Tony, one of my best Greek friends, got married to one of the best ladies I have had the pleasure of meeting, Miss P.
Naturally, I flew in to make sure she didn’t change her mind, and had an awesome weekend catching up with old Dell friends, and reminding myself what summer is supposed to be like.
Austin – I have a big place in my heart for you!
So I have the bike, the glasses, the funny shorts and the lingo down, but true graduation to road-biker status would not be permitted by Tony without first joining him for some rides in Austin, and participating in the local Driveway criterium series. Tell a lie; I also need to shave my legs.
Instead of renting a bike, Tony had expedited assembly of his 1992 vintage Bianchi. A proper professional-grade thoroughbred from the early 90s, it is a marvel of lugs, lucious Ferrari-red paint and chroming. It showcases the cabinetmaker-standard construction techniques that were employed in Italy, and is in stark contrast to the carbon jelly-moulds around today. It also offers partial explanation for the rebound in custom steel frames that are flooding out of Portland, Berlin, and East London, recreating their ideal of an industry that has long since shifted to Asia.
Turning up at the race track, I quickly donned Lycra and went about warming up. Visions of the Cat 5 ‘beginner’ race had me finishing in the top ten and applying my fitness and handling skills to turn the screws on some of the locals. These thoughts vanished when I saw the waves of carbon, shaved legs, and steely gazes singeing the grass. Yup, this was my first race, I had never seen the back 70% of the track before, and it was my first time riding this (20 year-old) bike. I was absolutely bricking it. Shit!
Criteriums differ from the ‘stage’ racing format, given they are typically hosted on a tight, twisting track and offer fantastic opportunities for spectators to take in the racing, enjoy some drinks and scream their support at the riders. The atmosphere was alive with kids trundling around, music pumping out and the warm sun setting in the distance. America takes its recreation very seriously, and the results are communities like this, with families and friends getting together.
Meanwhile, in Hell, the pack of fifty-odd riders is slowly picking up locomotive pace, and my senses are a mess of static electricity, trying to process sounds, feelings and a spectacle that is completely different from anything I have experienced before. Looking at a pack of riders go by, and it seems so serene, like a rolling flock of birds. Inside that flock of riders, surrounded by a thousand fluttering wings of gear trains, aero wheels and bearings, it is a cacophony of white noise, expressionless Oakleys staring back at you. It is intimidating.
I keep pace pretty well for the first few laps; it’s surprising how little effort you need to apply when air resistance is removed from the equation. But a dull thud, shouting voices and a spray of arms, sunglasses and feet in the air up ahead, and it is quite clear there is a crash at the tightest corner – probably a clipped pedal. The pack splits up, and while we try our best to catch up, the air has suddenly become viscous, and I seem to be plummeting back through the field as my legs turn to plastic. I pick a couple of riders that seem to be attempting to bridge a gap back to the field, but it’s hopeless; they disappear from view.
There is no need to give up though. It’s a lovely evening with the sun splintering through the trees, and myself and a few others keep a reasonable pace. The finish line shouts out numbers: “6 to go!” but I don’t know if they mean minutes, laps or kilometers. I make a mental note through my panting to check with Tony. They scream “1 to go!” and I pick up the pace with the remaining stragglers to give a shot at sprinting for the final lap. Weary, we spear for the line and I see him peeling off, and all of a sudden I am surrounded by riders: were we lapped? Is this the next race starting? Do I stop now? Please?
Yes, so I was a bit confused at the end (I was lapped, and I think there were still a couple of laps to go), but it was a rush, and the memory of being surrounded by riders with ‘that sound’ was intoxicating. I shall be back!
Ladies welcome.
I have never in my life shot a proper gun before. Air rifles, yes. But never anything of the sort that could do anything more than kill a pigeon.
It was therefore with some trepidation that I joined the guys for a team off-site, shooting an assortment of guns at one of the local ranges. Interestingly, my trepidation was matched by the guys originally from New York, Boston and Chicago; basically anywhere without straight lines on their border maps. America really is two places, and our team is split neatly down the middle by who packs heat, and who chooses not to.
While I suggested this event, I actually expected someone to come up with a better plan. Turning up, I and my boss both looked more than slightly concerned by the other guys unloading cases of weaponry from their cars / trucks. Several levels of insight were unpeeled by our team members, as guys I would never has pinned as NRA members pulled out huge rifles and packs of pistols. Truly amazing, and a look into a different culture.
Stepping into the gun shop itself, we definitely left Austin city limits. The guys behind the desk eyed us as we made our way to the rental counter, and grudgingly agreed to my suggestion of being allowed to take photos of the team. Nothing unfriendly; but I guess when both parties could take out a small town with their weaponry, you are likely to look at people twice.
After being being pointed towards one of the pistols and walked through the finer points of loading, I was invited to disarm the safety, aim, and fire. Somewhat like the first moment you hit your first surf wave, it’s all so familiar, but at the same time terrifyingly alien. Squeeze the trigger, grip as hard as you dare, try to predict how hard it is going to kick … and … BANG. Just like that, I shot my first bullet.
Guns work in ways that you can’t immediately appreciate in a movie. Semi-automatic pistols have collections of moving parts that can easily (and did) cut your finger as they explode backwards. Revolvers require an amazing amount of travel before they finally fire. The amazing elk rifle that one of the guys brought could easily bruise your shoulder if held incorrectly. The plethora off different bullets, accessories, optics, holsters and storage boxes was to peer into an abyss of expense. And the vintage rifles that some of the people were firing were really rather magnificent to behold.
After all that, two groups of people met to shoot some bits of paper; those without guns, and those with. While I still don’t agree with the gun laws in place in America, and I don’t understand why someone would want to own a device that is specifically bought to maim or kill another human, I came away humbled, pleased that I had the opportunity to learn something about my other team members, and hell, had one heck of an enjoyable time blasting away.
Before.
Insert movie quote here.
The first of several victims. I was actually quite impressed with myself; by the end I was able to group my shots together surprisingly well.
One of the guys’ travel guns. Yes.
Taking stock after the event.
Sunday was, naturally, Superbowl. The Pittsburgh Steelers played against the Greenbay Packers, in a northern-states head-to-head. This was my first Superbowl, so I was pretty excited to join in with the junk food, half-time adverts and shouting at an inert black box. I had effectively no idea what was happening the entire time, asked countless silly questions, and was probably more intrigued by some of the strange advertising; which was, I must say, a let-down.
Still, it was lots of fun to be there with committed Packers fans, and a bunch of work friends. You can’t but help be swept up in the sheer enthusiasm and pomp of the thing.
Team Latitude enjoy an afternoon of sport (on the sofa)
Insanely excited kids, air pumping and whooping at about age four.
Welcome to America, folks.
West of Austin is Texas Hill Country; an area of rugged hills that reaches as far as the suburbs, and provides access to some pretty splendid hiking and biking. One of the tourist honeypots of the area is Enchanted Rock, an enormous granite rock dome, rising 130m above the surrounding area. We thought it would be a grand day out for the Bogners, Lattos and, well, Biddle. Perhaps due to the ‘snowpocalypse’ of the previous week, there were fewer people venturing out – and this combined with the fantastic weather and cool air, made for a great day.
ENCHANTED ROCK. YEAH!
It was steep!
Skylar has different ideas on the route. “Should we stop him?’
Les Bogneurs
The girls were on fine form!
Rugged, yet thoughtful. The designer’s designer.
Flyin’ high!
Which way?
Whoa!
Eric gives me the thousand-yard Texas stare. The children’s clothing draped round his neck finishes the look.
GOOD TIMES
Practising for when he needs to work at Dell.
Peekaboo!
Different shades of cuteness.
Yay!
The adventurer sets off once again
Pistols at dawn.
Granite
After, we headed to the truly bizarre Trois Estate … home of a faux-real Texan Mexican ranch church grotto cap-gun museum wine bar. All slightly unhinged, but lots of fun.
Accessories.
Doors leading somwhere
Silly moos.
Silly cow.
Dinner was at one of the ‘seven’ true Texan barbecues; Coopers. I have to say it was not a patch on the truly carcinogenic Louis Mueller’s … I still dream of the steak brisket I had there.
Staring at the stuffed animals on the wall.
Admiring their collection of barbed wire history.
Main street, Llamo, and time to head home.
The weather on this trip to the USA has been pretty insane; sub-zero conditions, chilled winds, freezing roads, and more than a little danger. For anyone from a cold, wet country, you might take temperatures of a mere -6 degrees celsius in your stride. Such lows literally bring Texas to a sliding halt, though. There is zero infrastructure for handling the ice on the roads, people have no idea how to drive in such conditions, and the number and width of roads makes gritting a pain; forget about salt.
Walking out on Friday morning onto South Congress, I was presented with a comical scene of cars sliding around; many failing even to make it up the slope of the bridge to down-town. Indeed, a pick-up truck with a Mexican family in it was totally stuck, unable to move. With the whole family in the front, no weight in the back and no experience in these conditions it wasn’t perhaps a surprise. With a look of horror on the face of the driver, I pointed at the son in the back and we bumped, pushed and cajoled the vehicle up the slope, and he gave me a friendly wave goodbye. Job done. I must admit that I did not, however, help the Mercedes that got itself into the same situation a minute later!
Mercedes, stuck half-way up the incline.
Messing around in the snow.
An unusual site in Texas!
An Austin snowman! – shot with iPhone + Instagram
Icicles– shot with iPhone + Instagram
Foot prints – shot with iPhone + Instagram
Somehow this photo seems to freeze frame a few of the individuals at large in Austin. It must be noted that the guy was using luminous paints to capture his scene.
Enjoying a very nice afternoon in the sun. I am hitting the ‘sweet spot’ with the weather right now. Lovely.
It’s my third trip to Austin, and my second this year. I must admit, I have grown fond of the place, in no small part as a result of my skill in choosing the most pleasant periods of weather of the year to come; blue skies mix with cool breezes to make for perfect conditions to enjoy life outside, eating, drinking, listening to live music, and riding bikes. Bliss.
Coming via Houston, which seems to be built around its oil refineries and parking lots, Austin is delightful. And doubly so now I know my way around; I have my favourite bike shops, cafes, hell, I can even discriminate between different organic supermarkets and live music venues.
But would I live here? Even in this liberal paradise? Not quite. As much affection as I have for this place, I still feel more affinity to Asia and Europe. But as an exercise in allowing myself to regroup, see some music, talk to people in my own language, and yet have a different experience from returning to the UK, it’s just magic. I am pretty lucky.
Austin on an Autumn evening.
The great thing about staying downtown in Austin is that I have a fantastic array of Americana on display …
Key Drop
Gringo Bingo
Penis Hotel
The Continental Club
Allen’s Boots
Parking
Retro Truck
School Buses
