The Small Matter of my Hands. And Bicycles.

A couple Sundays ago, for the first time in almost exactly two months I shakily hopped back onto a bicycle. After a quick ride up and down my street in the Lower Haight in the city of San Francisco, I realized I was good to go and rode across town free from the clenches of flaky and often unnecessary public transportation. So what happened?

In early September I made a colossally stupid set of decisions that lead me to have a rather frightening accident on my trusty touring bike. I'm so bored with the story I'll keep it brief: I was going camping and I packed a bag for what I thought would be a rather easy ride from the city of Dublin to Livermore, up into the nearby hills, and to a lovely reservoir where I could go swimming, sit around a camp fire, and maybe howl at the moon come nightfall. Anyhow I did a poor job packing, I went alone, I left late, google maps sent me an unexpected way onto dirt trails, my tires were over pumped, my brakes were soft, and I was tired. I lost control of my bike kind of in the middle of nowhere, went over my handlebars, landed on my head, messed up both wrists, and had to hike my ass a few miles with increasingly useless hands so I could be driven to some depressing emergency room. At least the bike was unscathed. Incredible.

Months later I still don't have the greatest of hearing in my left ear and have the strength of an eight year old boy in both my hands. However, a little more that a week after the cast came off my left hand, I was ready to ride again and this is cause to celebrate. I feel like I'm getting my life back.

I can't overstate how important bikes are in my life. I've done a fair bit of travel by bike. Around Southern Thailand, Northern Thailand, Laos, and the American West Coast. Besides these trips, I go just about everywhere by bike. It's fun, it's healthy, and it a great way to see the city. I rode thousands of miles in the last calendar year and in many ways these miles are a large part of my general health, both physical and mental. After my eight mile commute I feel very different after a nice ride than a wait and a sit or stand on a MUNI train that's for sure. I'm not mister fitness or anything, but I guarantee that riding one's bike on a daily commute will work wonders for you. It has me. And for the last couple months I've been pretty bummed out as I have to sit out nice days, organized rides, and my normal exercise regimen. I decided to take up running again for a while and after a few miles I always wanted to just be back on my bike.  Now that I'm slowly getting back into it, needless to say, I'm a little giddy.

In the last couple of weeks I've put well over a hundred miles on my bike. I'm feeling stronger and now I feel almost no pain at all. At least as far as my hands are concerned.


I write about food on this blog. Or at least usually. Bikes play a large part of my life these days and the everyday mundane experiences I have are more often than not shaped by my bike. It's hard for me not to talk about it.

Bikes get me where I wanna go. They help me make my appointments and help me burn calories. After a few months of riding erratic public transit I was tired of the waiting and tired of the paying. I'd rather be drinking a cup of coffee after or during a ride. A place where I can ride a bike is also a place I want to eat. Places that attract cars is a place I want to keep away from. It's rather simple. Much like this blog started over a love of street food, the author continues to be interested in the streets that we walk, ride, and drive on. I'd rather be be riding. Always.

Queso Fresco

At the house I stayed at in Teotitlan del Valle, one of the women made queso fresco, or fresh cheese daily. I imagine it is a tough and unglamorous life. Around the time I got up each morning to prepare for another day of linguistic analysis, she was already loading a motortaxi with her day's wares to sell at the morning market.

On several occasions I bought a round of cheese and ate it alongside one of my breakfasts. Other times I just gave it to one of my friends who is simply crazy about the stuff. It's soft, moist, a little salty, and goes great on tortillas with beans, avocados and salsa. Makes a killer sandwich as well. This is a style of cheese you can find just about any place in Mexico. It might be a common food, and even a mundane specimen for how common it is, but its simple freshness is very hard to beat.

Another family member made quesillo, otherwise known as Queso de Oaxaca outside of Oaxaca. This stringy stretchy cheese is great for quesadillas and sandwiches. While staying in Oaxaca City I spent a few days eating mostly this, which was kind of a mistake. However, I'm still not sure I got my fill after a number of weeks.

These cheeses are a reminder of something I always enjoy about the developing world.  Fresh, and even handmade food is the norm not the exception. In my current home of San Francisco the current food revival has made celebrities out of those who make food from scratch, using older methods of preparation. In other parts of the world where the food systems have not yet been completely taken over by agribusiness and convenience foods, you are likely to find foods like these cheeses a part of daily life.

Sopa de Menudo

I've been letting things slide as of late but my mind is still on Mexico. Don't leave me.

As I briefly mentioned in my previous post, the central market in Oaxaca City is a rather touristy affair. It's certainly worth a visit but it can be a bit stressful owing to the plethora of vendors trying to sell you trinkets and the rather inflated prices. The market seems more focused on tourists than it does on the quality of its produce and prepared food. Maybe I'm jaded as the vendors, but having people wave menus at me usually is a sign that I want to be somewhere else. However, there is one corner of the market more or less uninterested with tourism and that's what I want to talk about today.

Soon after entering the market one encounters rows of counter seating surrounding small kitchens. There must be half a dozen or so of these comedores and they all serve the same thing and one thing only: Sopa de menudo.

My first weekend in Oaxaca city I noticed the popularity of these stalls while the rest of the market seemed a little sleepy. These stalls were jumpin' and it was hard to get a seat. Maybe many folks were nursing hangovers (I might have been), or maybe they simply come for the quality of the soup.

This is a salty, spicy and rich broth which bathes a variety of cow parts of which you can choose your favorites. Eating this soup reminded me of my love of what many Americans might think of as strange meat, but I truly love the different tastes and textures from the various parts of the animal. I can guaran-fucking-tee you that a cow is made up of more than just steak and ribs, fatty.

A stack of tortillas, a bowl of cow parts, a savory broth and a receding headache sound like heaven right about now.

It goes without saying that a market stall that sells one thing and one thing only better get it right. Imagine stumbling to this stall nursing a debilitating headache and finding the soup or the meat sub par. People wouldn't stand for it, the stall will be under visited and they would close. When there's only one thing to be had and folks crowd around to get in on the action while ignoring the rest of the other stall you know you've found something good. 

I went to Oaxaca looking forward to a variety of foods that the state is justifiably famous for. Once again, it was something totally unexpected that keeps popping into my head several weeks later. Something to think about.