finally checked "wheelie past the bellagio" off my bucket list

Spent the majority of the past week in Las Vegas for Interbike, wherein the better part of three days was filled ripping wheelies on the strip, dry-humping frames I'll never own, and racing the city with a crew of riders whose exploits until now, I'd only seen from the safety of my own computer screen. Blowing red lights and dodging drunk revelers and gawking motorists with the legendary MASH chase camera crew and fifty other riders down the strip at 30 mph was definitely a slightly more tactile experience than what I was previously used to. Strangely surreal to ride with the very inspiration that drove me into track bikes in the first place.

gang's all here

The world is right again.

somewhere over tokyo

check out the rest of the day's photos here
It was just past seven in the morning. Thanks to an earthquake mangling a section of the highway somewhere near Shizuoka, the bus arrived late. I was somewhat rudely awoken by the driver apologizing for the previous night's act of God.

I pulled the Langster off the bus at Odaiba. Sun still on its way up, I found a quiet corner under the ferris wheel, and away from the throngs of salarymen emerging from the nearby subway station, to put it together.

The Rainbow Bridge doesn't allow cyclists to cross, so I took the long way into the city, heading north, past the proposed site of the future Olympic Village. I kept to the road, because the cyclist shoulder was thick with pressed shirts and black ties--a sea of blank faces moving in the direction from which I'd just come. In front of me, the city rose quickly. As I passed the Tsukiji market area to my right, I could already feel my new lockring slipping. It was quickly decided that W-Base Bicycle Garage on the west side of the Yamanote, just inside Harajuku might be a more prudent first stop. From there, it was only a short hop to Yoyogi park where I'd set up the camera and plot out the routes I wanted to shoot.
Suddenly I was swallowed by Ginza.

This project was an experiment of sorts. I wanted to use a POV camera for more than just insert shots, or the more typical usage in long, drawn-out takes without offering any variety for the viewer. To do this, I would either have to ride similar sections multiple times, or employ the use of multiple cameras. Because I didn't have ten grand for the latter, you might see some inconsistencies in continuity.

Before setting out, I made a conscious decision to avoid the northern half of the city (Ueno, Ikebukuro, etc.), and the Shinjuku ward entirely. Look closely though, and you'll see plenty of other well-known locales: Shibuya, Harajuku, Gaienmae, Roppongi, famous Aoyama and Omotesando streets, the Imperial Palace grounds, Ginza, and a quick trip through Akabane to pay a visit to the Tokyo Tower.

As always, thanks for watching.

one for the yearbook

oky city version

This is what the Langster looked like, finally completed early last week--only three days before I was to take it apart and put it in a box to be left it in the hands of Delta Airline's dubiously capable baggage staff.

To say the box was packed hastily would be something of an understatement. Under the bus stop awning, under the fierce gaze of the bus ticketmaster, and still under the influence of the previous evening's festivities, my friends and I stripped the bike down, zip-tied bubble wrap and old t-shirts to the frame before tossing everything (re: all the leftovers that wouldn't fit in my suitcases--tools, mess bags, shoes, and a pile of other random shit) back in and taping it shut. Much to the driver's chagrin, the ugly parcel just barely fit in the bus's luggage bay.
Bloated cardboard box safe for the moment, off we went.

Upon arriving at Kansai International, only moments after checking it, I turned around to see the box already sitting at the bottom of a baggage cart--several other much heavier looking suitcases haphazardly piled atop. Nightmarish visions of my pride and joy being jovially pulled across the tarmac at high speed in some kind of baggage handler hazing ritual began playing out in my head as I made my way down the escalator to immigration.
I'd deal with it when I got home. Until then, it'd be in god's hands.

Sixteen hours later, the exhausted box finally emerged from the winding bowels of the baggage carousel with the rest of my luggage. Looking like a coffin belonging to some ghetto airport mummy, it must have been taped, and indiscriminately re-taped after numerous bouts of being thrown between airplanes and baggage carts. Ragged, gaping holes threatening regurgitation, replaced the once neat handle slots that guided the box onto the bus 7000 miles earlier. Despite the layers of bubble wrap and tape, the hub on the front rim had also managed to burrow its way through the cardboard. And the single loop of dime store twine, affixed at the bus driver's vehement insistence was frayed and torn, held only in place by being effectively buried under layers of cheap packing tape.

But the burly sunuvabitch made it. Two wheels, two pedals, a saddle and a set of handlebars.

Bring on the next city.

[Single Sentence Summary for My J-Trains]

「友達のお陰で、チャリも無事に帰った。とても安心です」

daiba to breaking even

step 1: remove lens cap, asshole

For lack of more evocative and less overused vocabulary, the Tokyo ride will, for the time being, have to settle with being merely described as "epic."

However, once the footage viewing and initial selection process has been run through stage one of the Final Cut juicer, I may be able to attach other delicious adjectives to tide you over while you wait for the video. Ones like "head-shaketastic," "sweat-stained wide-angle-rrific," and "retardedly overexposed," are a few of the first that come to mind.

shadow praying for better exposure 

I'm still feeling like an entire day's worth of riding, sweating, and shooting will yield a golden nugget of around three and a half minutes.

Just have to dig it out.

Tokyo Satsue

sagawa mail order bride

If she were maybe forty or fifty years younger, I'd hardly be ashamed to say that Mrs. Kyokawa and I were dating. I mean, we've pretty much already established the trappings of a seasoned relationship.
She's relentless in her impatience, calling me all the damn time, wanting to know where I am and when I'll be home. And when I do finally get home, there she is, sitting on my porch steps and staring at the clouds. I'd invite her up, but she'd much rather collect from me a pre-determined sum of cash. Sometimes we make small talk. Most other times she just leaves.

On the flip side, she always seems to know exactly what I need: 

Love is a beautiful thing. 

metal fingers

why so serious?

It took more than a bit of work, but I think I finally figured out how to get a half serious photograph of Kaste. Set him up with fresh hubs and a pair of rims to build into, and he's as serious as a heart attack.


However, a generous estimate would say that this little pretense of his unfortunately only lasts about fifteen seconds:

oh. nevermind

He's got a "it-was-funny-exactly-once" knack for stepping into, and ruining great, perfectly natural photographs with his enviable collection of absurd facial contortions. However, since he did a smashing job with my new All City hubs last night (gladly teaching me a huge deal about building rims in the process), I'll just get to cropping him out of all those other now ridiculous shots without complaining.

Langster is so close to being "finished" finished. Thanks Kaste.

cropped out: one goofy-ass grin

the permanent rain

(stink) eye of the storm

I go through these sweltering afternoons where I'm just praying it would rain. Sit by my porch window with a tea sandwich or a can of coffee and watch life outside scramble for cover before getting washed away in the sudden downpour. But then there are afternoons like yesterday where I'm just praying that the same rain would just hold the fuck off--ten more minutes, just enough time for me to get home, that's it. Clearly, I was asking for too much, as the heavens belched forth watery apocalypse the moment I finished my selfish prayer. And then just to remind me of my insignificant place in this universe, the chain slipped off my shitty bike and caught itself in the rear hub, leaving me at the mercy of the torrents while I made repairs. Quite obviously, I arrived home far behind the sneering clouds--soaked to the marrow, and irritated beyond recognition of even my own face.

But the day's regular cycle--ie; 'life,' went on, even as the world swam around us. Shortly thereafter, the skies cleared momentarily, giving the sun its stage from which to set. I snapped the above picture.
Then the downpour resumed.


There's a new Langster in town. It's his first fixed-gear too. He's giddy--like a schoolgirl on the first day of summer vacation. I remember being just the same way. It hasn't been the best of years, but I still get giddy--still get the rush, racing streetlights every night of the week. Never would have expected to get so much out of two wheels and a single-speed drivetrain, but I have.
Hope he does too.

start the honeymoon

perils of sleeping in

Jetlag is like a miracle drug. I'm not much of a morning person, though it's always something I've secretly aspired to be. So having jetlag is great because it temporarily gives me all the satisfaction of actually attaining an aspiration without requiring any concerted effort on my part. 'Boosting' for wannabe early birds, I guess. Anyway, I don't get 'lagged much, but when I do, I never regret it. That extra hour or so in the morning means I have time to squeeze in a run, make an actual breakfast, skim the headlines, and spend more than five minutes in the shower. Obviously convenient on days when I have to work, but it sucked gorilla balls this morning, hauling me out of bed at 4:30 on my day off and expecting me to be cheerful about being productive.
Made it all the way through the sunrise, my morning routine, and even a groggy round of KZ2 before I started feeling a ride coming on. Guess it was as good a chance as any.

Threw some tools and a tuna rice ball in my mess bag, and pointed the Langster like a missile silo towards the edge of town. Took the winding Asahi River north, under the Sanyo and into the mountains. I'd almost forgotten how incredible the asphalt can feel, when completely removed of distraction; the persistent hazards and vehicular obstructions in this nigh-inescapable jungle of concrete. There's a very distinct comfort found through exertion--a slow unwind back to sanity in watching the white lines streaming beneath.

[click to enlarge]

follow the Asahi 

eastern outskirts

bamboo passage 

sense in a single

30 serendipitous kilometers and I still made it back in time for breakfast. Perfect.

I really need to fly internationally more often.

back to boston

This is what my Langster looked like when I picked it up back in June. Pretty much stock.

This is what it looks like now. Not all that visible in the picture, but new tires (umpteenth set), pedals/clips, tossed the brakes, and dropped two teeth off the rear cog. Oh, and the creme de la creme--super deep V rims, courtesy of the H+ boys at Cycroc in Osaka. Sickness locally brewed.
Still obviously missing the requisite suicide doors, but still--it's just that much closer to living up to the original concept.

All it's missing now, is a down tube holster for the tommy gun.

you don't know me...

 

...and you don't wear my chains