Gone Fishin'


I'm not actively blogging here anymore. But if you got here because you were searching for something about bikes, you might want to check out my latest project, Vermont Goldsprints. In summer of 2014, I bought a used goldsprints racing setup and have made it a mission to get more bikes in more people's faces by putting on fun races in unexpected places. Come join me!


In the Mid-Week-end

So much going on this week. Work, late night meetings and late night shifts at the ever-present- credit-card-debt-inspired second job at REI- also where I spent my day today. Retail tests your faith in humanity, but I work with great people and that makes it easy. Between time before work and all of my breaks throughout the day I managed to get the studded tires off my bike, the slick tires on, fix the same flat twice because I rushed the job the first time, and get the big 46-tooth ring onto my crankset replacing the 34 I have spun on through the winter. It's all about macrodrive, baby. The bike flies now, and I fly on it. I got out a little early on Friday and managed a 6.7 mile uni ride, which took me through the UM campus quad, home to the youthful and tanned citizens of Missoula whose lives are subsidized by a student loan program that surely funds itself elsewhere. I don't like being conspicuous on the uni, but the sometimes I do. Kate would say it is my astrological destiny as a Leo to like attention. The chant of "uni-u-ni" from the frisbee-playing kids on the quad was fun, I have to admit.

I miss college sometimes, even now, almost eight years after graduation. I miss being carefree, although I certainly didn't think of myself as such at the time. I miss six hours in the library working to get a poem just right, I miss the Java House, I miss conversations that spiraled out into nowhere and terminated in decisions to order pizza or head downtown. I miss the totality of the experience. I wonder if those of use who care about writing and Lit owe it to ourselves to pursue those things at our own financial peril. I wonder if I'm really saving the world through land-use planning, or if I simply serve as handmaiden to the developer.

I've been reading about Charles Olson again, about my professor Al Glover (still stinging for the time he asked if I got "anything at all" out of Lisa Jarnot's work, and i KNEW I hadn't), about Moby Dick and King Lear and wishing I had the momentum to get one of those projects in the right margin started for real, taken beyond the status of placeholder. Collaborative poetry- Blue Hero- is it worth it? When I started it years ago I asked for poems by mail only and actually got a few, which sit in a folder in my office, refugees from when I lived in Vermont and knew I was leaving law school and had a yard sale and put tons of other stuff in the dumpster in anticipation of traveling light for the next few years. I have the poems. I have the schedule for Anatomy of a Critic, started in the first weeks of my AmeriCorps experience in 1999, fresh out of college after spending my post-degree
summer digging holes and planting trees on the campus of Middlebury and going home to write, fighting the alienation from academia that had already become so palpable. Time is such a critical resource, so critical that nearly every moment needs to be evaluated for its usefulness.

What will I do tomorrow? I have two sides, two minds, or maybe just a mind and a soul. The utilitarian side wants to clean out the garage, put the tools away,taking pleasure in the wonderful physicality of WORK, of cooking and cleaning and organizing. Some part of me wants to get the gigantic hammock (big enough for four!) I wove the winter before law school and hang it out in the yard and read all day, or tune up the guitar, play the harmonica like nobody can hear, like I'm not bitter. Like I'm not clinging to the past or to something unattainable. Like I'm Sonny Terry, whooping between the musical phrases for the sheer joy of it, or maybe just to get out the last of the breath that couldn't be used in music.