February Newsletter
Take 6, February 4th
Slow News.
Hi Neighbors,
I’m sitting cross legged on my little wooden chair in my little makeshift office that doubles as my craft room (and my closet) in my little apartment in my little neighborhood and I want you to know that I feel the weight of my words. I want to say something meaningful for you to cling onto. I want to say something that inspires hope. I want to say something so that I can say I did something. I feel like I needto say something, or maybe like I’m supposed to say something; something about Trump, something about Palestine, something about climate change and late stage capitalism and the LA fires and the car crash on 8th and Balboa and the collapse of community and the fear our trans community is feeling and the hurt our sisters are experiencing and the pain of being alive as a person who has compassion in a world that is built on the backs of our neighbors. I want to say something so you know I hear you and I see you, but the truth is, everyone is saying something, and I’m not sure any of it actually means anything.
And as I sit here feeling the weight of my words and my platform, there is a pile of dishes sitting in my sink, but I can’t bring myself to wash them because the hot water burns the microscopic cuts I’ve accumulated during the week of bike mechanic-ery and the sting reminds me that I am just a girl. And then instead of the weight of my words I feel the weight of my girlhood; the weight of my queerness; the weight of my disability; the weight of existing in a soft human body in a world that is being run by those with access to machines of destruction.
It’s unfortunate, really, that I feel the need (i.e. obligation, desire, urge) to say something about the world at large, because what I really want to say something about is our bike shop. I want to sing to you all about the queer couple that was visiting from Idaho and borrowed two Quercus bikes to ride across the Golden Gate Bridge together. I can’t, however, tell you that story in good faith without telling you that they came to San Francisco for the weekend to pretend, for just a moment, that they are not societal outcasts who have been deemed ‘other.’ I want the world to hear me laugh as I tell you about Atlas hurling himself off the couch because he was so excited to see the first customer of the day, but I don’t have time for such miniscule stories at a time like this. I want to raise my hands and shout about the 6 year old who is patiently waiting to grow two more inches so she can fit on a bike with gears, but my heart aches to think of her future when there are no more inches to grow and the magic of childhood has disappeared into a fever dream with little resemblance to her reality.
And as I sit at my little desk in my little apartment and write my words that feel heavy, I am drinking a cup of my favorite tea that I brewed in an attempt to sooth my shaking fingertips and lower my overactive heart beat. The tea bags were picked up by Emily during her 9:00pm commute because on our usual grocery run I put a new-to-me tea in the basket, (in an attempt to shake things up! get crazy! expand my palate and my mind and my experience of the world!) and I hated it. I drank two cups with a sour look on my face and did not return for a third, and while the warmth of my mug in my hands is bringing me comfort tonight, the thought of my girlfriend taking pity on me is a much sweeter balm for my weary soul. So, I take a deep breath in and I sip my tea and I write my words and then I wonder if I’ll be able to make my girlfriend my wife in the next four years. Suddenly, I need a bigger cup of tea.
In moments like these, moments where my mind is consuming itself with dark thoughts and wild imaginary solutions to widely unbelievable truths, I wish I was on my bike. When I started visiting the bike shop, well before my days of newsletter writing, bike building, and ride leading, I was often going in search of a soft place to land. After patiently listening to my melodramatic woes, Jay would tell me to go get on my bike. Even if I had ‘better things’ to do, even if my body hurt, even if the rain was coming down in a flurry, he would tell me that riding my bike for two hours wouldn’t fix all my problems, but it would fix all my problems for two hours. I rolled my eyes. I resisted. I thought he was being a bit of a quack about the whole thing, but I would get on my bike anyway. I would ride and be filled to the brim with anger and annoyance and a varying degree of “I told you so’s.” I would ride and suddenly my elevated heart rate was a byproduct of my excursion just as much as my anxiety. I would ride and eventually the ringing in my ears would be replaced with the reliable swish of bike tires on pavement and my unlubed chain rubbing against my cassette. I would ride and although I was starting and ending my ride at exactly the same location, I had spent two hours moving forward in the world.
My advice (my thing that I’m going to say) is to keep moving forward in the world. Keep showing up for your community, for your friends, and for yourself. Don’t let the magnitude of it all keep you from making minuscule differences. Every time you smile at your neighbor, you're creating change in the world. Every time you offer an ounce of kindness to a child, you are establishing a truth that the world is not, in fact, all cruel. Take care of a cat, paint a picture, plant native flowers, ride your bike, cook a meal, mend your friend’s clothes, water your plants, sweep the floor, read a book, listen to a new artist, or do anything.
Maybe you need help doing something, and that’s okay too, because my something is creating space and time for you to gather and act. We don’t host free classes because we think all of you need to learn how to fix a flat tire, but because we think learning how to fix something might be exactly the thing some of you need. And maybe teaching something is exactly what we need.
Our Flat Class is the first Thursday of the month. It is free and silly and available for all of you. You can sign up here. We can talk about flat tires or your grandma or your childhood best friend or what you ate for lunch. Your hands will get dirty in a way that will make you feel like you did something and the class only ends when each and every person who signed up has had success in changing a flat tire. You can sign up below.
Our rotating class this month is Trail Side First Aid. The knowledge you learn will come in handy on a long bike ride or perhaps in the case of the apocalypse. I'm stitching first aid kits for each of you and my mom is coming in to teach the class. We will listen to your fears and your worries about being out on the trails and give you real, tangible tools to increase your confidence and your repertoire. We should all strive for the ability to take care of each other, and while this class is just a starting point, we will all leave better than we came. Sign up below. Pay what you want/can.
This month’s Night Moves falls on February 13th, so it’s been deemed “My bike is my Valentine” and there will be heart shaped cookies for all. There will also be chocolate, hot tea, and maybe a handwritten love note or two (feel free to bring your own!). And most importantly of all, there will be an abundance of love for our bikes and our community. We meet at 7:15, roll at 7:30. We are tackling Twin Peaks. It might sound scary, but if you came on the soup ride, you can ride twin peaks. We’ll go slow, take breaks, and have a designated walker to join all of you who decide it isn’t the time to conquer new heights. We’ll get to the top in however long it takes and get to bask in the joy of being where not even the cars can go. The camp stoves will be burnin’ and we won’t run out this time (I PROMISE!!). Bring your gloves and a jacket and someone you love.
This month’s Day Grooves is going to tackle the dirt on Sunday, February 23rd! Have the trials in GGP been calling out to you, but nerves have kept you away? I’ll hold your hand, prepare you for every turn, and hoot and holler at every success. We’ll go slow, take turns, and share snacks when we get to the beach. Music will be playing, Atlas will be barking, and the vibes will be glowing. We meet at 10:45, roll at 11.
If you love us and our vibe and want to spend time in community with us when we aren’t frantically trying to finish our work for the day, make bikes shine, and clean up our greasy messy, but have no interest in classes or group rides (it's okay, I’m not offended) you can always join us the last Thursday of the month for community night. We turn the music up, bring the beer (and la croix) out, and spend a couple of hours sharing stories and company. Thursday the 27th at 7pm.
Isolation is the most powerful tool the opposition has against us, and community is our most powerful defense. Please (I beg!!) come take up space in our community. It doesn’t have to be grand, it doesn’t have to be often, and it doesn’t have to be when you’re in a good mood. It just has to be something. I’ll be back in your inbox in March, and until then, I hope we see you at the shop :)
- Ayla
