Love where you are. It is all there is.


Especially when you are in the company of one of your best friends. This one's for you B.

Only In the City

The idea of people working together. That's a good thing.


The idea of a life-sized Jesus statue, brightly colored, and poised between two other statues of the like. No comment.


Graffiti; street art; biblical allusion? Drastically different from the aforementioned statues? Origin; creator; reason?--Devil's advocate.


Morris the cat--having grown frisky in his old age--dons a zebra-striped harness, while riding the wind down busy NYC side streets.


I just like how empty school buses present themselves--with the swaying serenity of abandoned seat belts, and the pride of a shuffle-less corduroy aisle.

Fig Newts and Acorns Fall

After a quick clip-out to save myself from yet another endo, Wendi and I were pushing our cycles back up in order to run the line again, and it's a good thing we did. With her Eagle's eyesight, Wendi spotted a tangerine hued newt scurrying among the fallen leaves of burnt orange and singed rust. A quick fellow he was, and so this was the least blurry of several in the newt photo shoot. Our only hopes upon releasing the little man, or gal, were that we had not and would not accidentally catch one under the spinning death-grip of our wheels. Consequently, sometimes an endo is a good thing; it gives you the time to slow down and notice more of the littlest things--ants, centipedes, newts, and all.

moab girls.

roxy.

pretty picture. i love my job.

We Are Our Mother's Daughters

A much needed afternoon with the Madre. We are, undoubtedly, the blood memories of those who came before us. We are the sum of our ancestors; all their love, their loss; all their sorrow and their moments of bliss; we are the sum of their faults and their strengths. Let us pray that we become the Sages of our time so that we may contribute in passing such wisdom unto those unborn.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Where the earth and sea share an endless kiss, a convergence of shadows old and young: Grace and the remains of giants.






Star Wars--the myth, the reality, the idea--has been a reoccurring theme in my life over the past month or so. Towards the end of our Thursday ladies ride dusk came with its blanket, and the dark of night skipped along closely behind, and so the last leg of the journey was spent pedaling star wars over open roads of fire. Here's how it came together: the leaves are currently enduring that inevitable change of seasons, a glorious one indeed, and so in the ambiance of a dusk molting into star-streaked night, the leaves held their shape and presence even in the swallowing blanket of night. The speed provided by composite rubber pirouetting over gravel-laden fire roads allowed for the entire peripheral, as well as the ground below, to appear as stars fleeing the woods to make their way to recently arrived night skies. At last spewed into the parking lot scattered with awaiting cars, we realized we had been among a passive war of the stars while in those sacred woods; we were Star Wars, and it was heaven.

Full Moon Femmes

A Few Good Men

A one... a two... a three, crunch. Three.

It is not very often that one sees an owl. Subjectively speaking, coming into contact with an owl in the wild, as opposed to encountering one behind the barricade of a rusted chain-link at the local refuge center, is something of a rare sort of occasion. Yesterday my friend Wendi and I were fortunate enough to have received such a rare and captivating encounter. While navigating our two-wheeled contraptions through Ringwood, we veered off of a main fire road and into some singletrack climbing, a decision that disturbed the peace of an owl perched in contemplation. In one gracefully immense movement of plush gray, this enigmatic creature of aviation swung smoothly as a pendulum in front of our startled presence. The closeness and the grandeur of such an untouchable creature came quite near to stealing away what breaths we had left; and before we could realize they were being stolen, the plush gray was gone, lost in the changing canopy of Autumn. Another beautiful morning of turning some tread on the hallowed soils of Ringwood.

Native American Summer

A late September beach covets what is left of summer, including the shadows of its seasonal lovers.

The Inauguration

Being the first of many posts, this "blog" is hereby born into a world of endless discovery and infinite potential for growth. Embarking on this journey, we attempt to show our gratitude through the fulfillment of our passions and the making use of our gifts. Thanks for the opportunity "g".