what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

layer upon layer 

thriftstore scores licking

technical fabrics wicking

piled on the floor last night

to wear it again this morning

what day is it? 

what year is it?

no second guessing 

wardrobe decisions

cutoff Carhartts for a while

cutoff Dickies for years

cutoff golf pants in 2022

know what’s worked

found what works

wear it to work

call it what you will 

but it's 2002 + 2007ish

with more sneaker deals

and collabo jibber jabber

red red wine 

spilled on the couch

Showering in Carhartts

 - cool was never fast -

Duesdays all week long

Rollin full metal fender

She wants a slow hand 

by A.T.  11/30/22

Happy Birthday Steve

Oh do you speak the lingo?

No no

How far does your road go?

Oh no, you don't know?

“Truckers Atlas”

modest mouse

talk the talk

talk it up bro

talk louder

keep  talking

you don’t know 

what you don’t know

blowhard windbag

bullshit  through  it

don’t sell yourself short

Dunning-Kruger in full effect

the algorithm feeds me an endless stream of earwax removal solutions punctuated by J. Mascis covering Mazzy Star

if the shoe fits wear it waiting for the other shoe to drop walk a mile in my blownout Sambas    daddy needs new shoes 

I prefer not to

scan the QR code

jettison 

something

anything

psychosomatic

side effects 

may include

one way

or another 

wouldn’t want 

your job 

on a day 

like this 

Saturday evening after the Beavers beat the Ducks but before the Huskies beat the Cougars, I heard a faint knock at the door. When I got the dog to calm down I went to the porch and discovered a rather heavy box. Opening it I found a piece of Wisconsin --covered in bubble wrap and strategically placed foam-- had arrived intact, hand delivered 1,995 miles plus the final fifty feet to my door by a trusty UPS driver. 

Shaggy sent me a 12 pack of Spotted Cow. 

Thank you Shaggy.

Rewind just about a year and this cat here who likes beer was left unattended. Some time in the evening, he pulled the tap handle open and drained the entire keg all over the floor killing the CO2 canister as well. 

Fast forward to the summer time, when the old faithful kegerator died and was replaced by a 12 years-younger-model in a seamless transition ceremony. With the first sticker stuck marking that first beer poured  (see photo below) The stickers continue to stick and the beers continue to pour, but not in a one-to-one ratio.

The new model features several upgrades, higher quality materials and updated interfaces. Perhaps the greatest improvement is the  spring-loaded-antigravity-beer-loving-cat tap handle, which I didn’t even know existed until it was in my hand.  If Smokey is strong enough to flip the tap handle at least it will not stay open all night because it springs right back to its closed position. 

Just last night I watched Smokey enjoy a few drips from the tap and I took his picture knowing he will not be draining the keg. 

Yeah, we're running a little bit hot tonight

I can barely see the road from the heat coming off it

I reach down between my legs and

Ease the seat back

–David Lee Roth

didn’t anybody tell her?

didn’t anybody see?

the WTB Pure saddle:

"an excellent all-mountain and distance saddle, the Pure features a drop nose design that prevents hang ups, as well as enough padding for all day comfort. The Pure is a sure bet for almost any rider and an even better bet for bikepackers!"

 this saddle is on all my personal bikes and last week the State of Washington bought one for my work bike too. I believe a saddle works well when I don't notice anything about it and it disappears. 

Yesterday after delivering a bundle of mail the final fifty feet to the office of a building on campus, I lingered in the lobby lounge to look out the window and get a little HVAC. My work bike was parked just a few feet from the front door and locked with a cafe lock through the rear wheel. When a dude approached the bike I thought he was just looking at the campus map on the cargo box because that happens a lot. Then the dude walked around the bike, looked under the bike at both wheels and proceeded to push the bike forward off the kickstand. That’s when I quickly stepped outside, grabbed the handlebars and said “what the fuck are you doing?” Surprised to see me, he said “oh, I thought it was a rental” 

When you say “Cannondale”

I say “cheater bar”

elegant solution:

a solution to a question or a problem that achieves the maximally satisfactory effect with minimal effort, materials, or steps. In terms of theories or models of behavior, an elegant solution would be one that satisfies the requirements of the law of parsimony. See also Occam's razor.

An elegant solution, this is not. There is no chain tensioner in a truly elegant solution. We could clean it all up with a hacksaw, destroying the bike creating two or three cheater bars. Cost-benefit analysis this. 

I appreciate enthusiasm for cycling. I also appreciate anyone that rides their bike to school.  It occurs to me that this undergrad might be riding her mom’s bike to class. The Cannondale her mom single-speeded out in 2003 with hacked off inverted drop bars, cute little interrupter levers and colorful mismatched rims.  

In the late 80’s at the finest liberal arts school in the country I met a guy from Charles City, Iowa that had a Cannondale he was really proud of, telling me of oversized tube diameters and various engineering aspects as I stared off into space glazed over. 

In 1995 I single-speeded an undersized Cannondale mountain bike that never had anywhere near proper chain tension. I once dropped the chain and went over the bars landing on my back with a copious cushion of red wine after a Thanksgiving dinner in the Central District. In 1995 I didn’t know shit about chain tension or lack thereof, horizontal dropouts or lack thereof and  cheater bars were off in space, glazed over for later. 

Maybe that’s why this undergrad’s bike speaks to me. It’s not Occam’s Razor, it's Occam’s Hair Club for Men, Occam’s receding hairline, Occam’s pattern baldness, Occam’s combover.

Shave that shit. 

On the park bench

On the ship canal

On the Burke Gilman

On the continuum

On the sunny side 

On the other other side

On the other hand

On the down low

On the up & up

On the contrary

On the verge

On the average

On the fence

On the other side of the fence

On the first day of christmas

On the spectrum

On the fucking spectrum 

On the count of three

On the tip of my tongue

On the edge of my seat

On the run

On the air

On the dot

On the dotted line

On the phone

On the internet

On the job 

On the clock 

On the sly

On the house

On the wagon

On the whole

On the label

On the lam

On the road

On the nose

On the mend

On the flip side

On the dark side 

On the bright side

On the pill

On the juice

On the outside 

On the inside 

On the wild side

On the invoice

On the affidavit

On the way

On the replay

On the cutting edge

On the decline

On the bias

On the beep

On the cheap

On the rebound

On the horizon

On the hypotenuse

On the X axis

On the bottom line

I wasn’t looking for a Rapha rain jacket but it found me at $100 less than MSRP, basically brand new except for a 1.5cm slice in the shoulder that I sealed up neatly with a cute little square of tent repair tape. 

I enjoy thrift store shopping. Seeing what’s out there. Open to outcome but not attached to outcome. 

My new-used Rapha jacket was on the rack at Recycled Cycles, which back in the day was a great bike-like thrift store. These days it’s just another bike shop with some used stuff for sale. 

Rapha inspires some shit talking, mostly because I can’t afford it. But also because of the bros that wear it and wear it all, including the shoe covers. And their brick & mortar retail spots, like the one on Capitol Hill, are Portlandia episodes. 

Here and now, I own exactly one Rapha item and I don’t just wear it ironically. Although most Rapha chuffers don’t wear cutoff thrift store golf pants in their getups. 

Back in the day I got my hands on Sally’s Rapha winter hat only because I traded him the one Burberry-DANK coozie in the entire world.  The hat has since faded away. The coozie traveled through hell and back before Sally returned it a couple years ago. 

I like the rain jacket. But if I was paying full Rapha-Retail I think I’d buy another size up so I could layer more under it on a cold day.  

Is it raining? 

The New Yorker 11/7/22

It’s been about 20 years since I sold anything on eBay. Now I remember why. When I put this vest up the other day, there were all kinds of restrictions and fees and limits and too much horseshit. When I finally got it up there, I looked for a way to delete it and I couldn’t find one. So I’ll wait this auction out and never do it again. 

I have some rain pants to sell because I hate rain pants, and I really hate big dumpy ill fitting rain pants. But they’re going on craigslist. No bullshit. No restrictions. No fees. Just a few stupid questions from potential buyers. 

I started this site in 2005 because I was selling t-shirts one-at-a-time on eBay and paying fees on each one. So I sold a few t-shirts and seventeen years later you’re reading this. I’m still making shirts here and there but I’m not selling them or taking random orders from consumers in obscure zip codes and coughing up 15% to the man.