We're here! Hamburg

So of course we've arrived safe and sound. I spent the whole plane ride pretending like our bikes were already missing from the plane, just so I wouldn't be disappointed when they were. Actually I spent the whole plane ride watching Harry Potter Movies, eating Jimmy Bean sandwiches, and talking to the very interesting and very wealthy German-American filmmaker who sat next to us. We tumbled off the plane and were handed two huge bicycle boxes by fittingly strapping young german men. The rigs were safe and sound.

The trip has been a blast so far, the pace insane. We didn't sleep for 35 hours right off the bat, drinking and partying until 3-4 am on Hamburg's teeming Reeperbahn. Our bikes work great. Our hosts are cool. A 6 pack of good beer costs as much as a single regular beer in the states.

TO skip TO TOday, We dropped smack in the middle of a evironmental transportation festival, which meant LOTS of bikes. Everyone in Hamburg rides bikes, so we don't really stand out, except that our bikes are way racy in comparison. Everyone rides 40-year-old cruisers every day, everywhere:



It's really great, except everyone rides on the sidewalk in these crazy omnipresent bike paths, which are really slow if your used to getting around at a car's pace on a bike. But the cars go crazy fast on narrow streets, because they're german and used to bikes on the sidewalk, but I digress. We ran around with Cate, our first Couchsurfing host, who is totally cool, and rides a bike from the 40's which is so flexible the frame wobbles with every pedal stroke, an astonishing characteristic for steel that appears to be mostly cast iron (again, digression). We went through a fantastic tunnel under the Elbe designed in the 1890's with elevators for horses and now for cars and bikes, running into a crazy one-man-bike-collective guy on the other side.

Actually, I don't know the point of this story. The whole reason I started writing this post was to tell you about Cate's friend Tomas, who is a crazy Artist/Poet/Philosopher and totally amazing. He paints pictures with names like "I Fucked the Machine and Lived to Tell About It" and "Biomechanical Woman:'but I shall never again be able to kiss you!' Dr. She-Va-Go:'...'" and so on. They look more or less like this:



Plus this:



Anyways, the real point is Tomas told me about Zizek, a groovy philosopher with more accents on his name (and speech) than I know what to do with. Here's a rad taste:



He is also central to a film called "A Pervert's guide to Cinema" that seems pretty clever.

Aside from that I've mostly been having the time of my life. We went to a complete catalouge of Herbert Tobias' work, a gay 'straight' portraiture photographer (that's a convoluted art joke, fyi) who worked from the end of WWII until the fall of the berlin wall. He's famous for images like this:



But the show was primarily in this vibe:


Damaged, glowering, rugged young men flirting with the camera in a way that is brutally both strong and traumatized. VERY German. I spent a lot of time thinking about layers of history and the way they are read over entire lifetimes as well as physically in the space of a city or culture. Hamburg is one of the best melds I have seen between old and new, huge brick and stone structures mated with commercial glass and girders. All of Europe is built upon the ancients, but Hamburg really owns it. I want to do a photo study when we slow down for a second. Brick buildings with 1850's ornamentation will end suddenly in a sheer window wall, and be encompassed by a conference center pavillion. Whole stained glass banks in stone arches replaed with mirrored tempered panels:



David also found this really cool building, The Chilehaus, massive and made of brick:



In our neck of the woods little tremors would bring this puppy down. Very cool to see.

The trip has been great so far for these and a thousand other reasons, and we haven't even ridden our bikes yet! I'm looking forward to that first day of riding, hopefully out of the rain, which has been pretty relentless and challeging even with places to stay, who knows what'll happen on the open road (w/o fenders, or a rain jacket in david's case Ö).

SF Dreaming

It's been a hell of a trip in SF so far.



We barreled across the desert, only stopping to ride on the salt flats, where salt clung to our bikes like plastered snow, or the worst icing ever created.



The light was surreal, the car ride sifting us through mist and fog and rain all the way through. Santa Cruise arrived through the night after the insane blackout rally course that is highway 17, where the darkness obscured the crashing scars from ill-cambered turns.

My sister Elaine's place is great, something that adults deserve, a place you'd settle down near the beach after a well-earned life. So lucky she can live there. her life feels good. Pride parade was bright and hilarious, transsexuals galore.



We visited the Bicycle Kitchen in a new building, the prototype of the collective, clean and efficient. Instead of selling whole bikes, you give them $30 (or $60?) dollars and earn digging rights to cobble together a single bike. Paging McGyver.

Jessica and I bike everywhere, the city is easy and exhilarating, potholes and rushing traffic, keeping you on your toes. Everywhere's a race. Today we actually did a race, the sprawling, intimidating, epic Annual Oakland Rad Massaker Alleycat (formerly the Oakland Skrape. It's an insane 40+ miler that spans 5 cities in the east bay; Oakland, Berkeley, Piedmont, Albany, and Richmond. 160 riders show up, and they're mostly all crazy hardcore.





For example, the framebuilder for Broakland bikes was there, riding his own custom whip, and he's a beastly guy.



Guys from Mash/Macaframa, etc. But tons of punky east bayers with every description of beautiful bikes. Bikes cobbled together from random legit parts. Colnago frames. Custom track left and right. Tons of vintage rides bearing braze scars from repairs.



The race took us up the coast to all the different harbors, and then inland up the Berkeley hills. I was just blindly following people who looked fast, apologizing to the different groups for being a hanger-on out-of-towner who had no idea where he was. I got lost a couple times and was stupid tired, my legs cramped up and even though I was on a geared bike I could barely make it up the final hill. After 2.5+ crazy hours we collapsed in Willard park. I got 21st place, making me the fastest out-of-towner. Jessica, though, got 2nd fastest girl, blowing everyone's mind!



This guy won, which made me happy because he's a scrawny little guy like me, and there was some CRAZY competition on race bikes, etc.



EVERYONE got prizes, too, because the organizers hooked it up. Crazy number of things.



Here's an organizer hooking it up.


I was gunning for a helmet but it got snagged, so I got an ironic cycling cap.



Very cool crowd and very cool time. It was also my birthday. Things are going great.

Don't worry about missing me...

I'll be here ;)



Apologetically wishing you a happy summer wrought with cheesy ads, sandwiches, and bicycles. I'll keep you posted.



Tonight's the sprint up City Creek, see you there! Here's a shot from my practice the other night, laden with my gear for the trip, seemed doable though tiring:

48hr Winnars!

So if you recall, we participated in the 48 Hour Film Festival this year. Good times were had by all, our spirit as a team was indomitable but we weren't in it to win it, so to speak, just trying to make the best film we could.

.... well, we also WON! Yay! The award of Best Film was presented to us, we get to go on to the NAB confrence in Las Vegas next year. In celebration and as a very special treat to you, I present you with our 48hr film festival submission, Halcyon. Enjoy!:

STRAIGHT UP!

Before I go for the summer I want to cobble together what's sure to become an auspicious event, the 1st annual STRAIGHT UP gnarlycat in Salt Lake City!



What's a Gnarlycat, you ask? Well I just made that word up! But this one's simple. Meet at Gallivan (where else?) At 10:30 PM on Wednesday night, May 3rd, and fire the race firecracker at 11:00. First one to the top of city creek canyon and back to Gallivan wins! No prizes, no spokecards, no entry fees, and no sponsors. Single speeds get mad props and are heavily encouraged (like, if you have one... ride it).

This race is tricky, because there are multiple routes to the top, where you'll get checked off, and racing back down you must do your best to not kill any of your friends, the riders still heading up. So lights are pretty much required too.

**edit: I just rode this bad boy last night, there's no way we can race back down, it's too terrifying! I nearly killed 4 deer and keeping a racing pace is insane in the pitch black. So race to the top and then friendly cruise down. And bring a little jacket, it's COLD coming down.

See you there!


.... In other news, I have an absurdly practical bike (by my standards).



You know what that means don't you? Euro-TRIP! Dave Wood and I are leaving to the olde country for 2 months for some riding around and cheapskating through the summer.

We're flying to Hamburg and biking to Amsterdam, then wending our way through Monk and beer country to Paris. After that we head east into the great unknown. I'll be documenting our trip and using this blog as a vehicle for my ramblings and exploits.

The bike is a 55cm Salsa Cassaroll, Salsa's foray into swiss-army bike territory oriented more towards the road than the Surly Cross-Check. Fairly light double butted Salsa Chromoly tubing with slack geometry and clearance for 32mm tires with fenders makes this bike a sweet chameleon between slugging it out as a fixie in the winter and a very plush tourer-commuter in the summer. I'm hoping it doesn't get stolen in Amsterdam, as it's essentially 2 of my bikes in one. I've got it set up with 32c Schwalbe Marathons and a 20spd SRAM rival grouppo, which I quite like. It's like the worst touring gearing ever by most people's standards, but I'm a singlespeed rider for chrissakes, a 34x23 shouldn't be a problem.

Thanks a ton to Mark at Saturday Cycles for the bike, he's got the coolest taste in bikes in the state. And he's only open on Saturdays.

Movin' On.

I've finally decided to sell my ole cafe racer. Guess I'm entirely a bike boy now...
It's still everything a motorcycle should be, in my opinion.

*Sold! This one's next, some day...

Alexander and Chris, at it again....

Ok, so not only did Chris Ginzton of the Dada Factory decide to place first in the Expert Category at this year's Sundance Downhill competition, Al of the Dada Factory decided to film an excellent coverage of the race, using a different racer's run for each step along the course and brilliantly editing them all together into a cool feature THE SAME NIGHT HE SHOT IT! The bar sure is high around here. Really freakin' high :).



Well done both. I've got some footage lying around that Chris and I shot a month ago, guess how much I've edited? You've got it! Zilch. I suck at life compared to these over-achievers, but I wouldn't have it any other way :).

Manifest in Reality: Velo City Bag!

Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:




Very happy with this thing. Nathan did some very cool extra work so I could keep my camera+extra lens inside it, and so far this bag's held up admirably under quite a beating. I've used it every day at work of course, and loaded it with all variety of things. Its first job was to haul a frame to 50th south the day I got it, the compression straps are long and work great with odd-shaped objects. The bag is very classy, maintaining its shape while empty and with no extra straps showing when you don't need them. The detachable waist strap is a nice touch, as are the hiding spots for the front flap compression straps. No complaints so far (though I may cut the U-lock strap, I never use it and it slows down replacing the lock). Yesterday I go caught in a deluge of rain coming back from Centerville and the inside of the bag was fine and dry.

Nathan Larsen builds the bags up here in Salt Lake from his apartment. His monster of a sewing machine and materials take up the whole room, it's great. Here're some shots of Nate's process:








Some Dork with his new bag:



And seeing if it works:





I likey. Order a custom one from Velo City Bags or pick up a finished one (for cheaper!) at Model Citizen. Nathan's just released his simple messenger bag as well, which is very cheap and just as nice. Checkacheckit

Clean Rooms Kill Communists.

...That's a good thing, right?

(what's that hanging on the wall?!?!)

I have a little problem...

This pile here is just my road bikes. That's skinny-ish tires and 700c wheels, not counting my polo bike. I have 6 %#*#ing bikes, and another on the way! END THE MADNESS!

I have a solution, though I love them all. I'm selling two (clicky picture for the craigslist ads:



edit: schwinn is sold! Bye bye old buddy!


Aaah, that'll take me down to only 4 bikes. Feels better already! :)

Silence in the 48.

It's 4:00 on a beautiful summer day.

I'm barreling down the road in a car that isn't mine, adrenaline pumping, eyes rolling, searching frantically for perfect silence. It's hour 45 of the 48 hour film festival and I haven't really slept in 2 days. We've been filming an apocalyptic tragedy with a relentless, grimy edge, and my mind's a bit frayed.

Our crew of 20 or so has been non-stop, filming under ravaged freeways and in the back lots of our wasteland neighborhood. The shooting morning started with a giant graffiti mural after a sleepless night of writing, painted by bike, manically carefree. The team is well put-together with a clever and thoughtful backbone and the vibe has been positive. But hour 45 has taken its toll.



The warehouse is buzzing with energy and action, handfuls of specialized equipment zipping back and forth, each task executed with skill, from scoring the scene to doling out omelets to the fatigued all-night editors. Rolling into home after the second night at 6 am, I notice our similarity to an efficient drug-running operation and ponder our potential profits.

I don't have a real job, except to hold it all together, a less specialized manifestation of our director's will that gets things done and tries to be everywhere and of service to everybody (or, in Al's words in the red-eyed dawn the night before "the bitch." He won't be forgiven soon). I've hauled gear, people, props; welded, written, illegally painted, climbed, blocked, lit, gripped, edited; scouted for locations and hung lights off a 3-story scaffold.



Now I'm driving due west in the industrial landscape, peeling into the gravel, turning of the car, and pricking up my ears. A bird. Grass rustling. An airplane. No good. There are no birds in the Apocalypse, no cars on the freeway. Time to move on.

I find myself hurtling along the freeway towards Wendover, with only 3 hours until our film must be done. I pull off an exit at random, as the buildings thin and the landscape turns tan and white. I run into Ali, a biker friend, out in the middle of nowhere on a road ride, in a cluster of women on race bikes. "What are you doing here?" she asks. I lean out the window with a delirious smile, shaking my fearsome weapon, the camera, in the air. "45 hours down!" I shout, not bothering to clarify, and skitter off into the dust. While hurtling down a narrow frontage road at 80mph my mind crunches, thinking of the ways I react differently under sleep deprivation, and the value of a life lived in full insane pursuit of the things we assign meaning. I find a rough and jarring path perpendicular away from I-80, so knobby and misshapen that even the jeep has no fun clambering along it. I come to a knurled fence and a row of breaker rocks along the Great Salt Lake. Scraps of human debris and piled rocks over buried unpleasentries make the place feel like a movie set of a more grisly theme, with nobody to be seen.

My ears tune in. Met this time with silence. I clamber over the fence and thrust the camera between two rocks, shielding it from the breeze. I try hard not to breathe, and record 30 seconds of silence. Giggling at the absurdity of it all, I roar back towards the Dada Factory like a cart on a wooden roller coaster, cobbled together out of the illogic of will and fancy that creates a life worth living.

sneak preview

I consider this image especially poignant, considering what we have in our back yard right now. More soon.

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