Occupy Austin: paradigm shift but still strong
AUSTIN — The Occupy Austin camp on the steps of city hall seems to be smaller than last time I was here, and like other parts of the greater movement, is in a period of change.
Last time I was in a larger group of people while the energy was still all around, before the police brutality elsewhere. I was there when the camp was larger, the air was warmer and it was daylight.
Above the encampment on the steps of city hall high-rise apartment buildings loom tall and true, untouchable by the plight below. An apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows glows with the faint light of a television program.
The windows of the buildings look out past the people below. It’s as if they’re diverting their eyes, pretending to ignore the plight of the people — the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. At the least the people below simply want to be heard and recognized.
The mood is different here. It’s as if the tension and police brutality elsewhere found its way to replace the calm, community and celebrating with paranoia. In some ways it’s a text-book example of deterioration of a movement, of a society.
Todd Purdum does an excellent job writing in the January 2012 issue of Vanity Fair about the warnings of George Kennan about the chain of events that lead to the conditions that forced the Occupy Wall Street movement to begin in the first place. He also warms of societal decay, as what seems to have happened in Austin.
I’m not entirely convinced it’s as bad as it seemed that evening.
Kitt O’Connell, a member of Occupy Austin, said there was a general assembly that evening. The group has some growing pains and issues but overall the movement is strong.
“There have been some tensions recently,” he said. “It’s important to remind people how important transparency is to Occupy Austin.”
A man named Caleb and another named Mike were voices of reason after an abusive member of the group attempted to enforce non-existent privacy laws. They reassured me that I still had rights I knew I had — to photograph people in public making a spectacle of themselves. I told them both I was a professional and covered a lot in my years and was aware the law (but law enforcement?) was on my side.
The rights of the press are being severely ignored and abused by police and law enforcement agencies in this country. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, they just assault photographers and arrest reporters. Members of the greater Occupy movement must realize the press is part of the 99%, they are the ones getting their story out, showing their plight, fighting along with them.
As a journalist, I should not have to fight against the police, the government, the paranoid rednecks and white trash of the GOP and Tea Party and now the Occupy movement.
My first visit I spoke with a guy named Thunder about civics, copyright law, media and communications and some observations about the growing camp and the Occupy movement in general.
This time, it was a guy in a suit and dark overcoat named Jesus. We talked about the differences in the encampment now versus other places, different times.
Up close the Occupy movement is an ebb and flow of small changes for good or ill, but the big picture is still there and still strong.
I paraphrased a part of a famous sonnet by Emma Lazurus, The New Colossus, a paragraph of which is emblazoned on the base of the State of Liberty. Here is the full text of it:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
North American Cycle Courier World Championships
AUSTIN, Texas — Bike messengers from all over the country gathered in the south-west corner of Austin for the 2011 North American Cycle Courier World Championships.
The race was the end of a week-long series of events and races starting with track races at the velodrome Houston the weekend before and finishing with the weekend of chaos in Austin — including a ride between the two cities. During the week the racers were invited to race weekly cyclocross and a criterium races in Austin. The Friday before the race, after registration, there was an alley cat race and gold sprints at Cheer Up Charlie in east Austin.
Qualifying for the main race on Sunday happened Saturday. The top 30 percent qualified for the three-manifest race Sunday. For the qualifier, racers were organized by their race numbers and started 10 seconds apart. The course is actually a road course car race track and the riders could only ride clockwise around the track and had to pick up packages in a very specific order, but could drop off in any order. If a rider missed a pick up, they had to ride a lap to go back.
The rain forecast for the weekend made the race organizers change their plans a little. The main race had virtual or “understood” packages, which still had to be picked up in the same order as they appear on the manifest and could still drop in any order. The main race had three manifests and half of the riders were given one and half another. They each had to complete one manifest, then get another. All of the racers had the same final manifest.
The main race had the typical alley cat start, where the bikes are laid down in order facing the same direction. At a signal, the rider run up to their bikes and the race is on.
The racers had some time to figure out basic routing so they didn’t have to do it as they raced. Although they have to pick up in order, they can drop in any order, usually on the way to pick ups. Keep in mind the race was done in laps and the check points were numbered one through 10, with 10 following 1.
The first checkpoint was sponsored by . During qualifying, the racers had to stop to have a portrait shot before running under the tent to step through race car tires before getting to the table. During the race, there wasn’t any photography but the racers had to sign or tag or scribble on one of two Chrome messenger bags.
The ninth checkpoint was a bit of chaos. I think it was sponsored by a shoe company, but all I remember is the cloud of marijuana smoke (no, it was annoying) and the guy with meth teeth. They were trying to jam Pringles into the riders’ mouths. It was hilarious. They were so enthusiastic, compared to the more subtle second and third check points.
The eighth checkpoint, on the inside of uphill esses, got pretty muddy and resembled a cyclocross course near the end of the race.
I can’t help but think if I didn’t talk to the people so much at check points, if I wasn’t so careful packing the packages (I did it for riding through Manhattan in traffic in bad weather, not for a wide race track in a race) and if maybe I got rolling faster from the check points I would have qualified. I don’t know. I’m not the slowest guy in town and I can still rip through traffic like when I was a NYC messenger, but it’s been a couple of years and many of the people with whom I competed do it every day. Many are at least 10 years younger, some are on TV. I don’t care, I had a good time.
Besides, if I were racing I wouldn’t be able to take photos of the racers whilst riding on the track with them.
Maybe I’ll get to go to the Cycle Messenger World Championships in Chicago.
9th Street in Austin
AUSTIN — Some days they’re building and not riding much whilst other days, their tires barely touch the dirt. Some of the riders are “like buttah” and smooth whilst others are brutal savages who are aloft long enough for me to think about how they flow naturally through the air.
This was one of the days when they’re sort of building and doing a little riding. Maybe it was just when I was there, but it was a quiet day. One guy was sweeping loose dirt and another guy was watering the jumps. This work needs to be done to keep the place from falling apart and they’ve been doing it since the 1980′s or so.
When it rains, they build. When it’s hot and dry, they ride and maintain.
Sometimes they’re in the air and blend into the shadows.
They race in lingerie in Austin
AUSTIN — Whenever I complain about the skinny jeans and the general femininity of the hipsters (who still look dirty and homeless to me) and other trendy people, I need to remind myself about these races.
Two races in recent memory involved lingerie, the Linger Race a few months back in Eastwoods Park and the Drag Race a couple of weeks ago just after Frankenbike 66 wound down. The second race was also to celebrate the grand reopening of the east side bike shop, Fast Folks in their new location at 1030 East 6th Street.
A fine late autumn day in the city of the violet crown
AUSTIN — Austin is a good place to ride a bike compared to anywhere else I’ve ridden, except New York City. Sort of. New York is an odd exception in that it’s both awesome and horrible at the same time.
This specific day, December 18, 2010, was an average day in Austin. I stayed at my friend’s place in the northern end of the city and rode downtown, which is about 12 or 15 miles from her place to Cesar Chavez and Congress Avenue. South Congress and elsewhere is a little farther.
I normally stop by Juan Pelota, the cafe inside Mellow Johnny’s Bike Shop on 4th and Nueces Streets for a chai. Sometimes I buy bike stuff, sometimes the chai, sometimes both. This time I bought some Gore Wind-Stopper gloves (they actually had my size and they’re very comfortable) and a copy of Rouleur magazine, issue 20. It has a feature about Japanese Keirin that is just awesome — great photos and wonderful writing giving some great depth into a rather secretive and exclusive sport.
I finished my chai on the patio as I gave the hefty magazine a perfunctory look-through while being distracted by the goings-on around me. As I began to leave, I saw a woman with Christmas lights on her bike walking it onto the patio. It was a green Surly Crosscheck with battery-powered lights wound around the top tube. She said they were from a ride or something earlier as she flicked the switch on the battery pack in a small, black seat bag.
After I left Juan Pelota, I rode around a bit, took a few photos. I rode past a Royal Blue Grocery on 3rd Street. It was more like a small urban grocery store than the other one across the street from Juan Pelota and I never knew it was there. I sat at a sidewalk table and looked a few things online. This location doesn’t have free wifi like their Nueces one does, but that didn’t matter much since I had the Sprint 4G mobile broadband thing with me. I decided I needed a hotdog and remembered Frank was right around the corner, confirming it online. I rode over, walked in and was seated immediately. The waitress was outrageously gorgeous (even by the high Austin standard of hotness) and very nice. For some dumb reason I had a bacon-wrapped hotdog with cheese and a side of poutine. Delicious, delicious regret.
I rolled myself out of there and out to my locked bike on the sidewalk. I thought I needed some coffee to blast all that grease and starch through. I remembered I’ve been meaning to go to Halcyon for a while. They have good coffee and make a motherfucker of a chai (yes, two in one day). The place has free wifi, a heated patio, comfortable seating that is loungy on one side and more like a bar on the other.
As I walked out to the patio with my coffee, I saw two people walking to a parked car on the Lavaca side of the place. The curb is very high — maybe shoulder height if my memory serves me well — and the car was parked close to it. The girl who was going to be the passenger waited as the driver moved the car out a little. I leaned over my locked bike (there are a few easy to lock places on the patio, which is really a wide, elevated sidewalk) and said she could come up there, jump over the railing and land in the passenger seat of the car through the sunroof. But I cautioned to aim carefully as to not become intimate with the gear shift. Yea, I got a sideways look for that …
I moved from the Lavaca side to the 4th Street side — the place is on a corner and has some funky and wonderfully dangerous stairs leading down to the street corner. They are round with a pole in the middle. I sat at a table on the edge of where the radiant heaters reached. I had my coffee and magazine and was almost reading it. Two girls and a guy — all dressed in Austin “I need to be seen here, dressed like this” uniforms — sat down sort of next to me. The guy was a very gay hair dresser at Bird’s Barbershop in Austin. He had coping issues. The two girls sort of repeated what the other said. They all held on to their predictable stereotypes with heroic tenacity.
“I need to be single for a while. I need to drink whiskey,” said the hairdresser about dating a guy 20 years older than him. He was sort of upset about it and everything else not fabulous. He told one of the girls he couldn’t even handle his little dog and had to give it to a friend for a while. At first I was trying to ignore them, but then I was completely eavesdropping, it was too crazy and funny not to.
A different guy walked up the worn concave steps from the street with a cardboard box in his arms. I saw as he walked up the stairs a large trophy protruding from the top of the open box. When he got closer I saw either a wig or a human head taking up most of the space around the trophy. He walked into Halcyon.
My paper coffee cup was empty for a while before I went back in. I had no intention of staying but I figured I would I would check out the inside of the place and see what their chai was all about.
Guy at Halcyon said chai is similar to the Hebrew word for life after I told him it was the Arabic word for tea. I told him whiskey comes from a similar Gaelic word meaning water of life. We both learned something. The chai came with two animal crackers and they had soy milk.
I took a seat on a couch after resting my chai and it’s large porcelain cup and saucer on the table without spilling a drop from the cup, which astonished the hell out of me.
The chai had the multi-layered, spiced and smooth flavor I expected but without the syrup-like consistency of the chai from Greenbeans Coffee. Starbucks chai can be a little weak. Juan Pelota, the coffee and gift shop in St. Davids Trinity Center and Halcyon do it right.
At some point I went to South Congress to look for Christmas presents at the small art thing there on the weekends. I spoke with a few people, bought a few things. I spoke with Jake Bryer, who had a very busy table selling photos printed on wood blocks of different sizes. He runs a gallery with photography but limits whom he represents to a geographic area around Austin. I packed everything into my well-worn, 10 year old Timbuk2 canvas messenger bag and headed back to the north side of the river. I think this is when the gastric assault began.
Some hours later after inspecting the nearly-finished Pfluger Bridge and the surrounding area, I headed over to the Nueves location of Royal Blue. Of all the photos I have of everything when I’m on my bike, I don’t have many of the bridge, at least the end of it. I’ll work on that. I went in looking for rootbeer and chocolate. I don’t remember the brand of root beer, but it was good. Not IBC, Virgil’s, Milligan’s Island, Maine Root or any I remember. I washed it down with a Kinder Bueno Bar.
Inside two girls were doing some sort of last minute gift shopping. They wanted to buy the very large jar of pickled red peppers on the counter. An employee said they use that stuff for their mayonnaise, but maybe it was for sale. He asked the other employee to try zapping it to see if it was in the system. It wasn’t. I suggested some sort of large cured meat product to one of the girls as they kept brainstorming for ideas. She asked the first employee about a large salami (no, not in a porno sense, although that would have been funny) as I walked out the door with my snacks.
I relaxed watching Austin go by in the quiet intersection of 4th and Nueces Streets as music played overhead. I headed back to my friend’s place shortly after.
A race for the ladies in Austin
AUSTIN — It was a race for the ladies, as the flier said, held at the polo grounds at Eastwoods Park.
It seemed to be a race themed around lingerie, but lacking the nudity one can see at other Austin rides. Some of the racers brought a sense of humor, some brought seriously hot lingerie and one had Texas-shaped tassels.
Racers competed in teams of two, more or less.
First one team member raced a loop around the park, then after returning to the park, they had to complete a few check points.
The first was inflating a condom to about the size of a watermelon. More than one person disagreed with having a mouth covered in sex grease.
From there, they had to run over to be photographed making a sexy pose with their bikes. Naturally some were funnier than others, just like the costumes.
Some teams had to skip hand in hand from roughly the center of where everyone gathered to a tree-covered foot bridge while others had to run around to the back of the polo court with their bikes. There they had to team up on one bike with one racer pedaling and standing while the other was seated. They rode from one end of the court to the other, switched places and rode back.
After that, the teams rode another lap out near University of Texas, Austin and Eastwoods Park.
The bike polo games kept going the whole time.
Spinning fire in South Austin
AUSTIN — Opa coffee and wine bar on South Lamar in Austin is a pretty good place. The patio tables are covered by an enormous oak tree, the service is stellar and they make a slammin’ soy chai latte.
Better yet, Friday nights they have performers who light the Austin night up with fire. Sage Jacote, Natasha Kouri, Echo and Zarah take turns spinning flaming poi and batons while they gyrate to the music which fills the warm night air.
Sometimes they set themselves on fire, sometimes they are too loud — usually they’re not and their passion, dedication and practice shows. But, whatever happens, you’ll have a good time.
Sage
Sage
Echo
Echo
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Zarah
Echo
Echo
Sage
I have more photos on the way. Also make sure to go to Opa yourself. You’re in for a good time.
Above West 9th Street, Austin
AUSTIN — I first heard of this place in the early 1990′s when I raced BMX in Connecticut. I read an article about some guy named Marty Christman and how he and some other guys piled up dirt in the woods someplace. They carried dirt for the jumps in wheelbarrows, built with shovels. They waited for it to rain to build so the brutal Texas sun could harden the earth into concrete, launching the riders into the trees above.
At the time, the magazines pretended the only place anyone rode BMX bikes was in fields, BMX tracks and skate parks of California. The shocking idea of “street riding” wasn’t invented yet, in the magazines. The main thing in the article was how unusual it was for some people to build jumps with shovels and wheelbarrows under a canopy of trees. There were no pros anywhere, no fans, no banners and no slick graphic-clad trailers with industry people selling the latest parts and gear. They just rode their bikes for fun as they do all these years later.
I can remember the photos with Marty riding around with a shovel or in the air on a chrome-plated Free Agent BMX bike with white Skyway Tuff wheels. The rear had black marks from his brakes.
One of the guys I ran into while shooting some of these photos at West 9th Street, James Bell, said he used to race Marty in the early 1990′s. Bell is a “responsible adult” now.
He said Marty, who was sponsored by Free Agent, was fast but he was still able to catch him a few times.
At some point over the years, the city of Austin gave the property some sort of park designation. The city doesn’t maintain the park or claim any liability, but it lets the riders build and ride there as long as it doesn’t turn into a trash pit.
A bleeding and smoking Nick Duval far from the ground
Joshua over the mainline doubles
Turndown over the back hip
West 9th Street during the winter. The setting sun warmed this guy’s unit.
Over the first set of mainline doubles, lit by the setting winter sun of Austin, Texas.
Gabe Andrade in the air over the main line doubles at West 9th Street, Austin, Texas. He was there with his dad, who told me about the ABA BMX track in the north side of the city.
Sometimes the riders wear helmets, sometimes they wear shirts. Mainline doubles, West 9th Street dirt jumps in Austin, Texas.
Joshua over the back hip
James Bell taring up the back hip at West 9th Street, Austin, Texas. He was around when the place was first built in the early 1990′s.
Bethel, Connecticut, had Messengers. Dan Bishop and a guy I only know as Gary, as well as others, built the place in the woods next to the Messenger Bicycle Seat Factory, around the corner from Bethel Cycle. A few years ago, the town finally built a new train station on the property after decades of planning and stalling. As Messengers was loosing popularity, another place sprung up in Newtown, not far away. Pondbrook was the place to go after national races or any other time. The jumps were bigger, the people dirtier and crazier and riding was insane.
That faded.
West 9th Street is still here, still strong, still crazy.
Krewe of Dead Pelicans: A bike ride calling attention to BP
The ride might not have raised much awareness beyond media coverage, but it was a fun way to spend a few hours in one of my favorite cities doing my two favorite things: taking photos and riding my bike.
Krewe of Dead Pelicans was organized as an “emergency protest ride for the BP oil disaster.” The idea was to raise awareness by organizing bike rides in more than 300 cities all over the globe.
This ride was in Austin during Memorial Day. Maybe 25 people joined in — it could have been more.
At first it seemed like no one was going to make the ride. A minute or two after the suggested start time, riders started to gather.
As expected, everyone was friendly. Someone needed a little air in her front tire and three people offered pumps. Two were presta-only but the third worked with a schrader valve like her tire had.
The group assembled and left from the West Mall of UTSA, there they did some last minute things like inflating tires, assembling a banner and writing slogans on each other with marker.
The ride stopped at some lights, but went through others. It was casual and slow. Someone said it wasn’t so much a protest rather a group ride. Some of the riders were talkative while others were not, which is sort of normal.
Helmets, tattoos, brakes and shirts were optional. The group was loosely organized and occasionally got split apart, but it always rejoined itself.
She seemed oddly curious. I’m not sure if it was me, the camera or me riding my bike and taking photos. I’ve done it a zillion times in New York City, Connecticut, Austin, San Antonio and other places.
Around the capitol building then down Congress Avenue.
Stopping for a light on Congress Avenue. While most of the group was in a shadow, I couldn’t resist the light on this guy. I have no idea what his name was since I was one of the less-than-talkative ones. I found out from one of the riders about some volunteer teaching potentially coming up, which is good.
En route southbound on Congress Avenue.
Downtown near Mellow Johnny’s and the river.
-30-
Shop to Shop, bike racing in Austin.
An alleycat in Austin that was more of a party with a little bike riding
The free race started at Fast Folks on East 6th Street, The one and only checkpoint was No Comply Skate Shop and then back to Fast Folks for the finish. It was a very short race.
It was the typical sort of race beginning where we lay our bikes down and have to run up to them at the sound of a yell or siren glass braking.
The race passed through an intersection with access to Interstate 35. For some reason, I stopped for the red light … when I came to my senses I resumed racing and had to catch all of the people who passed me. Oops.
A band played before and people milled about. It was more of a party than anything.
Then the race happened. I managed to dehydrate myself rather well before and I really couldn’t remember the last thing I ate. The past two weeks I didn’t take care of myself very well and I felt it during the 6 or 7 miles of racing.
Oh well, so what? I finished and wasn’t last.
After the race, people talked, drank beer and just had a good time. Some of the hipsters did their fixed-gear tricks while others just enjoyed the nice afternoon.
They announced the top 5 finishers, who all won something. The first place finisher won a pair of wheels with green Velocity rims and Formula hubs – black, I think. One of the kids with the bull horn walked around with it for a while yelling things to people and being obnoxious. It was hilarious.
I think he had conversations with it. The police siren definitely got some use as well.
After the race and some time relaxing with yet another rock band, it was time for the trackstand competition. I wanted to borrow a fixed gear for the contest to redeem my awful performance earlier.
But I didn’t. I didn’t even ask anyone. I took photos instead.
Although I really stood out – or at least I felt like I did – it was still fun. I may complain about hipsters in Austin like I did in Brooklyn but overall, Austin is always a good time. The bike people are a hoot, the weather is good and the girls are hot.
I go to Austin whenever I can. I always have a camera or two with me and I’m always up to shoot photos at a bike-related event of some sort. Hell, even a non bike elated event …
A cursory glance at some previous posts here shows some vastly different views of the greater cycling community. Some of the riders are “cyclists” while others are “bike people”. Many are both, some are neither.
OK, Austin, au revoir.
