a journal of self-propelled dharma
I am trudging down a back street in Merida, Yucatan, sucking a lime popsicle and dribbling sweat. I spot a handmade sign out front of a mom’pop storefront: Rentas Bicicletas. In the cool shade of the shop a family is stringing Christmas lights. I spy a sweet little wine-purple step-thru cruiser. Papa Alejandro cranks the …
My bike got nicked while I was running the door for PattiPow’s choir concert, at the Korean Hall at Hastings & Clark. The ol’ slippery pole trick got me. I locked my bike to a sign post with not-one-but-two heavy-duty U-locks, and even gave the pole a firm tug to ensure that it was solid …
When I help a customer in the bike shop to choose a new lock, my standard spiel includes: “…and it comes with five identical keys. Don’t carry them all around together”. So guess what I did? Five days ago with the best of intentions, I finally reclaimed my old mountainbike from Red Sara’s crowded shed. …
IÂ tossed off a rant called Stop Selling Shit Bikes to Women, two-and-a-half years back. It got posted to Reddit and went viral, getting 20,000+ views and hundreds of comments within a couple of days. The amazing thing is, I still regularly get emails based on that article. Most are from 40+ women who want …
Daylight shreds through the clouds beyond the lagoon. For once, so rare, no rain. A clear cold morning, and today Geshe Yongdong is giving a teaching on Quadra Island. It is a perfect day for a ride, and yet my grumpy mind finds resistance. My lower back stiff, my bed still warm. It is Sunday. …