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         I should have known better than to use an air fork. Fox’s Float suspension shock seemed so scientifically precise on the outside, and so tastefully detailed -that is before I ripped the logo stickers off. Purchasing the Float fork heavily discounted at second hand sympathy price was a consumer’s dream. Now I am left high and dry in the wilderness without any tide of conciliatory fluff to tread. Alas my revered product broke its seals and decompressed without the slightest provocation on my part. On the second day of biking from Deadhorse I heard a gush of air let loose and a long hissing squeal like complicated expulsion of flatulence or perhaps my tire leaking air. I suspected at any moment I would be forced to throw my bike to the ground in irritation and repair a flat. no no, nothing that simplistic would dampen my enthusiastic greeting of the trail. The air seals broke on the fork. My handle bars were lowered significantly -some four inches or so-, and my posture would be soon bear some considerable pressure on my wrists. After a few days of riding on my ridiculous ‘low rider’ I encountered a numbing sensation in the two outer fingers of each hand. A nerve was being pinched, abused, or damaged, and while in the deep meditative state of riding it has been difficult to not think about losing these valuable assets. I’m a goddamn piano player after all, and six fingers in all will just not cut it for busting out a good waltz.
        I’ll try to cut the drama here and focus on more positive things about the trail… like the wild berries. The raspberries and blueberries bushes -often planted by the transportation/ public relation section of the oil companies to garnish propagandist information posts at roadside rest areas for tourists- are bountiful, refreshing, and highly addictive. Also on the good side of the road, pain saving remedies from the bike mechanic Goat. His suggestions for replacing my expensive Thompson stem with modest looking -higher angled- stem  has certainly helped. The good people at the UCSC bike coop -and ultimately Kyle from the T.P.- have helped in offering me replacement forks. I am full of gratitude.
          I have enjoyed very much walking into tourist trap truck-stop rip off cafes after sleeping on cardboard beds strewn about mosquito infested marsh, and not caring that I smell like a goat -no offense to Goat. Fond memories spread their warm arms over me as I recall the Yukon River restaurant; sitting drinking coffee and spreading dozens of tiny ‘land o’lake’ butter packets and strawberry jam tabs on my rye toast and topping off with a good helping of honey from the communal decanter. A teenage girl sitting at a table across from me gags and buries her nose deep into an ice cream bowl after viewing my condiment heavy sandwich.  Calorie loading has become an art form. One must evade certain honorable distractions like worrying about conflict between Lebanon and Israel, how not to be caught swiping the communal honey pot, and to be careful not to drink too much coffee -the steady road to dehydration- in order to keep the body loaded with adequate fuel. Â
           The day we departed Yukon river we unknowingly drove headlong into a steady set of steep hills. I remember darting ahead of the others like a madman that day -I really have no language to explain my actions sometimes. about twelve miles into the great hilly climb session, I was halted from going further by a big armed woman of short stature whose lively character and crude gestures could describe those of a pirate. She bellowed that she alone made decisions and that she would not allow me or any other biker to pass through a construction zone. The zone, she asserted, was twelve miles long -really it was five. as I gazed longingly at those steep torturous hills before me and then with loathing at my captor I fell into a submissive sort of depression. That was until a trucker from behind booed the construction lady’s tyranny and told me to take off while she was in her unawares. Indeed, at that moment she was staring disdainfully at some crows that were gawking and playing around the dangerous pits of rubble -they had been blasting the sides of the road with dynamite to widen and make the precious highway a more comfortable ride for those brazen teamsters- and she shouted as if to perpetuate the rumble of combustion “who feeds these birds; they should all be shot”. A trucker explained that he sometimes offers a crumb of bread to them. The announcement set off the feisty temper of the construction workerly who shook her fist and declared him part of the problem.  At that distraction I was pushing off and starting down the hill bypassing the good lady’s authority. but she yelled at me and said, “Oh no you’re not! There’s heavy machinery down that way. we’re putting your bike in that back of the pilot car, and that’ll be here in a few minutes”. Goat and Jacob arrived, and they tried their powers of persuasion to no avail. We were helped by some musculars loading our heavy loads into the flatbed pilot car. Our driver chatted with the other construction workers over the two-way radio. She told us we’d be the talk of the town… sure enough we hear some guy babble “twelve miles between here and Terra Del fuego ain’t’ gonna hurt’em” -I insist it was only five. Before she let us off on the other side of the hill she apologized for the inconvenience to eh… whoever.. certainly it seemed that all the workers were on break anyways. In this way we were cheated out of those precious five miles. Who knows how many more equipment failures, wildlife encounters, personal revelations would surface by now had we took the time to cycle that treacherous terrain. I for one will struggle to the bitter end next time, and not just for the sake of argument.
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Brother Sean Montrestelli,
Lo and behold! Thanks for the good words coming out of Alaska. I wish I had had a chance to chat with you by phone before you left California to fulfill your nomadic yearnings; I did give a call, but lo and behold your cell phone account had been cancelled. Believe it or not, but I am the kind gentlemen, who sent you and Jacob your genuine SNWright handlebars from Truckee. That’s right, I was visiting the noble bike manufacturer from New England on the very weekend you left for the great north country. I’m honored that I’ve been able to play a part in your journey already.
I’ve explored all the nooks and crannies of this fantastic website Jacob has engineered. I’ve even directed friends and family to it, so that they might have some sense of our trailer-park ilk.
Since I left Santa Cruz and drove across the country in my weighted down Saab, I have been living in and out of my parent’s homes in New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I’ve done a good bit of painting for them, and avoided most taxes, rent and food bills. A good life in many respects. Also, I temped around Boston at various high temples of finance for two months while trying to land a job at the Houghton Mifflin publishing company. I learned several things in the process: I do not want to go into publishing, I do not care to don a suit or cut my hair on a regular basis, and I do not like big offices, nor the genuinely nice people who occupy them, hold meeting in them and order chicken salads with low-fat italian dressing from them.
Lately, I have been at work building a portfolio of articles, so that in the near future I can apply for a job as a reporter at a small paper or magazine, or to a masters program in that field.
On Saturday, August 5th, I am flying to Prague to attend the Next Level Language Institute. In a month I will have my TEFL certificate, and will take a job in another foreign land where I might hope to gain a second language and first exotic wife. I am looking forward to teaching and exploring Czech culture and language. I will keep watching as you creep along the spine, and will do my best to keep you updated on my whereabouts. I may end up in Mexico or South America. If so, maybe I will have the opportunity to play host. If you haven’t already, you might be able to find some hospitality wherever you are by using this resource: http://www.couchsurfing.com and http://www.virtualtourist.com.
For the cause,
zellers
Brother Sean Montrestelli,
Lo and behold! Thanks for the good words coming out of Alaska. I wish I had had a chance to chat with you by phone before you left California to fulfill your nomadic yearnings; I did give a call, but lo and behold your cell phone account had been cancelled. Believe it or not, but I am the kind gentlemen, who sent you and Jacob your genuine SNWright handlebars from Truckee. That’s right, I was visiting the noble bike manufacturer from New England on the very weekend you left for the great north country. I’m honored that I’ve been able to play a part in your journey already.
I’ve explored all the nooks and crannies of this fantastic website Jacob has engineered. I’ve even directed friends and family to it, so that they might have some sense of our trailer-park ilk.
Since I left Santa Cruz and drove across the country in my weighted down Saab, I have been living in and out of my parent’s homes in New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I’ve done a good bit of painting for them, and avoided most taxes, rent and food bills. A good life in many respects. Also, I temped around Boston at various high temples of finance for two months while trying to land a job at the Houghton Mifflin publishing company. I learned several things in the process: I do not want to go into publishing, I do not care to don a suit or cut my hair on a regular basis, and I do not like big offices, nor the genuinely nice people who occupy them, hold meeting in them and order chicken salads with low-fat italian dressing from them.
Lately, I have been at work building a portfolio of articles, so that in the near future I can apply for a job as a reporter at a small paper or magazine, or to a masters program in that field.
On Saturday, August 5th, I am flying to Prague to attend the Next Level Language Institute. In a month I will have my TEFL certificate, and will take a job in another foreign land where I might hope to gain a second language and first exotic wife. I am looking forward to teaching and exploring Czech culture and language. I will keep watching as you creep along the spine, and will do my best to keep you updated on my whereabouts. I may end up in Mexico or South America. If so, maybe I will have the opportunity to play host. If you haven’t already, you might be able to find some hospitality wherever you are by using this resource: http://www.couchsurfing.com and http://www.virtualtourist.com.
For the cause,
zellers
Brother Sean Montrestelli,
Lo and behold! Thanks for the good words coming out of Alaska. I wish I had had a chance to chat with you by phone before you left California to fulfill your nomadic yearnings; I did give a call, but lo and behold your cell phone account had been cancelled. Believe it or not, but I am the kind gentlemen, who sent you and Jacob your genuine SNWright handlebars from Truckee. That’s right, I was visiting the noble bike manufacturer from New England on the very weekend you left for the great north country. I’m honored that I’ve been able to play a part in your journey already.
I’ve explored all the nooks and crannies of this fantastic website Jacob has engineered. I’ve even directed friends and family to it, so that they might have some sense of our trailer-park ilk.
Since I left Santa Cruz and drove across the country in my weighted down Saab, I have been living in and out of my parent’s homes in New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I’ve done a good bit of painting for them, and avoided most taxes, rent and food bills. A good life in many respects. Also, I temped around Boston at various high temples of finance for two months while trying to land a job at the Houghton Mifflin publishing company. I learned several things in the process: I do not want to go into publishing, I do not care to don a suit or cut my hair on a regular basis, and I do not like big offices, nor the genuinely nice people who occupy them, hold meeting in them and order chicken salads with low-fat italian dressing from them.
Lately, I have been at work building a portfolio of articles, so that in the near future I can apply for a job as a reporter at a small paper or magazine, or to a masters program in that field.
On Saturday, August 5th, I am flying to Prague to attend the Next Level Language Institute. In a month I will have my TEFL certificate, and will take a job in another foreign land where I might hope to gain a second language and first exotic wife. I am looking forward to teaching and exploring Czech culture and language. I will keep watching as you creep along the spine, and will do my best to keep you updated on my whereabouts. I may end up in Mexico or South America. If so, maybe I will have the opportunity to play host. If you haven’t already, you might be able to find some hospitality wherever you are by using this resource: http://www.couchsurfing.com and http://www.virtualtourist.com.
For the cause,
zellers
Caustically Hamstrung Inspiratory Factotem
The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.
Caustically Hamstrung Inspiratory Factotem
The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.
Caustically Hamstrung Inspiratory Factotem
The expression that there is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express.