Everything In it's Right Place

Last night I was lucky enough to score tickets to the 2nd night of Radiohead's stop in L.A. They played at the outdoor Greek Theater, nestled in the hills & trees of Griffith Park - a perfect setting for a great show on a warm summer night. Myself and three friends arrived early, catching the last few songs from opening band Deerhoof. Yoko Ono goes indie/punk?

In between bands we couldn't help notice some familiar faces arriving. Catherine Keener grabbed an empty seat in front of us and asked for help locating her seat. She was by herself and looked amazing! Spidey aka Tobey Maguire walked by, looking for his seat. Followed by Woody Harrelson, Haley Joel "I see pale people" Osment, etc. Last but not least was newly mom'd Gwen Stefani with hubby and Bush supporter Gavin Rossdale. They grabbed the two aisle seats across from ours and my fascination with how they interacted began (in between songs, of course).

Radiohead opened with Airbag followed by The National Anthem. Sixteen songs later they exited the stage after playing Bones, and returned to play four more songs for the first of two encores.

Like Spinning Plates
Fake Plastic Trees
Down Is the New Up
Paranoid Android

It was now around 11pm and we were sure that the show was over due to strict sound curfews in this mostly residential hillside area. But no! Out they came for three more songs:

House of Cards
True Love Waits
Everything In It's Right Place.

25 songs total and it felt like they could have gone on for another 25. The crowd had been on it's feet for almost the entire show. I came to the show under the impression that Thom was pretty much an introvert and wouldn't be much of an entertainer. Wrong! He was funny, played to the crowd, ordered some noisy fools to "shut up" during Exit Music and generally enjoyed himself all night. An amazing, amazing show.

We shuffled through the crowd and mingled backstage, spotting Marilyn Manson in full costume & make-up chatting with friends & fans.

We closed backstage and went on to Fred 62 diner in Los Feliz for some post-show grub and concert reviewing. We spotted Bill Maher in a booth with a, er, lovely black woman whose heels may have been a tad too tall and skirt may have been a tad too short. They left and walked down the street, with most diners staring in mock-L.A. surprise. (Who'd you expect him to be with? Barbara Walters?).
After our various breakfasts and dinners, we slipped into the early morning L.A. traffic and found our respective ways home.

Bike content: It was a bitch to rise and shine today for the first day of Le Tour. Between seeing Radiohead live, and watching the Tour lineup implode I'm a bit overwhelmed :)

Coachella

Rolled in at 4am this morning after a full day of desert sun, nuevo hippies and all the music you can handle at this year's Coachella Festival. I missed out on Day One, had to settle with Day Two that ended up with a gig list that looked something like this from where I stood:

Matisyahu (final 2 songs)
Paul Oakenfold
Gnarls Barkley
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs
[insert aborted attempt at seeing Madonna here]
Massive Attack
Tool

I was completely satisfied as a concert-goer with each of the above acts, with the exception of Oakenfold. While I like his music, standing in an overcrowded tent with a ton of people bouncing up and down sweating on me, and then watching P.O. walk off stage during a "song", letting the music speak for itself was a little more than I could handle. Fortunately the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Massive Attack and Tool more than made up for it. Maynard from Tool was insecure this night and lurked and sang upstage near the drum kit for the entire set. Regardless, he played all the nuggets that Nana used to sing me to sleep with like Stinkfist, Sober and Intolerance.

Some mediocre photos:

Oakenfold mixes














Sunset crowd














Cee-Lo of Gnarls Barkley














Karen and Nick of The Yeah Yeah Yeahs


















Daddy G of Massive Attack


















3D on screen


















a Massive Attack on the crowd














a Coachellarized self-portrait

Captain Underpants vs. The Sea Otter

Roadtrip outta H'wood...time for this blog to see some dirt!

This past weekend saw me and "the guys" heading north to Monterey and the Laguna Seca racetrack for the 2006 Sea Otter Classic bike races. The estimated attendance was around 50,000 people, including everyone from Pro cyclists such as Levi Leipheimer and Gunn-Rita Dahle, to families camping out for a weekend full of fun bike events. NorCal was already oozing mud out of it's pores, and with more rain in the forecast it looked like we'd be spending lots of time poaching shelter from the nearest EZ Up (Thanks Dirt Rag!).

I bowed out of racing the singlespeed mtb class this year, mostly out of sheer generosity to let someone else bask in the glory of the podium fanfare. Either that or I was about as far from being physically fit to race as humanly possible. Instead I opted to support my fellow singlespeeders - guys and girls, and do my best to be there for them physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Friday we arrived and pre-rode the 19 mile Cross Country course. It had been raining and continued to do so as we attempted to plow through mud bog after mud bog, each time with less caution and more speed. "Fuggit!". Squish.

Saturday was Expo Day for us and the weather was amazing. Blue skies and sunshine made for an excellent day of hunting down free beer and swag. Free socks and a cold one to boot? Yes sir yes sir, two bags full. However too much alcohol and sunshine makes you do stupid things like this:



Alas I had ended up racing singlespeed afterall (far left in black). The consequences of my actions included grass stains, a bloody shin and general disorientation. My buddy Mark (right / orange) conquered the field and enjoyed the spoils of a sweet, sweet victory.

Upon arising Sunday morning, I peeked out of the curtains of our penthouse suite in Salinas and was welcomed by gray clouds and mist. Drat! Race Day and the sun has left us. I finished my spinach crepes, slipped out of my complimentary terry robe and rang the Bellman to have our bikes washed and prepared for departure. I packed my camera gear, flossed and brushed, and got in a quick seven minute meditation to make sure I was in a "good place" for my duties as Race Support Guy.

Ron was up first thing for the Sport SS class. His race started at 8:45am so we had to be there about 4 hours early to make sure his saddle was pointing exactly straight. That can really throw a race. Mark signed up for the Expert SS two-lapper (38 miles) because he hates himself.

Racers stage:

photo: blinkylights.net

The SS Girlz. Little do they know what lies in store for them...

photo: blinkylights.net

Muddy racin' action

photo: blinkylights.net

Here's where I come in. Apparently I didn't feel that cheering on the sidelines and taking pictures was interactive enough. Apparently I had a desire to dig deeper, really search for a way to be there for my friends as they struggled through mile after painful mile of mud, sand and throwin' elbows. Apparently I'm an exhibitionist.

Phase 1 of Operation Muddy Undies:


Nothing like a set of creamy white man-thighs to make someone want to sprint for the finish and put an end to the horrible visual violation. You can thank me later, hon. :)


Just doing my part...


...and one more for the Trifecta


A mom spectator was watching with her little daughter and was overheard saying "you're going to have to look away for a minute honey." A male racer rode by me, glanced down at my orange Crocs and deadpanned "Nice shoes". Hopefully I brought a little sunshine to everyone's dreary day. Like a ray of golden goodness from the heavens, my ass was there to warm hearts and sooth tired souls. Amen.

And the moral of the story? Chicks dig freaks.


HW

Fargo

Earlier today was the much-anticipated annual Fargo St. hill climb. Fargo St. is reportedly the steepest residential street in the state of California at a 33% grade. Yes that's steeper than anything in San Francisco. And it's right here in our back yard. The L.A. Wheelmen loosley organize the event with no official entry or fees taken. A signature releasing liability gets you a nice piece of masking tape with a number on it for your t-shirt or King of the Mountains jersey. Making it to the top without dabbing or crashing and tumbling backwards to your death gets you a nice embroidered patch.

So I hopped on the road bike and rode down to Fargo St. where I met up with a few friends, most on singlespeeds and one with gearing low enough to allow for a sit 'n spin pace up Fargo without stopping. Or so it seemed...

Arriving at Fargo St. gives you a little *gulp* in your throat when you look up.


















Don't look back!


















Fargo residents come out to support the riders (and drink some killer homemade margaritas. Fargoritas?)


















Yours truly, given it my damnedest. Did I make it???













The patch says 'Yes'!
















Tall Bike on the course! Will he make it???


















Sadly, no.


















But this one did. Amazing.


















And finally - my friend Doug, who is over 60 years young, set the day's record with 50 ascents on his hardtail singlespeed mountain bike with street tires. Most were happy to go home with one successful climb under their belt, Doug went for 49 more over the course of the day, finishing after most had already gone home, showered and had lunch. (Doug left, Mark right)


















I then had to mount the road bike and pedal the 15 miles home with whatever was left in my legs, which wasn't much. But I had my patch ;)

more photos here

Red, Gold, Amber.

Last night I found myself pedaling towards the Red Line subway to head downtown, where I would change trains to the Gold Line and maneuver towards Pasadena. Waiting for me there would be some friends and over 50 beers on tap at Lucky Baldwins Pub in Old Town. The Belgian Beer Fest is in town and they have the largest selection of Belgian beers on tap IN THE WORLD.



Connecting the two train stations took me by a few cool L.A. sites, like the Frank Gehry desinged Disney Hall in downtown L.A.


Then I crashed Opera night at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, where 2 weeks ago I saw "Madama Butterfly". Whoever chose to use a minimalist, "theater of the bizarre" approach to a classic opera failed miserably. It was painful to sit through. I was hoping that these people weren't going to have to sit through that. Luckily, M.B. had moved on.




Next stop: the magnificent Union Station (opened in 1939), where I came across a large film production for an upcoming Nancy Drew movie. The gentleman in the lower left of the photo was a little cranky that I took a picture, but with me being on a public sidewalk there wasn't much he could do :)



Inside of Union Station, looking towards the filming.



I finally arrived at my destination and was welcomed with a nice, fresh pint of Leffe Brown. A bustling bar in progress -


A sample of just some of the beer available during the 'Fest


After being properly fed with pub grub and introduced to new Belgian beer, it's time to pack up, retrace my tracks and find my way back home (photo by Black Bart).



cheers mate!

See ya

Hottie Aussie singer Sia performed an in-store at Amoeba Records tonight to promote her new cd "Colour the Small One". I've been a fan of hers since hearing her with Zero 7 and decided to pedal over and check out the free show.

Man I'm glad I got my tickets to this show early. Sold out, suckers!


Passing by Capitol Records on the way to the show


Thanks Amoeba!


Sia is much more bubbly and funny in person than her music lets on. The bluesy, throaty singing is 180 degrees from her on stage persona. She sang a couple of Zero 7 tracks including "Distractions" as well as her new single "Breathe Me". The single is available on her new CD as well as the Six Feet Under soundtrack.




I finished off the night with a little Thai food on The Blvd. and then a pedal stroke or two on home.

Hellos and Furwells

Early 2005 saw the coming of a fresh winter coat on my Trek road bike, courtesy of Joanne Fabrics. People stared, kids wanted to touch it and it felt good to straddle in the nude. It made many appearances around town and received such memorable comments thrown my way, like "Hey it's Big Bird!", "Is your bike warm?" and the classic "How fur are you riding?". Oh we laughed and laughed...

Since nothing is constant but change, it came time to shave the dirty, greasy hair and free the steel steed once again. After using about half a gallon of Goo Gone to remove the 3M brand spray adhesive that snugly held the fur in place, I was convinced that spray glue is evil and I will never ever work with it again (or until inspiration strikes for a new fur bike). In place of fur went numerous bike related decals to separate my bike from all the other red '84 Trek 660s out there.

I found my groove during the stripping process and continued on to the last remaining brake on the bike. The front brake and brake lever were unbolted from the bike and dispatched to the spare parts bin. Being a fixed gear bike, this meant that my only means of stopping would be the ginormous leg power of yours truly. I have seen bike couriers ride like this but have never tried it on my own. This morning's run for coffee on the Blvd would be the first test of the brakeless beast, and as Murphy would have it, turned out to be one of the sketchiest rides, traffic-wise that I've had lately. Drivers pulled stunts that kept me on my toes, hop-skid stopping and sprinting as needed to avoid getting a close-up view of their oil pan drain plug. But I passed the test and the bike shall remain brakeless for the time being.

Disclaimer: the Pucker Factor (PF) is high, around 8.5 so please kids, don't try this at home. Well, try it at home, just not in 4 lanes of last minute Christmas shoppers with one hand on the cell phone, one hand on their gingerbread latte and a knee on the steering wheel.




Hdub

Protesting the Protest

If it's Friday, it must be Protest Night. While most people are driving home from work, headed out for Date Night or on their way to da club, a dedicated bunch sets up shop on the corner of a busy L.A. intersection to enlighten the motorists on the state of Iraq, the administration, gas prices, national security, etc. All done so in a peaceful, non-confrontational way. (Until now - that's where I come in). Just a handful of concerned citizens out sharing their opinions with anyone who drives by, by means of holding handmade posters and banners. The motorists respond by either honking in approval or flipping them off and calling them dirty hippies.



The first time or two by, I honked in support. "I can change the world by pressing on my steering wheel!"...I like to think to myself. Making an impact is FUN! The next time few times I drive by on a Friday and see the same ol' tired signs, I start to think "ok this is getting old and I need to do something about it."

Cut to: Interior of art supplies store

I ride to the store and buy some large cardboard signs, some paint and brushes. A variety of messages run through my head and I settle on two. The following Friday I'm ready. I ride to The Corner with my signs, as I'm expecting my nephew to come aid me in my mission. One for him, one for me. I arrive at 5pm as I'm not really sure what time they begin and find myself alone with the street corner all to myself. It's dark and traffic is heavy. I position myself on the curb and proudly raise my sign.



The response is quick and varied. People are laughing and honking, some are embarrassed and won't make eye contact, some are so engrossed in their cell phone convo that they don't even notice. Single women smile and honk, construction workers honk with enthusiasm from their pick-ups. *Somebody's* horny!

This goes on for an hour, my nephew arriving later to hold up his sign that proclaims "I heart nachos" with a big red heart. Then I notice at 6:00 that the regulars are starting to trickle in. One guy comes up and asks me in a bitchy tone "What does your sign even mean?". I respond that I'm protesting sexual oppression. He's not entertained. He follows up with "You don't have anything else to do on a Friday night?" My answer: "No". Another concerned protester wants to know "who I'm with" and "where I'm from". He gets smart-ass answers in return.

My 6th sense now tells me that there's a hubbub about my presence. Just then a short, angry man comes up from behind me and gets in my face. "Fuck you very much - go find another corner" he suggests, trembling. "Excuse me?" I ask, unsure of what I just heard. He repeats "Fuck you very much - go find another corner." I now have a small mob glaring at me, the most sorry looking lot of people I've ever seen. We exchange pleasantries and I stay put. Now some unknown civilian steps in between us and starts reading Shorty the Riot Act on my behalf, telling him I can do whatever the fuck I please. Me and my nephew step back and watch the circus unfold. It's beautiful. I offer that they should try and do what their signs say and handle this peacefully, which turns out to be like trying to put out a fire with gasoline.

The kid and I decide to bail, we've had enough. As we pack up and walk away, Shorty catches up to us and apologizes. "I lost it - I'm sorry". Apology accepted, we head off into our respective Friday nights, myself being content that things went just a little differently for people tonight. And that maybe those horns honking manifested into some action for a lucky few. :P

HIYH,
HW

Walk or Ride

It's not every day that you get to meet up with a cool band, then ride bikes to the venue with them for their own show. That's exactly what happened tonight. The Bicycle Kitchen hosted an event where we gathered at the shop then pedalled to Spaceland in Silverlake to catch a set by The Ditty Bops.

Amanda and Abby are super cool young ladies. Each show has a unique theme, so you're never sure what exactly you're going to see that night. Could be a Hawaiian theme, could be a Magician theme, or could be a Sports theme as was the case tonight. They ride and wrench their own bikes and man they can sing and play like a mofo (mofos?). Amanda in proper bike shop attire:


The DB's and a few of their pedal powered fans:


Abby and Amanda - late for their own show!!!


I guess they liked my furry fixie enough to come up and ask if the bike could serve as stage prop for their show. Well hell yes! The bike was carefully loaded on stage by the teamsters (actually a guy who forgot his ID so he got a "job" as bike handler to get in the door. He sat onstage for the entire show) and it was now ready for its 15 minutes of fame.


The show was amazing; their harmonizing voices and catchy lyrics left of sea of smiling faces. Awwww..... I liked them so much that I caught their show the next night at a different venue, which registered a 7.5 on the Stalker Warning System (SWS). Catch 'em if you can.



Shimmy like my sister Kate-
HW