I was born in Riverside at St. Vincent’s hospital. Like my siblings before me, I attended Fishweir Elementary. We used to catch turtles in Boone Creek. The fecal coliform bacteria concentration was/is delicious. Thanks, Jacksonville. I remember family bike rides to downtown and back. I was so proud of my Schwinn Predator. The Park Street overpass at the railroad tracks was brand new. It seemed impossibly steep. If we were lucky, we got to stop at the Five Points Krystal’s on the way home, back before Stevie Ray Stiletto drove a car through it.

I got my first road bike in fourth grade, around the time I got my first Dead Milkmen tape. My dad and I found a smallish Cannondale at the Murray Hill Goodwill. The derailleur was strung through backwards and both tires were flat. It was white and pink. It’s not a racing bike if it doesn’t race, so I joined up with the NFBC, waaaaaay back when it had a youth racing program. Stan the Bicycle Man put an end to that. Thanks, asshole. We did laps at Kent Campus back before the Roosevelt Blvd entrance ruined the unbroken one mile oval perimeter road. I did my first 2 minute mile there. Racing was great fun even if I never won. The team usually did, so I borrowed glory from my weirdo teenage bicycle racing friends. Being a tween bike racer and a punk and a leftist revolutionary, you can imagine how well I fit in here in Bible Town, USA. Kids were always trying to drag me to their hateful fear mongering churches. I got called “fag” by an honest to goodness man of the cloth. Others insisted I was in league with Satan. Great message for a 12-year-old, huh?

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) Embarrassingly, by getting a new bike, I felt I was abandoning my old Schwinn Mesa. I named it "Specialized Crossroads Sport" (it's easy to pick a name when it comes painted on it). It's a "comfort bike" because riding it is similar to riding a couch. Of course, it didn't help when my wife said, "I can't believe you're retiring your old bike. so I take my metallic steed to the bike shop for. (Mental note to self: what does it say about me that I get emotionally attached to an inanimate object like a bike. ) First the back story: I'm not someone who does 100 mile cross country marathons, but I do find my way around town, utilizing my bicycle for commuting. (If you go grocery shopping via bicycle, you save a heck of a lot of money also because you have to lug your goods on your back. It doesn't cry or use diapers, but rolls well and I can sit on it. OK, you guessed, I bought a new bicycle.

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