Blog-azic

I've made it a point this summer, to spend more time this summer on my bike, riding to or from work. This is a sort-of tradition for me that I started years ago after I graduated college. My aunt had given me a Jeff Gordon themed mountain bike the summer before my senior year. I spent the whole year riding "rainbow bike" around campus before it was stolen a few days before graduation. Later in the summer, my old roomie Ben spied it at a party and got it returned to me. So, I took that bike and rode it out to Rural Action, up in the Athens County hills on chilly mornings. Sometimes, dogs chased me as I went past their houses, literally nipping at my heals. Now, I have a Bridgestone RB2, a Japanese steel, road warrior, and this summer I've been riding the back roads up to three times per week. It's a good ride, mostly back roads, up and down through the floodplains that drain into Jordan Lake. But, it is hot! In the heat of a Piedmont summer (95 degrees, full

Cat's Cradle Back Room before the music fest kickoff show on Saturday, September 26. From the west came the rain: slow drizzles interspersed with fervent downpours. Endless, blank grey sky wrapped around me, and the cool air whispered of fall's chill. The whole scene made me long for Ohio. But, it wasn't just the damp and cold that came east last weekend. In a fiery red chariot (an old red jalopy) came two artist. One, Wes, clearly a musician, had grey eyes as still as a mountain lake. The other - clearly a writer, a vagabond, a Japhy if ever one existed - came from a real mountain lake (that is, Lake Placid). He, Gabe, big as bear, gentle as cub (mostly), drank his coffee with a shot of whiskey, and ate his pancakes - I speculated - like a true northerner: stacked five high, cut with butter, and drenched in pure, Ohio maple syrup. Gabe came into town on a whim, following Wes who was kicking off the Carrboro Music Fest. I have been watching Gabe's travels all