Shorthand for Nothing

For Nigel.

I.
You were the king of dingy bathroom tile,
unafraid of
discarded towels
clustered hair
or sudden lights
and stomping feet.
You stood there, just watching,
as the world moved by
your bathroom tiles.

Your reign was silent
and brief,
your explorations
infinitely vast,
infinitely small,
infinite. The world was
yours, and you took your time.

II.
When I was a child,
I was frightened of dark places.

III.
Some things are always left unsaid,
little quiet ideas that no one
dares express,
or just no one thinks to.

And these are the things lives are made of:
quiet thoughts and inner moments,
secrets that die out
before they are born, completely unnoticed
by any who might remember them.

IV.
“You are the only person
who has ever seen this part of me.”
We all make mistakes. Not every choice
is obvious.

V.
I have trapped myself in a prison of ivory and metal,
vast beyond my comprehension. I should worry,
but everything seems at peace. I will know no escape,
but I need no escape.
I, alone among men, have known everything I desired.
The waters are rising. I will not resist.

VI.
You were the king of dingy bathroom tiles.
Your reign was silent
and brief.

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The Dead Baby Downhill Race (14th annual!) was more of a parade than a race, at least for most people I saw there. The pack of cyclists was huge, and most of them were content to ride slow. It was probably the most fun I’ve had on a bicycle since I started biking again. The downhill was fairly gentle (and was actually a bit of an incline at the very end), so I was never going the speeds I get going down 10th on my daily ride. No, mostly the fun was from being in a huge mass of people having fun and blocking traffic.

Bikers are a fairly weird group (and I say this in the best possible way), and if there’s one thing I like it’s large groups of weird people. If there’s another thing I like, it’s pissing off impatient drivers. (A bike mechanic asked me on Monday, “Are you sure you’ve never been a messenger?”) The sheer mass of bikes basically makes the road into one giant bike trail. A bike trail occupied with people who are doing nothing but enjoying the fact that they are on a bike.

Despite having biked 20 or so miles before, I was still passing people on the uphill at the end, convincing my tired legs to do things I was pretty sure they couldn’t.

On arriving at our destination, we got our water bottles of beer, talked to some fun people, and watched some of the events. Amongst Hammercising and dances by the Sprockettes, there was the Save the Baby/Kill the Baby race. Basically, this is a head-to-head sprint on BMX bikes to try to grab the (horribly beat up) baby doll that’s resting on top of a traffic cone.

Gregory’s attempt resulted in a low-speed wreck in which he fucked up his hand, and perplexed the medics by salting the wound instead of accepting some slightly more high-tech medical attention. (“You guys need a vest that says ‘Healing hurts,’ and has a salt-shaker on it.” Personally, I think it would make a better sticker.)

And then it was home, with a nice gentle incline most of the way. It was a nice end to a day where I decided to bike to Shoreline just to prove I could.

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I got back into biking a few weeks back, but today was the first day I was actually impressed with myself.

Someone suggested that biking to Shoreline from Capitol Hill was unreasonable. I assumed it was just a dodge, but I took it as a challenge, so I looked it up on Google Maps, which told me it was probably about 11 miles out, then called up Greg and said “Hey, want to go for a bike ride?” He said he just needed to finish his laundry, so I rode up to the U District.

We biked up to a little south of where Google Maps tells you to go when you feed it “Shoreline,” rode around aimlessly for a while, then headed back. We stopped for a sandwich in Northgate, then took a moderately hilly route back to the U District. Chris was at home, and reminded us that the Dead Baby Downhill Race was tonight–and that we should probably leave in about fifteen minutes if we wanted to go.

I was pretty tired by then, but we biked back up Capitol Hill, made it to the race in time, and biked from there down to Georgetown. There were probably something like 400+ bikes there, eating up the road and blocking traffic. (This was incredibly fun, and I may write more about it later.)

After the race’s after-party we biked back up to Capitol Hill once more–12th has a nice gentle slope and we were taking it slow. If Google Maps is to be believed that puts today’s ride at about 25-30 reasonably hilly miles. My usual daily ride is about 15 and it’s flat for most of the way.

I’m pretty much exhausted now, of course, but it didn’t kick my ass nearly as hard as I thought it would. And I could probably have kept going–possibly not up all of Seattle’s hardcore hills, but definitely most of the places you can get to easily from Capitol Hill.

All this on an old, fairly cheap (on the high end of cheap, though) mountain bike, with its fat knobbly tires and its way-too-heavy frame. It’s a good feeling.

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Dear R,

I’m sorry I didn’t laugh at your joke. You had pretty clearly planned for it in advance, and I feel like I disappointed you.

This was September of 2008, I think. I was going off to Boston and decided to pay you a visit before I went. We met at the mall. When I walked up, your friend said, “Hi Rob, this is my friend Ashley.” I think it was Ashley, anyway. I’m sorry if I remembered that wrong. She pointed at you when she said it, and then you both laughed.

I don’t know what sort of reaction you were hoping for, but I am pretty sure a blank stare wasn’t what you were hoping for. I didn’t laugh or say anything or play along. I probably just said “Hi,” and probably “how’s it going?” It’s possible I even went so far as to say “What’s up?”

Even though I know it’s kind of arrogant to assume, I feel like you hoped I’d do something more than stare. It could have been a good joke. But I blanked, instead, and we both know I could have done better.

Yours,

RM

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