The other other day I arrived upon the inside back cover of the October 2024 issue of The Sun magazine featuring this Steve Gross photo. Even though it's rendered in black & white, I instantly spotted my little buddy in his yellow turtleneck and jeans. Then I pulled him off the shelf to get a photo of the photo with him along for the ride.
I’d like to think Steve Gross was bumbling around a flea market and stumbled upon these family figurines in an old cigar box and took a photo. Then the editors at The Sun liked it enough to give it the inside back cover.
Many moons ago Catarina suggested that I check out The Sun magazine. So I did. I bought an issue at Bulldog News. It was cool but I wasn’t moved enough to buy a subscription.
Then several weeks ago a neighbor placed a stack of 12 or 15 back issues in my little free library. Since then I’ve been tackling them one-at-a-time and returning them for another reader to take home. The Sun is a great publication. An old school magazine that’s been around for years. It features great letters from readers and interesting stories, fiction and amazing photography. I suggest you pick up a copy. When I finish this stack of back issues I plan to become a subscriber.
In 1996 I was working at Kids Co. a before & afterschool program for elementary school kids. That’s where I met my little buddy and decided to adopt him and offer him a new home. I’m not sure why I chose him and not one of his friends or relatives. But he’s been with me for the past 30 years collecting dust on a shelf and smiling back at me.
About ten years ago I bought a set of family figurines for Junior-Junior’s birthday. I went with the multicultural four-family set. Asian family, Hispanic family, African American family and Caucasian family. Those are the vendor's descriptive words not mine. Each family includes grandparents, parents, two kids and a dog or a cat.
These are figurines you might see in a child care center. You might also see them in a therapist’s office and places where kids talk to psychologists. The figures can help kids explain themselves. At the very least they’re something to play with.
Looking back on it now Junior-Junior just laughs and says they were never for him, I just bought them for myself and said it was a gift for him. And I have to agree. I’ve spent way more time with them than Junior-Junior ever did. They live on a shelf in my room as we speak. I placed my little buddy up front for a photo.
Nothing says CHIAROSCURO like a chubby black & white cat lounging in the afternoon sunlight on the floor of a large affordable studio apartment on Capitol Hill oh so 20 years ago in the good old daze that is phantom nostalgia syndrome. Her name was Skunk.
A few days ago I upgraded my headlight situation, nearly tripling my lumen output. This thing is the size of a toaster oven. In fact you can feel the heat it gives off at max output. It’s fucking bright. I always chuckled at cooling fins in bike light descriptions. But this thing actually needs them. You can check the specs here
It took me three attempts to shim out the crossbar on that whacky handlebar with an old innertube to get the clamp clamping on just the right circumference. In situ resource utilization-o-rama.
This new light brings to mind the first headlight I ever had, a clunky CatEye with two big fat C batteries. It was about as bright as a tired votive candle flickering in an old mustard jar, choking on its own vomit trying to stay alight.
My girlfriend at the time (1991) talked me into getting a headlight. She also convinced me to buy a helmet. In her undergrad at Oregon before moving to Seattle, she saved up plenty of stories of Eugene cops ticketing cyclists riding with no lights at night.
Which brings to mind a night in 1996 when I was issued a citation by a bored Seattle cop because I was riding the 7 blocks from my apartment to the Elysian with no lights on my shitty singlespeeded Cannondale. He made me sit on the curb near Bobby Morris playfield, as he ran my ID and made a big show of it all. He asked me if it was really my bike or if I stole it. "Seattle’s Finest" finest horseshit shit show.
I’ve been through many many variations of the bike light theme. All kinds of shitty blinky lights designed for visibility. Lots of batteries and a little conspicuity, but not really helping me see the road. With my old-man eyesight, this new torch helps me see some things. But still, I do not operate under the assumption that anyone can see me.
“How was your weekend?” she said looking past me --- not at all interested in my response --- thinking anticipating what she was going to say when I asked her how her weekend was But I didn’t I just said “good” picked up the mail and got back on the elevator
My sister took that photo on May 8, 2010. I know now what I knew then.
I took this photo on January 18, 2026. I didn’t know then what I know now.
This phantom nostalgia postcard thing is about retrospect, hindsight and perspective.
In the 5,734 days since my sister took that photo, I’ve gained some perspective on a couple things. Looking back it’s easy to ask questions like “what if?” recalling that fork in the road and that other fork too and the one after that as well. Wondering why I took the ones less travelled by?
But not dwelling too long, moving on. Just giving a respectful, subtle head tilt to a fellow messenger on the road, the one less travelled by.
Put a stamp on it, call it a postcard and let it go bro...
My friend used to work in a bike shop and last night she brought over a 5 gallon bucket full of old inner tubes. Then she left.
I counted 67 tubes and each one had at least one puncture. So I made a gallon of green tea and started drinking it. Then I lined up all the tubes and started patching them. Patching each and every one like any good kid at BikeWorks would do. Like any bike mechanic in Cuba would do. Like a poor legal messenger that gave away all his spare tubes to his coworkers would do.
I drank so much green tea and huffed so much rubber cement that I could no longer bend my fingers. I had plenty of glue and could have vulcanized all night but when I got to the 43rd tube I ran out of patches and had to phone a friend to bring more. It was hard to dial the phone without bending my fingers but I did it.
When my friend arrived he said maybe I should open a window and he asked me if I knew what time it was. And I said no because I’d been listening to the same Edie Brickell cassette since I started patching tubes and I couldn’t remember how many times it had played through.
Then my friend went to work and I patched 12 more tubes. Some of the tubes had broken valve stems and could not be repaired. And there were a couple big fat 24 inch tubes that I had no use for, so I put those back in the bucket and took the bucket outside and left it on the sidewalk.
Just a few short months ago I bought a Sim Works Still Cruisin’ bar in a price-is-no-object impulse one-click-away way. As we discussed earlier, way way back in September. But after actually putting some miles on it, and getting a feel for it, I wasn’t feeling it. I spent more on that handlebar than I did on most of my average complete BikeWorks bikes total expenditure. Lesson learned. An integrated stem-bar setup is set up. No tweaking. No adjusting. It is what it is. Until it isn’t.
I’ve swapped out the bar again on the Raleigh that Sally gifted me 15 years ago. Losing count of how many times I’ve changed the stem & bars.
I changed my hairstyle so many times now I don't know what I look like
This time I’m not talking it up too much until I get some riding into it. Until then, when I’ll tell you more about it.
Cat found Jesus and rubberbanded it just so around about 20 years ago. As seen here on her handlebars at 1201. When I say Jesus, I mean a Jesus fish auto emblem you might find at your local WalMart. Or maybe you’ll find one on Third Avenue in a go-back-for-it ground-score sort of kind of way. This photo kicks about in the photographic memory. It resurfaced recently when I texted Cat…
…several days later Cat sent me this shot proving she found Jesus. Again.
Now it’s going full-circle-upcycle recycled on a phantom nostalgia postcard that’s making its way to California. Texts are cool, they’re quick and direct. But you can’t hold a text message in a tactile way. You can’t fold it. You can’t tack it on the wall. You can’t smell it. You can’t notarize a text message. A postcard is hands-on. A postcard is real. Sincerely for real. Really.
Another day. Another phantom nostalgia postcard. This one is on its way to Jeffrey L. Kidder PhD in DeKalb, IL where he’s a sociology professor at Northern Illinois University. Nothing says "happy new year" like a snapshot from yesteryear. Kidder was a bike messenger in Seattle when I took this shot at 1001 of his bike mirrored by 93’s bike just so. Oh so 20 years ago give or take here or there now and then left and right.
If you want to know 'bout the mad punk rockers If you want to know how to play guitar If you want to know 'bout any other suckers You can read it in the Sunday papers Read it in the Sunday papers
Portrait of the artist as a personalized lock screen on a desktop in the breakroom at the mothership. Non dairy creamer added to show scale. A photo of a Todd Galaher photo of Matt Case rolling by City Grind oh so 27 years ago bro.
City Grind still exists in the lobby of City Hall. Just a stone’s throw south of its OG location. There’s also a City Grind within the Henry Art Gallery. I deliver the Henry’s mail everyday and I visit the Henry’s galleries quite often. I will get coffee at City Grind occasionally, depending on where I’m rolling within the academic calendar. It’s very popular with the undergrads and the line sometimes snakes out the door.
The connection is not lost on me and my coffee history. It’s a tenuous connection stretching from the 98104 all the way up to the 98195 but it does exist. Staring at the exact same coffee cup sticker 27 years later brings up some messenger memories. I’ve emailed a few of these photos to Jon the OG owner and Riley the Henry Grind co-owner. They appreciate the history.
