Here are few reports from that big state featured in one of my favorite bike movies…
That’s right Texas. Maybe I’m just longing for warmer climates.
Reporter John Nova Lomax spent time investigating the life of some old school messengers and learned there is some animosity between real couriers and those who just dress the part.
Don’t Kill the Messengers
By John Nova Lomax
Houston Press, January 5, 2011
Back in the good old days for bike messengers, every weekday
at four o’clock, the front steps of the Harris County Civil Courthouse were the
gathering spot for a happy hour for that pierced, tattooed, hedonistic horde.
Those days are as gone now as earnest talk of Monica
Lewinsky’s stained dress and jubilation over the Dome derring-do of the Killer
Bs. Today, Old Man Tim Bleakie â€” at 55, his nickname is not ironic â€” is one of
the last messengers riding. As he locks his snow-white Italian Cinelli
SuperCorsa to one of the racks out front, he remembers the days gone by fondly.
“The ’90s, oh, the ’90s, you were at the height of the
implant case, and there were no electronic filings or late filings,” he
says. “Everything had to be done by five o’clock. Four o’clock was
basically social hour at the courthouse. Attorneys would hate having to come in
there then because they would be around a bunch of sweaty bike messengers
talking about partyin’ tonight, partyin’ last night, or partyin’ next
Read the whole article here.
Speaking of Texas, I wanted to give a shout out to Chris Curnutt, who writes the cycling related blog: