Over Thanksgiving I met newest Nord, Charlotte Lucy.
Posts tagged family.
Walking in a 20 degree night through a snow covered streets of Cleveland with my brothers, I could not help but think how blessed I am to have grown up with such interesting, magnificent creatures.
The Minnesota State Fair was large, so much so that I laid my snobbery at the gates and enjoyed a midwest institution that brought the community loads of pride and joy.
Spent the sunset with my family out in Long Island last night. It was a perfect couple hours, a long wave goodbye to a great summer.
thankful to be part of this crew, all the nord boys lined up
Mary Pat and her eyes on what was likely the nicest day of the year.
Happy Birthday to my amazing Mom, if you follow this blog you know how important my Mom is to me and all the Nord boys and if you have ever met her you know that most of the good things inside of us were put there by her. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you Mom, love you! Tell her something nice here
I FOUND LOVE IN A HOPELESS PLACE
I have never been through any kind of real trial or tribulation, but I do know enough about suffering to know it follows a bell curve. Pain is handed out in increasing dosage, ensuring sure you are crazy enough to keep enduring it.
That’s how I found myself weaving across an idillic country road in Western Mass on my birthday. The bonk had snuck up on me, and 60 miles of not enough food, mixed with climbing and 27mph pace lines put me in a dark place. Alone, on that road it’s easy to feel sorry for yourself, to see the tall grass and hear the slow breeze whispering “it’s over” and “i won’t tell”. And I swear I wanted to, I saw this vision of myself laying down, hidden by that same tall grass, cooled down by that comforting breeze.
Just then the whispering breeze was replaced by the unmistakable buzz of my brother’s Zipp 404’s next to me. He had fallen back out of the field to get me or at least ride next to me. I don’t know if he dropped back because it was my birthday and didn’t want me to be alone, or because he thought he could help, but I loved him wildly in that moment. In the depths of my bonk, I was being saved. He was kind enough to not speak to me, but quietly get in front of me, split the wind and provide the pace.
Extreme circumstances allow for extreme compassion and on my birthday, in the Berkshires I was happy first for my brother’s wheel but mostly his love.
To me, Coney Island marks the beginning of manufactured American
adventure. It opened as a true American innovation. On the outskirts
of Brooklyn, a place lay where thrills, danger, and excitement were
manufactured and sold like never before.
At the beginning, New Yorkers came en masse. They collected on the
shores of the beach, on the unsafe wooden rides, on the lines and
among the crowds. This first generation of thrill seekers were unique;
they were replacing a different sort of adventure, an adventure that
scarcely exists in our modern world. They themselves, or their
parents, your ancestors, had taken the greatest of American
adventures. Imagine the adventure of immigrating into this country
without knowledge or possession, connection or arrangement. There is
no ride for this sort of adventure, no tickets available.
Today in New York, we are fortunate to have the reminders of our
history surround us in the stone and steel of our buildings, and in
Coney Island it literally peals off the lattice. But as the memory of
the original American adventure fades, the manufactured replacement
metastasizes: larger, faster, brighter, and louder.
Now our adventure is found in shopping malls, theaters, resorts, and
living rooms. Adventure has become a product, bought and sold, on
sale. It’s safe, expiring soon, available in short time; also, the
popcorn is never free and you must be 56’ to ride.
Rolling into Columbus Circle 5 minutes late I see Dylan’s jacket before I see the rest of him. Red and white mass perched on the top stair of the Obelisk there, arms languidly lying over his knees and his head to the sky. I roll by him, making the clucking/clicking sounds you do to let a horse know it’s time to go and roll slowly into the park.
We rolled around the park for two hours trading stories, laughs and generally goofing off. I think we were doing laps in 23 minutes (today it was 14:40) and couldn’t have cared less about the speed. Like anything in life sometimes you have to take the time to fall in love again. It’s amazing how easily you can turn your passions into chores. The 5AM wake up calls, the forever sore legs and droopy eyes, it can get tedious. So on a nice day leave the speedometer at home, grab a few friends and fall in love with the things you love all over again.