It's not the daily training blog.
It's not the bicycle product review blog.
It is: photos of a cycling scene I wish I had.
links to sites I'ld never find.
mentions of the best music.
and simply someone I can easily identify with.
who's job & title does not define him,
but he defines his own life.
Each day is different. Each day has a gem (or two).
One day was a bitter pill.
The cyclist was Kevin Black.
I didn't know Kevin, I could only relate to him,
by being a cyclist and a father, and a commuter.
Jockeying for a foot of pavement with 4,000 pounds of steel,
shows that a motorist has no concern for your life,
and those that depend on you to come home safely.
The surreal part was I have been on that street.
I had a beer, well a couple, in The Viking.
The bar that marks where he was hit.
I live in New York.
I've been to Seattle more times than I can recall.
I've only been to Ballard once.
That was to meet my brother.
All those times I've been to Seattle - we've never crossed paths.
Granted it is a big city. But all those times when someone says
"there's someone who looks just like you".
Well, there is. Until two years ago, I never knew.
He picked me up at SeaTac, and we went out for drinks.
To catch up on thirty years.
As we walked up to The Viking, two drunk girls were debating.
It doesn't matter what it was, I'm sure they didn't even know.
In mid sentance they turned to us an asked,
"are you two, brothers?"
That was akward. I've only spent thirty minutes with him.
We drank and shared stories of growing up.
Then headed back to his apartment on that same street.
The next morning we walked around Ballard.
Got something to eat at a local place.
His order: Cheese omlet, no condiments, white toast, coffee.
My order? Omlet with cheese, toast and coffee.
"and any condiments?", "no", "white or wheat", "white".
For a second there's an pause, a glance and shrug.
After breakfast, we walk across the street for more coffee.
"your order?"
"soy chai extra large"
"and for you?"
"extra large soy chai"
a glance is flashed between us.
ok, that's just weird.
Again, maybe there's more to genetics than to environment.
Nature more than nurture.
The articles on Kevin brings back my day in Ballard.
It also fuels the rage I have as a commuter.
And the fears I have as a father,
who wants to be around for his kids.
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