The Settlement Of The Night Monster

[audio]

This post was originally written and published at rockchrysler.com in July 2013.

What follows is a true tale, or at least as true a tale as I am able to tell of it these days, so many years later, about a trip I took to the Galapagos Islands with my grandparents when I was 10 years old in 1977. It is a tale based, at least in terms of its sequence and style, on this poem which I wrote for Beckian Goldberg's ENG 200-something Introduction to Creative Writing poetry workshop as a sophomore at Arizona State University in 1987.

The photos below are also mine, taken by ten-year-old me with my prized Kodak Instamatic camera.

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"Yes, the night monster will settle there and will find herself a resting place."

Isaiah 34:14b

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Santa Fe Island, Galápagos
27 October 1977

It was a sharp knife, much sharper than most ten-year-old boys would tyically be allowed to possess.

And it was the right knife, too, its stainless three-inch-long blade and array of Swiss-army implements perfect for carrying confidently in one's front pocket all day long, especially on a grand, far-away excursion such as this.

The fish, lying on its side on the deck, a large trolling-hook pinned in its lower jaw, also gauged the sharpness of the boy's knife; its wide, unblinking eyes betrayed its awareness, as it gaped and gasped in desperate need of oxygen. It needed to die, wanted to now.

"Kill me," the fish told him.

Let's work at the local bicycle shop!

This post was originally workshopped on my Instagram and in the Fifty+ Years Old forum at mtbr.com.

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Old-man. Mouthbreather.

I never thought of myself as old. 

Until recently. 

The harsh reality of being me in this moment is that I’m at least 30, and in several cases 40 years older than everyone I work with at the bike shop (except for my good friend, Ken, who owns the place and has a couple years on me). Despite this constant reminder of my ever increasing age, it is, nonetheless, my privilege to toil alongside all of these amazing young people selling this thing (selling an experience, really) that we all passionately, even obsessively love. 

But this work, like all work, is hard work. "That's why they call it Work," my hard-working baby brother is fond of saying.  Retail at the sales-floor level, no matter what you're selling, is super tough and any amount of time spent working on the (concrete) floor during the summer season at Absolute Bikes Flagstaff is guaranteed to be a marathon endeavor. Not only is there a lot to know about each make and model of bike we sell, and an obtuse and thoroughly unintuitive point-of-sale system to master, there's also the simple fact that every customer who comes in through the front door brings with them a unique set of challenges due to their distinct personal peculiarities and predilictions.  

Just about a bike: Surly Moonlander

Click any image to embiggen

This is my Surly Moonlander. 

It is a first generation Moonlander, which Surly debuted in 2011, and discontinued in 2016.  This bike should not be confused in any way with Surly's new freaky-deaky ground-up redesigned 2025 Moonlander; they are two completely different bikes.

Actually, technically, this bike is not really mine.  It's a loaner from a good friend who moved away. He asked me, while I was helping him load the last of his family's stuff into their moving-truck, if I would be willing to keep it in my garage, on stand-by, for him to ride whenever he came back to town to visit.

Like I said, he's a good friend, so of course I agreed. Especially after he told me it would be fine with him if I rode it around whenever I cared to. 

In the years that it's been housed here at my place, of course, I have.  Many, many times.

Meantime, my friend, well, I'm happy to say he has been back to visit several times. 

Nonetheless, despite his repeated visits, he's ridden the bike just once... So...

Let's get a new tattoo!

It has long been said regarding semantics that “the word is not the thing,” the implication being that all language, both text and speech, can only attempt to represent ideas and feelings but cannot actually be the Real thoughts or sensations it describes.

In December 1996 I sat down to get my first tattoo, three small Hebrew letters (חֶסֶד = lovingkindness) on the ring finger of my left hand. It took the artist about five minutes to install it and cost me a grand total of $45, which I paid in cash.  I used the word, chesed (pronounced KHES-ed), as a framework for a part of my vows a few days later.  

And I meant it.  I know I was an imperfect partner at times.  But I really did try to live every implication of the word, as well as the indelibility of the deed, each day of my 28-year marriage.

Selected posts now streaming!

** selected posts now streaming **

I was a volunteer reader for Sunsounds of Arizona for several years. It was a favorite amongst my many unpaid retired-guy "gig" jobs. I was proud to be tasked with reading the Arizona Capitol Times (a non-partisan, weekly newspaper covering state politics and government) for their visually challenged listeners on a weekly basis. Sadly, administrative shake-ups within the organization last year made it untenable for me to continue to provide audio content to them.

As a classroom teacher for 20 years, I read aloud to my students each day, commonly following lunch recess, as a way to decompress and refocus our brains after the midday outdoor activity time.

Let's pretend that everything is fine.

If ever I had an ego, it ceased-to-be in 2025.

Or maybe what I'm actually talking about is self-esteem. 

Could I, in fact, be referring to my sense of self-worth?  

I don't know. Took my last psychology class half-a-lifetime ago, so I'm not really sure. Also, I haven't seen my therapist in a while. Thus, for today, I'm doing my own stunts when it comes to dredging the definitions and depths of these terms.

Holidays and bitter anniversaries have me feeling pretty shitty these days. Why? My wife left me.  A year ago.  Told me she didn't love me any more.  Moved out of our house 30 days later.  Walked away from me, our home, my side of her entire extended family, all of our pets, and every single one of our family photos... to say nothing of the many happy memories contained therein. 

Ghosted. 

All of it.

Let's redecorate the living room!

It was just about a year ago when my now ex-wife revealed the first of many reasons she had for needing to leave me (ultimately there were more than 20; I kept a list). In October 2024, about two weeks before she actually got around to telling me that she didn't love me anymore and was moving out, she told me that it was deeply upsetting to her that “everywhere I look around here, I just see your shit. Especially the garage!  Oh my god, you have completely taken over the garage!"  

True, I'll admit, but only to a point.  Lots of bikes and skis, workbenches and tools out there.  Hard to be a bike rider without owning a few bikes, or a skier without a quiver of skis...

Let's get a divorce.

Divorce is a world of suck best avoided. 

Divorce is a towering rogue wave poised ready to rend asunder half a lifetime's promises, hopes, and dreams.

Divorce is a muddled muttered mantra of repeated regret.  

Divorce is a long dark road in the middle of nowhere, inevitably heading somewhere, albeit only god-knows-where. 

Divorce is an explosion of great magnitude, sufficient to result in the utter destruction of all familiar things, leaving only charred shattered remnants and thoroughly annihilated particles in its aftermath.

Divorce is unabated disquiet.

Divorce is interminable disbelief.

Divorce is an unnatural disaster.

Let's go to France!

I went to Paris, France, for a post-divorce adventure in July 2025.  Visiting Paris has been a "bucket-list" item of mine for a very long time. Given the sad situation I found myself in in January, suddenly all alone, planning and accomplishing this trip solo came to mean a lot to me.

I'm pleased to report, I had a truly amazing time!  

Aside from one breakdown on the RER-B train on my way into the city from the airport, which required me to navigate the massive Gare du Nord train station unrehearsed in order to find an alternative route to my hotel, everything went super smoothly travel-wise. 

I met lots of good people, ate tons of good food, drank gallons of great wine, and visited innumerable amazing places.  The things one does while visiting that ancient, complicated, beautiful city.

While I was there, wandering around the city by day on a janky rental bike, and each night via the Métro, I took a lot of pictures and thought a lot of thoughts.  I posted several of them to my Instagram.  

They're embedded in chronological order below.

Just about a bike: Specialized S-Works CX

Select any image to embiggen

A 2000 Specialized S-Works CX popped up on our local Craigslist the other day, instantly piquing my interest.

During our first salvo of correspondence, the seller told me that he'd had the bike shelved in his garage for several years and now needed the space for other things (a tale as old as time). 

He also told me he had converted it to a 1x11 recently, but that he would willing to include "a box of old parts" in the deal. This box, it turned out, contained the entire original XTR-M950 group, and the original right-hand Ultegra integrated lever, and the original front wheel with its bespoke S-Works hub, and the original Body Geometry saddle.

Thoroughly intrigued, I arranged to meet him in a corner of one of the parking lots at the hospital, cash in hand.  

Took me 2 minutes to eyeball the rig and shake the seller's hand. Told him, "I'll take it!" without any haggling. Gave him every penny he was asking, which was $350, box of parts included.

Let's use a heart-rate monitor!

Several of the following observations were originally posted to the Fifty+ Years Old Forum at mtbr.com on 01 October 2024.

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I started riding with a heart rate monitor, a Garmin Forerunner 45, in April 2024 and, after several months of data collection, I now find myself absolutely fascinated by what I've been learning about my cardio-vascular health and fitness. I am especially intrigued by the corroboration of what I feel has been a distinct increase in my overall-fitness and threshold-endurance during this summer's riding season. 

Bottom line: I love doing the things I get to do outdoors. My objective in learning to use a heart rate monitor has been to better understand my general overall fitness and health and, quite simply, to maximize however-many years might remain to me to continue to be able to do these essential activities that I love. Below is an inexpert run-down of what I think I'm beginning to understand better about my body based on what my new monitor seems to be telling me.

Just about a friend's bike: Dale Shewalter's 1983 Specialized Expedition

I was first introduced to Dale Shewalter in 1993. His sixth grade classroom was located two doors down the hall from the room where I was about to start my student teaching, in fifth grade, with the legendary Grant "Brad" Gerver at Weitzel Elementary School in January of that year.  The always gregarious Gerver was great about taking me around and introducing me, right away, to everyone that I would be working with, and Dale's room was one of the first stops on my first-day tour. 

Having grown up in a multigenerational family of teachers, I immediately recognized Dale as a teacher's-teacher, cut from the same bolt of no-nonsense but ever-compassionate fabric that my mom, grandmother, great-aunt, and great-grandmother had likewise each been hewn from.  Naturally, I liked him right away. And it was my great good fortune that we were able to remain friends for years, long after I completed my student teaching, well into my own career as a professional educator.

Just about a bike: Monē SB2 Klunker [UPDATED]

3.3:1 gain ratio, 45.6 gear inches

Cjell Monē (pronounced: shell money*) proudly runs his mobile custom-fab bike shop out of the back of a former Wonderbread work-truck which is currently parked (at the time of this writing) somewhere near Silver City, New Mexico.

I'm sure Cjell's one-off custom bikes are amazing.  His initial apprenticeship at Black Sheep Bikes, and many subsequent years of experience as a successful independent bike builder, would seem to indicate: he knows well how to wield a torch.  But a one-off custom bike tends to be the sort of unobtainable unicorn which, for most of us run-of-the-mill average-type bike riders, is maybe something we get to plan for and purchase once in a lifetime.  That's been my experience, anyway. 

Just about a travel trailer: Bennie, the Jet [UPDATED]

Meet Bennie, my 1968 Lofgren's Jet camper trailer, the long sought-after replacement for the beloved camper van, Betovn.

Recently finished restoring her outsides with new paint to match the house, reproduction decals, and fresh weatherseal where it was needed, plus a couple "upgrades" to the interior (see below).  She's now permanently leveled and installed (as in: she's no longer a travel trailer) in the side-yard next to our back-deck ready to serve as an overnight guest-room whenever friends and family come to visit for a few days.

Let's do a product review! Canclaw Bike Can Holder [UPDATED]

Being the inventor of the original on-bike beverage-transport system, the DIY Cooziecage™, I felt that I should be the one to volunteer to purchase and review the Canclaw, a $23.00 (+$5.00 shipping) 3D-printed on-bike beverage transport system akin, if not in design then no-doubt in spirit and intention, to the Cooziecage™.

Seeing as how spring has just-now finally arrived in my neck of the woods, this past Monday morning I removed the Cooziecage™ and mounted my recently purchased Canclaw to the downtube of my Coconino singlespeed for an early-season early-morning sortie into yonder public lands.

Together (my bike, my beer and I, natch) we rode exactly 9.4 miles, up singletrack and a wee bit of forest-road, to "the top" of the day's loop wherein (no matter where "the top" may be) it has long been my habit to stop and sit, atop a humpy rock, or upon the bark of a blown-down tree, or nestled within a tuft or two of brownish braken or bunchgrass, to imbibe a favorite bevvy (thanks always, up 'til today, to my Cooziecage™) whilst contemplating the brevity of my existence, or the shapes of the clouds over head, even perhaps just to anticipate the soon-to-be-had thrill of the downward-facing homeward-bound trail that awaits me.

My Week of Riding Dangerously [UPDATED]

The following essay was posted to both the Rigid/Hardtail and the 50+ Years Old forums at mtbr.com on 24 November 2023.

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Turned 57 a couple weeks ago. Means I've been riding mountain bikes for close to 40 years now. 

As happens to some of us, I ended up hanging on to many of my old bikes, and have acquired and restored a couple other vintage rigs over the years, too.  Several of my older bikes are still intact and quite rideable.  The rest have essentially become organ donors or wall-art, so in a sense still "around" if only in spirit.

Quite literally hanging on (the ceiling) to several old bikes

Had an idea pop into my head the other day, as a kind of 57th birthday commemoration, that I'd ride (as-in really ride, on singletrack trails, out in the woods, just like I used to back-in-the-day) some of my oldest bikes over the course of a few days in the vicinity of my birthday and try to hit as close to an aggregate 57 miles as I could in the process. Rounding upward by just a few tenths, I pretty much nailed it at the end of Day 4 of what I've decided to call: My Week of Riding Dangerously. 

It was brutal. It was amazing. Effort was expended. Flow was elusive. Skin was lost. Blood was shed.

Vintage Chris King Angry Bee swag [UPDATED]

The following essay was originally posted to the Vintage, Retro, Classic forum at mtbr.com on 18 October 2023.

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A little history per chrisking.com: Back when hub warranty registration was done my [sic] mailing us a postcard, Akiyoshi Takamura coined an infamous [sic] quote in the comment field of his card; "It rolls good with angry bee sound". This was the birth of the angry bees and so much more.

Aki-the-bear loading up on wild raspberries
before descending Pluto trail

Here in my hometown of Flagstaff, AZ (and likewise among the FLG-diaspora currently residing in Bend, OR) coiner-of-the-phrase "It rolls good with angry bee sound" (which, let's be frank, Chris King Precision Components has taken to-the-bank as it's now ubiquitous marketing theme), @angrybee Akiyoshi Takamura, has become nothing less than a legit folk hero. By no means "infamous," in our estimation Aki has, instead, become well-respected by handmade bike-builders and riders alike. All who have had the pleasure to know and ride with him have found his knowledge and enthusiasm for small-batch mountain bike sh!t to be deeply sincere, knowledgeable, and endearing.

Since I-don't-know-when, Aki has made an annual trip to ride in Flagstaff and, over the years, has purchased a respectable sampling of North American small-builder bikes to take back to shred in the hills and forests around Osaka, Japan. Sadly, COVID-19 made Aki's trip to the USA impossible for the past two seasons. So everyone that knew him was super stoked when word got around late in the spring of 2023 that Aki would be traveling to northern Arizona once again in the summertime.

In Beauty

In beauty I ride

With beauty before me I ride

With beauty behind me I ride

With beauty above me I ride

With beauty around me I ride

It has become beauty again

-- adapted from a Navajo prayer

Swell Trail - 09 October 2023

Let's lurk! [UPDATED]

In the course of my life there have been several things that I knew I would love the very first moment I saw them. That list includes:

• my daughter
• my home
• riding singletrack on a mountain bike
• making sweet dropped-knee Tele-turns
• paddle-boarding gracefully across a lake
• and skiing with a lurk

I've written about many of these subjects elsewhere on this blog. But never before about lurking. And if I'm being honest, as with the other things listed above, lurking has pretty much changed my life, entirely for-the-better.

When did you get slower?

The following essay was originally posted to the Fifty+ Years Old forum at mtbr.com on 25 August 2023.

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Am I slower? I really don't know. That's the honest answer.

I mean, I've got almost a dozen years of Strava data that conclusively says: maybe?

How do I really know? And how much do I really care?

Facts are facts: My bikes have all changed for-the-better by several iterations in the aforementioned dozen-year time-period; fires, floods, and new construction have radically changed our local trails, in some cases for-the-better; technology, frame- and tire-design have all changed my riding style and abilities for-the-better a thousand-fold; and sure, inevitably, so has my body changed (tho not always for-the-better) as well as the way that I sometimes feel before, during, and after I ride (again, not always for-the-better)... So, which of these variables am I looking at when trying to determine if I'm slowing down?