This verse is a joke, mostly comprised of what I can remember from on-the-saddle freestyles.

Authoritarian assholes:
 

I’m a chameleon. I’ll charm your parents, then make a quip about listless baby-boomers. I hate cops, but serve them lunch with a smile on my face. I engage people with third-wave feminist theory, then stay silent when folks cat-call. I slip easily into a hip-hop dialect, and drop it when I’m in someone’s office. […]

Traveling broke takes more work. Today I dropped cash on new bearings for the hubs on my bike, but only spent $1.06 on food. Before that, I tried to case all the places that sell bread, but almost everyone was roundabout in telling me they didn’t trash expired stuff. I don’t know if they knew […]

Last Friday I took part in Chicago’s Critical Mass. Rain was expected and it was the first Mass of the summer, so we numbered in the hundreds rather than thousands. Those who road found gorgeous weather, only light rain, and high spirits all around.
Hundreds of cyclists riding in unison tend to block traffic out of […]

The other night I parted ways with some friends and enjoyed a solo nine mile bike ride. Music kept my right ear company while my left listened for traffic.

And I had a thought. Ruminating on that Ironman post, I discovered a connection. I wrote about how weapons and systems of control can shrink the sphere […]

Hip hop was born under oppression. In its infancy, it was the voice of the voiceless. In adolescence, it connects strangers, challenges authority, and echoes from coast to coast. As it grows, however, it suffers acute memory loss. It breaks down during mid-life crisis, buys cars and jewelry, degrades women, and abandons its humble roots. […]

Last night I was cruising down Devon when I spotted a dude on a skateboard. I had this immediate impulse to stick out my hand–for a high five at the very least, or a skitch if he wanted one. As I was about to do this, he shouts, “Yo, gimme a ride!” so I ease […]

Rain clouds whispered my name, and I followed them home. It’s not enough to call it wanderlust–it was more primal–and it wasn’t a search. It was that jumping impulse, that abandon which has us running into the fog until we can’t see where we came from. Twenty miles into my trip I realized there was no […]