Is it having the right worldly possessions, being in full tune with trending technical
who ha's ?
Is it critical for you to be on top of the latest look, cutting edge fashions that are here for a blink?
A movement so flighty it changes direction more than butterflies in the wind.
Most people I surround myself with are unlike
the rest of the followers.
No beat.
No drum.
Just a wanderlust built into their very soul.
A passion for doing,
hearing the whisper, the faint murmur,
the thing deep inside that says
Hell why not?
A good friend always tells me:
" all you gotta do is do it"
Bam.
Think about that for more than a second.
" all you gotta do is do it".
You have, more than once, become your own worst enemy.
Chances are that if you are here reading this you are one of the few people
smart enough
and strong enough to
wake the fuck up, and do.
As a angst ridden punk rock skate rat
"the trick" would haunt me, taunt me, and on occasion break me.
No matter how many times I slammed
something drove me to get up and do it again.
Deny the pain its place in the body, however briefly.
It would have to wait,
because I was going to get it,
that trick was an obstacle in my path.
In my world, I conquered, I could out sweat, out slam
and sure as hell out bleed
ANY obstacle that was denying me my victory.
It's easy to sit there and say it's all too hard.
Right now you are hopefully drinking a cup of Joe, tea, or whatever lights your daily fire,
planning your victories.
Or as the same friend says:
" good bad ideas"
If you are reading this because you have been behind the monitor for too damn long.
Get the fuck out and do.
Plan your next good bad idea by opening the door, grabbing whatever propels you through life,
and go smash it.
Today's goal was to learn kick flips again and maybe some variations.
(I learned the opposite of this ^)
I learned that skating, is like losing a fight every minute.
There are glimpses of victory.
Brief respites from gravity's pull.
But if you are doing it right, most likely you are losing most of the time.
( insert me there )
And I'll be damned if that doesn't feel great.
The other option is quitting.
In cycling it's the climb.
Road or mountain.
It's all the same pain.
Sure you make it to the top,
but it wasn't fast enough.
( Straight up, if you Strava that climb, see that Johnny beat you, and then you get shitty, go fuck completely off. YOU should drive yourself to beat YOU. Johnny doesn't even know who the fuck you are.)
So you ride more.
Push a bigger gear.
Just smash over the obstacle in your way, floating over it, not letting the earth dictate your pathway upon it.
You win.
One more gear.
Soon your mouth tastes like your own blood.
Your heart is residing in your ears and pounding out other worldly rhythms.
The lungs that fuel you are thimbles, more air escapes than can ever hope to enter.
The top?
There is never a top. Just a place you quit.
"all you gotta do is do it."
You judge your accomplishments by the pain you feel in your body the next day.
Weather tempts us to ride with rays of sun peeking through clouds, but the bitter cold air drives you inward, home bound.
For some it is the best time of year, the desert heat retreats to bring all day long adventure and moderate climate. The rain turns every corner into a slice of pie, freshly cooled and waiting to be sliced.
I miss that sweet desert smell.
Unless you have experienced it there is no
way to describe the way the desert floor smells when the ground can finally drink water.
I am not talking about the flora.
I mean the actual dirt, sand, and rock.
Any mountain biker worth their cuts knows what the dirt they ride on smells like.
It's simply inescapable.
In my youth, earning my scars in Michigan, the earth smelled of death and life itself.
Earth wormy topsoil gave way to leaves rotting on the beach. That is the smell I grew up riding.
A very unique blend of rich leafy decay hiding sand.
Your tires cracking open the topsoil gave subtle whiffs of the beach.
Spring time brought about the smell of babies.
How else can you describe the complete onslaught that is Spring in Michigan?
Rainy, humid days giving way to cotton ball clouds swimming in a sea of perfect blue.
Life erupts from the ground, and from every pore in every cyclist.
I moved from the world of grey and greenhouse to the Sonoran Desert.
Twice.
People imagine images of wastelands when you mention the desert.
Keep thinking that lemmings.
There is no greater misconception that I know of, and that I welcomed.
I was fortunate enough to live in the desert during two La Nina/ El Nino phases.
The desert Flora opens up in ways that are both mystical and unimaginable.
The dirt.
Sage, mesquite, and floral bouquets that mingle with your soul as you carve your way
further and further away from the well worn path.
The Sonoran Desert creates a drug that drives you,
invites you to push it further,
explore that area,
drive deeper into yourself and
go.
Just go.
There is no greater spectacle I have experienced on two wheels than
the three months of riding created by nature during the La Nina/El Nino phases.
It is something every rider should be graced with.
It will fill your soul,
encapsulate your body,
destroy every preconceived notion you ever had about the desert.
I am resurrecting myself from the pits of a three week hell. The flu and a sinus infection tag teamed me.
Sub 20 degree winter weather joined in the party for a menage a trois of epic doom and gloom.
As I am getting older, I realize the body hurts more when not used.
The bike becomes a temptress dressed as a dungeon, its chain shackling me to the bed, and smothering me in mucous and full body molecular pain.
Yesterdays ride on the front range was as pathetically delicious as one would imagine.
A terrible performance driven by the joys of sun, warmer temps, and thawing high desert floor.
I am in a mix of geographic regions. Trees share fields with grass and cacti.
Dirt is a mix of decaying leaves and granite heaved from the earth.
My nasal passages hide the beauty of smells from me.
Still plagued with the aftermath of the sinus infection, my body is driving me forward
to explore the dirt.
The smell will come. Its sweetness pangs at my soul.
For now I will enjoy its feel and sights.
I will ride until I can experience the hidden treasures of its bouquet.
I am eagerly awaiting adding another aroma to the palette.
