Not a bad place to live.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
12-7-21
Beautiful, fleeting, lovely things. Here in a moment, and then gone except for the memories.
12-7-16
The trailer arrived about a week ago. The awnings went up, an extension cord was run. William Gibson wrote a book called Virtual Light where people lived in cardboard shacks on the Golden Gate Bridge. It was an adhoc community filling in the limited voids of the urban environment. There are any number of motorhomes scattered across the city of Vancouver, a whole society of transient residents, only not so transient because their mobile homes and RVs are semi-permanently parked in the industrial park cracks of this city. I like this. It's a really great "fuck you" to the overpriced real estate and excessively valued rental market in this city. $1300/month for a 1 bedroom above grade? If you're lucky? Absurd. I love the artwork for the cover of this book. The trailer in the photo is just the beginning of that. Awesome.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
12-7-10
I rode this bike two days ago. Same trail. I pointed this bike over that little edge there in the photo and found a particular part of the trail that decided to grab on to the front wheel, twist it sideways, and make it unride-able. So I stopped by the bike shop, picked up a rim, cut some spokes, and went home and made myself another wheel. Here it is, pointed at the same bit of trail that destroyed it two days before. I rode it, cleaned it, and felt good about it. And then parked the bike. I've had that bike since 1995. I don't know if I'll ever ride it again. Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm glad I rebuilt the wheel for that one last ride.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
12-7-9
"Dinner" out, though I would be hesitant to call a pizza slice "dinner." In my defense I tried for not one but two healthier alternatives. One was closed so the owners could go camping. I suppose that's fair. The other was hosting a poetry jam and while they would have accommodated us without charging cover we'd be stuck near the stage and subject to the loud, embittered hipsters ranting about their difficult lives, or similar. I should probably not be so quick to judge, the poetry may have been amazing, but even so probably not much for the entertaining of a 5 year old girl. Maybe when she's 7...
12-7-8
I've been riding my mountain bike a lot lately. This was the fifth time in seven days. And that bike is 18 years old. I took an almost identical photo a few days ago, but this one is slightly different because it's the last one. That little path that seems to end about eight feet from where the bike is, well, it points pretty much straight down. I've ridden that dip three times recently, this was to be the fourth. This time I managed about half the drop before hitting a small rock in just a way that caused my front rim to collapse under me. As I was going over the handlebars I was thinking I screwed up the line but the reality is more likely that my 15 year old front rim was designed for the lighter rider I used to be when I built it and that it was just tired of having the crap being beat out of it and gave up the ghost. It was a short hike out. I bought a new rim that afternoon and some spokes to go with it and rebuilt the wheel. I could ride it tomorrow. I might just.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
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