welcome to the haikutimes
Issue #127, Diamond Lake, Crater Lake and the Boulder Thursday Night Cruiser ride, Colorado, June-July 2006. Haikutimes correspondant Jonathan Machen attends to the small details of mountain flora in the Indian Peaks Wilderness while tracking the societal impact of police-sanctioned mass Cruiser rides in Boulder. All images and writing by Jonathan Machen. Click here to see Jonathan's music video about the Thursday Night Cruiser ride in Boulder on YouTube.
Alternatively, watch the video on Google Video.
every twenty steps
another columbine
fourth of july trail
mountain stream
swallowed by snowbank
ever so thirsty
bugs under hot tarp
sleepy boy tries to relax
no afternoon nap
randomly waving
at the swarm of mosquitos
his parents cursing
small cries and small sighs
from behind my right shoulder
running commentary
finger in his mouth
union pacific rail cars
now a distant thought
bluebirds and ouzels
elephant head, shooting stars
populating trail
river fun transformed
by afternoon deluge
picnickers scurry
water rivulet
snaking across window
swallowing raindrops
the fine line
between group joy
and group excess
bicycle freedom
constrained by
police scrutiny
jostling for space
on narrow campus walkway
three hundred bikers
acrid afternoon
monoxide sunshine casting
orange light on cars
tonight's cruiser ride
study of immobility
mosquito bites leg
three red lights
cruiser ride suffers
from critical mass
before i remembered
it was thursday
i heard the distant bells
rising above the traffic
along with excited shouts
like rapids around the corner,
alerting me to the fact that
the thursday night bike club
with several hundred
pedestrian-powered contraptions,
was about to ride by my house.
grabbing my recumbent
and joining the stream
of joyous bells, raucous
shouts of HAPPY THURSDAY
i merge with cruisers,
mountain bikes, unicycles,
velocipedes, high-wheelers,
folding bikes, twisted-frames,
choppers, quadra-carts and bmx'ers.
costumes abound:
he's wearing an orange wig -
she, pink bangles and striped tights,
a flapper outfit on a cruiser;
another with high-powered
speakers on his bike
moving stereo, mobile jams
grooving and rolling down the street
sinuous, like a sleepy taxi
with only implied direction
from the organizers.
i am now part of the pulse,
here to explore the notion
of group mind, how it
has the potential to be
so free and un-emcumbered.
we travel east along the bike path,
and in one spontaneous moment
divert to circling
lights in a vacant parking lot;
riders in front making the tightest,
smallest circle, those next
expanding the circle with joy,
our own localized
bicycle implosion
a black hole into which
a sudden party emerges,
akin to those elven parties
deep in the forests of mirkwood
springing out of nowhere
disappearing into nothingness -
the quantum physics of
roving bicycle parties;
gone in the blink of an eye
as soon as you catch your breath
to take a look.
one man's honking device -
an amalgam of
airhorn, foghorn,
steam whistle,
galactic burp, bells
and air chimes,
alerting us to the fact that
it's time to move on
to join the quiet jostling
evening dusk on the bike path
groovy with flashers,
spoke-pedal underbelly glow-lights,
color swatches, handlebar
jingle bars, strobes, pulses,
glow-worm frame-stripes.
muscle bikes next to pretty bikes
silent trikes, jumbo dykes
cruiser look-alikes
a man in a scooby-doo costume
prancing in front of the spiral
as it enters another cyclo-circle
getting crazy at the justice center
having a party
where we shouldn't be
one guy showing off his
evil kinevel daredevil
jumping tricks over a line of bikers.
the next week i am off
to a false start, creatively placing
my wife and child at the junction
where the bikers usually pass
for a photo opportunity.
the bikers never come by
after searching boulder
for an hour, i find them
leisurely honking, blinking
and cruising up west pearl.
entering the spiral
it's another spontaneous roundabout
we circle ralphie the buffalo
whooping and hollering
the spiral getting tighter,
bicycles and electrons
spinning around the nucleus
more riders on an involute course
twinkling lights and horns
until finally
the bicycle with a gigantic boom box
lands at the center,
a ringo starr drum solo
exploding as beatles guitars
accentuate our own rhythms.
every twenty steps
another columbine
fourth of july trail
mountain stream
swallowed by snowbank
ever so thirsty
bugs under hot tarp
sleepy boy tries to relax
no afternoon nap
randomly waving
at the swarm of mosquitos
his parents cursing
small cries and small sighs
from behind my right shoulder
running commentary
finger in his mouth
union pacific rail cars
now a distant thought
bluebirds and ouzels
elephant head, shooting stars
populating trail
river fun transformed
by afternoon deluge
picnickers scurry
water rivulet
snaking across window
swallowing raindrops
the fine line
between group joy
and group excess
bicycle freedom
constrained by
police scrutiny
jostling for space
on narrow campus walkway
three hundred bikers
acrid afternoon
monoxide sunshine casting
orange light on cars
tonight's cruiser ride
study of immobility
mosquito bites leg
three red lights
cruiser ride suffers
from critical mass
before i remembered
it was thursday
i heard the distant bells
rising above the traffic
along with excited shouts
like rapids around the corner,
alerting me to the fact that
the thursday night bike club
with several hundred
pedestrian-powered contraptions,
was about to ride by my house.
grabbing my recumbent
and joining the stream
of joyous bells, raucous
shouts of HAPPY THURSDAY
i merge with cruisers,
mountain bikes, unicycles,
velocipedes, high-wheelers,
folding bikes, twisted-frames,
choppers, quadra-carts and bmx'ers.
costumes abound:
he's wearing an orange wig -
she, pink bangles and striped tights,
a flapper outfit on a cruiser;
another with high-powered
speakers on his bike
moving stereo, mobile jams
grooving and rolling down the street
sinuous, like a sleepy taxi
with only implied direction
from the organizers.
i am now part of the pulse,
here to explore the notion
of group mind, how it
has the potential to be
so free and un-emcumbered.
we travel east along the bike path,
and in one spontaneous moment
divert to circling
lights in a vacant parking lot;
riders in front making the tightest,
smallest circle, those next
expanding the circle with joy,
our own localized
bicycle implosion
a black hole into which
a sudden party emerges,
akin to those elven parties
deep in the forests of mirkwood
springing out of nowhere
disappearing into nothingness -
the quantum physics of
roving bicycle parties;
gone in the blink of an eye
as soon as you catch your breath
to take a look.
one man's honking device -
an amalgam of
airhorn, foghorn,
steam whistle,
galactic burp, bells
and air chimes,
alerting us to the fact that
it's time to move on
to join the quiet jostling
evening dusk on the bike path
groovy with flashers,
spoke-pedal underbelly glow-lights,
color swatches, handlebar
jingle bars, strobes, pulses,
glow-worm frame-stripes.
muscle bikes next to pretty bikes
silent trikes, jumbo dykes
cruiser look-alikes
a man in a scooby-doo costume
prancing in front of the spiral
as it enters another cyclo-circle
getting crazy at the justice center
having a party
where we shouldn't be
one guy showing off his
evil kinevel daredevil
jumping tricks over a line of bikers.
the next week i am off
to a false start, creatively placing
my wife and child at the junction
where the bikers usually pass
for a photo opportunity.
the bikers never come by
after searching boulder
for an hour, i find them
leisurely honking, blinking
and cruising up west pearl.
entering the spiral
it's another spontaneous roundabout
we circle ralphie the buffalo
whooping and hollering
the spiral getting tighter,
bicycles and electrons
spinning around the nucleus
more riders on an involute course
twinkling lights and horns
until finally
the bicycle with a gigantic boom box
lands at the center,
a ringo starr drum solo
exploding as beatles guitars
accentuate our own rhythms.
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen