Chain Heart

Own a Pegoretti!

Dario Pegoretti is widely acknowledged as one of the world's true master bicycle framebuilders. In a world where the "top" bike makers are increasingly turning to carbon, he continues to worship steel with the passion of an Italian lover. Watch this video to see what I mean.

I recently discovered the poster website postercabaret. Type in "bicycles" in the search bar and a bunch of cool posters come up, like this one by Will Bryant:

And this one by Diana Sudyka:

Most are limited editions. Some are sold out, like this one titled "Ghost Rider of the Paris-Roubaix, " also by Diana Sudyka.

At the top of the list is a poster by Dario Pegoretti.

 

I'd say $50 for a signed Dario Pegoretti is a bargain.

Chrysalides

Chrysalides

by Thomas Kinsella

Our last free summer we mooned about at odd hours
Pedalling slowly through country towns, stopping to eat
Chocolate and fruit, tracing our vagaries on the map.

At night we watched in the barn, to the lurch of melodeon music,
The crunching boots of countrymen -- huge and weightless
As their shadows -- twirling and leaping over the yellow concrete.

Sleeping too little or too much, we awoke at noon
And were received with womanly mockery into the kitchen,
Like calves poking our faces in with enormous hunger.

Daily we strapped our saddlebags and went to experience
A tolerance we shall never know again, confusing
For the last time, for example, the licit and the familiar.

Our instincts blurred with change; a strange wakefulness
Sapped our energies and dulled our slow-beating hearts
To the extremes of feeling; insensitive alike

To the unique succession of our youthful midnights,
When by a window ablaze softly with the virgin moon
Dry scones and jugs of milk awaited us in the dark,

Or to lasting horror: a wedding flight of ants
Spawning to its death, a mute perspiration
Glistening like drops of copper, agonized, in our path.

To hear and see Kinsella read some of his own poetry in that wonderful Irish voice, click here.

Au Vélodrome

At the Cycle Race Track', (Au Vélodrome), 1914.

Artist: Jean Metzinger

Nice example of Cubism.

[Almost Trued Pantoum]

At last, I have had both tires trued,

tube patched, all broken spokes replaced,

I can pedal abreast of you

-assuming I can match your pace.

Tube patched, all broken spokes replaced

my seat's been raised, my rim's been dished.

Assuming I can match your pace

we can bike as I've often wished.

My seat's been raised, my rim's been dished,

(lowered handlebars, tightened chain)

now we'll bike as I've often wished

-assuming that it doesn't rain.

Over tweaked handlebars and chain

We'll share a smoothie as we ride.

Assuming that it doesn't rain

we'll start whenever you decide.

We'll share a smoothie as we ride

and talk of things we think and feel.

We'll start whenever you decide

-no need to reinvent the wheel.

We'll talk of things we think and feel

as I pedal abreast of you.

Or did they reinvent the wheel

Just when I've, at last, had both tires trued?

by Mr. Daniel Hales

I could quibble that one trues wheels, not tires. But more importantly, the metaphor of the preparation, the ride, and the truth that "true" works so well as a verb. And pretty dang clever.

Daniel Hales is a poet and musician who fronts a wonderfully named band called The Frost Heaves. He lives in Massachusetts, where I assume he also rides.

Jackie Avery

I just discovered the wonderful paintings of Portland artist Jackie Avery after a postcard with one of her paintings was slipped into the latest edition of Boneshaker. Take time to look through her site - it's not all bicycles. She's obviously got a soft spot for the lore.

Bike Parking

Check out this collection of paintings from Portland artist Chris Davis. He's got a show at Suzette opening on May 27, 2010. Here's what he has to say about this series of paintings (From bikeportland interview):

"I was a messenger in San Francisco for a couple of years, in the '90's. There was a delivery I made once, to the Westin St. Francis, and as I was parking my bike, locking it to a parking meter or whatever, one of the doormen came up to me. He was dressed in this pretty wacky Renaissance Faire sort of outfit, and he walked up to my bike while my radio was squawking at me, said something, and made this sort of motion like he was bringing water to my thirsty horse, which he'd take care of while I ran inside. Which was a hugely goofy idea, of course, but I was kind of cosmically amused by it.

Ever since then, I've always liked to look at my bike as having a sort of character, the way I imagine riders used to relate to their horses -- which probably weren't so easy to just look at as vehicles or machines or toys or "a mode of transportation." So, to come back to all the figurative practice I'd been doing, since I started drawing and painting bikes here in Portland, I've tried to find those sorts of cues in posture and gesture, the clues to character in all the stiff, inanimate bikes that people leave locked up and leaning all over town."