Corsicana (Taken with Instagram at Corsicana Municipal Airport)
Urban Superhero / Bicycle Messenger
2 weeks ago
| Notes: 1
As a courier it is important to always have spare wheels available at all times. (Taken with instagram)
3 weeks ago
| Tags:
| Notes: 2
Urban surgery @chaddybmx #teampartytime (Taken with instagram)
Chad crashed in the Matrix Challenge a couple weeks ago and required stitches in his right elbow. Danny at Bicycles Plus pulled out the forceps and scissors and set our man free.
1 month ago
If you guys don’t hear from me later, I probably rode my bike into a tornado while carrying some important documents & laughing maniacally.
— (@geoffroper) April 3, 2012
I still had a few runs to complete mid-afternoon. I tweeted this before taking off toward 600 Commerce, my first stop.
Turbulent weather replete with massive hail, damaging winds, and several tornadoes had already been reported to the west of us. It was approaching Dallas quickly but after checking the radar, I foolishly assumed there was still time to knock out the last few tasks before it got too wild. There had been drizzle and light rain all day, none of which had been too bothersome.
When I arrived at the courthouse, the sky instantly turned greenish black and a violent thunderstorm began. I went in, filed my documents, then sat outside to wait out the sideways rain and whipping winds. Once it cleared up, I headed down to the Cedars (south of the CBD on the other side of I-30) to pick up a package from a client. Hopped back on the bike and began making my way toward the Chase Tower.
At the beginning of this ride, I looked up and noticed the gray-green sky had a peculiar black cloud in the middle of it that was moving lower to the ground. Several bolts of lightning flashed around me. Deafening thunder followed right behind and it started pouring again as I crossed the I-30 bridge.
I rode through puddles that were up to my calves. I crouched on the bike as low as I could in order to stay upright, in one lane of traffic despite the punishing wind. When I arrived at 2200 Ross a few minutes later, two building security officers came out and rushed me through the front door.
“You have to go downstairs. A tornado just touched down a few minutes ago on South Lamar,” one of them said.
“I… just came from there,” I told them.
They held me in the basement for close to half an hour, during which I saw this:
Tornado reported on the ground 2200 S. Lamar moving south.
— Dallas Police Depart (@DallasPD) April 3, 2012
Two blocks south and 1 block east of where I had been, but other than the tweet from the DPD, I’ve had no luck verifying this tornado’s existence. My guess is that the cloud I saw circulating did not actually touch the ground. Look, it wouldn’t be the first time police have stretched the truth. For now, we’ll assume the tornado existed briefly and would have swept me & my bike into the sky and parked us under a house in a more Technicolorful place.
Tornado or not, it was scary out there. Scary fun, actually, in hindsight. Of course the best part is now I can check “tornado day” off the list of extreme weather conditions I’ve worked in as a bike messenger.
2 months ago
The Monday through Friday, 8am-5pm refrain. For a good laugh, you should read the lyrics.
Sparks - Beat the Clock (by eileenh28)
Source: youtube.com
2 months ago
Going to start carrying a pick in my pocket at all times. Right now, there are millions of guitars out there not being rocked. I am here to help. (Taken with instagram)
3 months ago
originally written in 2003/4 for “This Is Grand” - a collection of short nonfiction highlighting the Chicago Transit Authority commuter experience
49 – Northbound
:/:/:/:/ Pouring Rain :/:/:/:/
I boarded at Division, simultaneously shaking out my umbrella as I fumbled for my fare card. It was very cold out and the windows were steamed up like a high school parking job. There were two middle-aged men in the front portion of the bus, both seated in the handicapped-reserved section, which everyone does unless there is someone present who actually needs the convenience. Without hesitation, I too sat upon the wheelchair logo.
Minutes later, a leather-skinned, wild-mustachioed, bug-eyed, tie-dyed, bandana’d, flag-tat-bearing man in his 50′s stepped on at the North Avenue stop. He stumbled drunkenly toward the gentleman to my left, glanced at the gentleman to my right, stopped and sharpened his focus on me:
“_r_ __u h__d______d?”
I pulled off my headphones.
“Are YOU handicapped?” he asked again angrily.
“Um… no,” I replied. “Would you like for me t–”
“Get the FUCK out of my seat!” he snapped.
He was not handicapped, so far as I could tell, but I moved anyway; two rows back to the able-bodied section. He turned around in my old seat and inquired:
“What have you done for your country?”
“…Well, I’ve entertained a few people.”
“Oh, so you’re an entertainer? What, you sing and dance?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“So what is it? More or less?”
“More,” I said.
“Fuck that. You should enlist.”
“You mean in the military?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeeeeeah, I don’t think so.”
The other two gentlemen were growing more curious/concerned.
“Why the fuck not? What the fuck’s the problem?”
I paused. “I just don’t think I’d do very well there.”
“And why not?”, his steep brow indicating there would be no suitable answer.
We passed underneath the Blue Line.
“Because I haven’t had the proper training.”
“Oh, they’ll TRAIN you. They’ll train YOU. I was in Vietnam.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His eyes were on fire.
He then rose out of my original seat and started toward the door. We had arrived at Armitage. The doors flung open. He stepped off. A second passed.
He poked his head back in, looking directly at me again:
“You’d better do something for your country!”
He vanished into the storm. The two gentlemen looked back at me, waiting for my response. I declared, comfortingly:
“Don’t worry guys. I’ll do something.”
:/:/:/:/ Pouring Rain :/:/:/:/
I boarded at Division, simultaneously shaking out my umbrella as I fumbled for my fare card. It was very cold out and the windows were steamed up like a high school parking job. There were two middle-aged men in the front portion of the bus, both seated in the handicapped-reserved section, which everyone does unless there is someone present who actually needs the convenience. Without hesitation, I too sat upon the wheelchair logo.
Minutes later, a leather-skinned, wild-mustachioed, bug-eyed, tie-dyed, bandana’d, flag-tat-bearing man in his 50′s stepped on at the North Avenue stop. He stumbled drunkenly toward the gentleman to my left, glanced at the gentleman to my right, stopped and sharpened his focus on me:
“_r_ __u h__d______d?”
I pulled off my headphones.
“Are YOU handicapped?” he asked again angrily.
“Um… no,” I replied. “Would you like for me t–”
“Get the FUCK out of my seat!” he snapped.
He was not handicapped, so far as I could tell, but I moved anyway; two rows back to the able-bodied section. He turned around in my old seat and inquired:
“What have you done for your country?”
“…Well, I’ve entertained a few people.”
“Oh, so you’re an entertainer? What, you sing and dance?”
“Yeah. More or less.”
“So what is it? More or less?”
“More,” I said.
“Fuck that. You should enlist.”
“You mean in the military?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeeeeeah, I don’t think so.”
The other two gentlemen were growing more curious/concerned.
“Why the fuck not? What the fuck’s the problem?”
I paused. “I just don’t think I’d do very well there.”
“And why not?”, his steep brow indicating there would be no suitable answer.
We passed underneath the Blue Line.
“Because I haven’t had the proper training.”
“Oh, they’ll TRAIN you. They’ll train YOU. I was in Vietnam.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His eyes were on fire.
He then rose out of my original seat and started toward the door. We had arrived at Armitage. The doors flung open. He stepped off. A second passed.
He poked his head back in, looking directly at me again:
“You’d better do something for your country!”
He vanished into the storm. The two gentlemen looked back at me, waiting for my response. I declared, comfortingly:
“Don’t worry guys. I’ll do something.”
