Customer Reviews

The Immortal Class: Bike Messengers and the Cult of Human Power

5 star:		(23)
4 star:		(15)
3 star:		(8)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(11)

 

 

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.

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.

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.

Culley's topic and his passion for it appeal to those who resist the road dominance of the infernal combustion engine, but I cannot recommend his book. The writing, and the thinking behind the writing, are sloppy and adolescent. Melodrama and self- aggrandizement abound. You suspect this from the start, with a glance at the title ("immortal" class?) and at the smarmy photos of the author on the jacket. After a few pages your suspicions are confirmed. Consider these examples:

1. "[The bicycle] is a philosophy, a way of life, and I am using it like a hammer to change the world and to redeem our war-torn cities."

2. "Cadence for cash and Money for miles -- these are the mantras of many a struggling genius."

3. "I began to feel that I was floating, softly looking down upon the city ... from this godlike view, all of my motion seemed effortless ... By the time I could envision a destination I would arrive there as if by magic. I would appear rested, and yet behind me would be the distant reflection of what I had just encountered and just overcome."

4. "Then unexpectedly, like a possessed man, channeling from the world of the dead, I spoke: 'Life sucks, but work is really cool.' ... I woke the next morning to don the armor again."

5. "You begin to see yourself as different, exempt from the so-called universal laws of life and death. This heightened feeling gives the messenger a confidence, a speed, and an agility of almost metaphysical proportions."

6. "I can do anything ... there is a certain space around me, like a force field ... I am untouchable, and everyone knows it. It is a matter of respect. Moving at the speed of commerce, shoveling through all the scales of mankind at once, saving the world all day long, I require at least that much respect."

7. "[T]he phone rang. It was Julie, a dancer and choreographer who was also my girlfriend *at the time*. (I seem to have girlfriends only *at times*. I am not sure why, but for me, love never seems to stick.)

8. "I hopped over the gray countertop, hoisted my bike onto my shoulder with a 'By this, ye shall conquer' kind of valor, and clamored out the front door, fully prepared, once again, to make my contribution to the world."

Such self-indulgence fills the book. Culley's chapters about getting doored and finding his way into messengering descend further into annoying self-study. Descriptions of burning through intersections are meant to impress, but they invite derision. Melodramatic passages about Critical Mass do not ring true. The pseudo-impressionism of the section about Jon Boub reduces both credibility and clarity.

Culley wants to reveal himself and fellow bike messengers in full complex humanity, but his over-the-top rhetoric miscarries him. In Culley's view, messengers (and cyclists in general) are fundamentally different from drivers. Such a view is misguided. Many drivers are also cyclists, and most cyclists are also drivers. Your attitude and patience will vary depending on which kind of vehicle (car or bike) you happen to be using. That's a crucial point and Culley misses it.

Bike messengers, and cyclists generally, need a book that depicts their on-the-road experience with accuracy and balance -- and that tells the story in a way that may really help non-cycling motorists understand. This book isn't it.

I admire Culley's energy and enthusiasm, and do not doubt his sincerity of purpose, but I can't give this book more than a single star.

This is a very passionate, intelligent and poetic report from a bike messenger/theater director/actor about his life, and the state of the world from his view point looking over the handle bars, dodging through traffic. Travis wants to write really, really, really well. He succeeds, but in the same way Mahler succeeds as a composer, the way Jackson Pollack succeeds as a painter, loading each moment to point of bursting. I forgave him the over-wrought quality of his writing because he is so earnest and tells such a great story. It is also a book with a conscience and easily raises your consciousness. Every mayor and transportation tzar of every major city in America would do well to read this book. For them it would be work, but for bike geeks like me it's just more fun.

This guy was a messenger for less than a year, and has "appropriated" anecdotes and memoirs from numerous veteran Chicago bike messengers under the pretext of doing an anthology about the job. When his perspective publisher told him he was only interested in his memoirs, he played fast and loose with stories, given to him in good faith, by people who have shed a lot more blood sweat and tears about "the job" than he ever has. Would you read the memoirs of a doctor, cop, soldier, or attorney who hadn't even done a full year's work? If you don't beleive me, read the article in the Chicago Reader, "Shoot The Messenger", where the above greivences are gone over in further detail. I'm sure his publicist thinks the contoversy is good for buisiness, as sure as Mr. Culley enjoyed his thirty thousand dollar advance. Please ruin both their days by avoiding this peice of pilfered, egocentric garbage, and look for Rebecca Riley's memoirs, if you can find them. She is a veteran messenger, and a superior human being.

Culley's book is a tour de force -- a dazzling, spirited take on the hidden culture of urban bicycle messengers as well as a thoughtful and incisive critique of the broader American reliance on automobiles. He's a writer with both power and scope, able to describe being "doored" by a brutally selfish woman in a taxicab with an immediacy that will make you catch your breath ("Can I go now?" the woman keeps asking the cop, while Culley lies bleeding in the street) and yet he can also explain how our culture and urban architecture almost demand that these kinds of events continue. As a practicing lawyer for several years, I frequently relied on bicycle messengers; yet I never understood what they risked and endured until I read Culley's book. I'm miserably ashamed of that ignorance right now. This book is a keeper, a blow-the-doors-out achievement that should be required reading for every commuter, urban professional, and adrenaline junkie on the planet. Buy it.

"The Immortal Class" is obviously a first book by an obviously gifted writer. To any boomer, even a cycling boomer, who lives in the 'burbs, Mr. Culley's book represents, in one volume, a double eye-opener to both the life of a bike courier and the importance of thoughtful city planning. As such, this book is actually two books artfully interweaved into one. The reader is both fascinated by the details and challanges of the world in which the urban bike messenger functions, as well as educated by Mr. Culley's interspersed treatise on urban planning as it relates to eco-friendly transportation. What is so significant about this book is that it moves suburban, automobile-dependant (and even Republican) individuals, such as myself, to rethink the applicability of human powered transportation as a viable alternative. I originally purchased this book because I have always been an avid (and sometimes competitive) cyclist. I finished this book re-evaluating my view of transportation. Even though the subject matter jumps around a bit, it is both an entertaining and thought provoking read. I highly recommend it! On Monday, I'll be riding my bike to work.

I've read numerous biographies, most of which are veteran recollections of WWII or Vietnam. Harrowing stuff, but each one is similar: The authors state the story 'as is' without self grandizing themselves. Travis, on the other hand, thinks he's God's gift to the world, that messengers are some kind of elite angelic class put on the planet to battle against the rest of us. God, he goes on and on thumping his chest at every opportunity. I was really looking forward to a straight on biography about a bike messenger. THAT would be interesting. I certainly didn't expect to read about a guy who puts himself and bike couriers above the rest of us.

Allow me to quote a small paragraph. This is when he puts his goggles on. <groan>
"The force field comes on the moment I set a pair of clear protective glasses across my eyes. I can't work without them. They are all the protection I get from the social clatter, the dire poverty, and the proudly overbearing ignorance that these streets can offer. They are not just for dust and wind. They protect me from a well-deserverd cynicism about the human race in an arena where all divisions between us as people are revealed in horrific nudity. I see the stress and hardship hidden beneath our paper-thin presentations of kindness. I see the diseases of our everyday lives bury themselves beneath a thin veneer of language, and I have got to just live with it, openly, brotherly, constantly; everything - constantly."

---- man, i gotta get myself a pair of those glasses.... the book is filled with monologues like this. I'm sure most people won't want to read it - they bought this book to read about the life of bike messengers, not to attend Travis' self-grandizing church sermons.

Reviewer: A reader from Chicago, IL United States wrote
"The Immortal Class is a book with endless potential, but Culley let's his bloated ego and misinformed angst get in the way."

Bloated ego?? Misinformed angst?? Did I read the SAME book as this person who chose not to name themselves in their review???

I don't even remember how I ended up buying this book, to be honest. Perhaps a recommendation when searching authors or something, but I'm thrilled I did. Seems everyone else (who have said POSITIVE things!) has stated my feelings about this book - I loved it. (And every one of the 4 different bike messengers who have come into my place of employment has read this book and loved it as well.) I just wanted to say that Travis Culley HAS reached his potential. His powers of observation are unparalleled. His insight into human behaviors is right on. His passion is intense. His ability to put into words his every movement, feeling, ache and pain so that it transfers from the page straight to the reader seems effortless. It's a wonderful read. Pure and simple. I hated finishing the book, and I'll miss my lunch 1/2 hours that I spent reading it, which I called "lunch with Travis." All I want to know now is... what's next, Trav??