It was a pleasant surprise to see that Kansas City now has its own dedicated bicycle advocacy group: The Greater Kansas City Bicycle Federation
The website isn't much now, but I look forward to learning more. Of all the riding I do, it is riding in the city that I love the most. I would also love to help remove the hurdles that prevent others from experiencing the joys of bicycle commuting like I do.
Check them out and join the fight. I know I will be.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Winning 11
I have a new-found love of soccer, a sport that is just gaining traction in the US. While there were soccer leagues and my grade school had a soccer team, it was a sport that really hadn't made it to my small Nebraska town when I was growing up. At that point, I probably would have been too scared to try it anyway.
As I was exploring the historic Strawberry Hill neighborhood on my bike last night and admiring the amazing views, I came across a street that dead-ended into a steep drop-off. At the bottom was a park with tattered, spotty grass and two soccer goals. I put a foot down from this perch high above the ground to watch a full 11 on 11 soccer match. While we silly gringos can't even get 5 people pulled away from the TV to play the awkward herky-jerky game of American football, these hispanics had a full contingent out on this makeshift field. There were no lines -- just two goals and half-dead grass -- but for them, it was the perfect soccer pitch.
This was some of the most entertaining soccer I'd ever seen. These guys were awesome. They loved the game. They played creatively. Shots were powerful, crosses were on target, through balls met their runners perfectly. The chatter of Spanish being called back and forth was constant. The play was very competitive, but friendly.
At that point, I realized I could never understand soccer like these guys do. They love it. They live it. While most people I know are racing to get that plasma TV or new car, these guys got together to go down the street and play soccer in their worn out running shoes. I should turn over the new soccer cleats I bought to play on the Sprint league. I don't deserve them.
All in all, it was just an awesome show of community. In exploring the city, it seems like these low-income, often minority areas are the only ones that feel like real communities. They aren't attractive markets for the big retailers to come in and assault the streetscape, so enterprising locals have fixed up old buildings to proudly open small shops and cafes. Small, dense and pedestrian friendly "main street" districts are maintained as many people don't have the means to travel anywhere else. Without that plasma screen TV, people are on the streets talking to one another, playing sports or just relaxing. I've visited tons of neighborhoods in my explorations. I love them, and none of them feel more real than these small, proud clusters.
And you know what? I bet those people lead happier, fuller lives than most of the people I meet everyday. I bet that life of working hard for your family and enjoying the simpler things out of necessity makes for some amazing character.
I could only dream of being that good at soccer, and I could only dream of being that free spirited.
I think I'd like to have season tickets in that spot overlooking the park. You get to see so much more than a soccer match.
As I was exploring the historic Strawberry Hill neighborhood on my bike last night and admiring the amazing views, I came across a street that dead-ended into a steep drop-off. At the bottom was a park with tattered, spotty grass and two soccer goals. I put a foot down from this perch high above the ground to watch a full 11 on 11 soccer match. While we silly gringos can't even get 5 people pulled away from the TV to play the awkward herky-jerky game of American football, these hispanics had a full contingent out on this makeshift field. There were no lines -- just two goals and half-dead grass -- but for them, it was the perfect soccer pitch.
This was some of the most entertaining soccer I'd ever seen. These guys were awesome. They loved the game. They played creatively. Shots were powerful, crosses were on target, through balls met their runners perfectly. The chatter of Spanish being called back and forth was constant. The play was very competitive, but friendly.
At that point, I realized I could never understand soccer like these guys do. They love it. They live it. While most people I know are racing to get that plasma TV or new car, these guys got together to go down the street and play soccer in their worn out running shoes. I should turn over the new soccer cleats I bought to play on the Sprint league. I don't deserve them.
All in all, it was just an awesome show of community. In exploring the city, it seems like these low-income, often minority areas are the only ones that feel like real communities. They aren't attractive markets for the big retailers to come in and assault the streetscape, so enterprising locals have fixed up old buildings to proudly open small shops and cafes. Small, dense and pedestrian friendly "main street" districts are maintained as many people don't have the means to travel anywhere else. Without that plasma screen TV, people are on the streets talking to one another, playing sports or just relaxing. I've visited tons of neighborhoods in my explorations. I love them, and none of them feel more real than these small, proud clusters.
And you know what? I bet those people lead happier, fuller lives than most of the people I meet everyday. I bet that life of working hard for your family and enjoying the simpler things out of necessity makes for some amazing character.
I could only dream of being that good at soccer, and I could only dream of being that free spirited.
I think I'd like to have season tickets in that spot overlooking the park. You get to see so much more than a soccer match.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Confessions of the repressed public
Spending countless hours exploring the streets of the KC metro area, I encounter all kinds of interesting people and see things in more detail and with more intimacy than most anyone else. I think this relationship with the city is why I love it so much and feel as if I'm connected with it.
In a string of a week, two experiences are leading me to believe that KC needs more lovin'.
The first occured on the Fairfax bridge crossing the Missouri River from the bottoms of KCK to the floodplain of Riverside, near the Argosy casino. This bridge gets my heartrate up everytime, mostly because it scares the crap out of me. It is narrow, spans the wide river and is completely unlit. The edges are low barricades designed to stop cars from plumeting into the muddy Mo, but it looks like they'd stop my bike and I'd flop right off and take an extremely high dive if one of the always-speeding cars decided to crowd me.
So, needless to say, I didn't need anything else distracting me on the bridge.
As I approached the apex of the bridge the other night, I noticed a homeless man crossing and coming in my direction. I thought nothing of it as I pass transients all over the place, especially because I love exploring blighted areas and railroad corridors. I moved to give this guy space as I approached. When I was even with him, he stopped, lunged at me and screamed this sage advice:
"Get fucked!"
I'm sure I probably looked a little underloved with that look of hasty anxiety crossing the bridge, so I understand completely why he was worried about me.
Really, the state of the homeless is sad. Conservatives scream "get a job" and then move to the suburbs where they are out of the sight of the problem. Most of these people that I've talked to probably couldn't get a job. They need help. They are all mentally ill, sometimes completely unaware of their surroundings. Guess what, though -- care for our mentally ill isn't an issue that garners a lot of political traction, so our cities will keep hiding our crazy homeless. I guess that is okay, as long as they keep giving me good advice.
On a side note, DO NOT GIVE MONEY TO PANHANDLERS. It exacerbates the problem, encourages their confrontational behavior and keeps them coming, which drives away visitors in areas that need the support. If you feel guilty, give to homeless charities.
----
The other repressed citizen of our great city was a little more traditional. I was making my way down Main in the Crossroads after a long ride exploring KCK, avoiding the Fairfax bridge and checking out the sprawling Cerner campus for the first time, and I was on my homestretch. Speaking of Cerner, did they really have to take up THAT MUCH space that close to the heart of the city? That could have been developed into dense housing and retail, but instead you climb your way through a labryinth where every building is several hundred feet from the next, connected by winding roads. This place is worse than Sprint considering the employment numbers. Cool looking buildings, though.
Anyway, I digress. So, I'm rolling down to a red light at 18th and Main when a group of people leaving Bar Natasha is crossing the street. One of the girls, who is clearly the most hobbled by the tasty libations available at Natasha, greets me with a sultry "hey, biker boy". She then goes on to tell me that she is feeling very neglected in the "boobie region". In the unlikely event that I had forgotten what boobies were (not the case), she gestured to the aforementioned boobie region, ensuring that the boobies had my undivided attention.
I inquired as to why she felt so neglected and she responded that nobody had been touching them. While I wish I would have come up with a smooth response like "you are quite lovely, I'm sure EVERYONE is wanting to touch them," I simply muttered "are they supposed to be?" Good one.
At that point, her friends, who were clearly annoyed with her, encouraged me to ride away quickly, so I did.
I wish you the best of luck, boobie girl. Thanks for bringing life to the streets of downtown KC on a weeknight.
In a string of a week, two experiences are leading me to believe that KC needs more lovin'.
The first occured on the Fairfax bridge crossing the Missouri River from the bottoms of KCK to the floodplain of Riverside, near the Argosy casino. This bridge gets my heartrate up everytime, mostly because it scares the crap out of me. It is narrow, spans the wide river and is completely unlit. The edges are low barricades designed to stop cars from plumeting into the muddy Mo, but it looks like they'd stop my bike and I'd flop right off and take an extremely high dive if one of the always-speeding cars decided to crowd me.
So, needless to say, I didn't need anything else distracting me on the bridge.
As I approached the apex of the bridge the other night, I noticed a homeless man crossing and coming in my direction. I thought nothing of it as I pass transients all over the place, especially because I love exploring blighted areas and railroad corridors. I moved to give this guy space as I approached. When I was even with him, he stopped, lunged at me and screamed this sage advice:
"Get fucked!"
I'm sure I probably looked a little underloved with that look of hasty anxiety crossing the bridge, so I understand completely why he was worried about me.
Really, the state of the homeless is sad. Conservatives scream "get a job" and then move to the suburbs where they are out of the sight of the problem. Most of these people that I've talked to probably couldn't get a job. They need help. They are all mentally ill, sometimes completely unaware of their surroundings. Guess what, though -- care for our mentally ill isn't an issue that garners a lot of political traction, so our cities will keep hiding our crazy homeless. I guess that is okay, as long as they keep giving me good advice.
On a side note, DO NOT GIVE MONEY TO PANHANDLERS. It exacerbates the problem, encourages their confrontational behavior and keeps them coming, which drives away visitors in areas that need the support. If you feel guilty, give to homeless charities.
----
The other repressed citizen of our great city was a little more traditional. I was making my way down Main in the Crossroads after a long ride exploring KCK, avoiding the Fairfax bridge and checking out the sprawling Cerner campus for the first time, and I was on my homestretch. Speaking of Cerner, did they really have to take up THAT MUCH space that close to the heart of the city? That could have been developed into dense housing and retail, but instead you climb your way through a labryinth where every building is several hundred feet from the next, connected by winding roads. This place is worse than Sprint considering the employment numbers. Cool looking buildings, though.
Anyway, I digress. So, I'm rolling down to a red light at 18th and Main when a group of people leaving Bar Natasha is crossing the street. One of the girls, who is clearly the most hobbled by the tasty libations available at Natasha, greets me with a sultry "hey, biker boy". She then goes on to tell me that she is feeling very neglected in the "boobie region". In the unlikely event that I had forgotten what boobies were (not the case), she gestured to the aforementioned boobie region, ensuring that the boobies had my undivided attention.
I inquired as to why she felt so neglected and she responded that nobody had been touching them. While I wish I would have come up with a smooth response like "you are quite lovely, I'm sure EVERYONE is wanting to touch them," I simply muttered "are they supposed to be?" Good one.
At that point, her friends, who were clearly annoyed with her, encouraged me to ride away quickly, so I did.
I wish you the best of luck, boobie girl. Thanks for bringing life to the streets of downtown KC on a weeknight.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Shocking
The co-ed soccer team I endeavored to create on the Sprint 3 on 3 league, known as the "Rock Shocking Medfords", had its first outing on the pitch tonight and battled to a 5-5 draw. I sprained my thumb by putting my hand down to prevent a fall. Good call!
On another note, I am undecided as to whether I should go to St. Louis to race this weekend. As of now, I have no bicycle as my fork is at Rock Shox being repaired.
Come on, Shocks, can we win one?
On another note, I am undecided as to whether I should go to St. Louis to race this weekend. As of now, I have no bicycle as my fork is at Rock Shox being repaired.
Come on, Shocks, can we win one?
Friday, April 22, 2005
Happy Earth Day
Check out this slide show in honor of Earth Day. It is shocking and sad.
Man, I'm on a kick this Earth Day. It makes me really hate being alive and taxing the planet, though I'm trying to be as responsible as I can. Sad that most people don't even think about it. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. Out of sight, out of mind.
I'm trying hard not to be too snobby to the sprinkler salesmen that came for Earth Day today, or the Suburban drivers or the urban sprawlers.
Sad Earth Day.
Man, I'm on a kick this Earth Day. It makes me really hate being alive and taxing the planet, though I'm trying to be as responsible as I can. Sad that most people don't even think about it. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose. Out of sight, out of mind.
I'm trying hard not to be too snobby to the sprinkler salesmen that came for Earth Day today, or the Suburban drivers or the urban sprawlers.
Sad Earth Day.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
The big green box
Well, I did it. I applied. Might not get me anywhere, but you have to keep trying.
Downtown, you know you want me.
Downtown, you know you want me.
Earth is for parking
Sprint Campus, the natural place to celebrate the health of the planet.
Preach on, little bicycle.
The subtle power of 49
In a tasty bit of irony, Sprint is transforming its not-long-ago-Kansas-prairie sprawling campus into a big ol' Earth Day party. Part of the fun is showing off fuel efficient cars, as if the extra 20 miles per gallon would suddenly solve our car problem. I suppose that, in a place where the only meaningful connections to the outside world are roads, cars seem to be our primary concern.
So, in one of the high traffic spots in the middle of the Sprint campus, a shiny new Honda Civic Hybrid sits. Its subtle socio-political statement reaches hundreds every day in the form of the EPA estimates on the sticker. 49 miles per gallon highway. That has to reach even the most short sighted, self-absorbed corporate minions. Nevermind pollution, urban destruction, oil dependence, terrorism, et al. We're talking serious savings!
Yup, that car just sits there, unintrusively saying its part.
Preach on, little Civic.
So, in one of the high traffic spots in the middle of the Sprint campus, a shiny new Honda Civic Hybrid sits. Its subtle socio-political statement reaches hundreds every day in the form of the EPA estimates on the sticker. 49 miles per gallon highway. That has to reach even the most short sighted, self-absorbed corporate minions. Nevermind pollution, urban destruction, oil dependence, terrorism, et al. We're talking serious savings!
Yup, that car just sits there, unintrusively saying its part.
Preach on, little Civic.
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