Ride Lugged

Ok, so I haven’t contributed anything to this blog yet. I guess my only excuse is that I try to spend as little time online as possible. Noticing the emphasis on naturalness and handmadeness on the account of James, I have something pretty natural and handmade to contribute. This is the flyer from a Wild Foods Feast that I hosted last weekend. It was fucking awesome to say the least! Our menu came from many people and included: Antelope, Wild Boar, Bear, Nutrea, Steamed Nettles, Nettle Pesto, Acorn bread and muffins, Dandelion/Chickweed/Miner’s Lettuce Salad and Black Berry pie to top it off! My goal is to host these things once a month or so to teach and learn about the real bounty of our land that existed long before we enslaved it with agriculture. Shit, once you know how to survive off the land there’s no need for fancy saddle bags. Although, that bag looks really good Mel and James! I want to see more pics.

Before you, ill-conceived bangs pasted to my face ending in a mop of white recently unwashed hair, covered by a hat. On the hat, salt stains spread from the button like an ice-age glacier model. The same color too. A lump like a caterpillar sewn into my gum, Chewing Tobacco (hmmm skoal mint long cut) is co-authoring the day, the next trick, my mood, my hopes and the erosion of what otherwise is a healthy mouth, along with the Coke. The Coke, always by my side should come with a holster. Like perfect sets of waves, rows of what looks like rows of dirt, which are in fact rows of dirt (applied by my face, greasy with tenacious auto exhaust), are breaking down from the sweaty collar of a faded and now collectible t-shirt. Breaking down, along my shoulder, from the collar to the cuff, beaching on my chubby sunburned arm at the end of which is my hand. The hand shades my eyes; Vietnam veteran-like eyes freaky with intention and determination. Centered in a collage of what amounts to baby fat, freckles, an earring, a no lipped but committed smile and snot are two tiny reflections of a curb. I’m staring at my opportunity and your curb, bench, staircase and handrail. The blood from my knee and shin intersect, marching downward, leaving watered down proof in abstract shapes on my socks. I hike the socks. My shoes, a “wet dream” for budding forensic scientists; ripped, retied, re-ripped shoelaces, countless marks, abrasions and modifications. I’m assigning numeric value, storyboards and scenarios to your different architecture. Designing, no manifesting a map of my world; a world of concrete, steel and glass with illegal gymnastic points of interest. I am drawing fluid hopeful lines from one object to another. Inhale, spit and move. Left behind is a pool of sweat and an invisible beginning. This is my first and sixtieth attempt. I’ve been here forever. I’m rolling. Comforted and invigorated by the fact that life is rushing at me sideways.

that was written by danielwakefieldpaisley, not me, about 5 years ago.

hey this is supposed to be a forum, not a monologue, and I’m only gunna keep writing if people not only post responses but articles to, i know you kids have shit you need to air, get it out there, fucking tell a friend. Someone besides me likes good knives, good tunes and good bikes, fucking prove it you wanks.

I was recently downtown here, and came across this knife. Its a great product, 11 bucks 6 inches long, real wood, good blade, brilliant locking mechanism, dirt simple, nice finish, and made in France. For 11 bucks. Why isnt there a bike like this? Simple, good looking, affordable, made somewhere they dont eat cats and practical. Why doesnt Kmart sell a bike like this knife? Instead they sell the equivalent of a swiss army knife made of lunch tray plastic and cast low carbon steel. Too many gizmos, no eye to anything that actually makes a bike a pleasure to ride. Not light, not good looking, not quiet, not comfortable, not fast, no ability to use it for anything practical…ie no fender mounts, rack mounts ect… Very frustrating.