Information Blues.

Today I went mountain biking in Redwood Park. I swung my leg over Corporal Clegg and bombed down West Ridge Trail so fast… I held long wheelies through rock gardens, skipped over water bars, rode high through the berms. I went so fast that the stress left my shoulders, and in the middle of the chaos I relaxed. Because the best thing about bike riding is you can hardly think about anything else while you’re doing it, your whole body and mind is there (if you’re doing it right), activated inside the moment.

I rode up East Ridge Trail and it hurt. A wild little dog tried to eat my tire. I sat on the nose of my saddle and ground my smallest gear over the vertical epic, back to the top.

At the top I dropped back in. I wanted to see how Cinderella Trail was doing. She was great! Some kids built new jumps at the top, rolling fast down her forehead.

When the sun set I saw it through a field of toothpick pines. I’d performed my second loop of the Chaparral jump track, trying to earn some extra credit. I saw some cyclocrossers go down; they had a 10 second gap on me and I couldn’t catch ‘em. Corporal Clegg could not catch them, even with 5.5″ of plush suspension. They were fast!

When the sun set it looked like a tasty orange popsicle through the pines. I wanted to stop to watch but the trees made it flicker; there was no clear view, only the glow, animated through the trees. And besides, I needed to make it back to the top.

Hey haole, why you no write here no more? Blame the hui.

Actually, it’s nice to take a gap. Nice yet futile; this was wasted time.

I set out to write a blog that was worth reading. Sometimes I feel that this is, and sometimes I don’t. I had a dirty blog fantasy that I’d create something fascinating, a place that anyone who wanted to know me could visit as a reference: the Scott Marion Ralston reader. I hoped that someone would get lost here, spend some time, read me up like a page turner. Because here I’m recording my life (sometimes) and also I realize that I’m selling something: my point of view.

My mom was complaining today that there were no Information Blues for February. (File your complaint with the hui, who have in turn recorded their concerns that Chanamasala is not serious enough…) So I pulled up my site and read myself, just to reacquaint me with what I am, and I liked it. I wondered why I didn’t write more, because I amuse me!

This is stupid, but common: often when I read Information Blues I become pleased with myself. And then inevitably I wonder why more people aren’t pleased by me too. This is what blogging is all about.