Gary, an LA Metro guitar man

Riding the LA rail to Long Beach to get some sleep after a little polo in North Hollywood, we caught Gary here busking in the middle of our car.

He slipped in just as the doors were closing, said, "Hi guys, it's me again," spread his short legs wide for balance and slung the strap over his neck.

Some were a little put off, but one kid with a guitar of his own was inspired enough to be the first to drop a buck in the hat.

piano move

As a favor to our gracious hosts in Long Beach, we helped out with a fun little piano move. This photo is during, but I have a few more from both before, at Casey's house on East 4th, and after, at a warehouse on Cherry.

Listen to this recording for the complete experience. It begins in the back of the truck, with the piano already loaded. Just before the five-minute mark, there's a bit missing from the recording as we unloaded the mini grand from the bed. It picks up as we're shuffling it into the warehouse, where there were a bunch of ants.

PS- if you're reading this and know the name of this pianist or his band, please email me so I can link to the myspace or whatever. ahongo at gmail dot com.

Walter and Bennett

Checking out Stigler with Bennett, we bumped into Walter and had a pretty typical exchange: where you from, where ya going, how come, etc. What made it special was his accent and manner.

Bill reviews our route

Back in July, I was riding with a few others when one of us flatted. We took shelter from the sun in a random driveway and provided moral support while she changed her inner tube. As we stood around, Bill rolled up on his riding mower to see what was happening. After some initial BSing, he ended up taking a look at the day's cue sheet and, from the comfort of his Cub Cadet, provided some perspective on climbing the mighty Mount Nebo.

Gas station Jammin'

Exploring the magical town of Marathon, Texas, I came upon a group of middle-aged, mixed-race men enjoying their Sunday afternoon drinking cheap beer, making fun of each other, and playing music. I hung out for a few.

The unfortunate Nick

Nick, our (rationally) fearful leader, has the unfortunate responsibility of crafting the route for each day's ride and distributing directions, or "cue sheets." One especially unfortunate day in Arkansas, he discovered our destination was actually eight miles further than the cue sheet said, and he had to break the news to all the riders. He caught up to me at Subway, and I, preoccupied by my lunch, couldn't have cared less about a measly eight miles. Besides, by the time he broke the news, I had already become accustomed to the notion of "bonus miles" caused by getting lost, misroutings, detours, etc., and, to keep myself sane, had made a habit of mentally adding 10 to whatever number of miles the cue sheet claimed I'd be doing any given day.

George's Pugeot

Hailing from Seminole, OK, George rides his Pugeot commuter with pride. He tells me it has 18 speeds, a basket, a bell, and a seat that's good for his "prostrate."