Rode over to meet Matt at the bar last night so I could return his messenger bag, which is so gigantic it slides off my shoulders.
He's seeing Richie next week in California. I searched the stuff I had with me for something to send with him and chose to part with my pink and red Castelli cap. I put a lipstick print on the inside and signed it with sharpie.
We talked about dead friends. His friend who had a heart attack during a crit. My friend who died of AIDs fifteen years ago. Friends hit by cars. Friends who killed themselves. The last time we each saw Pokey before he hung himself and how he used to dress up as Hitler on his birthday.
This is only kind of related to bikes in that most of the friends we've lost were hit by cars in traffic. That's the curse of being a messenger, even if all your deliveries are to memory lane.
Amazingly, moments after I published above, a friend posted photos from the old days, including ones of people Matt and I just talked about. Also, there's one of me, from behind, third page bottom left. I was 30% larger then than I am now. Go to the link on the right called Messenger Pix to view.
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