Stop 'n smell em...

"Stop 'N Smell Em" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

 Been a minute. Probably shouldn't have been. Probably should've been writing something down, letting things out.

Stop 'n smell em, even if they ain't roses, see something more than yourself. There's beauty everywhere if you get out of your own way to see it. Take the time to escape to sunny places, avoid the dark crevices between your ears.

Good times (if you let em)!

It's that time of year again...

"It's Texas, it's the law" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

I did basically this same thing last year. Consistency is key. It's Texas, it's not hard to get a pic like this this time of year, and it's beyond a cliche'...but you knew that. It was a beautiful day out today, so I couldn't help it.

March had some fun in it. This iMac I'm hammering away on decided to take a dump. Tech guy said it was the hard drive, so we replaced it...then the journey through hell began. Restoring a computer sucks, there's no other way to say it. Trying to restore a computer from Apple's Time Machine is supposed to be super easy...it sorta is, especially if you want it really screwed up. Sometimes new systems don't want to have anything to do with old ones, restoring from a back up of a bad drive can also be problematic. Yippee. Spent a couple days trying to restore from back up, limped along with it...then decided to drop the bomb, gut it again and do a clean re-install. It's working better. Kinda. It's becoming evident that possibly more was wrong with the old machine than just the drive. Might be Mac shopping soon.

Rain. Mud. No trails. Had to get the pedal on. Took my show on the road. I'd almost ALWAYS rather off road then on road...but I had all these lemons and I was thirsty. The worst day of riding is better than blah blah blah, and other catchy and/or motivational type tripe.

Good Times!

Ch-ch-changes...

"Out In The Sticks" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

 New year, new me? Nah, of course not, I've been on this particular road to ruin this long...might as well see where it ends up. I did, however, make the monumental...NAY! STUPENDOUS! I did, however, make the STUPENDOUS decision to change up the accompanying photo style with these here random rambles.

When I started doing this, I thought a cohesive/through look would maintain a certain vibe. Problem is/was, what the hell's that vibe? I was digging the retro oversaturated look...but it also looked painfully like an old IG post. So from here on out...something different each time. Why? The whole point of this little nug of narcissism was to stretch my skill set with writing and picture making. I'll let you, dear reader, judge to whatever level of success.

This shot was taken 2/03/25 at Dana Peak Park in Harker Heights, Tx. My bike is about 6' off the trail, balanced in the aftermath of May 24's flooding. I hadn't been down to this area since right after the floods, when it was still impassable. Ol' mom nature can wreck some havoc when she gets in a mood, but this is an oddly peaceful destruction...a natural upheaval.

Meh, enough of that. Okey dokey Bat fans, strap in and let's take a ride...see where we end up.

Good times!

It's the New Year! Who wants a resolution?

Here it comes, barreling at you like a hopped up spider monkey—2025, baby, and I’m kicking off with my annual anti-resolution resolution. That’s right. Pass on the promises, dodge the self-improvement platitudes, and swerve hard away from the "dang, I didn't learn Origami this year" guilt spiral. Who needs another regret in the dumpster fire of modern existence? Not me, amigo.

One bike ride logged this year. One. And the art? Less than that. Am I sweating it? Not yet. The real world has yanked my leash lately, and while paying attention to it isn’t my A-game, I’m trying. If I learned one thing from G.I. Joe, "knowing is half the battle". The other half? I’m guessing bullshit and duct tape, but don’t quote me on that.

Let’s talk 2024. Oh yeah, it brought its fair share of ass kicks and bitch slaps. Newsflash: 2023 wasn’t a picnic either. And guess what? 2025 will probably come at ya too. That’s the deal, folks. Life shows up, punches your ticket, and rides you around the sun whether you’re grinning or grimacing. The secret sauce? Somewhere in that maelstrom of chaos, there’s also love, laughs, and moments that make you wanna throw your head back and howl at the moon. Focus on those. Ignore the rest—or at least try to.

But wait, let’s circle back—because I lied...

"Resolve This" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

There is one tiny little resolution, buried under all this blather. Not really a resolution. More like a grudge match between me and a chunk of dirt. There’s this 25-foot section of trail I’ve never conquered, at least not this direction. It's not as flat as it looks, weird angles, obbstacles straight out of Beelzebubba’s design catalog. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of attempts, and every time it spits me out like gas station Sushi. But 2025 is the year. It’s not a resolution, damn it. It’s a goal. And goals? Goals are made to be CRUSHED. Good GOB, could I be any more cheesy? Most likely.

Here’s the final scoop: take care of yourself. Take care of others too, if you’ve got the bandwidth. Why slap a time limit on it? Forget “new year, new me.” Just keep trying to be less of a dick every day. Improvements? Sure, let’s sprinkle those in.

Good Times.

2 Wheeled Escape Pod...

2 Wheeled Escape Pod © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 My first memories of riding a bike, other than "Weeee" or "Oh ssshhhiiittt", were "where can I go?" My world grew exponentially with a bike. Boundaries were established by those that do those sorts of things, looking at you mom and dad, and quickly ignored by those that do those sorts of things. If I wanted to go somewhere, and it was feasible in my continually bored prepubescent mind on my Free Spirit 20", I went. I was curious, I wanted to see more, and do more than my normal life offered. I wanted to escape.

I wasn't escaping anything bad. No abuse or neglect horror stories, just good ol' white bread "Merkin" living. I needed to see something else, do something else, so I got on my bike and I rode. As I got older, 12 or so, I had a new love in my life, skateboarding. Until I was old enough to drive I pedaled to spots WAY outside the approved boundaries. My bike and board my constant companions.

When cars entered the picture and the range of my escapes could increase, the bike got set aside. I always had one and always wanted to at least kinda be into them, but my devotion slipped. My board stayed handy, but now instead of the ditch across town I could pedal to...I was hitting something a few towns over.

I'm older now. I still love skateboarding. The friends I made, the things I did and saw will be with me forever. So will the titanium hips. When skating was done for me, I'd already been revisiting my first love for a while. I don't feel bad, it was never an exclusive relationship. I've owned and ridden mountain bikes since the late 80s, but since skating has left me the spark has been relit.

I'm still escaping. There's still nothing bad, but I still gotta get away. The trail in the picture above is 5 minutes from my front door. It may as well be on the other side of the planet. When I'm there, or somewhere like there, I'm gone. The usual melon melodramas may go down, anxiety, like rust, never sleeps, but I've escaped and can contend with them.

The past few months I've been riding with a good buddy. If I'm being honest, I was a little worried about it at first. Riding was MY escape...sharing it seemed high sacrilege. Turns out to be a reminder of those early escape days when I could talk a neighborhood friend into going on an adventure, so that doesn't suck. Still escaping AND sharing a laugh.

I hope to be able, and want, to get on a bike and go for a whole lotta more years. I will always need to escape.

When you get bucked off...

"Bucked Off" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 

There’s that old cowboy mantra — "When you get bucked off, get back on!" — rattling around in my head like a rock in a hubcap. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for motivational nonsense. Those kitten posters telling me to “hang in there” just make me wanna roll my eyes. Sure, hope the little furball makes it, but seriously, we all got our own battles, right? Suck it up, buttercup. (Kidding… mostly.) No one deserves to go through hell, but do we really need discount hobby shop wall art screeching “Live, Laugh, Love” at us like some demented suburban mantra? Makes me wanna “Hurl, Puke, Vomit.”

Dammit… I’ve drifted off the trail here. Focus.

Okay, so picture this: I’m just your average overgrown manchild, who, in a moment of misguided showboating, managed to “injure” himself. Yeah, injured. Nick, my ever-wise buddy, pointed that out. “You didn’t get hurt, man. You injured yourself.” And damn it, he’s right. It’s been a while since I’ve been legitimately injured, and I guess I’d just forgotten that it could still happen. I’ve never been the gnar god, with skateboarding or mountain bikes, keeping it relatively low key — just trying to stay around maybe a “twist your ankle if you mess up” level. But, you know, sometimes life will give you a taste of knuckle sammich.

Fast forward to today. My third ride since getting cleared to run free again. Back at the scene of the crime, BLORA. Knocked out a solid 10 miles, the sun shining, wind in my face, and — miracle of miracles — no trips to the ER.

(Side note: tried to do this on Tuesday, but forgot my helmet like the aforementioned manchild I am. I took it as a sign from the Ride Gods, packed up, and went home. No tantrums, no broken bones, just a wounded ego.)

Now, on the way back home, I pass another trail — Miller Springs. The legs were feeling like they were plugged into an electrical socket, so I thought, why not? Stopped and knocked out a few more miles of a favorite hunk of trail still recovering from tornado redecorating.

So now here I am, tapping out this rambling mess of thoughts. Bottom line? I got bucked off, but I’m back on, baby. Feeling invincible, ready to tackle the world, and hey, there’s some amazing leftover vittles waiting for me. Life’s good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some vacuuming to do and some scrubbing bubbles to set loose.

Have Fun!

After the fall...

 

"After the fall" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

August 19th, 2024. The calendar said it was a Monday, but my gut told me it was a victory lap. Another morning ride, then home for some graphic freelance magic, or maybe diving in to some domestic duty. Routine, right? Wrong. That day, I was cocky. Strutting around like a peacock with a death wish, thinking I was king of the trail. Looking back, I was overconfident, underprepared, and setting myself up for a date with gravity.

It wasn’t even a big jump. Hell, on the scale of extreme, it barely registered—a blip. But let me tell you, no amount of "visualize it, manifest it" was gonna save me when my shoulder met earth like grandma’s old Lincoln and her neighbor’s cat. Yeah, that hurt. Bad.

Fast forward six long weeks. I’ve scrolled through the entirety of the internet at least four times, mountain biking vids on repeat. Normal folks, superhero freaks—they all have something I was dying to get back: freedom on two wheels. Watching those videos? Torture. The real kind. The “you can look but don’t touch” brand of hell.

Yesterday, I went for the six-week follow-up with the doc. Good news? No surgery. But, surgery’s still on the table if I feel like playing mad scientist with my skeleton. Right now, the shoulder’s a little funky—like I could moonlight as the bell ringer at Notre Dame, but it’s not causing trouble. Just hanging out, reminding me it's there. Doc hit me with the “at your age” spiel, but wrapped it up with a casual, “Take it easy out there.”

So today, I took it as easy as I could stand. Eleven miles—part road, part off-road dirt—just a test run. Legs? Still kicking. Lungs? Holding up. Not bad. A few bone-rattling moments made it clear the shoulder isn’t 100% yet, but not in an “oh shit, I’m broken” kind of way. More like a friendly reminder: “We’ll get there, just not today.”

And you know what? Even after those measly 11 miles, I felt like a GAWD! Like I’d shed 50 pounds of funk, frustration, and futility. The comeback is real, and it’s on!

Have Fun!