V.19 No.45 | 11/11/2010
Green-thinking recovery center gets its motor running—but still needs fuel
Jesse was far from home last winter, detoxing at a rehab facility in in the Midwest. The 23-year-old recovering addict returned to New Mexico to take up residence at the Endorphin Power Company. At the transitional living facility, exercise helps addicts kick their habits, replacing the euphoria of drugs with endorphins.
V.19 No.39 |
The Daily Word 09.30.10: Un-naked Santa Fe, Ochocinco Os, Color Me Badd
In the news: Apartment fire, missing, film tax rebates, nudity law, World Naked Bike Ride, A distant, Earth-like planet, anti-prostitution laws, text, Tony Curtis, Locksley, Chad Ochocinco, Rally to Restore Sanity, AIG, Color Me Badd, vote against stuff, salt water
V.19 No.36 |
This week, the news section talked about ghost bikes, memorials constructed around the state to mark the spot where a cyclist was killed by a vehicle. One went up in Laguna for the young activist who was riding across the country to raise money for breast cancer research.
V.19 No.36 | 9/9/2010
The Ghost Bike in Laguna
John Anczarski, 19, was cycling across the country with three friends to raise money for breast cancer research. The University of Colorado student began his trip in Pennsylvania and was heading for San Diego. He was 10 days from his destination on June 21 when an SUV in Laguna, N.M., ran him off the road. He suffered head trauma and died the next day at UNM Hospital.
A Question of Descansos
The city and state have gone back and forth on whether they will allow ghost bikes to stand. Jennifer Buntz, president of the Duke City Wheelmen Foundation, champions the memorials for cyclists killed by motorists around the state.
V.19 No.34 | 8/26/2010
Mission not accomplished
There's a U.S. Air Force Base in the middle of Seoul, South Korea. If the myths of the American expatriate community are to be believed, they've got a Taco Bell in there. After three or four months of nothing but gim, bap and gimbap, I’ve witnessed otherwise-reasonable American civilians so thirsty for Fire Sauce they start to plan insurrections and armed raids. While I was in Seoul, my craving for Enchiritos never reached such a fever pitch, but I finally understood that urge to overthrow the government this morning when I went to ride my bike out by Kirtland Air Force Base.
V.19 No.33 | 8/19/2010
Trail-a-Week: Paseo de las Montañas
Jeez, you guys, I’m runnin’ out of trails. For this, my penultimate week on the bike path beat, I had to search the map and my soul to find one I haven’t already written about. I couldn't remember ever having been on Paseo de las Montañas, and I couldn't exactly figure out why. The map showed it intersecting Tramway just south of Candelaria, a stretch of road I've traversed too many times to count. How could it be that I'd repeatedly ridden past an inviting bike-only turnoff without ever even noticing it? The answer is that there is no inviting bike-only turnoff. I made a couple of increasingly bewildered circuits on Tramway's western shoulder before giving up and hauling my bike through the grass until I found the trail.
V.19 No.32 | 8/12/2010
Trail-a-Week: Paseo del Volcan
"Dammit, Sprocket," panted my buddy Drew as I mushed him down Rio Bravo like a sled dog. "Why do I always get more than I bargained for when I hang out with you?" Our leisurely Saturday ride on the Paseo del Bosque turned into a militaristic crusade after a conversation with another cyclist at a rest stop about our mutual loathing for backtracking. "If you don't want to turn around here," he advised us, "go down Rio Bravo. You can get all the way out to Paseo del Volcan. It's great out there."
V.19 No.31 | 8/5/2010
"Gross," quoth my boyfriend when I told him I'd be riding and writing on Tramway Boulevard this week. "That road is home to the most aggro asshole cyclists in the whole city. I'll never understand why they insist on riding on the shoulder when a dedicated bike path is just 50 feet away."
V.19 No.30 | 7/29/2010
Trail-a-Week: Paseo del Bosque (North Half)
Mmm, how about those gravid gray rain clouds lately? August, our wettest month, is nigh. When that musty creosote tang is in the air, a low sun shining under the numinous pillar of a classic anvil-shaped thunderhead, I always feel inspired to buy a blank canvas and demonstrate my searing love for the desert monsoon season by painting an extremely trite watercolor landscape. Alas, nothing that springs from the brush of Sprocket will ever be worthy of even the shittiest Old Town gallery, so I choose to express myself through the medium of bike rides.
Casino/Cuban-Style Salsa and Rueda de Casino at National Hispanic Cultural Center
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