first week-or-so out of chitown
i just arrived in vermont from nyc two days ago. new york was frakking amazing...
first of all, i apologize now if my memory of the events is a little hazy; we were drinking almost from the moment we arrived. Hey, it's vacation, right? so thursday evening, thirteen rats, still a little surly from the 22-hour amtrak ride, unload and rebuild our bikes right in the middle of penn station. i don't know if there're any photos of this, but i sure as hell hope so, because i just don't think words can do justice to the absurdity of it. imagine harried new york business types, anxious to get on their commuter train back to connecticut or new jersey or d.c. or wherehaveyou, being confronted with thirteen dirty, spiky kids and the assorted and scattered bags and bike parts that is a bike club trip. now, i'm not gonna' brag about freaking any squares because this is nyc we're talking about, but i did get some good laughs watching these supposedly jaded and worldly folk trying to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
and then there was the ride to bed-stuy, which featured an encouraging meeting with an nyc pedicab driver ("i mean, blbc is cool and all, but secretly i'm rooting for you guys," and i quote.), the epic climb up the williamsburg bridge, the terrifying-if-you've-only-got-a-front-brake-running-on-a-wobbly-wheel-and-your-bike-weighs-sixty-ish-pounds-without-your-gear-on-it descent of the bridge's other side, and a several mile ride the wrong way down bedford in front of throngs of dumbstruck hasidim. finally, we arrived at the chicken hut, braved the abuse of the doorkeepers while we piled and locked the bikes, came upstairs, and promptly started drinking. a giant foam skull was being carved; the mechanism for a giant, foam, giz-spurting penis was being tweaked, reacquaintances were being made all around. the nashville rats rolled in at some point, with one klunk and one smut peddler in tow, and an impropmtu family gathering began. pretty soon, though, the rats were passing out in front of a movie, a tired, huddled mass.
friday was prep. the blbc was was putting the last touches on everything for saturday, cleaning the hut. i lent a hand as best i could, picking up beer cans, moving furniture, buying coffee with food stamps to keep the troops moving. and of course, the drinking continued throughout. i don't remember what happened friday night.
and then there was bikekill, a day full of stupid bikes (my personal favorites were the spin bikes, and my least favorite the goddamned bronco bike that threw me face first into the beer soaked asphalt), stupid races (blindskull! ride from one end of the block to the other, have a giant foam skull pushed down over your face, and race back, blinded), brawling (no matter what the event, it always ended in friends knocking friends off bikes, friends wrestling friends in the mud, friends pouring beer on friends), plaster-of-paris semen (see above), and whooping it up with bike club kidz from all over the country.
it would be idiotic to try to sum up the entire event, so my personal highlights were (1) during the six-pack attack--at which the rats failed miserably, being far too interested in actually drinking the beer to empty the cans in any kind of placing finish--the skidmarks (from texas) chucked their empty sixer into the crowd. in the spirit of good, clean, bruising fun, i chucked it back, unintentionally nailing one of their ladies square in the forehead. this occasioned her boyfriend and co-pilot to leap up, rush over, and spit in my face... and she, following quickly, to apply knuckle to forehead. then he wiped my face off, shook my hand, and said something to the effect of "good show!" skidmarks, i like the way you play. and (2) determining that upwards of a thousand pounds is well beyond the structural endurance of a cheap, steel front wheel. two-wheeled orgy: as many people on one bike as possible. the protest warrior gamely went fifteen feet with seven people on it before the front wheel sighed, gave one last shudder, and promptly folded at a ninety degree angle to the hub. bike killed!
more drinking, more wrastling, jousting (from which i abstained, being at this point already plenty drunk and plenty bruised), after-party. *huge* after party. one guy stole a forty from evil ed the smut peddler, was asked to return it, pulled a knife, and got rolled right out the door (and dragged down the sidewalk) by five large and angry bike clubs dudes. there was still blood on the sidewalk when i left nyc two days ago. i passed out around six a.m.
...and the fourth day resting, nursing the hangover, and cleaning up
from the party. the next day, i went to the movies with xhuglifex, lakenaiad, c. cherry, jp, and monkey. after the movie we wandered the east village as lakenaiad got wistful for the punk history of the now clean and commerce-friendly neighborhood. we stopped at a coffee-shop called alt.coffee whose name dates back to when that was actually meaningful and which has a pile (yes, pile) to the ceiling of ancient electronic hardware in a tub in the bathroom. here we met a boy named billy, who'd stayed at the bridge house in chicago, received massive burns in an incident involving a candle and several forties, and been nursed back to health at jpusa by the chicago scallys. that night we had a sleep over on park ave. swank!
then there was hallowmass, on a boat on the west river. himmler was there, drinking with zappa while anne bonnie traded stories with eric harris. and once the music started, the dance floor turned into a sea of crushed and ecstatic kids, attempting to tango and waltz through mosh pit, singing along with every lyric--or just shouting the tune if we didn't know the words, and generally doing everything we could to have just the best party. then jack terrycloth asked us all to grab a dance partner and world/inferno began the heart attack waltz... i found myself dancing with a comely young woman whose name i never got. two songs later, we were still dancing, and kissing as well, and finding time in there somehow to throw ourselves around the pit and shout along with every song. when the set ended, i slipped away. i'll probably never see her again, and never know her name, but somehow, that seems likes it's the way halloween ought to be.
and wednesday I saw the last of the crew back to chicago and spent the night drinking cocktails at a house in the hamptons before getting high, riding to the shore, getting higher, hanging out at a 7-11 (in the fucking hamptons!), then promptly passing out in a chair in front of the roaring fireplace.
friday I set out to ride my tall bike to burlington... but changed plans b/c my dad wanted to see me before he left on a business trip, so we planned to meet 40 miles north of the city. i *knew* i could make it...
what's fifty miles after the ride to rockford? well, the terrain out here is "rolling hills" in a way that even nw ill can't pretend to be, and with a ten-ish mph headwind and a bike that weighs ~60 lbs. *unloaded*, i was
dying by mile 35. luckily that's right about when my dad showed up in the pickup.
so now i'm in vermont, relaxing and getting ready to make my bill-roll
doing work around the parental manse. then south to warmer climes.
first of all, i apologize now if my memory of the events is a little hazy; we were drinking almost from the moment we arrived. Hey, it's vacation, right? so thursday evening, thirteen rats, still a little surly from the 22-hour amtrak ride, unload and rebuild our bikes right in the middle of penn station. i don't know if there're any photos of this, but i sure as hell hope so, because i just don't think words can do justice to the absurdity of it. imagine harried new york business types, anxious to get on their commuter train back to connecticut or new jersey or d.c. or wherehaveyou, being confronted with thirteen dirty, spiky kids and the assorted and scattered bags and bike parts that is a bike club trip. now, i'm not gonna' brag about freaking any squares because this is nyc we're talking about, but i did get some good laughs watching these supposedly jaded and worldly folk trying to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
and then there was the ride to bed-stuy, which featured an encouraging meeting with an nyc pedicab driver ("i mean, blbc is cool and all, but secretly i'm rooting for you guys," and i quote.), the epic climb up the williamsburg bridge, the terrifying-if-you've-only-got-a-front-brake-running-on-a-wobbly-wheel-and-your-bike-weighs-sixty-ish-pounds-without-your-gear-on-it descent of the bridge's other side, and a several mile ride the wrong way down bedford in front of throngs of dumbstruck hasidim. finally, we arrived at the chicken hut, braved the abuse of the doorkeepers while we piled and locked the bikes, came upstairs, and promptly started drinking. a giant foam skull was being carved; the mechanism for a giant, foam, giz-spurting penis was being tweaked, reacquaintances were being made all around. the nashville rats rolled in at some point, with one klunk and one smut peddler in tow, and an impropmtu family gathering began. pretty soon, though, the rats were passing out in front of a movie, a tired, huddled mass.
friday was prep. the blbc was was putting the last touches on everything for saturday, cleaning the hut. i lent a hand as best i could, picking up beer cans, moving furniture, buying coffee with food stamps to keep the troops moving. and of course, the drinking continued throughout. i don't remember what happened friday night.
and then there was bikekill, a day full of stupid bikes (my personal favorites were the spin bikes, and my least favorite the goddamned bronco bike that threw me face first into the beer soaked asphalt), stupid races (blindskull! ride from one end of the block to the other, have a giant foam skull pushed down over your face, and race back, blinded), brawling (no matter what the event, it always ended in friends knocking friends off bikes, friends wrestling friends in the mud, friends pouring beer on friends), plaster-of-paris semen (see above), and whooping it up with bike club kidz from all over the country.
it would be idiotic to try to sum up the entire event, so my personal highlights were (1) during the six-pack attack--at which the rats failed miserably, being far too interested in actually drinking the beer to empty the cans in any kind of placing finish--the skidmarks (from texas) chucked their empty sixer into the crowd. in the spirit of good, clean, bruising fun, i chucked it back, unintentionally nailing one of their ladies square in the forehead. this occasioned her boyfriend and co-pilot to leap up, rush over, and spit in my face... and she, following quickly, to apply knuckle to forehead. then he wiped my face off, shook my hand, and said something to the effect of "good show!" skidmarks, i like the way you play. and (2) determining that upwards of a thousand pounds is well beyond the structural endurance of a cheap, steel front wheel. two-wheeled orgy: as many people on one bike as possible. the protest warrior gamely went fifteen feet with seven people on it before the front wheel sighed, gave one last shudder, and promptly folded at a ninety degree angle to the hub. bike killed!
more drinking, more wrastling, jousting (from which i abstained, being at this point already plenty drunk and plenty bruised), after-party. *huge* after party. one guy stole a forty from evil ed the smut peddler, was asked to return it, pulled a knife, and got rolled right out the door (and dragged down the sidewalk) by five large and angry bike clubs dudes. there was still blood on the sidewalk when i left nyc two days ago. i passed out around six a.m.
...and the fourth day resting, nursing the hangover, and cleaning up
from the party. the next day, i went to the movies with xhuglifex, lakenaiad, c. cherry, jp, and monkey. after the movie we wandered the east village as lakenaiad got wistful for the punk history of the now clean and commerce-friendly neighborhood. we stopped at a coffee-shop called alt.coffee whose name dates back to when that was actually meaningful and which has a pile (yes, pile) to the ceiling of ancient electronic hardware in a tub in the bathroom. here we met a boy named billy, who'd stayed at the bridge house in chicago, received massive burns in an incident involving a candle and several forties, and been nursed back to health at jpusa by the chicago scallys. that night we had a sleep over on park ave. swank!
then there was hallowmass, on a boat on the west river. himmler was there, drinking with zappa while anne bonnie traded stories with eric harris. and once the music started, the dance floor turned into a sea of crushed and ecstatic kids, attempting to tango and waltz through mosh pit, singing along with every lyric--or just shouting the tune if we didn't know the words, and generally doing everything we could to have just the best party. then jack terrycloth asked us all to grab a dance partner and world/inferno began the heart attack waltz... i found myself dancing with a comely young woman whose name i never got. two songs later, we were still dancing, and kissing as well, and finding time in there somehow to throw ourselves around the pit and shout along with every song. when the set ended, i slipped away. i'll probably never see her again, and never know her name, but somehow, that seems likes it's the way halloween ought to be.
and wednesday I saw the last of the crew back to chicago and spent the night drinking cocktails at a house in the hamptons before getting high, riding to the shore, getting higher, hanging out at a 7-11 (in the fucking hamptons!), then promptly passing out in a chair in front of the roaring fireplace.
friday I set out to ride my tall bike to burlington... but changed plans b/c my dad wanted to see me before he left on a business trip, so we planned to meet 40 miles north of the city. i *knew* i could make it...
what's fifty miles after the ride to rockford? well, the terrain out here is "rolling hills" in a way that even nw ill can't pretend to be, and with a ten-ish mph headwind and a bike that weighs ~60 lbs. *unloaded*, i was
dying by mile 35. luckily that's right about when my dad showed up in the pickup.
so now i'm in vermont, relaxing and getting ready to make my bill-roll
doing work around the parental manse. then south to warmer climes.