Sales Rush

Up until last week I think that I can safely say that I’ve never sold anything to anyone, except maybe a few low dollar ebay and craigslist transactions.  As it stands today I’ve sold four pairs of my G1 pants: two at Veloce Velo and two at Huband Bespoke.  I have to say it’s quite a rush.

I know that the numbers are small, but dang it sure does feel good to think that a few people have enough belief in what I’m doing to reach into their pockets and pull out their wallets.  That, to me, is a big compliment.

It’s one thing to sell something that someone else had developed; it’s another thing entirely to sell something that you developed, that you brought to the market.  I feel a sense of pride in knowing that had I not started Greenlite Heavy Industries and had I not persisted in my efforts to make an awesome, American made urban cycling pant neither the G1 nor the 3Quarter pant would be on the market.  They simply wouldn’t exist.  Pride in creation.

Bringing you own stuff, your own dreams, to market is angst writ large.  It is nothing but stress, self-doubt and constant worry.  Did I make the right decision?  Should I have done it this way?  Should I have done it that way?  Should I have even done it at all?  The little victory of a sale erases all that angst.  I’m on the right track here.  Yes it’s going to take time, but I’m on the path that leads me to where I want to go.

Be On Good Terms

I cruised through the Worn to be Wild exhibition at the Experience Music Project here in Seattle; it’s an exploration into the history of the American leather jacket.  The jackets that had been customized by their owners were what I liked best.  I prefer clothing that reflects the personality and passions of the owner.  Whether they were WWII A-2 bomber jackets, biker cuts or punk rocker wear these jackets were more than simple outerwear, they were a leather canvas on which the owner displayed his/her thoughts, associations and accomplishments.

I especially liked this rocker jacket from the 90’s Seattle punk/grunge scene:

 

Go placidly
Amid the
Noise and
Haste
And remember what peace
There may be in silence
As far as possible
Without surrender be
On good terms with
All persons

Heart and Soul

When I told my family and friends that I was going to start up an American made clothing line they either smiled and remained silent, or simply came out and told me that my idea was “crazy,” “naïve” or, in one case, “stupid.”  Convention says that in order to make a profit in the clothing industry you need to import large production runs from overseas factories.  “You make your money on the volume,” they say.  I view this as a race to the bottom.  It’s making money by squeezing another thirty cents per garment out nameless workers.  I’m not into that.  Instead I’m into putting my heart into clothing that has soul.

Consider the guy in his small Portland one-man hand built bike factory.  He’s putting his heart into his work, it’s not a paycheck for him; it’s a way of life.  Can you argue that his frame will somehow perform better than what rolls off the line at a Taiwanese factory?  In most cases I’d say no.  But that hand built frame has something that the factory bike does not have, and that something is soul.

Soul is real.

While driving to Park City last August I listened to Keith Richards’ autobiography – it was good, I didn’t like him badmouthing everyone save Charlie Watts, but it was good – and somewhere towards the end he compared the Fats Domino version of Ain’t That a Shame to the version recorded by Pat Boone.  Pat Boone, Richards notes, is arguably the better singer, and his production quality is far superior, but his recording falls flat; it’s too commercial, too ready for prime time, it just didn’t have soul.

This is what I’m talking about.

Ape Shit

So I was riding my bike over to Pioneer Square yesterday when I rolled up to the intersection of Rainier and Dearborn; I look across the street and spot these two idiots beating the crap out of each other.  They’re high school age, sixteen or seventeen.  I’m there at the red light and my immediate reaction is “oh crap I’ll have to step in.”  But I’m conflicted.  On the one hand why should I risk near certain injury trying to interfere with two morons who are intent on breaking each other’s noses, but on the other hand I can’t just ride by and do nothing as some dickwad stomps another dickwad’s head into the pavement.

So I start figuring a plan – the dummy without a shirt looks like he’s getting the upper hand, I guess I’ll have to go after him.  I figure first I try the yelling thing and if that don’t work I’ll have to bearhug the dingbat, throw him down and sit on his head.  But then I’m thinking what about the friend of my enemy is my enemy and they both go after my ass.  That could be a problem.   The shirtless guy definitely didn’t have a gun, and I figured the guy getting his butt kicked didn’t have a gun either, or else he would have pulled it, but what about a knife.  Do street fighters carry knives anymore?  Did they ever?  Hell I don’t know.  The light turns green and I’m about to go in when I hear the siren of a motorcycle cop – what a relief.

The cop pulls up and says over his speaker “okay boys break it up.”  The two guys ignore him, and keep at it.  It took the cop a good minute to even get off his bike.

Watching a real fist fight between two crazy motherfuckers who grew up fighting and aren’t a bit timid about getting rowdy certainly is educational.  They were full on one hundred percent committed.  Even when the cop got in the middle, the dude who was getting his ass knocked around was back on his feet and trying to get back at it.  Never once have I seen a real fist fight depicted in a movie.  A real fight is a hair grabbing, shirt tearing air swinging free for all, it ain’t no John Wayne bare-knuckle match or some karate dog stuff, it’s just about going total ape shit.

I’m a big believer in evolution: I believe that the most successful human beings – those who passed on their genes - possessed the healthiest tastes and traits.  I think that one of those traits is the need to go ape shit every once in awhile.  You don’t have to get into a fist fight to go ape shit, I think simply putting yourself into an uncomfortable, stressful physical situation accomplishes the same thing.  Despite cars, escalators, elevators and Lay-z-boys we humans are fundamentally physical beings.  If you occasionally don’t get outside and push yourself to your physical and mental limits you aren’t living a healthy life.  We need that stuff.  Well at least I need that stuff.

Chasing a Buckle

Is it worth it?

It’s crazy how an idea creeps into my head and once in I can’t seem to get it out.  On Saturday I met a friend who, this summer, is riding the Leadville 100 mountain bike race in Leadville Colorado.  Now, all of a sudden, I want to race Leadville.  If you finish the 100 mile, high altitude course in under twelve hours you are awarded a rodeo-style belt buckle.  I want me one of those buckles.

Leadville is an odd choice for me considering my newfound attitude of being a racer rather than a participant.  In a Cat 4 road race or criterium I am out there actively racing, going head to head, but at Leadville I’d be back to my old ways of simply being in the “race” to “finish.”  The Leadville 100 does set a fairly high water mark of demanding that you finish in a respectable time to get the buckle, so I guess that helps.

Not too many years ago a body could just send in their registration form, pay the entry fee and race the Leadville 100 (you may notice that I’m not going to use the corporate sponsored so-called official name of the race), but now you have to either qualify or win a lottery.  I’ll have to enroll in law school to actually figure out all the legalize regarding entry to the race, but suffice it to say that if you don’t win the lottery or place first in a qualifying race it’s pretty dang complicated.  Looking at Leadville would put me back into this whole trying to qualify chasing your tail crap that I experienced via Ironman – the more things change the more they stay the same.

Stott 30

So here I am out looking for a full suspension mountain bike.  It never ends does it.

Yesterday I joined three teammates: Matt, Peter and Monica, at the Stottlemeyer 30 mile mountain bike race.  Holy crap 30 miles on a mountain bike is a bitch.  Here in the moist, heavily wooded Western Washington region the trails are tough man.  Hairpin switchbacks, tight trees and the roots, the freaking roots.  It’s just bam bam bam the entire time.

I have to say that I didn’t find the race all the physically exhausting; physiologically I was ready, but what I wasn’t ready for was the cramps and the mental fatigue.  Cramps seem endemic to endurance mountain biking events, perhaps because it’s because of the quick changes in cadence or perhaps it’s because you have to continually alter the amount of power you apply to the pedals: you can go from powering over a root, to spinning up a hill to standing over the seat on a descent all in less than a minute.  It tears your legs up.  The entire second lap was a fight against thigh and calf cramps.  I just couldn't push that hard withouot risking a sieze up.

About two miles into the second 15 mile lap I went over the handlebars and rang my bell right good.  I rode in a fog for about thirty minutes and I really had to concentrate on keeping my focus lest I go over the front again.  On long road rides, you can zone out for awhile and just let the miles go by, but on this mountain biking thing you have to be continually sharp, always on edge.  It really taxes your brain.

Stottlemeyer also offered a 60 mile, four lap, option.  Talk about a mind fuck.  That would just beat your mind and your body to smithereens.  I met a friend of mine, Tom, at the Edmonds ferry terminal; he and a couple of buddies were doing the 60.  They had won the lottery for the Leadville 100 and were using this as a training day.  I wonder how the terrain of Leadville would compare to Western Washington.  The Colorado altitude would certainly screw you, but it looks to me like most of Leadville is devoid of trees and thus you won’t have the brutal switchbacks and roots.  I’d like to get out there and ride some of that course just to see how the other half lives.

You Gotta Believe

Jumped back on the bike last night after nearly a week off to race the Seward Park Crit Series.  I’ve been rolling up for the 5:30 race, which is directed at beginners, because it fits so well with my schedule and because I think I can compete quite well with the 5:30 guys.  In other words I think that I can actually place, if not win, a race or two.  I ended up with a sixth or seventh place finish last night, but it was a rough ride.

I suppose as my experience level has increased I’ve become less and less tolerant of insane, inattentive and downright dangerous riding.  Of the thirty or so guys and gals who lined up at 5:30 there were three who I trusted.

Standing up and throwing your bike backwards on a short hill in a tight pack, riding with your hands on the top bars during a crit or wondering all over the road while taking pulls on a water bottle during a 30 minute race that’s all nuts.  I guess I’m becoming a bit of a snob, but I guess a bit of snobbery is justified when your health is contingent upon the skills and awareness of those around you.  From now on it’s the 6:00 race for me.

On the other hand, I actually raced yesterday to win.  I doubt that anyone has ever won a bike race by accident (unless there was a huge accident).  If you are going to win, you have to go out with the goal of winning.  You have to roll up to the starting line, look around and say to yourself, “I’m as good as or better than anyone here.”  If you want results you have to believe in yourself.

Tomorrow I head across Puget Sound to race the Stottlemeyer 30 mile mountain bike event.  This will be my first endurance event since the 2008 Ironman.