Saturday, June 26, 2010

this is a fucking clothing comercial!



how do i describe this life? how do i tell you about what it feels like? how every second is like flying. yes the posing and snobbery is sickening, but shit like that comes with every youth culture. and i wanna just scream "they're only bikes for fuck sake, get over it!" but then they're not just bikes. they're a freedom. its just you out there. yeah trying not do die down broadway during rush hour while still racing a co-worker on a fixie to prove that the added 1/2lb of gears isn't all that much weight (ps- it so is), weaving trough hundreds of cars doesn't really make you feel all that alone.

it pisses me off how many of us die out there, or are maimed. it was awesome when ian's settlement came through and he bought us all dinner, but worth three weeks in a wheel chair? and he was so fucking lucky. tyler got pulled under a street sweeper in seattle. he fucking died. he was in a bike lane.

its pretty much an annual event of mine to hit a patch of ice and slide face first into an intersection. and the fucked up thing? i lie there thinking "don't hit my bike, don't hit my bike." and then after that you have to give her a quick once over and get back on the ol' girl and get your ass to work.

this is the one girl who will treat me right if i do well by her. i know it.

yes the posing, the stupid ass tricks, its dumb, agreed. but the softness, the speed, the absolute singularity you feel on a bike... its intense. its love.

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