True Confessions of a Bicycle Messenger

Chapter 23: The Move

by Radius Roadius

Mercury Rising #6, April 1992

I’ll get up on the roof and you pass ’em up to me," Curtis saidstepping carefully from the hood onto the windshield of his puke greenlate 70’s Pontiac. The rusting heaps of decaying bicycle we were loadingwere the perfect match for this car. Its cavernous trunk and back seatarea were completely stuffed with old grips, pedals, seats, seat posts,crank arms, just name it, stuff from the turn of the century up to the60’s. It’s worth bucks to the right buyer. I personally like the big bubbletank 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 frameI got cheap, 'cause the guy who sold it got hit by a car only 1 hour afterhe bought it. There was also a small ding in the chainstay. My pannierswere fully packed for touring and jammed in the back seat. My tent andsleeping bag on the passengers side floor. I had plans to ride my biketo Alaska and work there for the summer fishing season. Curtis was drivingto a flea market in Michigan so I offered to help load, unload and sellstuff in return for a ride. We had been good friends since ’81 when weboth 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 1000pounds in the car it was already handling like shit, I had just done somefat lines and now this fog is so thick only the tail lights of the guyahead are visible. I was seriously stressing' to say the least. We gotto the site around 4 AM and crashed ’til ’bout 9 and Curtis made a tonof 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-livedencounter with suburbia. I suddenly realized I was 1000 miles from homewith countless acres of land spread before me that I had never seen. Thesensation of joy and fear were replaced by a feeling of such incrediblefreedom that my throat sucked and my eyes got blurry.

I know now why that moment was so intense. This was my move, my lastditch stab into the future, to escape from the death and decay of my eastcoast existence. And after that move, I found I could never really go back.

If you have comments or suggestions, email me at messvilleto@yahoo.com