Sunday, July 8th, 2007
11:39 am
Summer Stories
Summer again with the sunshine and intermitten cloudy windy fog ridden nights that make you wonder what is this place San Francisco. A place so bizare even the weather patterns are queer...devoid of traditional seasons its hard to get a tan and wearing a scarf in july is commonplace. My wool mini shorts and legwarmers make me warm and yet in a wierd way still dressed in summer esk garb.
I watch the pavement fade away underneath my bike wheels these days. Long silent rides across the city watching the traffic and the hills come and go. Listening to the gears click and the chains mash around my body from one intersection to another to the end of the city and the beach to the end of the trail and to the parking lot. Inhaling the exhausted reminants of the speedy cars and passing the bus on its melodramatic public transit routine. Every once in a while Im joined by other bike riders with squinty eyes and silent stares passing each other in the network of bike lanes and after work commutes. But I am a rouge. Just a rider not a fanatic. I dont have toe clips, trendy jeans,a bike lock hanging out of the back of my pants or a key around my neck. I dont drink at the bike bars and I dont have a memership. So they pass by we dont recognize each other and we never will.
I interact with people but have lost my ability to fake it. I cant hold your attention any more and wait anxiously for the moment when I can sit behind my sewing machine alone listening to the whir of the engine, mesuring fabric and cut lines. These things are boring to the general populus and my stories of bar shinnanigans have been replaced with techinical terms and threads hanging from my jeans in the oddest of places. I cant remember some of the "good times" so well anymore. Lately Ive noticed that I barely remember at all the list of things I used to do and places I went.
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