It has come to my attention, after extensive communications with the powers that be and their lackeys, that our cities have no intention of clearing the snow out of our bike lanes. They also have no intention of moving or ticketing the cars parked in the bike lanes. All this is in spite of the fact that the winter months are the harshest and most dangerous to cyclists, who are the most vulnerable of commuters year round.

However, rather than bemoan our fates, I say we do what the city should be doing and get out there ourselves and shovel out the bike lanes! If the powers that be think it’s too much hassle or just don’t care, then it’s up to us to preserve our own safety with a little DIY action.

My plan  is this, and I hope you follow along:

We should be seeing the end of the coming precipitation by this Sunday eve. At that point I will venture forth, shovel in hand, and station myself at the nearest unplowed bike lane. I will then proceed to remove the snow from it! If I am able to complete one bike lane before my back is broken, I will move on to another and clear THAT bike lane. Where will I put the snow? Wherever! It’s not my fucking problem as long as it’s not in the bike lane, right?

I urge you to take up your icepicks and shovels and buckets of sand and join  me at the front line of the battle! If you have a specific commuter route you need cleared, start there! Call your friends! Bring a boombox and make a party out of it!

If you aren’t a cyclist but just want to help, email me at kamikazelove at gmail and I’ll point you toward a lane in need!

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE FREE OF HARASSMENT

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO HAVE  YOUR TAXES SPENT ON PROGRAMS THAT BENEFIT YOU!

FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO THE STREETS!

Ok, I’m not really gonna write poetry. I’m no Vogon.

So I lied. (You’ll get used to it.) No Carpunching Gauntlets this time, but it’s only because I haven’t managed to trash pick or road rescue a pair of leather gloves yet. Give it time. The universe will provide.

The weekend before last, The Esteemed Goondocks (mah haus) participated in the first annual Porchfest. If you ain’t been told, Porchfest was a free music event showcasing artists from the area on the porches of the public. Our magnificent Count Sethula, of Goondocks Dungeons, slung delicious foods at passersby, while various and sundry bands sweated and wrought musicky havoc in the FUCKING SUN, CAN  YOU BELIEVE IT? A great time was had by all, but I completely failed to take pictures because I’m dumb like that, and because I can’t be bothered to wear anything with pockets to carry a camera in while I’m in leisure mode.

Here is one picture yoinked from thesapphiresun.com:

Can I just say I love my fucking neighborhood? I live in Ball Square, and prior to the ‘fest my delicious roommates flyered the vicinity in preparation for causing a neighborhood ruckus. I fully expected a bit of dour buzzkill from the older folks who abut us, but nay! Everyone in the ‘hood came out to play, and hung out on their porches to catch the music and the beautiful, nourishing sunshine. We were actually encouraged to repeat the affair as much as we like! I’m thinking that the future of the ‘Docks may be ripe with live band house parties, at least until we’re shut down and deemed an ‘unlicensed club’. Bring it on.

I woke up in a funk after a long morning discovering that Justin Mattarocchia’s snore can persevere through poking, kicking, punching, pillow smothering, verbal abuse, underwear snapping, and various chokeholds. Apparently the only thing that works to wake him is the Disappointed Look, which can transcend space, time and human consciousness.

We got back from Gloucester on the commuter rail at about 11pm Sunday night, exhausted. We had taken the T to Beverly in the early afternoon, after outfitting Justin with one of Jordan’s tertiary bikes – a huge  monster of a mountain bike. Calypso just wasn’t really up to the task of taking 180lb of man thirteen miles on finnicky terrain. Krankenberry, and BananaShark, Jordan’s new SWOBO single speed, had no problems.

Once in Gtown, we met up with Dadoo Climbout and his new roommate Eric and proceeded to cruise around the shore, ultimately ending up at Crane’s Beach for some swimming and much drinking of Boat Beer (see: Buttweizer). There simply is no better swimming spot in the North Shore area – the water is warmer (and saltier, for some reason) than at any other beach I’ve set foot on around here, and while clear, it boasts an abundance of life – skates, flounders, crabs of all type, various shellfish, even LIVE sand dollars! We didn’t really take the time to explore all the sea life this time, but in my youth I spend almost every weekend there, harassing the indigenous animals. They have lately fenced off all the interior dunes – a fact which has me conflicted, since while I am 100% behind the preservation of the natural state of Crane’s Beach, many of my fondest memories of childhood took place in those dunes.

Photos C/O Jordan

I’m still trying to put together a larger Phillips 3Speed for Justin, but at this point I’m wondering if the cash I’d spend on it would be better spent on a newer, less heavy, but ultimately still used single speed. I’d love to check out what they have at Bikes Not Bombs, but I’m always working during their hours, and also transporting a bike with another bike is a little tricky if you have to trek from Somerville to Jamaica Plain. I hate admitting to the need, but I may have to rent a zipcar for this journey, and that might just negate the money I’d save by going there. Bugger arr!

this was a Powerthirst weekend.

I hate energy drinks, I really do. Too much sugar. The shakes, the crash… ew. Let’s not even talk about the taste. But when that’s all you have to mix with your liquor, you make do. And thus began the weekend of Energy Legs.

My friend Justin and I checked out Post Prosperity featuring Sean Stevens’ Pedal-Powered Dance Party and Sustainable Sound at the End of the World on Saturday. Lights, mixing table, and speakers were all powered by dynamo action and the Menergy or Womanergy of the participants.  Justin got to run the dynamo for a while, but I was too far back in line and didn’t get a chance to take the reigns.

Sunday we took the hated MBTA Commuter Rail into Newburyport and spent time cruising around the New England Serengeti – or the Green Belt. Red winged blackbirds trilled around our heads. Chubby-cheeked muskrats scuttled through the grass. Turtles sunned themselves on rocks. I was too preoccupied with the joy of riding to take many pictures, but I did take this one of Calypso enjoying the day under Justin’s buttress.

The only tarnish on this otherwise idyllic weekend was the ride home from Newburyport on the Commuter Rail. I assumed that since the Rockport branch allows bikes on the first train of the day, the other branch would as well. I got up in the wee hours and went to the train, to be faced with a little trollish woman with cheap butterfly earrings offsetting her ill-fitting uniform, telling me that no, despite the fact that this train is almost empty and I could have ridden on it if it’d originated in Rockport, I would not be allowed on. I would have to wait until after 9am, the very hour I am supposed to report to work, to board the train. I told her what I thought about the MBTA’s policies, and her own level of compassion for her fellow man. I waited for the 9:36am train and boarded it. And proceeded to sit for an hour in the station because the train was having ‘sticky break issues’. Ultimately, the train did not arrive in North Station until after 12:30pm, once again proving to me the fallacy of putting any money or trust into this most ill managed establishment.

In synopsis, an amazing weekend; easy on the senses, hard on the legs, and only very predictably disappointing. Hopefully there will be some swimming to report in the near future.

There, I said it. I’m just not that interested. I have an electric kettle that boils water in like three seconds flat, I’ll make my own coffee with it. End of problem, moving on.

Aaaanyway, hullo children! I’ve had a busy and exciting few weeks. And luckily, I haven’t run into a ton of trouble with motorists/buses. There was one particular bus that I seriously believe tried to kill me: I was in the bike lane on Harvard, once again, and the bus passed me just enough to put me halfway down it’s length. It then started turning into the bike lane to approach the next bus stop. I hollered, rang my bell like mad and I could actually see the bored-looking woman driving glance into the rearview mirror and look DIRECTLY INTO MY EYES. Of course, she kept turning. I had to angle into the curb and dive off my bike in order to avoid getting squashed or pulled under the bus. While she was stopped I tried to approach the door to give her a piece of my mind, but she quickly closed the door and sped away, as I stood their screaming with my heart in my throat. I called the MBTA right away to report it, but of course was put on hold for 15 minutes, after which the recording came on telling me they were closed for the day. I fucking give up. I’m just going to start carrying large rocks with me. If it tries to hit me, I will hit IT. I have every right to defend myself.

Other than that it’s been a smashing time for riding this spring. Even the rainy days have been mostly tolerable. Mostly. I rode from my house in Somerville last week to a friend’s house in Waltham, and though it was only raining slightly both before and after my ride, it of course decided to drown me during the 45 minutes it took to go that far. I was dressed nice, too, and I had to show up looking like a grime-speckled drowned chicken. Luckily my friends know what to expect, and generally don’t give me shit if I don’t look like I just walked out of a salon.

This weekend I spent time in Newburyport for a friend’s birthday. We had planned a bike ride, and I showed up expecting to see said friend (who shall remain nameless) on a beat up fixed gear, old road bike or at the very least a cheap hybrid. Maybe I overestimate people. As I rolled Krankenberry off the train I caught sight of him sitting astride a tiny, cheap old BMX with half-inflated tires. My excitement for the bike ride quickly deflated.

That bike-snobbery aside, we had a great time tooling around Maudsley State Park, and though I can’t really vouch for it being a great place to ride (I saw no other bikers and the paths we took were definitely walking only), it was a beautiful place, quiet clean and green. Just hide your booze well – we had to dump half a bottle out because an over-protective ranger pegged us as hooligans and tailed us in. Hooligans! Well, I never!

Sunday was mostly a travel/recovery day but I did have time to clean up and cruise around for Somerville Open Studios, with a late night stop at Redbones for thirst-quenching beer and some deep fried okra. Om nom nom.

Today it is rains again, but it’s also 80f outside. I realize now that I have no ‘hot weather’ rain gear. I opted to just wear as little as possible and let it air dry as I sat in the office, and I wasn’t disappointed.

So, guys… I’m essentially stalled in my activism for the moment. I see that though I’ve been heard, and many pro-bike changes are being made, I’m still making zero headway with that which sparked this drive in me: the MBTA. There has been zero improvement in their observation of traffic laws, their accountability, and their vigilance when it comes to keeping others safe. I’m concerned that it might take gestures possibly viewed as less than civil to really create some recognition of these ongoing problems. Concerned, but not unwilling to take these steps. We shall see.

I took the optimistic plunge and gave Krankenberry a bath and a tune up. Amazingly, aside from her chain being disgusting and busted (I bought a fresh one), she suffered very little lasting wear and tear this winter, and looks good as new! I’m so proud.

In other optimistic news, I planted my stunted tobacco plants in our vegetable garden, in the hopes that they were only stunted due to lack of space and depression from cabin fever.

I also cleaned the house just in time for all my roommates to come home and cook ALL DAY LONG in my nice clean kitchen. Typical. An evil overlord’s work is never done.

In January, that is. God I hate the cold. It’s not that I don’t find it manageable to ride in – I have only taken the bus once this winter, and that was to the Slutcracker cast party, because I fully expected to be too drunk to ride (which is a feat in itself) and I wasn’t off with my prediction. It’s just that everything is so sloooowed doown and extra complicated. In May you can just throw your shoes on, slap your lock under your belt and GOGOGO to wherever, when ever. In january you have to check your temp wiget, find extra socks, locate your thermal shirt, whine about the fact that your face muffler is still soaked with boogers, Cat-Crap your goggles. etc etc etc… so not necessary. I mean, necessary, but not in any way acceptable. Grumble.

Last night I rode to Coolidge to be a Tip Monster for the production SHOW – a film, burlesque/drag extravaganza and book signing with local photographer and long-time PRC supporter Henry Horenstein. Haven’t gotten around to unpacking my panniers yet, but I have the sneaking suspicion that a tub of silver glitter has exploded in there, because I was leaving a Tinkerbell trail all the way home.

I’ve finally linked all my hot hot cohort’s pages to my blaaargh so when I write about my exploits, you can follow the link and figure out just WTF I’m jibba-jabbin about. And ALSO, so you can check out all these fine performers and see what they’re up to on any given week, because if you haven’t yet you’re missing out, bigtime. So clicky! Go. DO IT.

This weekend the bf and I rented a Zipcar and drove to P-town. Our goal was to get caught in Hurricane Danny (sadly later demoted to Tropical Storm Danny),  get rained on at a local campsite with other members of the Gozerian Society, and possibly get swept out to sea on my first visit to the homosexual capital of New England. Though we did plow through some pretty deep puddles on the highway, the storm sadly petered out as we were dining at Bayside Betsy’s (which I don’t really recommend, it being typical in the lobster/chowder/deck shoes way of restaurants on the seashore). What I didn’t expect, however, was the mindblowing number of bikes I saw there. There are bike racks EVERYWHERE, and even during this ‘hurricane’, people were pedaling up and down the main strip in flip flops, some even holding umbrellas! All the bikes I saw were of the beach cruiser variety, owing to the fact that there’s only about two miles of rideable area from one end of Ptown to the other.

the moustache helps him blend in

I'm also blending in, with my 'sloppy chic' duds

P-town people relaxin' by the pool.

Ultimately, I give P-town a 6 on the Biketastic Rating Chart, because there’s a ton of great parking, and (apparently) low bike-related crime, but it’s really an all or nothing geography – you have about 5 miles of road altogether in town, and if you live out of town it’s a huge undertaking to get there via bike.

This past weekend was possibly the most gorgeous of the year so far. If you like temperatures hovering around 85 in the shade, which I do, and if you like glaring, searing sunshine, which I do. At around 10:30am on Saturday, Chopper, Frenchy, and I left Goondocks Castle on a trip to beautiful scenic Gloucester, MA. Chopper and I on our Leisurenaughts and Frenchy on a hybrid that has seen better days. Here is our approximate route:

View Ride to Gloucester in a larger map

The first half of the journey was a tiny slice of Hell. Revere, Lynn, Swampscott…. these are not communities set up for pleasant cycling. However, we did not receive one death threat during the whole 30+ mile jaunt. I count this as a total win. We celebrated our escape from the gridlock of Greater Boston with some margaritas and lunch at the Edgewater Cafe in Salem, MA. From that point on  it was pretty smooth sailing up 127, though if you ask the guys, it was all choppy seas and huge rolling waves. Once we got to Gtown we discovered, sadly, that the place was overrun by tourists for the Waterfront Festival. We blew up Dadoo’s cell phone and met him at the Blackburn Tavern, which was mercifully empty at 4pm. After refueling with a few beers, Frenchy parted ways with us and the three amigos went on to boat to Lighthouse Cove, off Eastern Point. Lovely, clear water and entirely empty of people, this beach was total paradise. We swam for a bit and then went to dinner at the sketchiest hotel restaurant in the world. I can’t remember the name but there was a fiberglass cow standing outside, and the only dining area was outside on a back porch overlooking the marsh. Bugs a-go-go, but after a couple glasses of wine, we didn’t care. And then, home again on the train. Why the last train into Boston from Gloucester on a Saturday night is at 10:08 I have no idea. You’d think they were trying to strand people in the boonies, or something. Anyway, first thing that happens while we’re riding through Cambridge back to the Goondocks – you guessed it, we were honked at and menaced. Ahh, home sweet home.