Joby, Robert and I set out early saturday morning to meet a few more friends and then climb some crazy hills named after large cats. Eric and John were waiting for us on the I90 trail just after the tunnel where you can look out over lake washington toward the cascade mountains. It was a beautiful day and the trail was almost congested with bikes. We didn’t linger long before dropping down onto the floating bridge that gaps Seattle and Mercer Island.

The I90 trail Then took us almost all the way to our destination in Issaquah. There was a bit of confusion of which way we should go because i kept calling Cougar mountain Tiger mountain. Both mountains are in Issaquah and are popular climbs for cyclists who are looking for a bit of suffering. Nonetheless we eventual found ourselves at the base of cougar mountain and began the climb that packs a 1000 feet of elevation gain into 2.5 miles. Eric flew up the hill without too many problems, John and Joby on this tail. Robert and I climbed a bit slower, but not too much later i watched robert slip out of view around one of the many switchbacks that make up the first half of this hellish climb. I had to stop a few times to catch my breath. But I eventually crested the last hill to rejoin the group.

Everyone was there except Eric, who had taken a left at one point and added another mile to his climb. We called him and informed him of our location. As we waited we watched the local neighborhood residents climb hills that would intimidate most lycra clad cyclists into the fetal position. And these folks were on big heavy mountain/city bikes.

Eric eventually showed up and we started our decent back to seattle. Once in seattle Eric, Joby, John and I went to Linda’s on Capital Hill for lunch. Robert decided to rejoin his lovely wife at home to do what ever those two do when alone. I had the huevos rancheros.

After lunch Joby and I left the hill for our homes in South Park. All in all it was a good ride, and unfortunately my raleigh’s last. A truck pulled out in front of us from the subway parking lot on the Duwamish trail. I hit the brakes but with all the sand-n-shit on the trail i still found myself skidding into the side of the truck bed. As you can imagine voices were raised and the language quickly became r-rated. After the adrenaline wore down i started to realize that i was ok and the fella who neglected to check the bike lane before blocking it admitted fault. I made him swear to be more observant and he did seem sincerely sorry. He went on his way and I straightened my handlebars, put my chain back on, sat my ass in the saddle, and turned the crank half a turn only to loose the chain again. I dismounted and noticed the bends in both the top and the down tubes. Joby and I walked the last mile home. I thought about all the great adventures this old bike and I had shared in the last two years. Thanks buddy, now its time for you to rest.

Once a week some of my friends and I glide through the seattle streets in search of the perfect combination of food, beer, hills and camaraderie. Even in the dark, wet months of winter we push through the wind and cold to participate in this weekly event we like to call “the thursday night bike ride”. Nothing can derail this pedal powered freight train… well, except for Pioneer Square’s monthly artwalk. Or as its know in these parts, “first thursday”.

Well, the first thursday of this new year was no different. Joby and I rolled out of Georgetown about 6:35pm, we had a nice tail wind and my legs were feeling strong so we took the lane, rode side by side, and locked up out side of All City Coffee in the Tashiro-Kaplan building just ten minutes later. Celia rolled in a little past 7:00pm and we began our Gallery hop. We first ran into Maija Fiebig who insisted we stop by Greg Kucera’s gallery where two of her favorite artist, Darren Waterston and Katy Stone, were currently exhibiting. Most of the galleries close promptly at 8:00pm so we picked up the pace.

Our first stop was at Gallery 4 Culture, where on first inspection I had mixed feelings on Ross Sawyers’ large scale photographs. The compositions and Sawyers’ photographic skills immediately drew me in, but at first the shots of what appeared to be the empty interiors of someone’s newer modern home/apartment just didn’t grab me. It wasn’t until closer inspection of one of the interiors that joby was puzzling over that we realized these were not real interiors. Sawyers photographed models that he had created. And if you looked closely he had left clues in the design of these spaces that would reveal their true nature. I hope that most of the people who wandered into 4Culture were a bit quicker than I, or came with friends that questioned what they were seeing and got to enjoy the work as much as we eventually did.

On our way to Kucera’s we made a brief stop to check out the new exhibit at Soil, titled “Fire Retard Ants (Fred Muram and Mike Simi): We 8 Ourselves (for your Urgent Need). We didn’t stay long enough to really absorb this one in, but the several pairs of white generic sneakers randomly taping in unison (as if their invisible bodies are being electrocuted) sure did leave a good taste in my mouth. I hope i have a chance to return for seconds.

Right when we first entered the Greg Kucera Gallery I felt what must be a very similar magnetism for Darren Waterston’s paintings that moths feel for street lights. His abstract paintings from afar have simple, pleasing compositions that allow your eyes to float back and forth across the surface of these large scale paintings like a wave. Upon approaching these paintings a deep sediment of layers are reveled as if the tide just went out and pieces of unrecognizable but familiar objects are left to dry and grow in the earth.

Katy Stone’s work was hanging in the back half of the gallery. Her work shares a similar abstract quality to Waterston’s work and its easy to see how she came to show at the same time. Stone’s work however is not contained in geometric shapes, painted on layers of plastic some of it cascades down the walls while others made of steel seem planted into the drywall and are bent as if the wind outside was directly influencing their stature. Maija was right on the money.

It soon turned 8:00 and we were eventually kicked out. It was now time to unlock the bikes and push our faces against the wind that had helped carry us downtown.

This is it… my personal website. Thanks to the design team over at BUNNYHAWK , who worked their little talons to the bone for the past few months. Most of them probably don’t even realize it’s almost the end of the year. But don’t you worry little bunnyhawks, it’s time to curl up in your dirt hole and sleep until next spring.

I’ll be using the bloggy part of this site to record my attempts at making art, bicycle riding, and all the other misadventures lurking around the corners of my life. I suggest keeping a damp cloth next to your computer… this is gonna get messy.