105 of 115 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
for posers, by a poser, January 22, 2003
This review is from: The Immortal Class: Bike Messengers and the Cult of Human Power (Paperback)
I spent about about 8 years off and on as a messenger. There's a lot to love: freedom and 6% body fat, but by the end of my run, I looked around and saw people my age buying houses and going on vacations, while I was stuck with $20 grand in back taxes and hospital bills. That said, here's my take on this tome.
Imagine one of those evolutionary lines where you see Neanderthals at one end and Homo sapiens at the other. Picture four messengers in that line. We all start at one end, and slowly progress, if we're lucky.
The first messenger has seen Quicksilver one too many times. He/she lasts anywhere from a week to a month, suddenly dresses "messenger cool" 24/7, stands around in the square conspicuously checking their pager, goes to "messenger bars" at happy hour, gets off on themselves and generally poses. They last until one of the following happens: "hit and quit," their bike falls apart, they realize that they are expected to do hard work (as a rookie, low paying grunt work), or the first rain/snowstorm/cold snap hits. If they stick it out, they turn into...
Messenger #2, the worst of the bunch. Stronger, faster, maybe they've modded their bike or gear so they really looks the part. Problem is, they're really just hotdogging most of the time, making us all look bad. Going 25 mph on sidewalks, breaking all traffic laws for kicks, cursing at anyone who dares cross their paths, punching cars, and just being unruly for the fun of it. If you ever see a messenger with a whistle in their mouth, this is messenger #2. Unfortunately, most civilians think this is what being a messenger is. Of course pros break the rules, especially for a bank run, or a court run, or when you're just plain slogged, but most experienced messengers will tell you that riding within the law 85% of the time actually helps keep you alive, out of jail, and sane (blowing red lights doesn't count:).
I'm going to skip ahead to the end of the evolutionary line, to the LAST messenger: the "lifer" or "careerier." They are 28-35, with a different bike for every type of weather, they never have their hands stained with grease from roadside repairs, and even their "junker" bike is nicer than anything you have. They are quiet, calm, fast, they ignore you and everyone else, and when they race, they wear baggy shorts just to send a message to the spandex crowd. Aloof and elite. Zen, but with lots of ego and attitude, if that's possible.
Messenger 3 is *everyone* else, and about 60% of them fit this mold. They are somewhere in between, in terms of appearance, skills, and attitude. They have been hit enough times to know when to just get out of the way. When somebody flips them off, they say "havagoodone!" You just can't go through life teaching driving lessons to everyone out there. Some are college dropouts, some have Master's degrees, they are triathletes, potheads, ubercyclists on titanium rigs, or just riding Huffys in their jeans. They have identities beyond the bike. These are the cool messengers, the kind you end up hanging out with, if you're lucky.
Which brings me back to Travis' book. Flatly put, he is a hotdogger near the beginning of the line, but from reading his book, you'd think he invented the job. To say his prose is purple is an understatement. He goes on for a page and a half about his wide-eyed wonder at someone doing a track skid. His response to his first "Critical Mass" ride was ridiculous: "People just like me!"...like he's an eskimo in the desert.
When this book came out, according to a story in the Chicago Reader, he had worked the job for 8 months, dug up everyone's stories under the plan of writing an "anthology," and ended up passing them off as his own. Along the way, he nominated himself the spokesmodel for the angry young proletariat.
I realize this book is in the "fiction" category, and an author should be able to take *some* liberties, but it's really more than that. It's about doing $2 runs when the snow is falling, you're sore from taking a spill in a slush puddle, you're soaked and cold, and you still have to keep it up for another 7 hours. Repeat for months or years, until one sunny day, along comes Johnnyboy Hotdog who goes and writes a book about how fun it is to ride in traffic, and how it makes him the Jesus Christ of 21st century America. I, along with a couple other couriers, could hardly read this book without loud violent outbursts. I suppose your take on it all depends where you stand in the lineup.
Just my two cents. If you want to read the messenger encyclopedia, check out Rebecca 'Lambchop' Reilly's self-published book "Nerves of Steel." I'll be honest, it's not *like* reading a diary, it IS a diary, all 300+ pages of it. Without the benefit of a good editor, it certainly has its problems, but hey, it was a labor of love. She worked in at least ten cities around the world, and scoped out the courier scene in a bunch more. Her coverage of the cities I worked in was spot-on, and I found friends from ten years back mentioned in it. It does a great job of painting the messenger "scene" in a number of cities, without demanding that you sign on for her epiphanic self-realizations. For some reason, it's not always available on Amazon, but you can still dig it up on the web.
Between its transparently staged existence, over-the-top prose, and force-fed values, I'd say skip this one. There are decent photos of some ripped Chicago messengers in there, whose stories were used in some form or another. Too bad they didn't write the book.
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12 of 12 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Commendable but Contradictory..., July 2, 2001
This ambitious memoir tries to do two things at once: be a gritty "insider" account of the world of bike messengers, and a impassioned protest against the dominant presence of automobiles in America. While it succeeds moderately at both, Culley's overblown, melodramatic prose often interferes with the flow of the great material he has to work with and undermines its impact. Culley approach is to interweave his own story of moving to Chicago to pursue theater only to turn to messengering to pay the bills, with the larger story of how cars have transformed our concepts of public space and community in both disturbing and far-reaching ways. And as befits his theater background, he saves his most searing material for the end.
His stuff on messengering is excellent when he sticks to the nuts and bolts "how to" stuff of negotiating traffic, battling cold weather, dealing with a cranky bicycle, the camaraderie of messengers, and especially in describing the "flow." His explanation of how bike messengers can get into the "flow," and see how traffic, pedestrians, and lights, will play out blocks ahead, is the best representation I've come across, and is the best defense possible for why bike messengers ride so seemingly crazy. His comparison of the differences in sensory input between bike rider and car driver is striking in its simplicity and impact. His descriptions of riding the streets of Chicago at top speeds are vivid, cinematic, and a section on a wee hours messenger race through deserted streets is intense.
Culley is much less interesting when he starts trying to explain why messengering is so noble, and he veers off into outbursts against officer "suit" types as he tries to expound on the nobility of work that makes you sweat and bleed. Indeed, one of the central contradictions (and thus weaknesses) of the book is that while Culley is busy railing against the corporate world and smirking about how his messenger takings are comparable money to that of salaried office drones, he fails to fully acknowledge that he's just another part of the corporate machine, delivering blueprints and contracts from one corporation to another. It's a rather inconvenient paradox in Culley's existence, one that he is obviously too smart not to recognize, but rather prefers to ignore, hoping that the reader will allow him to have it both ways.
When Culley writes about the American obsession with cars and their negative impact on communities, he becomes rather more formal and earnest. He gives a quite readable account of the rise of the automobile and its stranglehold on transportation planning since WWII. While none of this is new or particularly insightful, he does make a convincing plea for greater attention to and respect for bicyclists. As with much of the book, his attempt to portray the bike messenger as organically linked to the oppressive beast that is the city is romantically overblown and borderline parody. However, it's hard not to get swept up in some of his dreaming about car-free cities, and equally hard not to get angry at local governments who lack the imagination to relinquish at least some portion of the road to cyclists--or at least protect them.
In the end, the books loses 1 star for the editor's failure to reign in the worst excesses of Travis's writing and for not providing a map of Chicago. It loses another star for failing to address the central contradiction of bike messenger life: counterculture, free spirit image vs. corporate errand boy reality.
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10 of 10 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Beauty Found in the Gritty City, March 24, 2001
Travis H. Culley writes a stirring love letter to both the city of Chicago and the profession/culture of bike messengers. It is such a rare accomplishment to conjure the unexpected romance and beauty of these two unique worlds. Culley situates his colorful and real characters, (fast, philosophical bike messengers), in a Chicago that seems to be of their own design. The Amoco building becomes the "Oil Can," and the NBC Tower becomes the "Peacock." Messengers become one with their cities and construct their own language and geography to navigate through them. Culley's descriptions convey not only a knowledge of the culture of Chicago messengers but a deserved respect that they have never been afforded before. Culley authorizes messengers to own the city, as they should, because it is they who truly know and feel its rhythm and texture. This book is fun to read because of its passionate representation of one of the wildest, most invigorating and most misunderstood professions. Regardless of your background (young or old, 'knowing urban' or sheltered, rich or poor), if you are not fortunate enough to know a real Chicago bike messenger, you must buy Culley's book and be initiated into the most textured, fun, and fast paced culture around. Culley has the rare talent of being able to place his readers right into the action. Readers interact immediately with Bobcat, Pork Chop, Bones, and Superdave in this whirlwind virtual tour. Culley's book inspires, as it debunks myths and stereotypes about messengers and evokes the beauty of their unexpected reality. They are athletes, they are philosophers, they are the most loyal of friends to one another, and the freedom they enjoy daily will inspire you to quit your day job and join the immortal class.
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