One time i witnessed big kitchen racing, foaming at the mouth like a shitty science project.
bleeding from the eyes.
the hair on the back of his hands had turned green.
his kitchen sink was clunking down the trail behind him, like a car bumper hanging on by a brake light wire.
mothers covered their children’s eyes. (but mainly to hog the view.)
he was a picture of both trauma and victory, that warrior.
his knees were clanging against his top tube as if playing the marimba, that soothing sound accompanying his glory.
to think that just one lap prior he’d looked like this:
fuck a tuesday.
this next clip stars the industry’s finest ever 2-wheeled pilot of doom, leigh ramsdell. a personal ride biking hero, i saw him recently in person, and i instantly cringed at the thought of every little 20″ entanglement i’d ever been a part of, which is lots. here’s this bastard still hurling himself at the ground with an ignorant bravado that would make geronimo blush. he hobbles now. bad. it made me want to dust off my old set of polio crutches and donate them that very moment to this poor old stair sniffer. he could actually be my dad, i don’t know. in any case, here’s to ramsdell, whose buckshot approach to bmx bicycle stunt riding amped me down way too many stairs at once, way too many times more than once.