The Captain’s Log

Just to prove how jaded I am, I completely forgot to mention in the last entry’s laundry list of happenings that Dr. Dizzle and I made a pilgrimage to Somerville, MA to see a premier of Klunkerz, introduced by one of the forefathers himself: Gary Fisher.

I don’t think I’ve seen Gary face-to-face in maybe a decade. I stayed at his house for a few days way back when I was writing a feature story about him for Mountain Bike magazine that was perhaps a bit more honest than it needed to be. In other words, it never got published. Despite his jet lag from flying in from the premier in Scotland the night before, Gary managed to recognize me. There was a line of autograph seekers behind me, so I left it at “Hi, how are ya?” and took my seat. He did manage to tell me that he’d ponied up a ticket so Charlie Kelly, the godfather of all mountain bike journalism, could join him. That was pretty big news, if you know the history.
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Wow. After January dragging on for so long, February sure got by in a hurry.

Several people have written wondering if there’s something wrong with me because of the lack of blog entries. Actually, that mostly happens when things are right with me. Writing is therapeutic for me, helps me get connected and purges whatever demons are conspiring to twist my head into an unhappy shape. So when you don’t hear from me these days, it’s most likely because I’m firing on all cylinders, getting lots of work done and having fun. Sucks for you, but I’m quite happy with the arrangement.

To sum up, January included:
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I’m not sure if it’s the full moon or just one of those days, but I had two old friends returned to me from the lost and found bin today. The first, Bill Lucas, popped up in email after a few years of no contact. He stumbled across this website and dropped me a line to let me know he was riding again. The other, Brooks Mitchell, was at a gathering several towns over that I wasn’t all that psyched to attend, but went anyway. Boy, am I glad I went anyway.

Bill is my oldest, in terms of long-standing, friend. He’s two years older than me, but when we met thirty years ago, he was really old. We were both disciples of Phil Fisher, a backyard bicycle frame builder and counterculture icon in Albany, NY. Phil was as pro-bike as he was anti-car. Bill and I were both doing stuff with him, but hadn’t yet met. I was headed over to Phil’s to fix a busted spoke from a rough race weekend when I met him and Bill, on bikes, headed out to get some pie and coffee. Phil implored Bill to ride my bike and check out how it handled. Bill rode it, handed it back to me with a sneer and commented that it was in such poor working condition that he couldn’t tell anything about the frame. I was pissed. It was the start of a lifelong friendship.
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Christmas break was just a blur, but somewhere in there was a day. Let’s call it a Metal Health Day. Dr. Dizzle and I ventured north one day to seek out Frank the Welder in his Bellows Fall, VT lair. Frank the Welder was recently inducted into the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame for his copious contributions to the mountain bike industry by way of his innovative bike designs and immaculate construction. Starting at some BMX company I forget, moving on through the Yeti years (and several world championships), to Sinister (those lovely dirt jump/skate park/freeride/downhill rigs) to his most current incarnation, the Viris WTF trials bike.

We got the nickel tour of the aluminum tubing rack, complete with handy dandy rollers and built-in chop saw, various vintage Bridgeport mills set up for specific tube mitering operations, the ubiquitous frame builder’s welding jigs, an engineer’s table, drill press and a CNC machining rig that reminded me of the Millenium Falcon in Star Wars. Then we went to the Miss Bellows Falls Diner for lunch.
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December, for all it’s darkness, snow and cold, is a very busy time for me. I’ve cranked out more website stories, magazines, playbills, posters and spin in the past two weeks than I have in the previous month or so. Bike riding has slipped and snowshoeing and skiing are still not in full swing. But work is good. I must say that work is going well. The new boss is good at helping me get out from under everybody else’s good ideas so I can pursue my own.

But tonight I had a few moments to incorporate some of Jeff’s suggestions into the museum logo and I’m really liking it. I boosted the size of the headbadge and carefully slid the name plate up a bit. Well, you’ve got eyes. Tell me how this one looks to you.

More end-of-semester meetings tomorrow and another party. Thursday is looking good for some x-c ski adventuring with Mrs. and Dr. Dizzle. Work is good, but play is better. You knew that.

I meant to use small caps for the wording around the chainring. That’s a silhouette of a one-inch pitch chainring, the old-fashioned kind used on the original Klunkers, which were spelled with a K in Fat Tire Flyer, so I’m down wit dat. In both of these I faded the bike back an additional 10 percent to cut down on the clutter. The bike is still the Breezer #2 owned (before it got swiped) by Charlie Kelly, the great-granddaddy of mountain bike journalism (Fat Tire Flyer). The “shield” is a sanitized head badge from a Schwinn Excelsior. Again, a nod to the original newspaper boy bikes that were integral to the Klunker conversion experience. I added the First Flight logo because this whole operation wouldn’t be operating if not for Jeff and his shop in Statesville, NC. I tried fading back the chainring a bit and outlining the type to help emphasize the head badge. I haven’t heard from Jeff yet today, but he’d probably like to hear your preferences. We close here, er wut?

Not easy to make those curves work, but I’m starting to like this one a lot. How’s bout youse?

Too pooped to letter it up tonight, but how’s this looking for the MOMBAT (Museum of Mountain Bike Art and Technology) logo?

To demonstrate just exactly how self-absorbed I am, yesterday I read my feature story in Dirt Rag (issue #132), “Old Dog on Rye,” and laughed myself silly. I’m so funny! But you’d think I’d know the jokes already. It’s so weird. I really enjoy reading my stuff in print. It’s the literary version of enjoying your own flatulence odors maybe.

Tomorrow is the last day of mountain bike afternoon activity at school and I’m going to miss it. I’ve been on my new bike for the majority of it, which is largely why you haven’t seen me here. I’ve been riding a lot. And these kids I ride with (not to mention Dr. Dizzle, the official activity facilitator–I’m just auditing the course) are a riot. We’ve all found our specialties. Some can rip downhills like nobody’s business, others are fast on the singletrack. One’s perfectly happy to take up the rear, although he did hang it out one time and seriously stabbed himself with his handlebar when gravity flexed. I’m the king of riding incredibly steep things that nobody else can ride. Some of these kids are now convinced that they don’t weigh enough to climb well. It’s just funny.
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