably be keeping my tent and sleeping gear. If I wanted an easier solution, I could just tie some shit to the handlebars like Nick. But I like the rack. Looks boss.

Belmont Plateau before Work-Related dinner.

Me and Tara went on a ride out to the Belmont Plateau earlier. I'm a wuss about weather. It's getting warmer, but I still wore a jacket. I don't want to nitpick, but I have to. If I'm not in shorts and a t-shirt, it needs to be better.

We went out later to a restaurant in Old City. It was a work-related get-together for a birthday. I'm not the only one who drinks a nasty amount. More than half the table was goofy blitzed before we had to pack up and get to a bar. I think I had a lot of interesting stuff to say. No work the next day - so half a fifth with dinner and some beers after proved manageable.

Eating Mexican food instead of bicycle gang ride.

There was a proposed bicycle gang ride tonight, but it was canceled because two people were going to the Flyers game. No - I don't know what kind of gang this really is, but it's not a very serious one.

Instead of riding around drinking light beer at various bars, I got beer and beer-like drinks from the crunk deli at 7th and Master. I picked up some Mexican food, and housemembers sat on the roof. The weather was beautiful.

what.cd / day off / trip preparation

Hey!

This shit is good! This day is really good. It's 69 degrees outside, and everything is alright.

I feel like I had a productive day. A productive day should be the norm, but for me it's more like a cause to rejoice.

I just clicked my cellphone and saw that it was 7:21pm.

Earlier today, I worked more with my GPS unit. I made a map with Google Maps, used a third party tool to convert the information into a .gpx file, and loaded that onto the unit. I'm not getting the exact turn-by-turn that I had pictured, but I think my imagination is picturing a functionality that doesn't quite exist.

In any case, I made it to the hardware store to get some denatured alcohol to use for camping stove fuel for the penny stove that I made. Then I rolled back home to make a base and a pot stand for the stove. The stove wasn't quite up to par. There's a leak that lets all the alcohol burn off too fast instead of simmering.

Instead of just fixing it, I went on the Rivendell website and bought the alcohol stove that they sell. It's a Trangia, and with the 3-day ship it set me back $45. I justified this by telling myself that I'm happy Rivendell exists and to support them can only be a good thing. (Unlike the new sneakers I purchased awhile ago, which were probably stitched by kids and sold by jerks, Rivendell makes sure to use 'fair trade' and explain where there products come from). It makes me feel less handy and more fickle, but I can mix that with the high esteem I grant myself in other departments and call it even. I'm excited to see the damn stove.

I also put a front Jandd rack on the QBP order at work, and it should arrive tomorrow. I could have used bailing wire to hold my camping gear to my handlebars, but I guess I'm on a buying-stuff kick. I'm also just joking about the bailing wire setup.

Continuing with bicycle trip preparation, I went through the required steps to re-instate my What.cd account. I was booted automatically for inactivity. For a person like me who feels that music is one of the most important things in life, I've really fallen off with keeping up to date with technology. The formats have changed, and I've been stuck in limbo. I have a nice iPod, but I don't want to use iTunes. Here I sit with the same music from 10 years ago on a tired iPod. (Hot Water Music? Really? Right now?) Now I can download almost anything that comes to mind. I need to do some more work to avoid iTunes and have more control over my music file organization, but I hope to have lots of new tracks available to play while I cross these grand "United States."

I found out late yesterday that I even had the day off today. The only change made to my plans was a taller pour of whiskey. Today's temperature confirmed for the ten-thousandth time that I have no business dealing with any type of cold weather. I've been a dead goddamned jackass for months.

Late at the shop.

We had some work to get done today, and it didn't all get done. I'm sticking around a little bit late and talking to Tim about home-matters and past jobs. We're fixing bicycles. I have some Baths music playing which is soothing out my mind. The typical customer interactions that we see every day can give a human brain a bit of a warp-job after awhile.

Some of this job is positive and good. Sometimes we feel helpful. But there are many people who have the impression that we are running a bait-and-switch operation when something unexpected becomes an issue during the tune-up. I guess that's how I feel when I need work done on a car. Bummer.

Sort of sick.

I don't know how sick I got today. My nose was running, and that always puts me in a foul state. I took a Benadryl at work because I thought that wouldn't warp my brain. I was wrong. I went home an hour early getting drenched in the cold rain. I arrived home in a foul state indeed. I napped, drank a smaller amount than usual, and got a good night's rest.

Shop Happy Hour.

Everyone who works at the bicycle shop was invited to happy hour down the street after work. Turns out they don't serve the happy hour specials if you sit outside. Interesting. We got a couple pitchers and a couple rounds of nachos. That worked well too.

Pissing at the El Bar.

I went over to the El Bar with Drew for a couple rounds of Specials. At 7:21pm, I'm simultaneously peeing and receiving a txt from Dreamane about getting together for a movie.

Su Tao going away get together.

I'm leaving soon, and some of my friends knew it and wanted a gathering at my favorite restaurant. I think we might see each other again before I leave on the trip, but I guess that's not written in stone. At 7:21pm I'm in the bathroom pissing out some of the Four and Bud Ice that I had on my way here.

Su Tao is in Malvern, which is close to my friends' place in West Chester. Boy did I have a really fun time talking and being silly. I wish everyone could always just be in a comfort zone. I wish anxiety never played a role for any of us. This was a great night, and I'm thankful for these friends.

Riding through shitty cold rain.

This is fucking it for Philadelphia. The climate of this city is a pile of shit. I have rain blasting me as cars pass me too close and my fingers feel like I'm clutching ice. My glasses are covered with drops of rain, and my vision is impaired as I smack over shards of broken pavement. None of the pavement is smooth anywhere, and some of the potholes could drop a cyclist right into a hospital. Fuck this climate, fuck it more for fucking up the roads, and sign me up to get out of here.

Philadelphia is pretty boss for some months out of the year, and I love my friends, but god knows how big this planet is without me seeing nearly enough of it. 7:21pm.

Text to self:

I have no idea what I was doing at 7:21pm on this day. I texted myself "badass streamers." That's a bad sign. That means I'm getting less and less smart. I have no idea what badass streamers are, but I guess I could start at the drawing board and come up with something.

Closing up shop.

The front door closes and the employees are milling on the sidewalk again. Shelly, did you know that 7:21pm is the exact time that the doors close and we're unlocking our bicycles? I mentioned something to that effect.

How to spot a gay. Painted nails?

I'm all finished closing up the shop. I'm out on the sidewalk unlocking Tall Cool, and one of our young customers just rolled up. Let me amend that. Customers are usually people who buy something. This young guy just hangs out on a regular basis, and sometimes we fix his bike.

I don't know all of the details about how humans work. Humans as a whole don't either. That's why we have sociologists, and they're still chipping away at the edges and reading each others' science reports.

This young guy is twelve or thirteen, and to my untrained eye and ear appears to be what many people would call 'flamboyant.' He can't be classified scientifically as gay, but there's just that certain twang, sass, and style. I hope humans and life treat him well, because he is a polite young man and I wish I thought that was good enough to hold him over to a confident adulthood.

We're standing here on the sidewalk, and he's telling me what some people think is gay. I have fingernails painted the brightest blue you've seen. How I explained it to one curious customer a few hours ago: "I just like to look pretty."

I just like to look pretty. And I'm a little queer. I'm a good example of some kind of queer who never poked around or explored too much because it's too easy to walk toward the straight side of the line. Maybe the nail polish is just to remind me to be honest with myself. No - it's also about solidarity. If you have a problem with blue nails, then you also have a problem with a quick dozen or so people who I love. It's both.

I'm on the sidewalk talking to the young man - he doesn't need help, he's just stopping for a chat. I keep the can of worms closed at this point in time. No, I'm not gay. I'm just colorful. I talked about how sometimes you can tell when a person is gay, and sometimes you can't. Many times you're wrong, and never does it matter. It's was a quick and light conversation at 7:21pm. The topic is one that crosses both our minds.

Feelings of greatness. Today is great.

I got over the self doubt that I mentioned yesterday. I knew it would pass. I'm feeling better. I don't have an accurate life plan, but I'm not in the gutter and I'm taking steps toward self discovery and exploring options. That's good enough. In the big picture, it's even great.

It's 7:21pm and I'm sitting down on the rocks by the river. I'm by the Delaware River at Penn Treaty Park. The weather is beautiful. There is a warm breeze coming from the south, and sometimes a hint of marijuana smoke blows over with it. I have a bag of beers. I re-affixed my panniers to the rack on Tall Cool and loaded up some alcohol.

Nat's hanging out down here with his great new young dog. As my watch beeps, an attractive girl is walking away slowly with cigarettes in her back pocket. She is walking toward her dog after both of the dogs were successfully introduced. I have Four Loko and a 40oz Olde English. Then I have a nice Bud Ice for a light dessert.

Kyler was just here. (I don't know about injecting the names of people in this journal who don't know that I keep it, but I try to be good about it.) Kyler just got hired at the bicycle shop. I interviewed him for the job with a measure of awkwardness. I confirmed that I thought he was a good guy and we should hire him. Having me perform the final interview is a bit funny, because I tend to think the best of all humans unless they are extremely obviously terrible. He's not. Me and this guy have actually been getting along great, so I invited him down to the rocks for a beer since he had plans in this direct vicinity already.

This is a beautiful warm spring day. Sweatshirts are optional; shorts are mandatory. This day keeps being great.

Feelings of inadequacy

I don't know what I am. I'm proud to call myself a bicycle mechanic and a generally nice guy. That's not my place on Earth. I can't be sure that I have place. I don't think it works like a puzzle. I doubt pre-destiny and fate. Sometimes I just want to hide or disappear. That happens when I feel like I did today.

We had a new guy start at work. I'm leaving in a month, and this guy is my replacement. I worked with him one day, and I think he's going to be a great asset to the shop. I trust that he will be able to organize and plan better than me. He probably doesn't have anxiety, and he likely doesn't get so easily overwhelmed.

The basement was a mess. There were bicycles stacked everywhere, and it totally lacked order. I came in today, and it's all fixed. That pretty much says it all. I feel like this guy has completely upstaged me, and for all my useless facts and fixes, I suck at my job. Suck is too harsh, but it's also a relative term, and I feel uneasy about how much I comparatively suck at being the manager of a bicycle shop. I'm a series of Achilles heels.

The only saving grace is that I can tell myself this was never supposed to be a career. Also, I truly do want the best for the shop. This guy will help. I should be happy about that - and I am - but at the same time I am humbled, and I feel small.

Passenger seat post Olive Garden.

It's 7:21pm again. Tara is pulling away from her house with me sitting shotgun. My parents are following in the mini van. We all just ate at the Olive Garden.

Flipping my shit about taxes

Everyone I know got a much bigger return. What am I doing wrong? More importantly, taxes are one of the main things that get under my skin and make me want to disappear. I think I'm a reasonably capable human, and the simple act of filing taxes bends my mind and being. What about slightly less capable people? How can we ask them to file taxes, let alone get jobs and eat food?

None of these are good questions. None of this is a valid reason to get bent out of shape.

At 7:21pm, I'm bent way out of shape. I'm drinking Bud Ice and clicking through Turbo Tax like a tornado. I shouldn't get like this. I should be more calm. I'm acting a fool, and getting stirred up about how things should be different than the way they are. This is a dangerous game for someone who has always had it so easy. Balance, Christopher. Find balance.

Dirty Projectors in my head

At 7:21pm, I was riding down Fairmount Avenue with the Dirty Projectors cover of Black Flag's "6 Pack" in my head and spilling out of my mouth. "I know it'll be okay; I've got a six pack in me - alright!"

Riding up Broad St.

I'm on Broad Street headed home at a swift pace. I'm riding the 1997 Diamondback Outlook. My best bicycle.

7:21 at shop.

The shop is closed, and I'm closing up to go home.

At the El Bar

I'm at the El Bar and the T-Rex song about how long he's been dancing is on. This has got to be one of my favorite songs of all time. It's a smash hit, and I'm getting smashed. I ran into some friends, and we talked about the Blizzard of '96, and glass blowing.

My days of playing bicycle mechanic might be numbered. One thing I've always wanted to do is blow glass and make bowls and bongs. I need to do something new, and I've known it for years.

Coffee, books, whiskey, bands.

Earlier: Got coffee at the new place on Frankford. Read "Shit My Dad Says" and enjoyed it.

Later: Drank a lot and needed to go out. Went and saw my friends' band at the Northstar Bar.

Riding the 1994 Giant Nutra home from work.

We are open later at work now since it's spring and we have more to do. We close up at 7 instead of 6pm. I didn't take a bicycle to work this morning, so I rode one home that I'd left there. It's a 1994 hybrid made by Giant and the model is the "Nutra" though I usually call it the "Nutria." It's a handsome bicycle if you have a strange taste in simple functional and comfortable machines. Handsome and understated.

This bicycle features northroad style handlebars that I rescued from an abandoned heap u-locked to a bicycle rack. The handlebars were the last functional scavenge-able part affixed to the smashed stomped and picked over frame. My position on this bicycle is close to bolt upright with the handlebars several inches about the saddle. It has friction shifters and a nice set of Mavic wheels built on tandem rims. What a great bicycle. I'm planning to give it to Dave soon, and I hope he's able to get some use and enjoyment out of it.

My watch beeped as I rode east on Girard. The weather turned cold again, and I am wearing a hat, gloves, and my wonderful North Face wind jacket.

Admittedly....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekC4ZH2dkUQ&NR=1

More Four

I sure wasn't up to much. I drank two lemonade Four Lokos and horsed around on the computer.

Lemonade Four in the car. Reading Terminal Market earlier today.

I'm holding a lemonade Four Loko and sitting shotgun in the Nissan. The Weezer song "Hash Pipe" is on the radio. My watch is beeping to let me know the time.

Me and Tara went to Reading Terminal Market for lunch and a look-see. It was crowded. It's a marvel how much stress that can cause me. Anxiety shut down my brain while I wished a snow plow would just shove everybody out. Fried chicken helped some. Nick texted while I sat at a table. It always helps to know that he's another person on this planet and it sounds like he's doing fine.

Reasonably productive day off.

I started the day late, but I got a strong start. I sold one of the wheels that I listed on Craigslist and began the day thirty bucks stronger. I invested in coffee and a bagel sandwich at a new coffee shop a short walk from home. I spent six minutes outside the coffee place talking about Campagnolo hubs and trying to understand the caller over the din of passing buses and cars. I returned to my seat to read the book "Shit My Dad Says" and laughed aloud a little.

I sold some Schwalbe tires for $10 less than my asking price. "For the sake of expediency, sure" I told the buyer. I accept.

I rode downtown for sushi and had all the makings of a good ol' anxiety attack while Tara ordered for us. Muzak Michael Jackson was the soundtrack to a tense lunch of circular morsels.

I sold some other wheels for $60 in the time between starting this post and punctuating this sentence.

Drinking a lot. Maybe finding my way some day.

I'm not being hard on myself or trying to quit. I'm spending too much, but I'm doing it on beer instead of lifestyle 'upgrades' that most people chase ad nauseam. My nausea, I guess. A black Lexus and some fancy shoes probably didn't make anyone too sick when their card was swiped.

My personal concern is that life is too short to chase answers down that particular hallway. Sometimes it seems strange that being an alcoholic who lives in a van looks like a noble choice. Not too alcoholic... just drinking too much and being aware of it. Strange too that I still identify as a vandweller as I sit on a leather couch that sits three feet from a big flatscreen television. I need to find my way again. I need to paint my nails again because the pink ones all chipped away.

I'll be fine. I'll always be fine.

Bicycle Shop Craziness

It's Springtime. The bicycle shop where I work also just ran a successful promotion that put us deep into the weeds. The shop is backed up on tuneups by a month. We are taking appointments to get bicycles tuned up in a month.

This is not good policy, because a lot of people can't wait. We're turning down good money to work on the discounted tuneups that have swamped us. I've been running around like crazy and I think I feel more inundated than I realistically ought to. I feel more weight on my shoulders than there probably is. I'm keeping that stuff mentally in check to the best of my ability.

We will catch up on the tuneups eventually, and we have effective ammunition right now:

1) Hiring new people; one guy just started.
2) New workstation downstairs for all-day uninterrupted tuneups.
3) Working Mondays while the store is closed.

This is roof weather!

This was the first truly beautiful and warm day of the season. I rode to work in a t-shirt. A crew of housemates sat on the roof at night. My reaction to the weather is positive to say the least. I felt like I'd been asleep for months - a drone simply going through the motions of living for no particular purpose. I'm built to exist in a warm climate. This warmth today made me feel lucky to be alive.

Co-Worker Party. Quizmo ensues.

Tara took me to a party with co-workers at a bosses house. I drank at a good clip and got talkative enough. The next morning I woke up with a hangover. I don't remember a slew of the drinks that I allegedly poured for myself out of a vodka bottle. I introduced everyone to the game "quizmo." Quizmo is a nearly rule-less trivia game with a long history and tradition since I made it up about nine years ago. It's not Quizzo... it's Quizmo - which comes from the phrase "quiz me more." You ask a question, and the first person to get it right asks the next one. No points or anything. A good question would be one that anyone can answer, such as "name ten birds." You can say Big Bird or canary. You can go at it from any angle. A question starting with "name the actor who..." is also standard oft-used fare. There are other aspects of this game which make it run smoothly once the ball is rolling. I guide the game in a subtle manner until it takes off in it's own direction depending on who's playing and how drunk everyone is. Fortunately - Tara reports - I did not make an ass of myself, and the game went over quite well. I sort of remember that happening.

I felt like abysmal shit at work the next day.

1997 Diamondback Outlook. On the road again, my style.

I stayed late at work today and performed most of a complete overhaul on Tall Cool - my 1997 Diamondback Outlook. I installed new brakes, shifters, handlebar foam (yes), and handlebars. I swapped cranks, wheels, saddle... it was an in-depth project with the purpose of bringing it back to the state it was in when I loved it the most. I was apprehensive that even after all of the work I would end up still not enjoying it as much as the Bridgestone I've been riding. Emotionally and sentimentally speaking, Tall Cool is my number one bicycle - but I was afraid that my preferences might have changed to technically prefer another bicycle. If so... c'est la vie... but today's project was to rebuild my friend and return this bicycle to glory.

Here is a picture showing my unique new shifter setup. I used Jagwire shifter pods that mount externally on the ends of the handlebars. They are designed for Shimano bar-end shifters on time trial bicycles, but the square-shaped mounting interface works with these old Suntour downtube shifters. Technically, I have the front shifter on the right operating the rear derailer, and I'm using the "rear" downtube shifter in friction mode to operate the front derailer. It's all friction shifting; works great. The front (now 'rear') shifter uses Suntour's 'micro-ratcheting' internals that have seen a resurgence in popularity due to Rivendell bringing them back into existence and talking them up so well. My setup was a cheap-as-hell version. (I pay cost for parts and frequent swap meets).

Also visible in this picture is the "old man handlebar foam." This is the foam handlebar covering that you see geezers rocking on cruiser bicycles. I put it on as sort of a goof, but I also suspected that it was comfortable. Also, I heard Freddie Hoffman uses it.

Here is a picture of the back part of the bicycle showing several things. 1) my cool solution to not have a second water bottle cage: hose clamp the metal part of a Minoura handlebar-mounted conversion unit. 2) nice Sugino cranks that I got for $25 at a swap. 3) u-lock storage on a rear rack. 4) big-ol' Eastern platform pedals that I now love. 5) original "7 SIS" Shimano derailer. Works perfect.

Also, barely visible, are the new Tektro cantilevers that I think are the best brakes I've ever used.

Unfortunately, my high gear on the cassette can't be used because it's too close to the little clamp that holds the derailer hanger in the frame. Tall Cool has an admittedly cheap old setup, and wasn't made to work with 8 (count'em) gears in the back. So I limited the small cog out with the limit screw on the derailer. It also seems as though the second highest gear is worn out, so it pops when I put any real pressure on the pedals. With a 36 tooth middle ring, that doesn't provide the most useful gearing. It's too low. I plan to get a new cassette and swap the chainrings to a 40t middle; 46t large. (Now it's a 36/50).

In conclusion: it's almost there. As soon as I rode the bicycle again it felt natural and wonderful. I love my position on this bicycle, and am happy and satisfied that it is still my favorite. I will work out the slight mechanical hindrances, and my friend and I will roll along for many more miles, my friend.

40 in my hand; shopping.

I'm coming back from grocery shopping. Tara is driving us up Columbus Boulevard while I sip at big fat bottle of beer.

Lazy day off. Hot wings and drinking.

I've been striving to find a good time to get Tall Cool back on the road in a configuration that I like. Tall Cool is my 1997 Diamondback Outlook. I rode up to the shop with a backpack full of components, but it wasn't meant to be. Shelly and some others were installing new racks to hold wheels and fixing the pegboard among other construction projects. There wasn't time or space for me to rehab my fat-tubed friend.

I dropped off the parts and headed home. I called in for hot wing delivery and got drunk and useless for the rest of the day.

Watching, cranking, sipping.

In Kennett. I watched AFV and Holmes on Homes with my parents on the couch. Mom made grilled ham and cheese on healthy little bread. I made coffee in their Keurig. We also had mugs of tomato soup.

I put my prototype frame in the back because it has some nice Sugino cranks that I need to swap onto Tall Cool. (The prototype frame was one that I designed and had made in Taiwan several years ago - nothing came of it; Tall Cool is my '97 Diamondback Outlook)

I left at 9-something and put some whiskey and coke in a cup, and deposited a check at Bank of America. Tara drove us home to Philly. Jason DeRulo vocalized about "riding solo" on the radio while I sipped a drink. 

Fours and 40 Ounces

I had a Four Loko a little bit ago. It was the lemonade flavor - new recipe with slightly less insanity, but the same 12% alc content. Now I'm drinking a forty.

A fun thing happened today concerning 40s. I wear a Mickey's Malt Liquor cap at work ("Get Stung.") A customer about my age complimented it, and showed me that he was wearing a t-shirt from http://www.40ozmaltliquor.com. We talked about 40 ounce beers, and he suggested I go to the site. I assured him that I'd already been, and I was quite familiar with it. He's friends with the creator. We talked more about funny or collectible 40's, and he told me about his collection including some early 64oz Colt 45 bottles. Good times, indeed.

All over Fishtown on a bicycle.

I went to the El Bar for a couple specials, and it went from there. A guy told me about an art show (plus beer) at the book warehouse on Frankford, so I put that on the list. I got lit up and barged in the kitchen at Homeslice to try and get Drew to bring home free pizza after work. I also went to the Barbary where a bouncer suggested that I pay the cover if I wanted to stick around. I think there might have been another bar in there, but I can't remember that now.

Watching a movie

I think this movie is called "Going the Distance." I can't call it memorable.

Shepard's Pie

I'm eating shepard's pie that Tara made. We're sitting around downstairs.

Listing bicycle stuff for sale on Craigslist.

Today's mission: list all of the nonsense and BS I have for sale. I have accumulated a lot of bicycle parts. I have put my claim on a lot of useful used wheels at the shop. I gathered them and listed about 25 items for sale. It could equal several hundred dollars or so.

I'm a little behind on my ideal savings for my upcoming bicycle trip - hopefully this solves that. Cash flow is always good too.

Cheeseburgers at Paradise

The Paradise Cafe under the El. It's a diner across the street from where I live. I'm sitting with Tara and Drew, and I'm eating a cheeseburger.

Spent a day in bed.

I'm feeling tentatively acceptable. Tara drove us out to Kennett, and we laid in bed watching dumb movies. She washed a contractor trash bag full of our dirty clothes, and we headed back to the city. We stopped by Carraba's to use a gift card. I left a sub-par tip and had a mild jackass-attack about that and the fact that I'm behind my savings plan for the bicycle trip. For as highly as I think of myself, I can start to be dopey at the drop of a hat.

Malaysian food

My watch beeped outside of a Malaysian restaurant.

I feel unwell, and I'm doped on CVS cough medicine. We'll go inside and order food to be shared. Intestine, literally, will be eaten. Good but chewy. We're in Chinatown, and we're blocks from where some of Tara's family are staying at a hotel.

Back to the hotel for drinks, and back home again. None of this is helping me feel better, but I suppose it's better to at least get outside for a bit. I promised to go to work tomorrow after calling out today. The promise won't be kept, because nighttime will find me feeling much worse still.

Winter blues

You know, I was in a shit mood today. It's not worth numbering or listing the reasons or excuses. Winter kicks my ass. My nose was running, and I felt inundated at work. And depressed. I miss Lala Land where the sun shines hard and the aura of silliness massages my body like a sponge bath. That's far from my current reality of blowing my nose into toilet paper every couple minutes.

Buying wine for another human

721pm? Cooking noodles, and having a 1936 penny close at hand.

I stopped by the liquor store a couple hours ago. There was a guy outside with some change in his hand, and he was trying to increase the amount.

"Hey brother, can you spare some change, I'm tryna get a little bottle." He said, holding change and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"What are you looking for, whiskey?" I asked.
"Wine" was his response. He looked almost visibly more calm just saying the word.
"I'll see if I can get some change in there" I promised as I headed in.

I got some $5.99 red-something, and handed him the bag. If I'm going to drink subtle poison, I might as well provide or share or whatever. His face lit up. I shook his hand. I walked towards my bicycle and placed my personal purchase and backpack inside my orange Wawa milk crate.

He called out one more thank you, to which I responded confidently that I was just looking out for a man. I threw my leg over my vehicle wondering if he had a good way to deal with the cork; assuming he did.

I'm getting sick now.

Getting sick is a relatively rare event for me. This is the first time of the season, and all I want is to be able to pass time faster. I want to sleep until it goes away. At 7:21pm, I was in the kitchen hovering on two feet while Tara cooked food for us to eat. I waited until she was busy with the sink to pour the last bits of flavored vodka into a pint glass.

Whipped cream vodka tastes like cream soda when you mix it with Coke. I got a bottle for Tara, who expressed interest after learning about this drink from a friend. I drank most of it, then I quit drinking for about seven weeks. Now I'm standing in the kitchen pulling off some kind of sneaky pour to eliminate the remainder. The guy getting sick feels sheepish drinking something he knows won't help while his girlfriend cooks.

Weekends that end on Tuesday

Lazy day. This is the second day of my off-center Monday-Tuesday weekend. I slept late and accomplished little.

Splitting up, leaving, maybe coming back.

After all those nights of drinking, it was tough to slow the momentum. I didn't bother. Me and Tara goofed around with a Wii Fit board that she bought, and watched some TV shows on my computer.

It is interesting to note that I bought a 32" flat screen not long ago, and I'd still rather just watch shit on my laptop. It's complicated enough to get stuff over to the big screen that I'd rather not bother. Technology is an endless pit of necessary upgrades. Bicycles too, if you're like some people.

Me and Tara are splitting up when I go on my bicycle trip in May. I said she could keep the big screen. At some point I have to get all my belongings out of this room and house and put them somewhere else. I haven't given much thought to if or when I'm coming back to this area. I think I'll get my van's electrical issues worked out, and move back into it. I picture that being a beautiful time. There's nothing that makes a van seem more like a mansion than spending many nights in a small tent.

Three Piece Fest 2011

Three Piece Fest 2011 occurred at the Danger!Danger! Gallery all the way in a different corner of Philadelphia. I brought the other half of that MGD case from yesterday, and headed over with Tara in her car.

It was a success. There were plenty in attendance, and it got hot, crowded and full of energy. I brought plenty of pot to share if anybody wanted it. Not as easy a sell as I thought. Every time I'm at a house show and someone is smoking pot, I think "gee... I'd like some of that." Maybe people thought I was a cop with rainbow socks. One person did not hesitate.

Here is a photograph. Yesterday, I mentioned seeing Peter & Craig at Two Piece Fest. The same Peter is also in this band, Algernon Cadwallader. They played last, and everyone got batshit.

Two Piece Fest 2011

I left work about an hour early to go to Two Piece Fest.

This warehouse show boasted 22 Bands, all with two members each, starting at 2pm. All bands had 20 minute sets, and there were two stages for quick changes between bands. There were posted schedules, and the times were adhered to like clockwork. There was an intermission at 7pm that gave me enough time to partake in free food that some housemates had prepared, and still ride a bicycle home, smoke mad weed, and get back in time for more music.

I left work at 3:30pm, and picked up a case of MGD on my way. I dropped off half the case at home, put the rest in my backpack, and headed to the show. It was a highly enjoyable time of music and all-day drinking. Probably hundreds paid to get in. I can't count, but it was a successful show. I was hoping to see the band 1994!, but the cops shut everything down a few hours early.

I was fortunate to witness the set of Peter & Craig who wore huge paper mâché masks decorated as caricatures of themselves. Well executed, and I also liked the music.

Hanging out with Mike

We went to the El Bar. It's been awhile since I've been in that place. I drank at pace I'll call reasonable, and we talked about topical subjects.

The CB-1. My 1991 Bridgestone City Limit.

I own a 1991 Bridgestone CB-1 "City Limit" bicycle. I've said it before, and I'm talking about it right now. It's a beautiful red bicycle. In 1991, Grant Petersen was the guy designing the best bicycles that Bridgestone sold in the USA. Bridgestone is a huge Japanese company. After they couldn't remain competitive in the US market (dollar/yen exchange rate), Grant started Rivendell. The Rivendell website is an excellent source of information about sane bicycles that make sense. That is a matter of opinion, but it is my opinion, and I hold it strongly.

If bicycle design wasn't driven by marketing and a need for pointless changes touted as improvements, then bicycles would probably be a lot more like the ones produced by Rivendell. Not exactly like them, but bicycles certainly would have evolved much differently. It can't hurt to poke around the Rivendell website, even if you don't spend a dollar. If you have even a passing interest in bicycles, then I strongly recommend it.

I don't know how much design input Grant Petersen had in developing the 1991 City Limit. The CB-1 was the cheapest bicycle produced by Bridgestone in 1991. The frame is TIG welded (not lugged/brazed) and the frame tubing is un-fancy 4130 steel joined in Taiwan. Grant Petersen would no doubt love it more if it was Japanese and lugged using butted tubing. Sheldon Brown has information about the City Limit as well. Sheldon calls the design "mainstream" claims they are intended for the "non-enthusiast" and says they are "nothing special." The nicest thing he says is that there is "nothing wrong with them." Sheldon knew a lot about bicycles, but I'm going to keep enjoying this one even though his claims seem to indicate that I should set my sights higher.

Me? I think this bicycle is great. This is my do-everything bicycle. I made component upgrades and I added fenders and a rack. It's good. I haven't made a final decision on what to ride across the country, but if I have my head screwed on right when I'm ready to leave, it'll probably be the CB-1.

I've had a great time riding my new 3 speed around, but for the past two days I've used the CB-1 for my short commute, and it's been great. I have tons of gears, and a milk crate securely hose-clamped to the rack. These are good times we're living in, and this is as good a bicycle as anyone needs.

In conclusion: read all of the technical information and opinions on the Rivendell website, then apply what you've learned to choosing a sensible bicycle. If you're lucky, you might end up with a 1991 Bridgestone CB-1 City Limit. Or it might be a 1994 Giant Nutra Hybrid. Possibly an old pre-suspension Diamondback Outlook. Those options all roll nice, and there are millions more like them.

Center City Coffee

I don't hang out with Mike that much. We haven't been hanging out enough. I stopped by after work to meet with him for a coffee. We talked about relationships. I was maxed out on caffeine intake for the day, so I just talked. It was good. Then I went to visit Dreamane 'cause she lives about four blocks from there. I went home a little bit later and talked to Tara. Lots of talking today.

Getting a ride back from Kennett

Cathy and Karl are giving me a ride back to Philly from Kennett. My van has been sitting in the driveway of my parents house for months. The battery is dead, and there's something sucking the juice out of it. I have to get that fixed, but for now I'm just as happy to let it sit while not paying for insurance. My parents have a slightly different feeling about it, but we all seem to exist in harmony for the time being.

Cathy is my sister, and she married Karl who is one of the nicest guys around. I have a good family, and I'm happy that I can recognize it, state the fact, and feel proud and happy. They took me home, which was nice because it was a big favor to me and a runaround for them.

Sitting in Kennett. General state of my existence.

I'm sitting around on the couch in Kennett. Spots the cat is getting old. My parents are both retired these days, and now they're on vacation as well. While they're in Florida, I'm doing a lazy job of watching the cat. She's getting smaller and skinnier, and I don't know if she's enjoying her life. She throws up a lot.

I've been regularly irate and feeling overwhelmed. Between big life plans, winter, and not knowing if I'm on the right track, it all feels more difficult than it probably really is.

I'm in a good mood for a reasonable amount of my time. I don't take anything terribly seriously, but I'm also randomly afraid to die. I don't want to die. Will I be reincarnated? Is something like heaven possible? Doesn't seem likely, nor does it matter. You can't know. It shouldn't be scary, but sometimes it is.

I quit drinking. Except for last night. I went ahead and drank a lot of whiskey last night. I don't feel good about it, but I don't feel too bad either. It was fun until I stopped remembering what was going on. Then I woke up on the couch with an extremely dry mouth. Maybe it'll all be ok.

I'm leaving on a bicycle trip in May. Hopefully that will be fun. I'm saving some money, and hopefully it cheers me right up and gives me some new perspective. Part of me always wants to leave and never come back. A big part of me also wants to buy some land and live in a vehicle. I've checked on empty lot prices in Philadelphia. Philly is a pretty decent place if you cut out the winter part.

I'm 28. Getting older slowly and passing time. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, or if I ever will be.

Drinking.

I've been proud of myself for going a bunch of weeks without drinking. Seven weeks? I quit a few days before New Years. I never told myself it was forever. I don't make myself that promise anymore. It got more and more difficult. What's the point, I decided?

I got dropped off in Kennett to watch a cat. Tara dropped me off, and it was obvious that I needed time alone. I needed time alone to drive my dad's car to the liquor store.

I made mashed potatoes and didn't eat much. I drank whiskey and had dozens of genius-creative thoughts. I called Shawn at some point, and don't know what I said. That was about it.

Drinking isn't a great idea for me because it increases in frequency and dosage until I deem it a problem. I have too many good memories of drinking, and too many future projections to times when appropriate drinking should occur. It's hard to be without, but it's hard to find a middle ground.

Look at me. Look into my eyes. This is me rolling the dice. This is me hoping that I can do the right thing. This is my sincerest face.

Working on a 1970 Phillips

I have a 1970 Phillips 3 speed. I stayed after work to mess with the cranks and the bottom bracket. I re-tapped the threads to English threading. I used a grinding wheel to take off the shoulder of a Shimano UN-54 bottom bracket. I installed the bottom bracket, and put on a pair of old Dura Ace cranks.

Apparently I didn't tighten the bottom bracket enough. It loosened up on my ride home, and now I'm left to hope that I didn't screw up the threads by riding it that way. All I can do is take of the cranks, tighten the BB and hope for the best.

At 7:21pm I was listening to Halfway To Holland and making strange anachronistic changes to a bicycle. One of my customers, Eric, stopped by with his girlfriend, and we chatted for a bit. I was in a hurry to get home, feeling rushed and anxious.

Putting grease in a bottom bracket.

I work at a bicycle shop in Philadelphia. Shelly opened a bicycle shop, and I'm working at it. This is a good job. Probably the best job I've had up to this point.

Ahhh, Philadelphia. Your winters and strong headwinds continue to erode my soul. I should be in Key West. I should be somewhere else feeling distant and alone.

I'm writing on this blog again. Maybe I needed a change of internet scenery. I like the Blogger interface pretty good. It's easier to search through the titles of past posts. I think that's great. I'd like to move over all the Wordpress stuff, but I don't know if that's easy or not.

I was just reading through some of my writings from Ashland Oregon in 2008. I can barely remember what that was like. I was lonely. I was sometimes desperately lonely.

I'm planning a bicycle trip from Philadelphia to Virgina to Oregon. I'm leaving in May. I'm trying to get $3600 in my bank account, and hopefully not blow it all on booze and prepared food before making it back to Philadelphia. Somewhat un-secretly I don't even know if I want to come back to Philadelphia. I like it, but I question whether I might belong somewhere better. I can leave, but that's when the loneliness kicks in. I'm ready to be lonely on the bicycle trip. That's part of riding alone. It leaves more time for contemplation, and more space for easy decision making. It'll be good. Lonely on-the-move is OK. It also allows for random choices and meeting strangers. Hopefully it's a good trip.

I stayed after work to do something about my bottom bracket. It clearly needed an overhaul. At 7:21pm, I was trying different square taper spindles to see if one would work with the old Raleigh-threaded cups. None were to my satisfaction, so I regreased some new bearings and put together the old cottered setup with new pins. Jolly.