Photo:  Birdsong Hollow #2 – Franklin, Tennessee

Please visit my website:  http://www.photosbydk.com

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The death of Meriwether Lewis is generally considered by modern scholars to have been a suicide.  There have been accusations of foul play, but eyewitness accounts don’t seem to bear that out.  Still, there’s just enough uncertainty with his final hours to give some small amount of room for speculation.

Lewis, along with William Clark, had received the adulation and gratitude of the young nation for their exploration of the Louisiana Territory and the Pacific Northwest, which lasted the better part of three years.  Upon his return, Clark was given 1,600 acres by Congress and, in 1807, he settled in St. Louis as President Jefferson’s first governor of the Louisiana Territory.

And that was about as good as things got.

As governor, he was drawn into the world of power-hungry political ambition, feigned loyalty, and rampant back-stabbing. Meriwether Lewis was still in his early 30’s, and simply didn’t have the political savvy of those around him and the pressure began to wear him down.  Depression set in.

In early September of 1809, Lewis packed up and headed to Washington, D.C., to resolve some contested payments he was due from Congress.  By this time, his companions had set up a suicide watch.  As his boat journeyed up the Mississippi River, he was saved from taking his own life on at least two different occasions.

On September 11, 1809, Lewis put his last will and testament to paper.  By this time, Lewis was drinking heavily, using snuff heavily, and acting and speaking erractically.  He was clearly no longer himself.  He and his two traveling companions left the river and took to the Natchez Trace, arriving at Grinder’s Stand (today about an hour’s drive from Nashville) on the evening of October 10th.  And shortly after sunrise on October 11, 1809, Lewis was dead.

The mystery remains as to what happened in his room that night.  In his book “Undaunted Courage“, Ambrose shows us a man almost completely unhinged by his depression and worries about the money issues he faced.  Having finally gained access to some gunpowder (his companions worked hard to keep it away from him), he loaded his pistols in the wee hours of the morning and shot himself twice.  The first shot, aimed at his head, barely scratched him.  The second, fired at his chest, did the mortal damage.  His servants found him still alive, cutting himself with a razor and begging them to finish him off, which neither proceeded to do.  Lewis died as the sun rose.

The Lewis family, however, contended that Meriwether was the victim of foul play.  But so little evidence existed that no suspects were ever arrested and no trial ever given.

Meriwether Lewis was just 35 years old.

Recommended Reading: Undaunted Courage

Liz on the Old Natchez Trace

When Meriwether Lewis was shot to death on October 11, 1809, he was traveling from St. Louis to the Federal City (Washington, D.C.) to defend his own reputation against allegations of conflict of interest and misuse of government funds. Interestingly, he chose to avoid the obvious route of going by river to New Orleans and catching a ship to the east coast of the United States. Instead, he struck out over the rugged and dangerous Natchez Trace, a wilderness road that ran through Chickasaw Indian Territory from Natchez, Mississippi to Nashville, Tennessee.

One of the most stunning factoids about the Trace (nicknamed the “devil’s backbone”) is that, by the standards of the day, it was actually considered an improved road; that is, the Army had come through and cut the tree stumps down to shorter than sixteen inches. Despite this concession to comfort, the Trace seems like a place where even a tough frontiersman like Lewis could get  into trouble. Stories about outlaws and murders on the Trace–some fact, some fiction–only add to the element of mystery that has always hung over the last days of Meriwether Lewis.

It’s difficult for us today to imagine traveling under such difficult circumstances as were routinely faced by travelers in early America. In many spots, this highway was dark, heavily forested, and often blocked by fallen trees. In more open areas, John James Audubon would make special note of the vultures that flew low to the ground, looking for food.

Mary at Grinder's Stand

Accommodations on the Trace weren’t exactly AAA material. The fascinating book The Devil’s Backbone by Jonathan Daniels (1962) has a whole chapter on Lewis, including a well-written description of Grinder’s Stand, the inn where Lewis spent his last hours. Robert and Priscilla Grinder, who owned the inn, also had a farm, at which Mr. Grinder supposedly was on the night of Lewis’ death. However, their main source of income was the “stand,” which consisted of two log houses, unplastered and unchinked, and a barn, all standing in a clearing newly hacked out of the woods.

There were seven inns, called “stands,” along the Trace in 1809, the year Lewis died. Most, like Grinder’s Stand, were simply extra rooms or log cabins rented out by settlers for extra money, where you might improvise a bed amidst lumber, horse tackle, and farm equipment. Others were lively gathering places that served as taverns, brothels, and thieves’ markets.  A good way to decide whether to stay at a place was to note whether the landlord’s ears had been cropped. In those days before prisons, branding and ear cropping were common punishments for robbery and burglary.

Like your privacy? Forget it. All of the guests would bunk down together in the same room, using whatever blankets or bedding they had brought with them. To prevent thievery, the guests would also bring in their baggage, saddles, bridles, and other accoutrements of the trail.

Red-headed Turkey Vultures, by John James Audubon

While lodging in a stand may appear unalluring to our modern sensibilities, there were good reasons why even seasoned travelers like Lewis might opt for a stand rather than simply camp in the woods. Not only could you get in out of the weather, but, at least in theory, you got increased security from outlaws (if you didn’t happen to find them among your fellow guests).  Sometimes, travelers who didn’t mind a night outdoors but still sought safety in numbers would camp in the yards of stands, paying the owner two bits for the privilege.

Though you could usually buy food–at least a bowl of cornmeal mush and milk–and liquor at stands, the smart traveler of 1809 carried his own provisions, such as hardtack, dried beef, and flour, made either of Indian corn or Conte, made from the root of the China briar. This was said to be good when made into fritters sweetened with honey and fried in bear oil.

Figuring out what people ate back in the old days (called in academia “foodways”) is an interesting field of study all in itself. Here’s a couple of interesting recipe sites I ran across while researching this post: Feeding America and Recipes for Historic Cooking. The recipe for jackrabbit stew is particularly horrifying. These sites focus on home recipes, but tavern food was also important to men in early America, as the tavern served as the focal point for social and business life. Frontiersmen like Lewis and Clark also spent much of their lives eating food they’d hunted themselves. Here’s another site with some interesting recipes from fur trade days.

By the way, the jackrabbit was unknown to science before Lewis & Clark. More about Lewis and Clark’s legacy in terms of scientific knowledge in a future post!

Photo:  Birdsong Hollow #1 – Franklin, Tennessee

Check out my website at www.photosbydk.com

Follow me on Twitter:  http://twitter.com/darrellklein

We went to Waynesboro yesterday to play with Pickin’ Jesus, the group we work with from my Dad’s church.  I took a picture on my phone of that, but I don’t think I saved it because it disappeared.  Just imagine 6 people,some with guitars, and Adam occaisionally on Banjo  and singing for almost 100 people in a church parking lot.  There was homeade ice cream, too.  Mmmmm….  

Our driving directions included about 20 miles of the Natchez Trace Parkway.  It is sooooooo pretty.  Adam had to stop to use the boys room and I calmly told him, “Babe, if you think I’m getting back in the car and not going down there, you need to rethink things.  I love you.”  (Really I made the smiley face at him.  Sometimes it works.  Sometimes it doesn’t.)I got this beautiful fake smile from my sweetie and he laughed and said ok.  (The fake smile is because I was taking pictures on my phone because he hijacked my sd card for my camera <and I might’ve lost the other ones at Uncle Dave Macon Days> and it was taking too long.)  ANYWAY

We walked down in the picknick area and it was really pretty.  I got to wade in the creek and then despite much groaning from me, we got back in the car to finish the journey home.  But I was happy.  See?  This was my happy face!!

Have a happy day, folks!!

love, M

In honor of April Fool’s Day, I’d like to list some of the pranks and mischief that I’ve orchestrated in years past:

High School

1) Stealing the ball from Coach Tillman’s mouse so that it wouldn’t work. Once he discovered what was happening, he asked for a backup from Phil Sanders, the IT guy at David Lipscomb High School. I searched until I found the backup then I stole it as well. Coach Tillman found this quite frustrating, which pleased me.

2) On occasion I found a tube of lip balm on the floor in the hall. In the afternoon, just before I left school for the day, I’d screw it all the way up then cake it behind Coach Tillman’s door knob. That way, he wouldn’t be able to see it when he unlocked the door and grabbed it to let himself into his room. I enjoyed the thought of his disgust and surprise as the lip balm coated his fingertips.

3) After a half-day at school, I ate lunch with some friends at San Antonio Taco Company, known to locals as “Satco.” Jonathan and I saved our leftover queso dip. We drove down to the football field where the track team was practicing. I motioned to Sarah M., who walked over. When she was in range, I threw the styrofoam container of queso dip at her. It hit her in the neck. Cheese splashed up the side of her face into her hair. It dripped down her front and down her back.

4) David, Justin, Jonathan, and I threw a four-foot-tall blue stuffed animal, a bunny, off the Natchez Trace bridge. We then drove to the bottom and ran over it a few times. The decency left in us said it was wrong to litter, so we took it with us and junked up Jonathan’s Explorer with styrofoam pellets. Sorry, Nonny John.

5) On three consecutive weekends, Jonathan, Will, Justin, and I cruised the streets of Brentwood and Green Hills looking for roadkill. Each Saturday night, we crammed one dead animal into Brittany’s mailbox. A raccoon, a big turtle, and a oppossum. Sorry, Brittany.

6) We tipped over a port-o-john in my neighborhood.

7) At the Coming Home football game my senior year, I put a dead squirrel in a brown paper bag. This bag I put on the condiments table at the concession stand with its tail sticking out.

8. We stuffed a dried-Christmas tree in Barrett’s Jeep.

9) We ordered 10 pizzas to a certain Geometry teacher.

10) I was Student Body President my senior year, and thus, was in charge of making announcements in chapel. A few days a week, I worked in nonexistent announcements about Zach Morris and other pop icons whom the teachers wouldn’t recognize. The students laughed, I kept a straight face, and the teachers were very confused.

11) Coach Tillman was also my youth minister. Jonathan, Will, Justin, and I went on a mission trip to Honduras with him. Without asking for permission, we trekked two miles through the crazy streets of Tegucigalpa to buy condoms at the Pali grocery store. These we unwrapped and put in Coach Tillman’s bed. He was displeased.

12) Our friend Ted’s father owned a donut shop. We’d roll in a few minutes before midnight just as Ted was closing the shop down. He’d give us all the jelly donuts that hadn’t sold. We would then cruise around and throw them at cars passing the opposite direction. The sound of a jelly donut hitting a windshield at about 60 miles per hours is akin to the laughter of a child in its ability to thrill the soul.

13) Certain mailboxes were found in the middle of the yards of their respective owners. Certain metal trashcans had dents so large they were no longer functional. I know nothing about that.

14) At fast food drive-thrus, we would either order items that weren’t on the menu or make ourselves impossible to understand. One lady at Krystal had the pleasure of taking my order for a pitching wedge. As you can imagine, she was confused. She told us to drive around to the window. You should have seen the look on her face when we drove through in reverse. She started laughing and told us to get on outta there.

15) Waiting until Coach Tillman left his room before sneaking in and turning off everything.

16) Squirrel crepe

17) The time I used a piece of bad modern art to befuddle driver’s at a busy intersection. This was also the only time one of my ideas made the newspaper.

College

1) I moved the pizza guy’s car when he was delivering a pizza to Fanning. I was on a double date at the time. He came out of the building holding the warmer. Bewildered, he just looked from side to side. His shoulders drooped. We had to get out of there after he saw us laughing.

2) Justin and I yanked the Toucan Sam hanging from the ceiling by fishing line in Uncle Dave’s while Jessica was working. 

3) “Borrowing” the maintenance golf carts. Sad day when they started locking them up.

4) Sneaking into a Jars of Clay concert in Allen Arena by climbing up the roof then putting on yellow Staff t-shirts David found in a box.

5) My younger sister Laura and I sent our cousin Jessie a taco through campus mail.

6) “Napkin Surprise” every day at lunch. INSTRUCTIONS: Take half the stack of napkins out of the basket. Scoop the nastiest leftovers on your tray on top of the remaining napkins. Smush the rest of the napkins on top of the food, thereby disguising it. Wait several days. Return to the table and check the surprise, or know in your heart that the surprise has touched the life of someone else.

7) Paging myself over the intercom in the High Rise lobby.

8. Pretending to be the Domino’s guy, calling random numbers in Elam dorm, convincing these strangers to buy the pizza for $5 so it wouldn’t come out of my paycheck, then watching from a corner as the girls came down with their money in hand, the pizza guy nowhere to be found.

9) Setting up a table and chairs in Lipscomb University’s commons area called “Bison Square.” Petioning people passing by for their contact information, signatures, and beer of choice. The petition was to get beer on tap in the cafeteria. Lipscomb is, of course, a dry campus. Drinking can get you kicked out. The signees were nervous, asking me if my petition was “for real.”

10) Staging very loud arguments in the library so that Mrs. Byers, the eagle-eye librarian, would ask us to leave.

11) During one of my rotations as the worship leader for University Bible, “UB” for short, an extended chapel service on Tuesday and Thursdays, I told over 2,000 people that we were going to start the morning off with some calisthenics. You could have heard a pin dropped. I think the only person who laughed was my friend Wilson McCoy. 

12) Using the words “pissed off” in a chapel talk and doing damage control for weeks. Being fussed at by everyone from the Dean of Campus Life to the elders at my church at the time. For some reason, providing the “context” for my word choice and explaining the words’ rhetorical effectiveness failed to appease any of these concerned individuals.

13) Wrapping up a 2-liter bottle of urine and giving it to a girl named Emily for Valentine’s Day. Strangely, we never went out on a date.

14) Picking the flowers around campus and giving them to girls. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

15) Potlucks in the library study rooms.

16) Carrying a tiny watergun in my right hand and soaking the front of people’s pants while engaging them in conversation.

• Please don’t judge me for any of the above. I’m a changed man. I did not send my mom an e-mail today telling her that I’d been laid off because of the economy. She did not write me back and say that she almost threw up after reading my e-mail. What sort of sick person would play such a cruel joke on his own mother? The woman who gave him life? Shame on whoever it was.

The cold weather finally broke and it is beautiful and warm now in the deep south. Since we started riding again back on January 3rd it has been either freezing or raining, or a combination of both. The weather made things very stressful. This post is to acknowledge and thank the people who helped us along the way from Alabama to Louisiana.







Courtland and Willamina hosted Brie and I while we were in Birmingham. On the first day in town, Willamina drove us all over the place so we could buy new tubes, and do the wash. She also was very knowledgeable about the history of Birmingham, and we had a wonderful time talking with her. The next day Courtland brought us to The Original Pancake House where we had an awesome breakfast, and then showed us around the city. We are very grateful for their kindness and generosity.

We are thankful that Hugh and Lona Plylar put us up in their extra house in Parrish, AL. It was freezing that night and they saved us from spending the night in the post office.

Also while in Parrish, we met a group of gentlemen at Smokin’ Joe’s who helped us a great deal, but specifically, it was Terry Barnes who helped us find our way through Alabama that day.

After finally making it to Mississippi, we stayed a night with Ryan Storment in Starkville. He is a student at MSU, and was a very interesting fellow, with a fresh perspective on life. He also escorted us on our way the next day, and gave us flawless direction to the Natchez Trace.







Donna and Gary Holdiness were the consummate hosts. While we were there, the temperature fell into the single digits. They put up with us for longer than they should have because we were too fearful of riding in the cold. Donna put some wedding ideas in Brie’s head which has really stirred the pot, and created a lot of trouble for me, but I can forgive her for that. If you are ever touring down the Natchez Trace and a women driving a white Suburban accosts you, just go with it–you won’t be sorry you did!











The last family we stayed with in Mississippi was Don and Becky Potts, and their daughter Cedar. As you can see in the picture, they have a mini horse. This is significant for two reasons: 1. They lived right in the middle of Jackson, MS, and, 2. Look at how cute she is! The horse’s name is Little River, and Brie fell in love with her at first sight. It was definitely cool seeing a mini horse walking around the yard of this neighborhood. Don took us to the Rainbow Co-op, which he helped found like 30 years ago, and now it’s a flourishing alternative grocery store. We ate dinner and then they proceeded to pour endless glasses of wine for us, before we moved on to Irish Cream and Caramel shots, talking and laughing all the while! We had a great time with them, and are thankful for their hospitality.

Two days later we rode over the Mississippi River and into Louisiana. Since then, the weather has turned for the better and we are looking at endless days of 70º weather, and sunshine. This weekend we are headed into New Orleans for some jazz, cajun food, and booze. We can’t help but think we wouldn’t be here in such good spirits and health with out all the people we met through Alabama and Mississippi.

For road trip loving baby boomers, a drive along the Natchez Trace combines scenery with history on a slow crawl through Tennessee, Alabama and Mississippi. The 444-mile green corridor meanders through forests, farmland and swamps as it follows an ancient path that is now a national park. With opportunities to hike 28 designated trails, fish in nearby lakes or bike the route, travelers choose from an array of adventures. And, numerous ranger-led programs provide learning experiences for baby boomers who want to know more about the area’s history.

You can drive the entire length of the trace or pick a portion to explore. That’s what Alan and I did. On a spring day trip, we traveled from Mathison to Jackson in Mississippi. White dogwood blossoms peaked through the green tunnel that arched over the roadway as we started our journey. Wildlife sightings along the way included wild turkey and deer.

We stopped at French Camp Historic District to explore an American Revolution era village operated by a Christian community that also sponsors a private school. For lunch, we chose The Council House Cafe where homemade bread made for outstanding sandwiches. If accommodations had been available at French Camp Bed and Breakfast, we would have stayed in the area for a night.

After pausing at the Pear River overlook to watch fishermen try their luck in the murky water, we exited the Natchez Trace at Jackson for our final destination in Vicksburg. Next time, we’ll continue to Natchez to explore more of the deep South or start at the northern end for hiking in Tennessee or Alabama.

Do you have any tips for traveling the Natchez Trace? Post a comment. We’ll be returning.

Between the two of us, my husband and I are on the Natchez Trace Parkway between Cherokee, Alabama, and Tupelo, Mississippi, about three or four times a week. It’s a pretty drive — peaceful, really, as long as you watch out for deer who think they can make it across the road before you do and tourists who drive at 35 miles an hour because they Don’t Want To Miss A Thing — but it can get boring. So whenever there’s roadwork or a washout or something that results in a detour on our regular route, we’re excited to see something new. (I know, I know — we should get out more.) This past December, rains washed out a drainage culvert and drivers now have to detour off the parkway near Pratts, Mississippi — a short drive through beautiful farmland and houses ranging from the big and stately to the small and not-so-much. My husband and I especially were delighted to find the detour takes us past this store/market/gas station that literally is the only place to stop and refuel car and body for miles around. It’s a spacious building on a concrete floor, with shelves of mechandise in the middle, a kitchen on the side and tables up front. Think Mississippi’s 2009 version of an old-fashioned general store, with a distinct lean toward maleness. You can get a Coke (you know that’s Southernspeak for any cold carbonated drink), a freshly sliced bologna sandwich, groceries, beer, dog food and even presents such as Civil War figurines in case you’re headed to Mama-and-them’s for Christmas and you forgot to do your shopping. The store must be a community gathering spot because it’s bustling with guys who’ve been hunting and four-wheeling every time we’ve stopped in, and there’s usually somebody in the kitchen with some wonderful-smelling barbecue that makes me wish I could eat messy food and drive at the same time. We love it, and we’ve decided that when the road work is done and we can get back on the Parkway, we’re sticking with this detour. I just hope the milk situation resolves itself soon!

We rode a few miles down the Natchez Trace south of Nashville, TN the day after Thanksgiving. We were there visiting the newly-weds Emily and Michael for a couple days. We had a wonderful Thanksgiving meal and watched the parade, football and played a game and had some adult beverages.

We spent a couple nights near Franklin, TN to be close to the kids and were lucky it was so close to the Nathez Trace – about 10 miles. I had read in Bicyling magazine that this is a popular route for bicylists who want a long low traffic ride from Nashville to Natchez, MS – about 440 miles.

We were fortunate that the weather cooperated, as it was only about 45 degrees and overcast. There were few cars on the road, probably 1 every five minutes. But, generally there was plenty of roadway and not many blind spots, although it was quite curvy in some areas.

We had a great view of the valley near mile 438, but I wasn’t allowed to stop for pictures very long. So, here you are.

NPT is preparing the latest installment of its popular Beautiful Tennessee series, and this time, we’re focusing on Tennessee’s State and National Parks. We want your home movies. Got video from that family hike in the Smoky Mountains? Ever bike the entire Tennessee stretch of the Natchez Trace?*

Inspired by Ken Burns’ approach to “The National Parks: America’s Best Idea,” a new 12-hour documentary that traces the origins and growth of the national parks system over 150 years scheduled for fall ‘09, we are looking for home movies from the time period of the 1920s through the 1980s and are most interested in footage of families and tourists in the parks.

If your home movies are used, you will receive a DVD of the program. Please follow the criteria listed below.

(Originally published in BikepLAgue.)

We’d been reading articles by this guy Cole Coonce for a while in local papers, and we’ve been pretty stoked that there’s someone writing more than just one–offs about bikes as idle assignments. We decided to meet up for a ride along the LA river, over the stiff climb that is Mt. Hollywood at the back of Griffith Park, then down into Los Feliz to get coffee and talk a bit about bikes, drag racing, and road riding.

Morgan: So, tell us something about yourself, who you are?

Cole Coonce: Well, I’m kind of like Walter Mitty: I’m a bit of a wannabe cyclist in a way – never quite as into it as what I think about. The thing about cycling is that it’s incredibly humbling. Physically, mentally, intellectually, philosophically, etc – and I think that is my attraction to it. I think what is interesting is that despite my abilities as a cyclist and knowing just enough about bikes to get me into trouble; I’m a huge fan of thermodynamics. Cycling being a thermodynamic process. I’ve always been a fan of the internal combustion engine. Massively, nuttily into it. In contrast, most likely, to a big part of your demographic. My journalistic background is the most extreme forms of thermodynamics as applied to the automobile: drag racing. Zero to one hundred MPH in under a second, zero to two hundred and fifty MPH in 2.3 seconds, zero to three hundred and thirty MPH in 4.4 seconds, you know: the G-force is taking the skin off your cheeks. But that being said, that is an extreme example of what the automobile promised when it was be coming mass produced: freedom, exhilaration. But just take a look at this intersection here [gestures as cars stopped at the lights]: that’s not about freedom. That’s about drudgery. So I think that cycling conversely, or ironically, fulfils the promise of what the automobile was there to deliver.

Morgan: A classic case of people forgetting about what something was there for the first place, right? Becoming routine.

CC: Right. You guys commute to and from the Westside by bike. I was reading recently [referring to the recent LA Alternative cover article, "Vicious cycling"] about some guy leaving his job on the Westside to come back to Silverlake and there, coming off the off- ramp of the freeway is the guy who he works with! That’s just a classic example of commuting. I live in Eagle Rock and I punch into jobs in Culver City. And I know that it takes me one hour fifteen minutes to ride by bike and can take one hour twenty minutes by car. But every day it’s 1:15 by bicycle. Consistently.

Morgan: A bit more predictable on the bike.

CC: Yeah.

Morgan: So the reason I emailed you originally [for the interview] is because your name has cropped up a few times recently in articles about bikes in local papers [most recently, the City Beat article, "The world is your Velodrome"]. And we like that. You’re into bikes. Do the se articles reflect a growing interest from publications, or is it you pitching it to them?

CC: What is the cart and what is the horse? In the world of journalism, it’s harder and harder to stay ahead of the curve. Everything is co-opted immediately so when you pitch things to people, it’s got to be about stuff people haven’t heard about before. And in this day and age, we’ve heard it all before it’s even happened. So with the ’straight’ publications – and by that I don’t mean ‘fetish ‘ oriented, as I’d describe your fanzine [fuck yeah!] – they know what a bicycle is, but they don’t understand what people are so nutty about. They don’t understand the enthusiasm. So yes, I pitch them on different things that are applicable to cycling and Los Angeles. In that sense, I’m the engine that’s driving it. On the other hand, trying to explain the euphoria of cycling to someone who doesn’t do it, including many people in the ’straight’ magazine world, is like trying to explain what chocolate tastes like on LSD to people who’ve never taken LSD. There is an abstraction and there is a cognitive disconnect to it. We all get it, be cause we’ve all got the fever.

Morgan: Yeah, like that article you wrote in City Beat and another that I read on line where you rode up Mt. Baldy with a drag racer. He ’s blasting by you and you’re quoting different great thinkers of the past to paint a perfect portrait of how it feels.

CC: Ha ha! That guy is a bit of a friend of mine. His name is Whit Bazemore and he’s known as the world’s fastest cyclist because he’s one of those guys who goes from zero to three hundred MPH in four seconds. But truth is, he ‘d rather be climbing Glendora Ridge road on a bicycle.

Morgan: Yes, you write a lot about drag racing and a lot about bikes. It seems like you’re almost writing about them as two aspects of the same thing. Can you say a little more about that?

CC: Well, what makes drag racing so special, and again it’s hard to explain it to people who haven’t got the fever, and I have the fever although I’m a fan, not a racer per se. There is a quote from the curator of technology at the Smithsonian about drag racing. He called the obsession ‘technological enthusiasm.’ You’ve got people who are so completely enthusiastic about the technology to the exclusion of everything else in their life that makes sense. So we’ve got you guys [referring to Max] with the screwiest bicycle designs you can possibly think of, making whatever weird statement you are, but you’re just so into it that you just can’t fuck with it. This person wants to get up in the morning and wants to do some thing to a bike that makes it better, or more extreme, or more abstract, or whatever it is, and so that’s the correlation: drag racers have this weird DNA which says, ‘OK: I have this hunk of aluminum. How can I make it go three hundred and forty MPH instead of three hundred and thirty?’ And I think the same science is applied to cycling. But there ’s also the buzz. If you’re sitting in the drag strip and you’re going from zero to a hundred in a second, that’s the same as if you’re sat waiting at the intersection and a tractor trailer rear-ends you at a hundred MPH. It’s the same G-force. It takes a certain type of person to think that that’s great. So if you’re riding your bike back down from Santa Barbara at 8pm on a Saturday night down PCH and you’re getting buzzed by cars at eighty MPH and there’s a part of you that says, ‘this is great!’, it’s the same thing. So I think both drag racers and cyclists do have issues. But that’s what’s important. If they didn’t have issues, there ‘d be nothing to write about, you know?

Morgan: Yeah, I’d definitely agree with that. Progressing from that point, your recent article talks about the end of a relationship being a good kick-off point for becoming really into bikes and I’d say that both of us can identify with that.

CC: Looking back, and saying, oh, so that’s when I got really into bikes…

Morgan: Exactly. Do you think that breaking up with some sort of a romance is the prerequisite for becoming an obsessional cyclist?

CC: Yeah. Bazemore – this drag racer – had a really bad motorcycle crash and a part of his rehabilitation was to get on a trainer- a bicycle trainer – for 45 minutes a day as a part of his work out. And he really though he was doing something. Conversely one of his friends was this Olympic cyclist, and he was like, ‘yeah, well done, 45 minutes….’. So he put Bazemore on a real bike. And he was overcoming real physical trauma. And this just got through to him. Although I can’t really speak about that, as I’ve never had real physical trauma, I do know the trauma of the id. Overcoming a break-up: you can either sit there and stare at the world and be mad at the world, or do something. So if you’re really mad at a member of the opposite sex, or the same, then cycling is a really good motherfuck, with your tongue hanging out as you’re climbing a hill. You know, in my instance, I would literally cuss her name as I was climbing. Not that I was right and this person was wrong. But probably. So I find that romantic break – ups are really good for getting into shape.

Morgan: You can go either way: a downward spiral into drinking and drugs, or say ‘fuck you! I can look after myself with out you!’ and make some positive efforts.

CC: It’s strange. It’s even beyond looking after yourself. You’re channeling your own rage. It’s the most benign way to channel that anger and ultimately it’s quite healthy. We were bullshitting about this on the way up the hill, but if it weren’t for cycling then there ‘d be a lot more postal shootings and office shootings.

Morgan: So you go on midnight ridazz, you got the first copy of the zine with out us even knowing it. The LA bike scene is really fascinating to us, which is why we started this zine. Where do you see this coming from?

CC: If you’ll let me mix my literary references, Alexis de Tocqueville, a French philosopher came over in the 1800’s and talked about how this weird thing called democracy was working in America, in spite of itself. That could be applied to cycling in Los Angeles. Talk about square peg/ round hole. It’s just the big hammer approach. Making people understand. Getting back to the point that a bicycle makes a lot more sense than a car a lot of the time. The only real issue is stuff like changes of clothes. I don’t bicycle every day but when I do I make sure I have a change of clothes, so I can be at work and not thought of as being another smelly cyclist. But I think ‘movement’ is the right term, there ’s a definite groundswell. I applaud what you guys are doing, as you’re definitely a part of that. Just acceptance – if you cycle around other parts of the country. People here think that cyclists are from Mars, but else where in the country, they think they’re from Pluto. I think in a way, cyclists from LA don’t know how good they’ve got it. Not to say there can’t be a ton of improvement, there certainly can.

Morgan: It’s really fascinating because the LA scene seems to have just come from a series of random events. It’s a scene that is still very much in and of itself and not co-opted.

CC: Right, right.

Morgan: Except maybe the fixed gear scene which is becoming a little like that [mainly in reference to 'Team Puma', the Puma sponsored messenger race team].

CC: Ye ah, that’s be coming a little precious. I personally don’t ride one and don’t understand the joys associated with them but I understand that they’re there for other people. They’ve become the Mazda Miata of the cycling scene. They’ve become this weird symbol of the cycling scene. And they have to watch out, with all due respect, simply because they are some what precious about what they’re doing, which is somewhat alienating, which is something you’ve got to watch out for, because you’re kind of alienating the kind of people who you really want to win over.

Morgan: That’s a really, really valid point.

CC: Yeah, and I’m strictly here to co-exist with cars. I want respect from them, and I’ll give them the same. In the same way that they’re completely assholic, soccer moms on their cell phones blasting through a yellow light and not paying attention to what they’re doing – not understanding that force equals mass times acceleration, that this is basically a tank that they’re blasting through the intersection, conversely there are some, you know, let’s call them ‘extreme’ elements in the Midnight Ridazz crew and various subcultures who piss motorists off. And I’m just like, “look man, you’re not doing me any favors”. The next time that I encounter that guy that you pissed off, he’s going to remember you and not think twice about revving it up and scaring me.

Max: The funny thing is that most of them you see showing up and taking their bikes off the back of a car! It really isn’t the people that ride the most who are the most aggro.

CC: Right. You know what’s hard, that when you’re all pumped up on adrenaline from cycling and you’re totally hyper-aware and a car or bus cuts you off or does something that’s not very cool, you just want to get up on the tire and yell at them. Myself, I take a deep breath and calm down.

Morgan: It’s really easy to get into a herd mentality when you’re in a herd.

CC: Yeah. I’ve seen instances with the ridazz and they come to an intersection and someone in a BMW does some thing they don’t like and they start kicking the quarter panels. You know, this is not doing anybody any favors.

Max: I think it’s a bad combination of the psychological disconnection you have with driving a car and the ultra- sensitization of being on a bike, being all ‘grrrrr!!!’

CC: Yeah, it’s tough. At least every urban cycling trip, I really want to motherfuck at least one person in a car. And just in general, and not to play into a stereotype, SUV drivers are the worst drivers. They’re the least aware [cue muttering from all parties about Hummers]. I think that what should happen is that everyone registering an SUV should be tricked into going to another session of Driver’s Ed via some sort of sting operation, offering free tune-ups or some thing. Not to be reactionary or anything. But I can dream.

Morgan: It’s been a real pet peeve of mine recently: riders being over-aggressive. I’ve ended up yelling at people on rides recently.

Max: Kind of a general problem is that whole mentality of simply ‘being in the way’. You know, ‘let’s ride, and get in the way…’

CC: You know, I’m sort of a Zen libertarian. I want to peace fully co- exist with people and now have them cut me off or do screwy things to me. And the lunatic fringe of cycling undermines that. Not that there aren’t lunatic fringes everywhere. I was on one midnight ridazz once and we were on Adams, maybe, near USC, and there was this one guy playing chicken with cars, riding on the wrong side of the road. Luckily the Darwinian stuff will take care of this guy soon enough, before he can do too much damage. But you know, that’s a bit counterproductive.

Max: I think it was pretty funny on the last midnight ridazz where the police we re saying, ’stay in the right lane, stay in the one lane ‘. We need a little more reasonable goal. Like, ’stay out of on-coming traffic’. I think we can handle that.

CC: Yeah. But I don’t mean to bag on the ridazz. I have really come to appreciate recently the ridazz and the ‘organizers’, as they’ve really done the impossible and worked out how to herd cats.

Morgan: One of my favorite phrases, ‘herding cats’. Thanks. Anyway, one last thing. You ride up to Mt. Wilson and I’ve seen a post from you talking about doing ridazz on a Friday follow ed by the Planet Ultra event from Lone Pine to Panamint Springs near Death Valley by moonlight. You’re into both the urban scene and the roadie /ultra-distance scene, that we ‘re very much into. We were just stoked to read about that. So maybe just finish off by saying something about your favorite roadie rides.

CC: Yeah, that was all fortuitous. It was the midnight ridazz theatre ride, I think, and the next day it was the Planet Ultra Lone Pine by moonlight century ride, and I’d just broken up with someone just three days before, so I was all ready for that. The Lone Pine to Death Valley century was simultaneously the best and the worst of road/distance riding, especially when you’re dealing with forty to sixty MPH headwinds, and thirty degrees temperatures! On one level it was excruciating and on another level it wasn’t excruciating enough, particularly with where my mind was at the time. I sort of thought, ‘O K, is this the best you can give me? Is this the worst you can through at me? ‘Cos if it is, I can stare it down, and not be cause I’m a badass, but it’s just a case of “I win, you lose” [Top D.R.I. quote there! - morgan]. Of course, in my mind I win. In reality I don’t. But that’s just a part of cycling psychology. Denial. But back on track – I’ve ridden in a lot of places in America, and I ship a bike with me to every city I visit. One of the finest places, strangely enough, is on the Natchez Trace in Mississippi. It is a highway which is two-lane, they don’t allow any commercial vehicle s, the maximum speed is fifty MPH and it goes from Natchez, Mississippi on the banks of the Mississippi river all the way to Nashville. It’s not necessarily some thing that your readership is going to hop on their bikes and do tomorrow. But it’s such a great way to commune with the medieval boondocks and swamps, you know, Dixie, and you see things on a bicycle that you don’t see in any way. That could be Death Valley, Vermont, or the Natchez Trail. That ride is all kudzu and cypress trees and swamps and it is very transcendental and on some atavistic level you’re getting in touch with the ghost of the American past. And I think you can only do that on a bicycle.

Morgan: Profound. Thanks!

(Originally published in BikepLAgue.)

If you’re searching for meaning, joy, happiness, fulfillment, quality relationships, peace in your household and real success in life, they all will be very hard to find without balance. Balance gives us strength, momentum, peace-of-mind and allows us to do things you never thought possible. For instance, look at this picture…

 

Natchez Trace Bridge, Williamson County, TN (Wikipedia)

This 155-foot-high bridge along the Natchez Trace Parkway spans 1,648 feet over Highway 96 in Williamson County, Tennessee. When it was built, the bridge received national recognition for it’s design and construction. Whether I drive over or under it, I can’t help but be amazed. It’s a very imposing structure but it has a peaceful simplicity about it as well. Rather than numerous columns, it has just one along with two huge arches that hold up the road deck. This allows for a flowing and uncluttered view of the valley it spans. There’s amazing balance in both the structural and visual function of the Natchez Trace Bridge. There were many obstacles to overcome in it’s design and construction, but with creative thought, out-of-the-box thinking and lots of evaluation, it was completed and is generally considered a huge success by both engineers and those who use it. This amazing bridge is possible because of balance…

On the other hand, here’s what can happen when there’s a lack of balance….

If you didn’t notice it before, watch it again and listen to the roar as it passes by the camera.

This huge tornado shredded parts of Weld County, Colorado, on Thursday of this week (5-22-08). It was the result of a very unstable and highly sheared atmosphere. To say it another way, the atmosphere was very imbalanced. In nature, all extreme weather is caused by imbalance. It’s simply cause and effect. It a matter of physics. It’s just the way it is…

You and I are products of God’s nature and we fit into this equation as well… With this in mind, wouldn’t you rather be a strong and balanced support for your family rather than an imbalanced monster that leaves nothing but destruction in your wake? I know I would. In what ways can you be more balanced in your life beginning today?

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