My buddy Ryan broke his ankle about 6 months ago in Connecticut at this crappy climbing gym we were frequenting while we were trapped in Stamford working on films.  One surgery, a couple rods, and a lot of physical therapy he had his first day back at the MPHC climbing gym yesterday.  We mostly bouldered.  There was a competition that I didn’t go to a couple of weeks ago, because I had the bird-flu and didn’t want to hack all over the other climbers.  The routes were all still up from the comp and Ryan did alright.  He said his hands felt especially weak and soft, the plastic holds hurt.  Just wait until we get on the real rock, I thought.

  And that is New York, we are trapped but soft. I wonder how New York is really “toughening” me up.  I looked at all these photos from the Handmade Bicycle Show in Portland.  There are few bicycles you would comfortably lock up outside, anywhere.  And New York is safer than it has ever been.  But maybe that is just the nature of this sort of a show, exquisite pieces that barely get ridden, things that are too precious to lock up outside.  Glass houses to display exquisite works that will never get ridden.  It’s funny to think, at one small point in time, I had one bicycle that I rode up the Pacific coast with to Olympia, Washington so I could finish college, and pretty much from that point on I  have just acquired things.  Granted I did ride the hell out of that bicycle, until it finally broke, and things were perhaps simpler there for a while, but it feels like a dam you cannot hold back.   Is that getting older?  I know at some point these things all get thrown out in boxes, whether we’re here for them or not.  I guess that’s the reality.