I was given the gift of a very special bicycle (a Moulton) from a super cool bass player Tony Levin - many many years ago when I was young like you are now. I lived in NYC and knew that it would be stolen in a day no matter how I locked it up. So I decided to take it to Tokyo where stealing wasn’t a thing (I still used 3 hefty kryptonite locks). When I’d return many hours after working a fashion runway, there would be a crowd of men photographing my Moulton, or was it the locks? I’d unchain my magic carpet and fly - looking pretty great after a show. I’d ride through the busy streets and crowded back alleys at any time of day - even the docks at 3am when the sushi chefs were selecting their tuna. I was safe. And if it rained on me and my bike, my beautiful Yohji Yamamoto suit - my long red braids dripping - makeup streaming down the whitest of cheeks - I’d arrive like a rag doll at a civilized party of the most perfect people who each spoke many languages. I was soaking wet, I didn’t care. But I know that they did, because they stopped talking to me and I started to feel like an outsider amongst people I had been working with - some for years. But something had come over me. That bicycle changed me.
This is all to say - I have an idea how you felt on that motor bike.
Nothing quite like testing the limits of a rented two wheels and your own will to survive on foreign, unfamiliar roads to dial you in on the present and bring clarity to, or maybe just momentary bliss from, the purpose you helplessly seek from solitary independence as the surroundings seemingly fleet faster away from you along with the inner cacophony. This piece has, and using your words to capture my appreciation and respect, “resurrected long forgotten memories of joy!” Really enjoyed reading these and hope to catch up soon. Been too long!
I was given the gift of a very special bicycle (a Moulton) from a super cool bass player Tony Levin - many many years ago when I was young like you are now. I lived in NYC and knew that it would be stolen in a day no matter how I locked it up. So I decided to take it to Tokyo where stealing wasn’t a thing (I still used 3 hefty kryptonite locks). When I’d return many hours after working a fashion runway, there would be a crowd of men photographing my Moulton, or was it the locks? I’d unchain my magic carpet and fly - looking pretty great after a show. I’d ride through the busy streets and crowded back alleys at any time of day - even the docks at 3am when the sushi chefs were selecting their tuna. I was safe. And if it rained on me and my bike, my beautiful Yohji Yamamoto suit - my long red braids dripping - makeup streaming down the whitest of cheeks - I’d arrive like a rag doll at a civilized party of the most perfect people who each spoke many languages. I was soaking wet, I didn’t care. But I know that they did, because they stopped talking to me and I started to feel like an outsider amongst people I had been working with - some for years. But something had come over me. That bicycle changed me.
This is all to say - I have an idea how you felt on that motor bike.
Nothing quite like testing the limits of a rented two wheels and your own will to survive on foreign, unfamiliar roads to dial you in on the present and bring clarity to, or maybe just momentary bliss from, the purpose you helplessly seek from solitary independence as the surroundings seemingly fleet faster away from you along with the inner cacophony. This piece has, and using your words to capture my appreciation and respect, “resurrected long forgotten memories of joy!” Really enjoyed reading these and hope to catch up soon. Been too long!