master of the sword in the extended battlefield

fuck man. fuck, my friend morgan got hit. and tears run through my face. man. i'm listening to something he likes, and i'm reading something he likes. and fuck man (or woman). i'm even eating something i think he would like. Dark Throne bleeds though my stereo. fucking Dark Throne man, Transilvanian Hunger. and i'm reading the third issue of the bikepLAgue zine. and plexe's intro was great. and the zine has that detached fashion of too white ghostly pages and black fucking precise letters crawling like fragile -too fragile- ants on the fucking white wall of destiny. and i loved all the contributions: camryn's lovecraftian bike crash recount, ms.spindles advice column, matt's politics and Liz's from C.I.C.L.E "How the Po-Po Set Us Car Free". and you see, the day i heard about morgan's crash i couldn't ride my bike for a few hours. it was like a bucket of lead attached to my feet. and this sadness/insecurity. and, what am i doing? and is this sense of despair... and i had to confront myself, for where there is sadness there is beauty. for beauty is a fucking cruel monster. and then i knew i had to write this shit:



this is our sword manifesto

as published originally in BikepLAgue #3


this is our sword.
this is our tool for disarming the wars being fought across the planet. the magnitude of the weapons used grinds everything to pieces. bloody messes, and meat from all species torn across the land and the streets and the sky. this is no time to stand disarmed. the bicycle is the ideal weapon for the transnational citizen. a simple non-destructive means for liberation, a tool for internal and external battles, a companion and critic. a Way. our form of iron. our form of irony.

when in the streets, alone on the battle field, the warrior tempers her spirit confronting weapons of mass destruction with the simplicity of his self powered weapon. a candle that dares to shine like ten thousand suns. such is our stupidity and our glory. and such is the humor the world has given to us: an autonomous form of transportation that is at the same time a weapon of Mass creation.

non-violent battles with non-violent weapons in ultra-violent contexts for daily metaphor bending are being fought. and we fall to pieces. and we paint the soil-asphalt with our blood and bone and we dare others not to paint it with the blood and bone of the oppressed, of those for whom the simplest way out of war is death.
the transnational-citizen/warrior rides knowing that his life and the life of others are at stake with every decision. that's what we call riding at sustainable speeds. and within the limits of her weapon the transnational-citizen/warrior pursues elegance in motion. and this is how freedom occurs in the interstices of slavery, like riding in the gaps of a traffic jam.
many of our swords come from places where metaphorical wars are confounded with real ones. where bikes are meant for competition and pride seeking. we gave our bikes nakedness and taught them the humble ways of the streets. our bikes are swords to deconstruct the war metaphor. and like swords of the past they have names and mythical stories to be told, and some of them have been the companions of warriors who lost their lives in the battle field.
bicycles are our vehicle in the mythic grid

our vector in and out of the integrated circuit
our passport as transnational citizens
our cybernetic implant for recrafting bodies
our strategic advantage
our mighty pen
our sword

To our friend Morgan, master of the sword in the extended battlefield.

federico

El Ridazz Fantastico

Man I'd guesstimate at least a thousand cyclists took part in last night's Midnight Ridazz and it was a sight to behold. The high point for me was that awesome mariachi concert at El Mariachi Plaza de Los Angeles.http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif

Photos from the ride are up on Flickr and viewable here. And Stephen Roullier's ever-evocative imagery can be seen here.

Badge Of Honor

I was justly accused of being militant in nature by some nameless commenter objecting to my post last month in which I dared express incredulity at the perennial pedestri-tards and the casual disregard they exhibit by walking/jogging along the BIKES ONLY beach path.

The laid-back anonymite who is blessed with far more forgiveness than I urged me to just chill and scolded my aggravated attitude as having the potential "to do more harm than good."

Fair enough. But folks, I've rocked both sides of sanity's thin centerline. I've been a veritable Ghandi on two wheels nonviolently internalizing the frustrations of those who trespass and transgress against me, and I've been the raging roadie who's externalized my anger against the innumerable automotive asshats who've cut in front of me or honked at me or forced me off the road or otherwise almost killed me and then been unfortunate to get stuck at that red light up ahead where I catch up and confront them wielding a tire pump in one paw and swinging a cable lock in the other and suddenly it becomes "easy there, dude!" and "whoa there man!" and even occasionally "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me!"

Let me tell you, externalizing beats internalizing every time. If it doesn't get you killed in the short term, all that blown steam adds years to your life in the long run. But in this day and age I've mellowed substantially. Not just because I'm getting older (which I am), but wiser, too. Nowadays I strive hard to keep in mind that everyone has the potential to exit their driver's side strapped and ready-aim-firing to finish what almost running me over didn't.

Ain't easy though. Yesterday I rode from Silver Lake to and through downtown to the convention center and then up across mid-Wilshire and north into Hollywood and I guess I missed the memo about it being Cream A Cyclist Day In L.A., because I had to work hard to avoid getting crunched on six occasions in the 90 minutes I was on the road — far above the norm for me. I had to work even harder to keep my emotions in check and I was mostly successful. Mostly. The worst I did was fly the bird at one turd. Oh yeah, and I did spit in the general direction of that Taurus with Pennsylvania plates.

What I've taken too long to communicate is that being badged as militant is a good thing to me. A necessary thing. I don't let such a stance ruin the fulfillment and satisfaction I get from riding, but I don't lay back and chill as its ruined by others either. Maybe it's hyperbolic but I consider every one of us who saddle up and crank it out there to be rebels with a cause. Warriors. Righteous even. It's a battle out there every day, and while I'm ever more careful to pick mine I refuse to accept a single incident where cyclists and their rights and privileges are marginalized or relegated or dismissed or demeaned.

A Spate Of Bike Hate

So during yesterday's infinitely enjoyable edition of the monthly RIDE-Arc group roll and its nicely sized contingent of riders that traversed the town from the Arts District to Chavez Ravine to Koreatown and back downtown, we had the distinct displeasure of being verbally accosted by not one, but two individuals — each of them from disparate ends of the socio-economic spectrum.

The first tirade came from a substantially distraught and obviously destitute woman who laid into us unprovoked as we came off of Main Street and coasted past the Lady of Guadalupe mural outside the La Placita Church near Olvera Street. Spouting such maximum volume endearments as "Fucking bikers!" and "I fucking hate fucking bikers!" and "Get the fuck out of here you fucking bikers!" we bathed in her unconditional aggravation. And when I dared correct her saying "We're not bikers... we're cyclists, she reeled from the retort and mewed something about how we shouldn't be mean to her because she has the cancer.

Oh, sorry. See ya later hater.

The second incident came near the end of the night's journey as we cruised up through the Theater District past the packed and happening Broadway Bar. A dapper and definitively drunkifed dingleberry who had just exited the establishment on his way to unwisely operating a motor vehicle was apparently able to focus his blurred vision long enough to see us pedaling past him and was kind enough to take the time to scream out how he really felt.

"Bikers!?" he said. "Fucking bikers! Gawd-dam liberal treehugger sunzabitches! I fucking hate you all!"

"Well we love you!" I yelled over my shoulder, to which he demonstrated some sort of Brokeback Broadway-type conflict. "I love you too..." he blurted out, "but I hate you more you self-sufficient retard liberal jackasses!"

Man, but it ain't easy being green.

UPDATED: Stephen Roullier's pix of the ride are here.

Rider Temporarily Down

Morgan from the A-house had a serious accident a few days ago. The doctors say he will not have any permanent damage, but after he has surgery tomorrow he will have a long recovery.

So . . . now is a good time to step up and turn out your love for Morgan and your support for his housemates at the A-house and his family that has flown in. Drop by the A-house with any of that love and support. Get well wishes for Morgan. Vegan food for the house. Whatever you think you would really appreciate in such a situation. Or send positive intentions through the many dimensions of the universal fabric for Morgan's quick return to being the most insane distance cyclist (that still manages to keep it real) in LA.

A-House:
210 N. Rampart Blvd, LA, CA, 90026

His housemates have a lot going on, what with finding a new A-dwelling and regular life and stuff, so be sensitive to their time when showing support.

Bike Love,
A.

the pLAgue

if you thought the L.A. bike scene didn't have a zine, well, you are wrong. it probably has more than one. i know of this one, the bikepLAgue bikes in L.A zine issue number two march 2006. the good Matt handed me a copy the other day when we were ready to leave for the bad idea ride and it took me a while to process it but that's what i like about zines, you can have them around for a while untill you get to them. flat flipping little creatures.

bikepLAgue is published under a creative commons licence and it has a bunch of reports of bike events, news, and random stuff. my favorite section is Ms. Spindle's problem page, good answers. i suspect she makes up some of the questions, but that's ok.

there is an excellent interview with Cole Coonce some writer dude who has been droping bicycle articles in our not so dear mainstream media. well done.
i also liked this short description of a long touring adventure between seattle a S.F. some down to earth recomendations there. like: "iPods. If you're riding with other people, sing to each other okay?". sweet.

support the pLAgue. if you want more information or want to contribute or distribute write to bikeplague@gmail.com cash donations accepted i hear. and don't forget zines stay around thanks to your writing too.

Update
get a PDF of bikepLAgue here.
Thanks Max!

Look Who's Jumped On The Bike Bandwagon

Having successfully tackled "the homeless problem," L.A. Times columnist Steve Lopez has now set his sights on getting people outta there cars and onto their bikes by writing in today's edition about joining Ed Begley Jr., former Mayor Richard Riordan and others for a roll down San Vicente Boulevard and along the beach to a diner in Playa del Rey:

People tell me I'm off my rocker, but it seems to me that since L.A. is mostly flat and the weather is good year-round, thousands of people could get out of their cars and onto bicycles.

It would take vision, if not wild imagination. I say we shut down a lane of Arroyo Parkway now and then and open it to bikes. You can't get anywhere on Wilshire Boulevard in a car, so let's get them out of there altogether.

Welcome aboard Steve! Now leave Ed and Dick and the daylight come on out for some Midnight Ridazz action!

In the biciblog inbox: 279 dollar ticket

hi, I was carrying an antiqe chair that i had cane'd for nine days(to get paid a mere 50)and was pulled over for ?. I was searched for crack and my hair was pulled the whole time by a trainee cop. I protested about the severe hair pulling and no probable cause and was told the ticket was for riding with one hand and no long beach bike licence.( of which I have bought half a dozen) then I got a change of date ( the whole gestation is almost 4 months) and a written explanation of being on the wrong side of the street. I go to court on may 16 , pulled over 2/4.

Also does anybody want to help me rescue an American white pelican from the san gabriel river near the 405? In lakewood/long beach has been in heavily cloramie water for 4 years according to wildlife management. has broken wing and beak abnormality. I dont have time to blog and am virgin to blogging bu feel free to add this. thanks

by Mark Ayers (radman3[at]webtv.net)

Riding A Bicycle Can Save The World?

This is great. Follow the link for the full article!
Riding a bicycle can save the world

by Dana Green
Killer storms. Glaciers melting. A rapidly disappearing snowpack.

The signs of global warming are here, and they aren’t pretty. With the U.S. spewing 6 billion tons of carbon dioxide into the air last year – one-quarter of the world total – a global meltdown, Day After Tomorrow-style, doesn’t seem farfetched anymore.

But getting on a bicycle saving the planet? Call me a skeptic, but I wasn’t buying it. Jim Sayer, Director of Adventure Cycling, a national bike advocacy group headquartered here in Missoula, was giving a lecture during Bike Walk Bus Week claiming bike travel could save humanity from its own excesses. So I hopped on my cruiser, with its cute little basket, and biked over.

I left convinced that, if I would only drop my car keys in the toilet and flush, a revolution would sweep the globe. One person at a time. With happy, smiling people across the planet riding bicycles everywhere.

Mo Better . . . Street Corners

NE corner of Fairfax and Pico. For over a year I passed by this Mo Better Meatty Meat Burgers place on my bicycle commute home from work. A vegetarian for 12 years, this was at once disgusting to me and at the same time reassuring because it was boarded up and locked behind gates, graffitied and clearly not . . . serving dead cows. Anymore. Of course, the McDonald's down the street still is, but that's another story.

Anyways, two months ago I actually had my camera with me because I had needed it at work, so I stopped at various points of my commute to document some oddities. This was one of them. Today, on my commute, I stopped at my usual corner, one foot on the curb, the other on my pedal, scanning the lights to anticipate the perfect moment between cars and photons that I could safely jump my light and be on my way, when my eyes picked up a certain emptiness . . . on the NE corner of Fairfax and Pico . . . and my jaw dropped as I realized that the entire Mo Better Meatty Meat Burgers building was GONE, some broken pieces of urbanite and a bulldozer in its stead.

Tonight I will pray to the infinite goof and to the goddess of cosmic irony that Mo Better is not going to be replaced by a McDonald's. Please feel free to do the same . . .

Spring Fevered Glaze, No Haze

Last Wednesday I had a beautiful spring bike ride home. It started when I was rolling west down Jefferson along through Culver City at the industrial part just before it heads north. The sun was casting a honey glow from behind me—my bike shadow stretched out long and lean in front and my knees pump pumping and I thought, “This light reminds me of an Alaskan summer late evening twilight glow.” Then I looked up into the full moon hanging there in the clear blue sun and I remembered ah that’s where it’s at. The full moon has a way of pulling the energy to the front of my skin. Propelling me forward. Suspending my stress and exhaustion for this instant. Then I’m heading north on Redondo and I hear “grrr!” “GRR!” and “scamper, scamper,” and the shouts of kids behind. Aware suddenly of an impending ankle clamp, I look down to see this small brown dog veering off like his job was done, heading back to the arm waving shouting kids and I yell “Tough dog!” And go on. At Washington I decide to head east as I wish to continue riding into the full moon and away from the sun—I like being between this energy, and not my usual route up to Pico. At the stoplight at LaBrea, this dude crosses the street with a peculiar drug addict posture: just his clothes, a cigarette in one hand, lighter in the other and a destination in his eyes. He sees me and says, “You only got one brake?” “Yeah,” I say. “It’s a fixed gear so I only need a front brake.” He nods his head and tells me how a few days ago he rode the marathon. Then looks sideways and says, “Well, I joined up with it.” I say, “Yeah, I’d like to do it. I just can’t get up that early.” The light changes—“take care, man.”

Later on down Washington near western maybe, on the north side of the street there’s a semi-circle huddle of folks on the corner. Could be a tour group or Jesus proselytizers, but as I pass I notice they are huddled around burning candles and one of those flower-covered crosses. To my right coming out of what has always struck me as a promising “thrift” store is this elderly black couple out to see what the fuss is about—possibly the owners and I say, “What happened over there? Somebody get killed?” “Beg your pardon,” he says. And she of the oversized black frame glasses waves her hand dismissively and says, “Shot. Last week.” “That’s terrible.” And I keep riding. The sun lowering now. I pass that really amazing old brown Victorian haunted house with the two scraggly trees at the front porch on the southside of Wasington. Its got a big lot and i want to live there. Then I head north up Alvarado. I need a donut for phase four, the climb home. So, I stop at yum yum just before Pico and pant, “Donut with sugar.”

“What?”

“Sugar, coated in sugar.”

“You mean glazed.”

“Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for. Glazed.”

I stand outside watching the pink of the sun edge towards dark and all this activity passing by and I think, “Man, I love this town.” Home.

The Eternal Infernal Question

What part of BIKES ONLY are you falsely entitled, egregiously ignorant, doesn't-apply-to-me shmucktards having trouble with?

g for Punk not D.

it might not be entirely bicycle related, but here we go:

so last night i went to see my friend scott aka vladimir play with his band glassel park 3. first time i heard them was through a cd scott gave me at the kitchen. scott is cook, wich is the way we call volunteers at the kitchen. the first time i heard scott was when he was playing the banjo on this old timey band he and other two cooks have called triple chicken foot. anyway. GP3 is cool to the point of dancing. three dudes: bass player, tricked up six string banjo through almost distorted amp, and wooden box-snare-two cymbals for percussion. bluesy-old timey-punk filling the place with the energy, with the energy, let me say one more time, with the energy of a train going through the dessert as its being robbed by the reincarnation of some sex pistol with a fake water gun, riding a bicycle.
so i get there with my friend Kirlian who is out of breath after the rushed 7 mile ride. and GP3 and friends are sitting there sipping beers. Scott aka vladimir is pretty buzzed, or so he says. we have another beer and then they jump on stage. and they JUMP on stage. banjo flyes and bass kicks ass from the hands of slick looking dude wearing johnny ramone t-shirt and the box (cajon) thumps in the empty glendale night through electrosensitive microphone and scott aka vladimir SINGS and screams. and there is no name for this music and do i like things for wich there are no names.
so when S. comes down he's sober as a legal code and we give thaks and hurrays. and kirlian and i go through the avenue of car dealers to L.A on our bikes. and it makes me sad to think that he's leaving to the northwest in a few months. may GP3 play again, and again.

Putting The "Go" In Verdugos

For whatever reason — let's call it spring fever — the last couple of years at the end of March have marked a tradition of undertaking "10 Rides In 30 Days" up in the Verdugo Mountains north of Glendale, pretty much the closest rideable trails to the city of Los Angeles, where mountain cyclists are considered lower than the dirt they're banned from setting tread on.

In the satellite image above (pieced together from the Terraserver-USA website) I've marked out the course of the climb up the Verdugos' Beaudry North trail (officially referred to as a "motorway" but I dislike that inappropriate term) that I travel on to get up to Tongva Peak (the dotted stretches represent approximations of sections that the camera was blocked from capturing by foliage overgrowth or topography). The network of fireroads is quite extensive throughout the range and even includes a thrilling singletrack I've heard referred to as "The Viper" (in homage to the Magic Mountain rollercoaster, I think). And there's plenty of wildlife. I've been paced by coyote pups, chased mule deer, spooked bobcats napping trailside, and marveled at coastal horned lizards, western toads, garter and gopher snakes galore. Then there's the serenity found atop Tongva Peak at sundown... priceless.

From the trailhead to the water tower is about 2.2 miles in length with an elevation gain of almost 1,200 feet. This Friday will be my first time offroad on my mountain bike since my tenth ride up the Verdugos last April so I'm expecting slow and unsteady going my first few trips. By the end though I typically "zip" up to the top in 30 minutes or so (wel... at least to me it's zippy).

Directions: Get on the Glendale (2) Freeway north. Exit Mountain Street. Left onto Mountain down to Verdugo Road. Right on Verdugo and then get in the left lanes to bear left onto Canada Boulevard where it splits off from Vergdugo at Glendale Community College. Another mile or so is the light at Country Club Drive where you'll make a left and follow it up to Beaudry Boulevard. Left on Beaudry and across one stop sign you'll find the entrance to the trailhead at the sharp curve in the road. Street parking.

Giant Links for Lazy Stairs

Acura L.A. Bike Tour Route

Using the awesome Gmaps Pedometer application to measure tomorrow's bike tour route I found it comes in at 21.82 miles in length. Check it out here.

UPDATE (03/23): A photoset of stills from the DV footage I captured can be found here. And Stephen Roullier's excellent and evocative images of the tour are on display here.

Treasure Hunt Postponed

(Cross-posted from Blogging.la)

Word's just in from the event's organizer that the much-anticipated L.A. Treasure Hunt -- something akin to an Amazing Race on bikes -- has been postponed from tomorrow to April 2 "due to weather conditions."

From the email sent out:

"There is a thunderstorm coming in tonight and chances of heavy rain tomorrow are high, or so numerous weather reports have said. It would be selfish of me to play it by ear and wait till the last minute to cancel the event being that people from all over southern California and as far San Diego are coming to participate in the treasure hunt. I would feel terrible for them to come out here and it be cancelled. I apologize to everyone that was looking forward to the hunt tomorrow but I feel this is the best decision cause its going to be fucking freezing all day and the chances of rain are extremely high. This is for the best."

While I can appreciate the reasons behind the decision, I'm curious as to what weather source he's heeding as weather.com shows the 90026 as being partly cloudy and 56 degrees tomorrow with a 20% chance of rain.

A Time For Reflection

Not really. I'm beat. I took a cold shower just to warm up after getting in from tonight's rain-graced Midnight Ridazz Safety Ride. But I just wanted to give a heartfelt "ride on" to all those diehards, delinquents and degenerates who ignored the inclement elements and common sense to make this two-year anniversary ride a blast. It was a wild 13 miles of wet and cold and awesome.

I'm sorry to say my pix turrned out like crap, but I charted the route over here on Gmaps. Check it out.

And Mack Reed who I rode with last night has a marvelous recap and photos of the ride over on his LA Voice website.

UPDATE (03/12): Stephen Roullier has delivered another excellent photoset from Friday's ride.

My Bike is Beautiful

I finally finished her a coupla months ago and wanted to show her off. I'm calling her "folksfixie" cuz of the upright e.z. ride and industrial look. I just need to add a bikerack to get my messenger bag off my back and my 14 mile each way commute (only twice a week) will be perfect.

Completed at the Bicicocina, natch.

inspirada y . . . ?

lo que pasó

ningunos saben, realmente

todo pasa por una razón

como amor

y el muerte

como éso, son los mismo