
Childhood Lore
“The aforementioned climb ranks high on my personal list of childhood traumas—this being one of terror.”
The following collection of posts diary a quest to; restore, ride and remember. Follow the story — one that could be that of any mans son — an adventure to relive a defining moment of his father’s life. To keep alive a memory his father lost to dementia in later life. How easily nature stole memories from him. Stole a tale from his childhood, a tale that he told so often, relating it with vibrant details. His storytelling so immersive, his delivery deep and intense, taking anyone listening back to warm North Carolina summer days — you could feel the heat and smell the tar. Listening you became entranced, romanced by the smallest of details, ranging from old comic books, greasy bicycles, young girls, fast growing Kudzu, sweltering nights, cold creeks and barley tobacco along with it’s crop consuming massive green worms. How do such deep rooted, almost innate to ones very being — memories and moments — thoughts that define ones very being become lost to a disease — further how can ones entire life just be erased without death? I seek in some small way to be part of our collective struggle to overcome a disease that leaves us to live through end our lives without any sense of self. Please click on any of the categories or posts and follow along — enjoy the ride
“The aforementioned climb ranks high on my personal list of childhood traumas—this being one of terror.”
— featured image — Ms. Magazine 40th Anniversary Murphy C. Anderson Jr. / American Comic Book Artist1926-2015 There is an
I’m no expert on the origins of the urban use of “easter egg”, but the disambiguation is easy… hidden but
This isn’t really cheating, is it? My original skip-tooth chainrings and sprockets were pretty knackered. Having been able to acquire
Painting anything in a small shop is always a challenge, fumes and overspray present a myriad of concerns. In the
As one would expect the near 100 year old rubber grips and pedal platforms are in need of replacement. First
The arrogant MAMIL (Middle-Aged Men in Lycra) Or my encounters with road cycling assholes who seem to have ‘roid (not
Can the myWindsock app actually make you faster on a local Strava Segment than your wet thumb in the wind?
We decided to spend a day documenting one of our local strong men and master wrench spinner Mike Rodgers as