Islands In The Stream.

A couple of kids songs.

I Might Be Wrong.

I ran away to Germany once. My friend Christiane was living in Heidelberg, and I was messed up on some girl, so I figured I'd go see her. Well, at least I think I was messed up on some girl. I had with me two Modest Mouse records and a copy of Catcher In The Rye, so I must've been messed up on something. But it was a while back now, and the things you get messed up on tend to get a little messed up themselves as they get further away.

When I arrived she wasn't home, but she'd left a note informing me that as her housemate had left the country, I could stay in her room. I could also use her bike if I liked. The house was a pretty typical student flat, with new carpet and a strange toilet. The bike was a ladies step through that had seen better days. I pumped up the tyres, then took it out into the street and rolled around the neighbourhood until Christiane got home.

Her bike wasn't so crash hot either, but we rolled around town together for the next couple of weeks. It was summer and the weather was fine. We went swimming in the river and ate dinner on the balcony. More often than not we'd be joined by a bunch of her friends, all of them riding step-throughs or old road bikes, inevitably in poor condition. It didn't really matter though. The town was small and the roads were narrow and flat. If something broke down on the way to the river or a party or a cafe we'd find a bike shop and sort it out, or just lock the bike up and dink each other the rest of the way.

This happened to Christiane herself one afternoon. Her brakes were seizing up and the levers wouldn't spring back after she'd squeezed them. We didn't have much money though, so she suggested we go to this place where they loaned you tools and helped you with repairs. As we walked up there I tried to explain to her exactly how inept I am when it comes to tools, but she wouldn't have a bar of it.

We wandered into the place, which was set up in the courtyard of some cafe. I squirted some lube into the brake cables, gave them a squeeze, twisted the barrel adjusters a few times and that seemed to do it. It wasn't much. Anything more probably would've been beyond me. But she looked impressed. She stood beside me, a little closer than usual, said thank you, and slowly leaned over and kissed my cheek.

I think I might've actually blushed.

I Am Lacking Something.

Like, an understanding of how to apply google analytics.

Photos Of Myself.

Also, I don't know if you remember this, but there was a time around the late 90s / early 2000s where bands really, really wanted to be The Rolling Stones. I'm ok with that. Some times I want to be The Rolling Stones too.

Ain't No Party.

As per usual, I'm a bit late to the ball with this one, but this NSFW blog is easily one of the best things on the internet (or, at the very least, one of the best uses of Google Images). So good it has already spawned cheap imitations.

From The Top Of The Hill.

More info here.

The racing will be set out like a classic six-day, with points accumulated in the scratch, keirin and flying lap counting towards a team's overall madison score.
As you can see from the link, Team Handsome were entered, but have withdrawn due partially to Ben's back being fucked, but also partially due to fear. There are - I think - three people on that list who are legitimately allowed to wear world champion stripes, as well as a smattering of state champions.

If you've ever thought about coming down to DISC to check out the racing, this will be the time to do it.

Coffee will be provided by Padre. And really, that's the most important part.

Draw Us Lines.

Oh man, I've been such a fucking internet demon this holiday weekend. See up there, just below the header? Those are extra website pages. And as much as I'm quietly proud of the Palmares page, the most exciting one for me is the Events page. There you'll find flyers of every event I've had a hand in organizing. In a subculture with a very short memory, I can't help feeling like it's important to document and preserve history like this. Yep.

What's He Like?

I Don't Mind, I Don't Mind, I Don't Mind, I Don't Mind.

Bit busy with stuff over here at the moment. Get on board!

Strap On The Feedbag.

I don't know what you spent your Saturday morning doing...

Living On A Little Too Much Information.

This is my second year of competitive cycling. Things are pretty different this time around. This time around I get up early in the morning in order to do a bunch of stretches and core strengthening exercises (some of which occur on a gigantic purple exercise ball). I barely go to shows. I've abandoned the brick-shaped breakfast cereal that served me well for over fifteen years in order to include more protein in my diet. I don't buy records. I go to bed early. When I go out for a ride I wear a heartrate monitor. I do ergo sessions on the indoor trainer on a Tuesday night, rather than race track. On Wednesday nights I go to pilates class, then get a massage.

Last year, when I was just learning the ropes, I was training hard, but it was like an addition to my regular life. This year I'm training smarter, and my regular life looks a bit different. I mean, that's ok. It's just different. And if it results in me going faster, well, that's pretty good. If not, well, I guess things are going to have to change yet again.

Up On Scrap Metal Hill.

Yes, I know you're excited. More info here.

You Want It All.

300th post.

Every Ache.

I was going to write about my new heart rate monitor tonight, and how this year my aim is to train smarter, but then this song came on the stereo and derailed everything.



Instead I started thinking about all the time I spent standing on the side of that highway, waiting for some car to stop and pick me up. Mostly thinking about the first time I lived in Canada, before I shacked up with Kim H. I was based in Kingston, which isn't really anywhere, but which is close enough to everywhere else to make you want to go there. Standing on the side of that road, heading through the rocks and scrub of the Great Canadian Shield, heading east to Montreal - or beyond that, even, all the way to Halifax - there was a sense of opening up, of possibilities that grew broader and broader with each passing kilometre. The country was vast and the people generous. I felt like I could travel into open space forever.

I told you that story so I could tell you another one. When I lived in Kingston I was friends with a bunch of people from all around the world. We'd been thrown together by our shared circumstances and were making a pretty good job of it. A few weeks in and I'd never had better friends. One night, however, a bunch of girls from the UK weren't present.

"Where's Maggie and KA and them?" I asked Texas Pete.
"They've gone to Toronto to pick up Gwyn."

(I'm not making these names up)

"What? How come? What happened?"
"I'm not sure. She called up, and they all went and hired a car then drove off."
"Yeah, right. Ok."

I often wonder about that drive. It was the middle of winter. As they set off they must've been nervous, driving that one straight line into a strange country, into a situation they weren't quite sure of. The quiet probably set in pretty early on. They would've looked at each other in the lights of passing trucks, watched as the condensation from their breath settled on the inside of the window, then turned to ice. But then I imagine some nervous chatter, some song they all know coming on the radio, some sense of purpose establishing itself with each truckstop and Tim Horton's. I wonder what they talked about, what stories they told each other in order to stay awake.

I don't remember any more of the story than this. I don't know what happened when they arrived, or even what happened when they returned. There's some stupid poem written about it in my journal, that's all. So I can tell you the date. It was the 30th of January, 2001.

I'm Going To Straighten It Out Somehow.