friends Archives – Surfeit of Passion: the Art and Life of Kathleen King

This is the BIG HONKIN’ Post-INTERBIKE blog POST. Bikes, bike clothes, bike food, bike art, bike peeps, parties, races, bike dot.orgs ‘n’ bike stuff. So pull up a very fancy beer, maybe a bowl of pasta, and have a read – this could take awhile…

View from the Voodoo Lounge atop the Rio Hotel

The last time I had been to Las Vegas I was not yet old enough to drink in a bar. My memories of the place are dominated mostly by being gently scooted off the casino floor and back across the invisible line into cafe or restaurant territory. It seemed a cacophonous environment even then and even as a child I knew all those colors did not belong together in the same place at the same time. I remembered that spine melting heat too, standing on the sidewalk thinking any passing breeze could blow me into a pile of dust. I felt then that Las Vegas had an eerie quality of not seeming to be connected to the rest of the world, as if once you got past the mountains you would simply step off into the void. Back then the place was decidedly adult and looked like a place adults went to disappear and forget what day it was. Now it looks like a mutant, make believe play city abandoned by a gi-normous 1500 ft kindergartner under the tree on Christmas morning. Only on this particular week the tree also had a hustling, bustling, very real, mutant dream bike shop under it chock full of shiny new toys!

YEAH!!!
(nice curls too, kid)

Found this little guy cavorting amongst the bikes and around his dad, absolutely giddy with bike joy. I think I can safely speak for everyone I know, we all felt pretty much like him walking onto that show floor. [Read more…]

Mesa Verde – no, it’s not a painting

I rode until I found a cool breeze. At last. At last one of the heavy gray clouds had wrestled the sun’s grip off the McElmo Valley and bathed the hills and mesas in a gentle cloak of shade. The landscape softened revealing different colors and curves. The air was still warm as breath and dry but the brutal heat had broken. When the sun re-emerged it was as a golden lover with rays that glowed rather than burned. We had earned our right to stay in this valley another day. Paid for with sweat and salt stained skin, siestas, fans and spray bottles, pink foreheads and hiding our cars in the shade. Now the cliffs of Mesa Verde reflected a palette of rose and pink in a lavender sky.

With my tendency toward heat prostration anytime the mercury rises past 85 F I was sure this land would fry my brain like so much albumen on blacktop. But I loved every minute of it. I rode every day near sundown and instead of dying, the dry air seemed to sweat out every drop of venom that the unseen demons of stress had deposited in my blood stream. With each ride I grew lighter. And while the sun did test and menacingly remind me of my mortality (oops, my water bottle is almost empty…!) the colors of the valley walls, the souls of ancient Puebloans whispered healing prayers to me, songs of welcome. I had packed my troubles in my carry-on bag and smiled, but when I came back from my first ride here that bag was empty.

The eldest llama

When I left Cortez the rains were just beginning. The warm air held the sweet, dusky aroma of wet hay – a scent familiar from a handful of childhood summers a lifetime ago. I had been taken to wildflower-lined bike trails high in the hills, hiked through ancient ruins, dined on home cooked cuisine made from vegetables from my friend’s garden, watched stars shooting across the milky way every night, and delighted at the sight of every lizard, bird, prairie dog and insect. Sat, breathed in and out and listened to the wind blow.

Happy Trails

The energy of this majestic place would sparkle on my skin all the way home. Thank you Fiona and Steve, Joyce, Carol, Mark, Karen, Dan and Alan. Thank Mr. McElmo whoever you are!