how will he get home, and will he ever get there in the first place?

so i call and call and call various transportation services, in an attempt to make my way home from ketchum. i am quickly reminded of how absolutely terrible the public transportation is in the US. thus far, the train seems completely absurd. they will not let you bring your bike on the train, unless you put it in a rather small box, and there is no train station in ketchum or anywhere closer than 300 miles. i could of course ride a bus 600 miles up to portland, and then take a train down from there, but that seems rather stupid. the train that the woman recommended leaves from elko, nevada, which is quite far away as well, and it departs at 3:40 am. huh? at this point, i have yet to find a car company that will allow me to rent a car in sun valley, and return it in berkeley. most of these cars must be returned in the state that they were rented, so essentially i would be renting three cars in three different states and riding my bike from all of the various drop points. i find this to be quite humorous. i will certainly figure something out, but this is nonsense. oh yes, and i believe i've called every bike shop in the greater bay area to discover that none of them have the rack i need. hmmmmmm.

shower. fix bad {self-given} haircut. go to bike shop. go to rei. go to ron's. record. record. record.

hot

i have an idea~

let's pick the hottest day of the year and plan to record then~

delimna #1

please don't misunderstand~

my dear gordon, you've swallowed my words wrong, though i suppose in my haste the other day, i may have spit them out rather unlike i intended. please, please, please, share your thoughts.

all of you.

the internet, having become in so many ways a wasteland of consumerism and pornography, also remains one of the greatest tools for growth {on so many levels} that has come into being since perhaps the first library in alexandria so long ago. as communities break down with the crumbling of traditions, the death of an agrarian lifestyle, a faltering democracy, etc. etc., the internet provides us with a great ability to forge strong communities, and places of discussion. without the internet, it is inconcievable that such great numbers of people would have shown up for peace marches last february 15th. and art thrives here, in all of its forms. more than anything else, i want this journal of mine to be a place of discussion. A dimly lit café, late at night. i grow quite excited when so many of you show up and share your often disparate opinions on various matters. none of which i find "silly." What I do find silly, is this constant berating and uplifting of jeff pitcher. the majority of the comments posted, have little to do with the bulk of the journal entry, but rather focus on your perceived inconsistencies in me and the way i live my life. judgements from a distance, both good and bad. as much as you wish the right to judge whether i am being honest, or good, or whatever else you wish to lay upon me, i too have the right to think your judgement silly. I simply don't wish to become embroiled in ongoing debates about the musings of my self. I spend plenty of time doing that in my own world…with music, with friends, on my bike etc… be they compliments or harsh criticisms, say whatever you will. I may disagree vehemently at times, but rarely will I engage in defense of my words, for they are not crumbling walls I wish to rebuild. they are simply fleeting moments in time…my thoughts at that precise moment on that precise day. I let them stand as they will, and let your words surround them. if you wish to be a microscope to my world, let me not stop you, i just won't always be there under the light and petri dish. Though at times I confess to being pissed off at what people write, in the end it is only the opinions of those I love that truly matter. Cheers to you christian.

but enough of that. today, i encounter the first real problem with my trip. it seems that my bicycle, being the kick-ass racing bike that it is, is not capable of sustaining the weight of panniers in the way that they are most commonly designed. i am told that the frame will "fail." what this means, is that i am now in the midst of a mad search for a very expensive {and rare} type of rear-mount rack {which they think is no longer in production} so that i can actually take my things with me. i have already decided that if i cannot take the panniers, i am still going. i have no idea how, but i will not let this adversity stop me. no no no no no.

dancing and glass

and i am slowly withering away to nothing. all of these hours on my bike, have reduced my body to little more than skin and bone and muscle and blood and organs...etc, etc. weighed myself the other day, and landed at 150 with my clothes on!!! i confess, that being this fit again, for the first time since my early twenties, feels absolutely magnificent. i think of my body as a deer or gazelle; nimble and quick and lithe. i feel more agile than i have in many years. of course, i also feel as though i do little more than work, play music, and ride. my dreams are even littered with images of me on my bike. and so, the time draws near. i leave now in less than two weeks. i have compiled most of my equipment, and feel about as physically prepared as i suppose i could considering i do still play music, work, and sleep etc... broke down and bought a new sleeping bag, as my old one is over ten and has lost its desire to keep me truly warm. and sleep will be ever so important on this journey. so today i putter around, and begin planning my route. the pacifist, cussing again {oh no!!!!!} at little things. oh if only i had the desire to become personally engaged in all of this discussion about jeff pitcher and america. what silliness. difficult at times, not to throw back my thoughts about the true nature of myself, and the sad state of our dear america, which has gone so very far from the democratic and hopeful ideals upon which it was founded. but i remain silent, for i am not here to discuss such things. i am here to render little pieces of myself for you to see and hold in your hands. a piece of broken glass that sometimes cuts, and sometimes reflects the great beauty of the universe. i am red amber, pulled from the arms of south american trees. i am a small boy, in a red wagon, pulled by his mother. mother oh mother. my mom turned 58 yesterday. happy happy day jean ann. may you dance and dance and dance.

france anyone?

fuck you, you macho pieces of shit, on your fucking motorcycles. fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. i abhor those goddamn super-fast machines so much, that i cannot even begin to describe. to me, they somehow epitomize the deep sickness of our post-modern world. our seething detachment from nature. in this case though, i suppose it isn't the motorcycles themselves that i loathe, as it is many of the people who ride them. the various routes that i cycle, are littered {especially on the weekends} with such people. i hate everything about them that i can see. i don't care that i am perhaps being simple minded and judgemental. i despise the bumble bee sound of their fucking motorcycles...i hate the fact that they ride out there in t-shirts and jeans, and i hate their shoes, which are most often high-tops or cheap ass 'construction worker boots.' the only worthwhile reason that i hate any of these things, is because they ride far too fast and it terrifies me. take today for example. two and a half hours into my ride, i hear yet another coming up from behind. over time, i have grown so frightened of their reckless driving, that i often feel tempted to stop my bike, and walk off into the brush until they pass...which frankly, is sad and absurd. of course, i would have to stop quite often due to the great propensity of these assholes, and that rather interrupts my ride which seems grossly wrong. so i continued riding today as the rocket came up the straight stretch of road behind me. i was riding quite slowly, as this hill is a long {sometimes seemingly neverending} climb, having earned the name 'papa bear.' just when the sound became annoyingly loud, he was there and then he was gone. i glanced up while screaming fuck you {just to the universe i suppose} and he was out of my sight almost instantly. this hill is a long hill as i said. the two problems {that i could immediately assess} with this prick were the following:

1. though i cannot be certain, i estimate that he was going somewhere between 120-140 miles an hour. i have never seen anyone pass me at a speed quite like that. it was rather intense to say the least.

2. he was in the bike lane.

yes, the bike lane. which is of course where i was as well. my estimate there, is that he must have been less than a foot from my left shoulder. i felt the wind and struggled a bit not to fall over. and then after regaining my composure, continued my climb while thinking of how terribly fragile the line is between this world and the next...sometimes a bit too fragile for my taste. it is absolutely fine with me, if he wishes to ride his motorcycle that fast {in his jeans and t-shirt, and yes i saw it as he passed me}, and place his mortality in risk. it is not okay when he potentially places my mortality in risk. in that situation, had he somehow seen me flipping him off, turned around and come back, there is no way that i could have kept myself from attacking him. i guess i am not a pacifist 100% of the time. frankly, part of me greatly wishes that he had, for maybe he would have told his motorcycle friends that some 'pussy' on a bicycle with those 'tight shorts,' beat the shit out of him, thus gaining us cyclists some respect in his world. perhaps they think it is funny to pass us that close. no no no no no no no no no. it is not funny.

and the antics continued.

a while later, back in the hills past briones park, some other asshole {with his shirt off} was doing wheelies at 70 miles an hour while his girlfriend sat on the roadside watching him, getting wet as his metal cock rose and rose. fucking idiot. and two hours later, as i rode up through the last of the hills, another went by. this time, at least smart enough to be wearing leathers, he too passed me far too fast and too close while winding up through the curves. just in front of us was a bmw that was appearently going too slow, for he tried to pass him as well. which he did, but it just so happened that anotother car was coming down the hill {imagine that!!} and boom. chaos. he dropped to the ground after hitting the front of the car and spun out to his right, as the motorcycle carried on to the left from the momentum of the car. leathers chewed and torn, he was quickly up to his feet. in attempt to avoid the motorcycle man, the poor woman veered off the road and crashed into the side of the hill. her windshield was smashed and her face was bleeding. the man in the bmw {which had crashed into a tree in his effort to avoid injuring anyone} stopped and ran down the hill to see if all were ok. thankfully, i had been passed seconds before, and was thusly removed from the accident entirely. oddly enough, the motorcycle man who was mumbling something about his "fucking front wheel" was up and walking, seemingly fine. the bmw man called the police and an ambulance, and the woman said she was okay, just cut. i asked if they wanted me to stay and help and they said no. i was tired and there were plenty of witnesses, so i rode on. shaking my head. shake shake shake. feeling bad for having had any ill thoughts about that man, but hoping that he'll be more cautious in the future. and tomorrow, i will go buy brighter clothing for my bike, with money i do not have. perhaps that will help to thicken the terribly thin line that the boys on their fast machines erase a bit by their very existence. perhaps i will go to bike shops and attempt to begin a petition that the police give speeding tickets heavily there for a while. something. perhaps i should just move to france, where i wouldn't have to worry about an idiotic president and completely un-democratic "democracy" either. fucking america.

slowcars

just spent minutes attempting to somehow wax poetic on the degree to which i despise traffic. attempting to engage in a philosophical and theoretical discussion regarding my thoughts about how and why traffic taps into something quite ancient in our biological dna, which in turn causes a revolt of our spirits, minds, bodies, and souls against its tired attack. but alas, i feel quiet. i feel pissed off about having sat in traffic for the last forty minutes. fuck you fuck you fuck you traffic. where are all of you people going? sometimes good to say fuck you, and leave the {supposed} intellectual banter to the wayside. perhaps often, this is best. perhaps i do rush too much with all things. i would of course argue the contrary, but perhaps. perhaps i drive slowly, because i really want to drive fast. perhaps i feel like traffic limits me. perhaps it is some veiled race against mortality. perhaps my art is restless. perhaps the engine in my belly is too big. vroom vroom.

junecat

robilard lives in my house. he {a cat} and i {a man} seem to communicate just fine. when people are out for the day, doing whatever it is that they do, he likes to spend his time lounging about on my bed. i rather enjoy his company as i putter around the house in the mornings. today, i work on words for new songs; words that are slow in their arrival. we recorded eight new songs and one old one last weekend. and oh, what an undertaking. so many cables and mics and remotely controlled computers and soot from hollow chimneys. i'm not sure that i've entirely ingested the process or the work from the weekend, but will say with certainty that it felt absolutely spectacular. i am excited beyond any rational degree to be making another record. i get to hear the first batch of rough mixes today; rough meaning nothing more than the basic tracks we did live. in a few weeks, we plan to track eleven more, and will thusly dive into the flesh of our first record as a complete band. and here we are in june. waltzing lightly beneath grey skies and watching life, with all of it neverending changes, spread out before us. june is a cat, sleeping gently on a bed and darting through the air as only a cat can.only a can cat. catcan. nactac. enuj.

sit and sit and sit

no bicycle today. nor yesterday, nor the day before. it is easy for me to grow quite angry at myself for my laziness. oh but i will pay on my way to idaho. the excuse of grey skies, or the need to do other things. but ultimately, it comes down to the fact that i all too often seem to sit about aimlessly doing nothing. accomplishing nothing. walking from this side of my room to that side and back. then to the kitchen. then back to my room. then to the kitchen. then to the bathroom. back to my room. checking email. the phone. back to the kitchen. and so forth. where does this lack of focus come from, and why is it only here now and then? what is boredom? why do i so effectively waste my time? how pathetic, that i can't find anything to do in this world of countless things. if i'm not careful, this lack of productivity can bring such a sour mood, and hurl me into the depths of a great and unbridled frustration. sometimes, i can't even muster the will to get up from where i sit and make lunch. instead, i sit and sit and sit, growing more and more hungry by the minute. how strange we humans are. how terribly strange. a photo i took from the baybridge while driving. oh, the light. where are you dear light? where are you?

with soil and sunlight

"the miraculous is not extraordinary but the common mode of existence. it is our daily bread. whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air, and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances, will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine~ which was, after all, a very small miracle. we forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water {with soil and sunlight} is turned into grapes."
~wendell berry

toes without skin

another goat and another day. picked up my repaired saturn this morning, and was so quickly reminded what a terribly designed and absolute piece of shit it is. of so many car manufacturers, saturn must be making some of the worst vehicles in the history of automotive engineering. everything about it is so poorly designed that i find it rather amazing. but i also know that in the grand scheme of things, it matters nonewhatsoever...it is, after all, just a car. and now, my dear bicycle begins her seduction. i can hear her gently calling to me from the stairwell. my brain tells me to stay indoors and read...listen to music...prepare more for recording this weekend {though i have been doing so rather incessantly}. oh but the heart is strong, and idaho is far away. perhaps my hips and elbows and ankles and shoulders will thank me for the wind, as they are so wildly sore. spent much time last night at my white crane silat class rolling about on a hard floor, with less grace than i would like; which in turn meant that i banged my bones over and over and over. i also managed to slide my feet around so much working on one of the basic movements, that i seem to have rubbed the skin off of the bottom of both of my big toes. i felt so much like a young boy who has been playing outside on a hot summer day too long, but so in love with his time that he neglects to notice the wounds gathered during the day. like the philosophies of the class, all things are indeed connected, all things one. goats and cars and bones and toes without skin.

when one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world
~john muir

half

i recall well this time last year, when the goats were out eating the wild grass on the hills. on my way home from work last night, i saw them again. it fills me with such joy to watch these animals eating away the mountain, at the onset of summer. there is such beauty in this, and such beauty in the simple fact that the men with their loud cutting and blowing machines are nowhere to be found. in all things; music, life, perhaps even the afterlife, silence can so deeply enrich the sound that later exists. animals quietly eating grass, is just another form of music, equally important to all other sounds. perhaps the most noticable sound today, is the fact that i am 30 and one half years old. why don't we celebrate our half birthdays? aren't they also important? sometimes, the half is more meaningful than the whole. 30.5 oh this year is so full of surprises and great things. so today is for you and me mie, you and me. yes, mie and i share the same day of birth. and yes, life is mysterious. so happy, happy to us i say. may today be full of halves. halfway to somehwere and halfway from somewhere else. divided and yet whole. quiet and loud.

boxing match

part of me simply cannot believe that i am, in minutes, going to be on my bike again. of course my shoulders and neck seem to be complaining the most. it is one thing to have endurance for one long ride on one day. another thing entirely, to have endurance on long rides day after day after day. attempting to remind myself that this is a meditation, not a boxing match. still, i punch and punch. and punch and punch and punch.