what a Spacey day. I spent the morning tuning my bike. Philosophizing over how the all of the fine tuning goes out of whack if you pop out a wheel and then put it back in. The nature of the machine isint in the moving parts, but in the adjustable relationship between them.
between the movement.
it strangely ties in with todays ideas on a new tattoo. (post shower, pre bike tuning) I was nearly decided on a pocketwatch movement on my chest, over the left pec. but looking in the mirror this morning, i thought to separate the pieces and have them wrap around my side. use the sweeping arm of the frame ( i really should draw this out) to echo where the pectoral muscle goes, have some gearing over the heart and mesh with some others that wrap around the ribcage.
yeah.... betweeen the parts.
Anyways, after tuning the beast i went for a ride to the leslie street spit, that place is amazing. For those of you that dont know, it is a big artificially created peninsula made to shield toronto harbour from silt (which comes from the east for some reason,,,, i dunno) basically its an ongoing landfill, they kept dumping rubble and other building waste to make it bigger at the tip. Also dumping some topsoil on older parts. Plant some scrubby vegetation, and tadaa, cyclist heaven. surrounded by big water on three sides, well maintained roads that just go on and on and on. At first, theres some nice trees and grass, then you get to some articifial wetlands, very beautiful, surreal and bleak. stumps and logs sticking up out of mud. the ducks are loving it. Then you get to the newer sections which is grass, infested with seagulls, its like a scene from the birds, their constant shrieking blends into a sort of white noise. and finally no vegetation, just gravel, brick and massive pieces of concrete, spaghettied with blood-red-rusted rebar. the guts of torn down buildings sliding into the lake.
out here i found the brick beach. it looks just like a normal beach, except made entirely of weather worn bricks. Who knows how many years ago they were dumped, but the water has eroded each of them into rounded bread-loaf beads. it even looks comfortable. and then, when things couldnt get any more poetic...
between the movement.
it strangely ties in with todays ideas on a new tattoo. (post shower, pre bike tuning) I was nearly decided on a pocketwatch movement on my chest, over the left pec. but looking in the mirror this morning, i thought to separate the pieces and have them wrap around my side. use the sweeping arm of the frame ( i really should draw this out) to echo where the pectoral muscle goes, have some gearing over the heart and mesh with some others that wrap around the ribcage.
yeah.... betweeen the parts.
Anyways, after tuning the beast i went for a ride to the leslie street spit, that place is amazing. For those of you that dont know, it is a big artificially created peninsula made to shield toronto harbour from silt (which comes from the east for some reason,,,, i dunno) basically its an ongoing landfill, they kept dumping rubble and other building waste to make it bigger at the tip. Also dumping some topsoil on older parts. Plant some scrubby vegetation, and tadaa, cyclist heaven. surrounded by big water on three sides, well maintained roads that just go on and on and on. At first, theres some nice trees and grass, then you get to some articifial wetlands, very beautiful, surreal and bleak. stumps and logs sticking up out of mud. the ducks are loving it. Then you get to the newer sections which is grass, infested with seagulls, its like a scene from the birds, their constant shrieking blends into a sort of white noise. and finally no vegetation, just gravel, brick and massive pieces of concrete, spaghettied with blood-red-rusted rebar. the guts of torn down buildings sliding into the lake.
out here i found the brick beach. it looks just like a normal beach, except made entirely of weather worn bricks. Who knows how many years ago they were dumped, but the water has eroded each of them into rounded bread-loaf beads. it even looks comfortable. and then, when things couldnt get any more poetic...