A fIRE On The Plain

Yes, this latest rant exiting my wine induced brain may seem to be non-sense to the average running mammal. The fact is that the great tunage by one of the the primo bass extrodiarres in the whole universe, Mike Watt, amps me up to the point that it could potentially turn a possible rail-trail bike ride into an exercise of dementia.

Yes, the bands Watt happens to accompany sounds genious all around. His jazz/punk/rocknroll/Motown tendencies helps transfuse his great talent of make his bass guitar sound like a style of his own. The past couple of days, his sounds have been bouncing off my overly-active neurons to the point that listening to his material translates to a run or a bike on a very dusty plain in a rural portion of the Mid-Western United States.



Some great tunage by fIREHOSE!

Some great rocknroll wisdom by Mike Watt!

On a Plain

Rotating my feet circularly while my abnoxious yellow mountain bike propelled on the semi-dusty plain of Missouri's semi-famous Katy Trail is what occupied my late morning to early afternoon trot. Fortunently, many current meteorologist's favorite game of creating out hand paranoia ended today when this lame exercise ended up resembling nothing more than a bunch of old fashion turkey jive.

What is all this wordage leading me to? Is it saying that some lame 47 year old rock star critic wanna-bee turned late blooming weekend athlete? I do not know, but let me rewind a bit more than 24 hours. My bike [aka ; Elvis] guided myself and my two children along this jaunt. At least this journey was "an easy" 13 or so miles.... take that back reader gazin' upon this rant. My daughter Shannon at least claimed to have a hard time keeping up the peddling at certain strategic times. What could we do as our bikes/our legs were working in sync with our noggin, concentrating upon putting a check next to the box of our latest goal.

Miles Davis, Freedom, Simplicity, and Nothing

Wow.... listening to Miles Davis' trumpet expresses a dangerously similar freedom as I felt today during today's run/bike jaunt. This freedom to let go was produced with my footsteps/bike peddling while Mr. Davis and his almost magical trumpet displays the freedom of his simple, yet drawn out style of trumpeting.

I praise Miles Davis.... in my book, your attitude, style of trumpeting, and almost everything about this epic legend screams the phrase King of Cool. Mr Davis; let me reach into your pocket as I want to steal ten percent of your coolness. Transforming your trumpeting style into my running style seems possible as I slip on my shoes that are destined to hit the pavement. I have nothing else to say as my ears attach it's hearing tubes to your horn. My feet are done moving for the night, but they meekly attemopt to capture Mile's movement, tapping its toes, listening to his musical masterpieces.

A Bike Named Elvis

While I might be a bit slow posting my most current news and stuff.... well, this latest rant rotates around an almost stolen prase from Johnny Cash. Instead of Cash's so epic gem, "A Boy Named Sue," this brain exercise is entitled "A Bike Named Elvis."

I had been toying with the idea of partaking in a grand purchasing scheme to acquire a long coveted mountain bike. I wanted to be able to accompany my children on long trail rides.... at least that is what I hoped. You know, make them pump and pump at the grueling pedals until they not only sweat bullets, but their feet give out.

Cut to the chase.... soon after torturing my kids on my previous trek on Missouri's Katy Trail, I decided my bike needed a name; but lets back up a bit. As my brain was being consumed by evil thoughts, the word Elvis suddenly was stuck upon my neurons....presto : ELVIS!

Anyway, if you happen to gaze upon a father hoisted atop a mountain bike with the most god awful paint job that some would categorize as despicable art,then you might be in for either a treat or disaster. Here is this piece of precious equipment for my legs to rotate on so I can make myself stronger as in Zuess like proportions, while the Greek godess Nike hands to me a few points for reaching myself into the land of cross-training!

I Have Nothing Witty To Say

All apoligies will be accepted if you dear reader understand the froth being emited from my mouthpiece. The electronic etchings transmitted from my brain to your visual state of being applies to my current, yet part of my sporatic interests.... running and music. I will delve into other areas, such as how much I like biking food and nutrition, maybe even politics, film, or whatever is captured inside my neurons!

Running, cycling, writing and music is a spiritual uplifting to me. You see, all these functions help me almost forget what is going on in my everyday life.... NO, No, No; I am not being irresponsible. Sometimes you have to kiss good-bye the routines of life, the troubles, or whatever troubles penetrate your over busy brain.

Running is a great way to leave myself to forget everything around me and yet at the same time, focus on every breath, every stride, and every observation good enough to break my usual concentration. No, I do not plug myself in via I-pod or any other inescapable electronic devices on these trecks. Reason? It is the pace of my life, the pace of my feet carrying me mile after mile, while the oversized gps afixed to my wrist guides me by didgits. Getting home is stretching time while turning on what ever sort of musical vibrations happens to capture my spirit. Later on, my acoustic guitar might violate my kid's airspace, telling me in a pleaful manner to leave their eardrums alone.

Running and music is what I am. Being witty is not on this page today.