True Confessions of a Bicycle Messenger
by Radius Roadius
Mercury Rising #6, April 1992
I’ll get up on the roof and you pass ’em up to me," Curtis said stepping carefully from the hood onto the windshield of his puke green late 70’s Pontiac. The rusting heaps of decaying bicycle we were loading were the perfect match for this car. Its cavernous trunk and back seat area were completely stuffed with old grips, pedals, seats, seat posts, crank arms, just name it, stuff from the turn of the century up to the 60’s. It’s worth bucks to the right buyer. I personally like the big bubble tank look of the late 40’s early 50’s. Some with built in horn and lights, all beautifully painted and trimmed in chrome.
Among all these antique oddities was my Hard Rock, a Specialized frame I got cheap, 'cause the guy who sold it got hit by a car only 1 hour after he bought it. There was also a small ding in the chainstay. My panniers were fully packed for touring and jammed in the back seat. My tent and sleeping bag on the passengers side floor. I had plans to ride my bike to Alaska and work there for the summer fishing season. Curtis was driving to a flea market in Michigan so I offered to help load, unload and sell stuff in return for a ride. We had been good friends since ’81 when we both worked at Heaven Sent Couriers. In ’82 Curtis opened Via Bike Shop, still the best bike shop I've ever been to, in Philadelphia.
We ran into some thick ass fog in Ohio while l was driving. With 1000 pounds in the car it was already handling like shit, I had just done some fat lines and now this fog is so thick only the tail lights of the guy ahead are visible. I was seriously stressing' to say the least. We got to the site around 4 AM and crashed ’til ’bout 9 and Curtis made a ton of money sellin’ some of the most homely shit you ever saw.
Then I rode off, after waving to Curtis, it was really calm and warm, a late spring afternoon. Gently rolling farmland winning out over a short-lived encounter with suburbia. I suddenly realized I was 1000 miles from home with countless acres of land spread before me that I had never seen. The sensation of joy and fear were replaced by a feeling of such incredible freedom that my throat sucked and my eyes got blurry.
I know now why that moment was so intense. This was my move, my last ditch stab into the future, to escape from the death and decay of my east coast existence. And after that move, I found I could never really go back.
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