2026-01 | Speeding motorcycle, let's speed smart
We've moved to England. The two of us, the baby, a bicycle, three wetsuits, a tent, two porcelain mugs
from Vladivostok that we found in the Victoria Value Village, a calculus textbook that I'm not
allowed to throw out, a really good set of allen keys that my dad gave me, a bottle of maple syrup for our landlords,
and probably even more impractical things, all in those cheap black and yellow crates that you get at Home Depot in Canada.
People fly with them all around the Canadian northwest, often transporting animals they've hunted, so the baggage attendant was unfazed but asked
if we were carrying halibut, which, given the destination of London Heathrow, was a prime mental image.
An impromptu small army of gentle people in wool hats came to help us to the airport without us asking, which was 💓.
And now we're here and it's been foggy for two weeks and no one has slept much and I have nothing much to say about any of it yet.
B vydala svůj slavný zahradnický zin,
ve kterém mám fejeton o bramborách z dávných dob před dvěmi lety.
We watched Alex Pretti get shot for no reason at all. I don't really keep this semi-public diary as a place to react to
Current Events -- if I started I would never stop. It struck me how similar he was to half of us, bikepacking friends, just a super
normal, solid dude with probably a lot of opinions on shimano vs. SRAM. Friends in New York City held a memorial ride. So did friends in Praha.
I hate moralism probably because I'm kind of prone to it, but still: in the face of any number of things, it's bracing, and comforting,
that we get to choose, every day, how to be in the world.
BUZERANT napsal zjevně nejlepší
ne-motivační text
do ledna:
» Jsme tady a než odejdeme, musíme pro někoho jiného udělat něco pečujícího, čeho si budeme vážit. Může to být práce, která vám dává smysl. Může to být starost o stárnoucí rodiče, příbuzné, vaše děti nebo kamarády, kteří jsou důležitější než deadliny či to, jak se sami cítíte nebo vypadáte. Ano, může to být i aktivita na sociálních sítích, kterou se skutečně pokusíte někoho oslovit. Může to být snaha získat opravdovou politickou moc. A what the hell, může to být i intersekcionální kroužek. Může to být cokoliv, čeho si budete vážit.
Nebudete potom šťastní. Tohle není motivační text. Žádnou odměnu za to nedostanete. A štěstí je nadto kategorie otroků. (Navíc jsme celou myšlenku vykradli z nějaké knihy Toni Morrison, i když to byl spíš instagramový reel.) Ale možná život spočívá v tom pokusu. Je to minimálně intelektuálně náročnější a zajímavější, než rezignovat nebo přepadnout na druhou stranu. A to stačí. «
The sun came out for one day and my tiny baby went on his first bike ride and really liked it -- hell yeah!
Which is to say, Here Comes My Baby!
Originally a Tremeloes song, Cat Stevens' version is probably the most known one but I kind of can't deal
with Cat Stevens, and Yo La Tengo's version is better, anyway. In relistening to it I spun through all of YLT's 1990 album Fakebook, whose
quietly virtuosic guitar sonic landscape fits well into the subdued energy of Norfolk january. It's unlike other things they made but just
as brilliant -- mostly covers, many of which might be better than the originals.
Here
is a perfect thing, for stupid, reckless hearts and everyone else.
Speeding motorcycle, the road is ours.