i see
older lions
on the
street and
wonder if
they have
a wisdom
i lack.
--unknown author
Today was Olde-school day. I saw Andy Friday on the street. I saw Tonya at the flower shop. And I got a great email from Eric Bergland too. All this nostalgia inspired me to dig up some old photos from kickstands past and I’ll be scanning a few of them in and posting them soon. I found a picture of the old City Grind and believe it or not, Matt Case was not in it.
The meat of EB's email is reprinted below because he knows what's up and has known for years and it's worth sharing. You can contact EB at iamericb70@yahoo.com
Mister Pilder:
I worked as a messenger in Seattle from '89-'96, where I like to think
I served with distinction. Most people just called me EB. After the
inevitable burnout I made the switch to dispatch. I did that for a few
years before general self-destructiveness made me impossible to work
with.
I found your site a while back and have been meaning to write. I
thought I didn't know what to say and I guess I still don't, other
than to tell you that your site, and the pictures and ramblings
therein, have lit a fire that I thought was long dead. I've been
dreaming a lot about messengering. I mean a lot, like more than a few
times a week. I've started thinking seriously about a comeback. I'm
realizing that it's not out of my system, and I miss it terribly. I
miss Seattle and I miss the camaraderie. I miss carving perfect lines.
I miss splitting lanes. I miss using all the little tricks I learned
the hard way. I miss seeing weird random shit go down in the city. I
miss feeling like I'm part of something that most people don't get. I
miss bombing down those hills, and yes, climbing up them. I miss the
feeling of fatigue after I've kicked particular ass. I miss flirting
with all the messenger-philes. I miss looking out the window of a 60th
floor conference room on a clear sunny day. I miss bunny-hopping
curbs. I miss having the kind of friends that I haven't had since I
quit. But more than anything, I miss the feeling of being a great
bike-rider who gets to ride his bike for a living. All those things
are combining to create a huge and undeniable feeling that I'm not in
the right place.
Then I try to be "realistic." First of all I'm getting old. I turned
36 a couple of months ago, and I know that my body isn't the same as
it was 10 years ago. I still ride my bike every where I go, but I'm
relatively out of shape. And then there are all the things that I
don't miss. I don't miss sideways rain, a wet ass, being tired and
hungry, getting hit by cars, falling on cold cement, getting yelled at
by complete strangers just for doing my job, dealing with courthouse
fucks, lawyer fucks and paralegal fucks. I don't miss shitty
dispatchers or petty co-workers. I definitely don't miss the miniscule
paychecks and worrying how I can possibly eat and pay rent, let alone
have fun. I don't miss trying to keep a bagful of paper dry in a
torrential six-month downpour. I don't miss dealing with worn-out
brake-pads and chains. Flats. I don't miss rainy-day flats. And I
especially don't miss waking up and looking out the window only to see
gray, wet, awful fucking weather (again) and knowing I have to leave
the warm body next to me and face that shit all day.
But in the end, when I'm weighing these things (and many others, trust
me) against each other, the desire to ride again always wins out.
--EB
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