(I got news for you -- she is!)
Riot Grrrl Summer. 2007.
When Emily called me, I was wearing cargo shorts and a tank top, listening to Bikini Kill on my walkman, wearing sunglasses, and drinking a cup half full of cherry slush and half full of Sparks.
I dress in the spirit of 1994, she says, and it's a style she can appreciate.
Emily and I go on walks together. On my birthday, we went on a picnic in the yard of some church and read magazines and ate sushi. We bumped into friends sitting in another yard of some other building and all walked together. We got slurpees and sat on the Wall and laughed. Shakes and I argued with Perry about how he can't holler at girls who walk by, no matter what they are wearing. How strangers don't know he's "only joking." I wore a strapless party dress and flexed my muscled. We walked far and laughed loud and got revved on sugar. We made fun of beefy drunk jocks walking by.
We are a pack. We are Riot Grrrls and this is our summer.
We find boom boxes and sewing machines in the trash and sit on Emily's stoop. Sneak across the fenced off bridge, throw bikes and catch them on the other side. There are a lot of us. Yinzers sneak across with us. Two younger girls and we hope they want to be like us and become Riot Grrrls too.
We meet at Leanne's later and sit in her congrete back yard, go to the gas station and get energy drinks and junk food. Light fireworks in the Hollow like there's no way we can get in trouble. Like we skirt every obstacle just barely. Slowly. Taking our time. A few bottle rockets and some talking. Some roman candles and some laughing and some walking. More bottle rockets. more roman candles. 5 shot with report. 10 shot with report. The police come looking for us. We run but not fast. We walk. We unlock the front door as the police drive by. They keep driving by and we sit in Leanne's room. Soupie, Shakes, me, and Leanne. Leanne gives me copies of her zine and I follow the code and don't read them. We tell stories and make slight references to 90s street punk.
I am now 25. I am punk and happy. This is Riot Grrrl summer. I wear dresses and spit and don't hide my smile. I wear boots and lace and keep my skateboard in my car. Always a plan B. Always a fucking blast. We are developing a crew. We see each other and get excited. It's summer and we are outside. We are everywhere. We are Riot Grrrls.
(they say she's a dyke but I know...she is...my best friend!)
Friday, May 11, 2007
the hills have eyes, but they are ours and wide, wide open.
I'm trying to write but it's hard. At this point there are too many stories and essays in my head and just deciding the focal point or where to begin is daunting enough to make me write a few lines and delete, write a few lines about something else and delete. My issues with labels and identity. the initiation of Riot Grrrl Summer. Working at the job I've already quit, who won't stop scheduling me to work. Recent mountain biking excursions and the lessons I've learned.
Lets start there.
I've lived in Massachusetts about a mile away from a State Park renowned for it's mountain bike trails. I've lived in New Mexico in between two mountain ranges, to which whole issues of mountain bike magazines have been dedicated. Now here I am in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and I am trying my damnedest to stay on my bike and not tip over, not roll over the handlebars, and not lose all faith and just clip out when the ride gets interesting.
I have been out twice so far, both times to South Park. It was exciting enough building this bike with Soupie, little by little, putting it all together, working out the kinks and getting prepared for the ride. When the day actually came for my first time out, I was excited but nervous. Soupie was even moreso, waking up at 8am and laying still for two hours, trying not to seem over-anxious or pushy about initiating me into this new world of trees and mud and bruises and merciless two wheels.
When we do get to South Park, Mayhem is riding a trail back to meet us with his two dogs, who get put in the car to avoid the park police, and the three of us jump on the first trail. It was my first time riding, and my seatpost was far too short for the frame that is a size too small for me (and that cost $25!), and my gear ratio was far too high, so it took some getting used to, but I made it. This is perhaps the first lesson I learned, asside from the importance of not having too much air in the tires so the bike doesn't bounce-- an easy gear ratio is imperative. Soupie runs a 1:1.6 or something rediculous like that. I was running like a 1:2.something. I got frustrated a lot because the terrain didn't seem too hard to look at it, but then my legs just couldn't push myself up. I wasn't even too tired, I just couldn't do it. I ran up a lot of hills, walked down quite a few. Got more frustrated and ate half a Clif Bar and felt a bit better. When Mayhem split with us to go on his own ride and make his way back to his dogs, I took a water break and Soupie hopped on my bike to test it out. "Damn," he said, "I'm so sorry. This sucks." Really, though, I hypothesized that it would make the next ride with an easier gearing all the easier. Mayhem had a spare cog at his shop that would work on my wheel. So it was a bit of a blessing that the first time out was the hardest schenario, because it prepared my body for the worst, to make everything else seem easier.
Sure enough, on Tuesday we went riding again, this time with an easier gear ratio and a longer seat post, and I found myself able to climb much easier, which helped me maintain my confidence and keep my mental and emotional cool while going through all the trails.
This was the ride where I learned the importance of just sucking it up and doing it, of staying clipped in and leaning all my weight on the rear wheel. I found it best when I was in front, with Soupie behind me saying, "go go go! don't unclip, lean back! just crush it, lift up the front wheel! go go go!" Because when he said that, I did it. When he was behind me, wanting to go himself, I could not stop and be a baby. When he was watching me do something he knew I could do, then I had to trust that I could do it also. And I could. It helped that I could see where I was going, what I was going over, and just had to think in each instant as it came to me. When Mayhem joined us and I ended up in the back of the pack (He, by the way, was on his ROAD BIKE! Carbon fiber frame, 23c tires, what?!), I found it best to not watch them, to keep my eyes on the trail and yell to myself all the things my coach had been telling me.
It was all very mental. The times when I was exhausted the first time, it was my brain collapsing. The second time, I was a bit more confident, could have more fun, and the mental exhaustion hit right around lunch time, where we climbed to the top of a hill and ate delicious Clif Blocks. By the time we hit our next rest stop, I was beginning to feel the physical exhaustion, and as I dismounted to walk along this old stone embankment, I embraced the wobbly legs and glistening sweat. We met up again with Mayhem and did a loop around the Golf Course, then Mayhem left and we did second, different loop around Golf Course and that was it, we had ridden just about every trail in South Park, asside from a few off-shoots that were incredibly steep, to which I said, "hell no!"
I feel like I am getting the hang of it, slowly but determinedly. I know that when I feel confident I can roll over logs and through creeks and across long, narrow, twisty passages full of gnarling roots and loose soil. I know that these trails are not the hardest to ride. But I know I can ride them. I know that as long as I keep my cool and don't stress myself out, I can ride them. And most importantly, I know there isn't a better way to spend a warm spring weekday than riding bikes through the woods with my husband, staring buffalo in the eye, picnicing on an knoll, and going to bed early and exhausted and happy.
Lets start there.
I've lived in Massachusetts about a mile away from a State Park renowned for it's mountain bike trails. I've lived in New Mexico in between two mountain ranges, to which whole issues of mountain bike magazines have been dedicated. Now here I am in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and I am trying my damnedest to stay on my bike and not tip over, not roll over the handlebars, and not lose all faith and just clip out when the ride gets interesting.
I have been out twice so far, both times to South Park. It was exciting enough building this bike with Soupie, little by little, putting it all together, working out the kinks and getting prepared for the ride. When the day actually came for my first time out, I was excited but nervous. Soupie was even moreso, waking up at 8am and laying still for two hours, trying not to seem over-anxious or pushy about initiating me into this new world of trees and mud and bruises and merciless two wheels.
When we do get to South Park, Mayhem is riding a trail back to meet us with his two dogs, who get put in the car to avoid the park police, and the three of us jump on the first trail. It was my first time riding, and my seatpost was far too short for the frame that is a size too small for me (and that cost $25!), and my gear ratio was far too high, so it took some getting used to, but I made it. This is perhaps the first lesson I learned, asside from the importance of not having too much air in the tires so the bike doesn't bounce-- an easy gear ratio is imperative. Soupie runs a 1:1.6 or something rediculous like that. I was running like a 1:2.something. I got frustrated a lot because the terrain didn't seem too hard to look at it, but then my legs just couldn't push myself up. I wasn't even too tired, I just couldn't do it. I ran up a lot of hills, walked down quite a few. Got more frustrated and ate half a Clif Bar and felt a bit better. When Mayhem split with us to go on his own ride and make his way back to his dogs, I took a water break and Soupie hopped on my bike to test it out. "Damn," he said, "I'm so sorry. This sucks." Really, though, I hypothesized that it would make the next ride with an easier gearing all the easier. Mayhem had a spare cog at his shop that would work on my wheel. So it was a bit of a blessing that the first time out was the hardest schenario, because it prepared my body for the worst, to make everything else seem easier.
Sure enough, on Tuesday we went riding again, this time with an easier gear ratio and a longer seat post, and I found myself able to climb much easier, which helped me maintain my confidence and keep my mental and emotional cool while going through all the trails.
This was the ride where I learned the importance of just sucking it up and doing it, of staying clipped in and leaning all my weight on the rear wheel. I found it best when I was in front, with Soupie behind me saying, "go go go! don't unclip, lean back! just crush it, lift up the front wheel! go go go!" Because when he said that, I did it. When he was behind me, wanting to go himself, I could not stop and be a baby. When he was watching me do something he knew I could do, then I had to trust that I could do it also. And I could. It helped that I could see where I was going, what I was going over, and just had to think in each instant as it came to me. When Mayhem joined us and I ended up in the back of the pack (He, by the way, was on his ROAD BIKE! Carbon fiber frame, 23c tires, what?!), I found it best to not watch them, to keep my eyes on the trail and yell to myself all the things my coach had been telling me.
It was all very mental. The times when I was exhausted the first time, it was my brain collapsing. The second time, I was a bit more confident, could have more fun, and the mental exhaustion hit right around lunch time, where we climbed to the top of a hill and ate delicious Clif Blocks. By the time we hit our next rest stop, I was beginning to feel the physical exhaustion, and as I dismounted to walk along this old stone embankment, I embraced the wobbly legs and glistening sweat. We met up again with Mayhem and did a loop around the Golf Course, then Mayhem left and we did second, different loop around Golf Course and that was it, we had ridden just about every trail in South Park, asside from a few off-shoots that were incredibly steep, to which I said, "hell no!"
I feel like I am getting the hang of it, slowly but determinedly. I know that when I feel confident I can roll over logs and through creeks and across long, narrow, twisty passages full of gnarling roots and loose soil. I know that these trails are not the hardest to ride. But I know I can ride them. I know that as long as I keep my cool and don't stress myself out, I can ride them. And most importantly, I know there isn't a better way to spend a warm spring weekday than riding bikes through the woods with my husband, staring buffalo in the eye, picnicing on an knoll, and going to bed early and exhausted and happy.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
the marriage of mistake and indifference
After work Monday night, I rode down to the Wall in Oakland to meet up with some friends. We were collectively celebrating Soupie's finalization of his last college exams. We were both late, because he is made of magic and showed up to help me close the coffee shop, so after only an hour or so of hanging out with the gang, it was just the two of us, my barely drunken 40oz and his emptying bottle of much deserved self-congratulations. As we sat there on the congrete slap watching the sleepy college town move slower than usual, a warming Monday night after school's out for the summer, he held one of my hands in his and we talked about nothing worth mentioning.
Until a man pushing a cart full of various non-sequetorials approached us and said,
"You two are gonna have a baby."
Immediately we both said, "No way man, we're not bringing someone else into this. Hell no. No babies." Stumbling over out eagerness to convince our blurry minds that this man's words had no holding on our fates. Who can say, though, what powers a person does not have? So we had to make ourselves clear to ourselves, each other, and this man. No Babies. No Way.
"Yes you are. See this right here?" and he pointed to our hands.
Then he married us.
There was talk of how Soup cannot cheat on me, how I am in control because I am older, how we need to be good to each other. He married us again.
He gave us barmitton raquets. Wedding gifts. Symbolic as rings. "For wacking each other when one does wrong."
He told us about love. He drank my beer. We were married again.
It was actually a beautiful ceremony. What I would like to have in a wedding. Secular, brought upon us not by own own will but by fate, by an outside force coming from the left and saying, "Look at this. You two are already married. Now make it official." No courts, no pretense of a God no one seems to agree upon anyway-- just a Holiness, a spontaneity, a little fear and a great calm.
We ended the night by riding bikes home, stopping to pee behind the wall in Shenley Field. Historically. Just as we reached the top of Bigelow, before hitting the Bloomfield Bridge for the great descent, the sky misted.
p.s. I forgot to mention that the ceremony was conducted by Mr. Rainbows, aka Professor Crazy.
Until a man pushing a cart full of various non-sequetorials approached us and said,
"You two are gonna have a baby."
Immediately we both said, "No way man, we're not bringing someone else into this. Hell no. No babies." Stumbling over out eagerness to convince our blurry minds that this man's words had no holding on our fates. Who can say, though, what powers a person does not have? So we had to make ourselves clear to ourselves, each other, and this man. No Babies. No Way.
"Yes you are. See this right here?" and he pointed to our hands.
Then he married us.
There was talk of how Soup cannot cheat on me, how I am in control because I am older, how we need to be good to each other. He married us again.
He gave us barmitton raquets. Wedding gifts. Symbolic as rings. "For wacking each other when one does wrong."
He told us about love. He drank my beer. We were married again.
It was actually a beautiful ceremony. What I would like to have in a wedding. Secular, brought upon us not by own own will but by fate, by an outside force coming from the left and saying, "Look at this. You two are already married. Now make it official." No courts, no pretense of a God no one seems to agree upon anyway-- just a Holiness, a spontaneity, a little fear and a great calm.
We ended the night by riding bikes home, stopping to pee behind the wall in Shenley Field. Historically. Just as we reached the top of Bigelow, before hitting the Bloomfield Bridge for the great descent, the sky misted.
p.s. I forgot to mention that the ceremony was conducted by Mr. Rainbows, aka Professor Crazy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
