Cataract Canyon, October 2008

Scot dropping into Satan's Gut

Salmon River, 6/09

Boulder, Colorado - August, 2009

"Never Breathe What You Can't See,"

taken up the hill from the Southern Sun. Photographer unknown. For real!

RNF, December 26, 2009

Mike heading toward the Sun

Keymer, UK

Jake on the Queen's Land, January 2009

Alaska Range

Denali National Park, Spring 2008

Cyndi in those one trees, 2008

Durango, 7/2006

Pine Ridge, South Dakota

Crazy Horse Memorial

Osaka Bike Portraits

Aki and Land Rover, from Rob

RNF

Kelly Jo at my favorite spot on a very radtastic trail.

Long lost trail, 2005

Mikey hippin' it out.

Museum of Modern Art

Gabriel Orozco: "Four Bicycles (There Is Always One Direction)," from Rachel

Neat idea.

Indian Peaks, January 2008

Jake and Craig in a Snow Pit

Bend, 7/09

Phil's Trails

Extreme Binding Mount

Jake Drilling T-Nuts into the bases of his Goats

RNF, October 2008

Keith ragin' the skinnyrockytrack.

Jones Pass, Fall 2009

Group Photo

White Rim, 5/2008

Arches are for riding.

Wolf Creek Pass, Thanksgiving 2009

Colleen Scrambling, from Jake

Wolf Creek Pass, Thanksgiving 2009

Surface Hoar, from Jake

Communication Build-Up, from Martin

Communication Build-Up

I’m bouncing on a bus listening to one side of a cell phone conversation. A thousand miles away or just across town I see her legs cross and uncross. I see her cradling a coffee mug two-handed with the apprehension of a child, the receiver resting on a bent shoulder, a bra strap and her ear.

I hear one side of the conversation, all the molested syllables and high-fructose intonations, like someone is speaking to a foreigner and so they shout, and I’m hearing one side of this conversation and I think someone must be heartbroken.

I’m picturing her looking out a window full of tears and I see her pupils fused to the corneas that weeks or years ago absorbed that first frozen-in-forever kiss, that gazed at his so-strong smile, all this leading to the meta-present nuclear heartbreak.

And I’m hearing forecasts as if the person I’m sitting next to is an emotional meteorologist and I’m hearing so much of this one-sided conversation that I don’t need to hear the other side because I’ve put the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle that grew damp in a basement, and the knobs still fit together and it’s fragile and the colored paper is pulling away from the cardboard backing but I can still make out the picture.

And I keep listening to one side of this conversation as if I’m stalking birds in an orange vest and every word is hidden in the grass near a pond and my finger is on the trigger just waiting for a vowel-speck to fly up into the sky where telephones wires can be, well, they can be anywhere these days, that’s why I’m always hearing one side of these conversations.

by martin balgach
originally appeared at www.OpiumMagazine.com

Indian Peaks, 4/09

Jeff Z. going up.

Cataract Canyon, October 2008

Sunrise after a Night Float, from Ryan