Slow News - January Edition Hi Neighbors, Happy New Year! ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

*Take 16, January 3rd, 2026 *

Slow News.

Hi Neighbors,

This month, it’s me, Jay.

My grandma smoked More 120s, those long brown cigarettes that looked like something a villain would hold in a film about divorce, and she drank scotch with water on the rocks, and she was a monster. She used to say I can't win for losing with you and she meant it as a knife.

But here's the thing about that phrase, that idiom, that little piece of poison dressed up as folksy resignation: it's stupid. It's grammatically and spiritually stupid. You can win for losing. You can win while losing. You can win because of losing, or in spite of it, or alongside it, the way joy sits next to grief at the same table and neither one asks the other to leave.

I got married last week.

I got married last week and it was beautiful and perfect and there's a war in Gaza and children are being buried under rubble and America is eating itself from the inside out, again, still, forever maybe, and the world is a dumpster fire dressed in a flag, and I stood in front of the people I love and promised myself to a woman who cackles. She cackles, joyfully, the way villains do in movies except she's not a villain, she's just someone who cackles. I celebrate while many things degrade. I'm going to be happy in a burning room because the room is always burning, the room has always been on fire, and you can either drink your scotch and tell everyone they're the reason you can't win or you can dance anyway (except while I did dance, I don’t know about dancing, you guys).

Mary asked me once if I was worried that someday she'd be sick of me.

Yes, I said. Of course. Yes.

And she said she'd never be sick of me, she swore it, and I said: but I'll be old. Cantankerous. Crusty. Broken. I'll have dementia, probably, God forbid, and I'll be mean. I can already feel the seedlings of it in me, the places where I'm hardening, the spots that will calcify into something sharp and difficult. I will be a problem. I will be a burden. I will forget your name and say cruel things and not remember saying them.

And Mary said: Me too!

And then: Are you gonna be sick of me?

And I said: Of course. Of course I will. But I'm not worried about it. I'm okay with being sick of you.

Because that's the thing my grandma never understood, with her long brown cigarettes and her ice cubes melting into the scotch and her phrases designed to wound: you can win for losing. You can be sick of someone and still choose them. You can watch the world collapse and still get married. You can hold despair in one hand and hope in the other and you don't have to put either one down. Losing doesn't prohibit your ability to win. It never did.

I can't win for losing, she said, and she was wrong. She was wrong about so much.

I can win. I am winning. I will win even when I'm losing, especially when I'm losing, because Mary cackles like someone who knows the joke and the joke is that we're all hurtling towards death and we get to love each other anyway.

My grandma is dead now. The cigarettes got her or the scotch got her or the cruelty got her or just time got her, the way time gets everyone, and I don't miss her. I don't miss her and I got married last week and the world is a nightmare and I am happy and these things are all true at once.

Jay

We are all winning because we live in San Francisco, because we have each other, because we know the joy of the bicycle. We are winning because we have unlocked the secret of community. We have discovered the unforgettable feeling of riding to the beach at night with a group of friends to drink a cup of tea while classical music carries through the fog.

This Thursday, January 8th, we are leading our FIRST ANNUAL “To the Beach and Bach” Night Moves Community Bike Ride (what a mouthful geez). There will be Bach, there will be radios strapped to racks, thrown in baskets, and balanced on shoulders (if we’re really feeling the vibe). There will be hot tea and cider. There will be an accompaniment of tires on pavement, and there will be YOU. Bring your lights (if you’ve got em), bring a mug, bring a jacket (or two), and bring the whimsy that exists within you, that makes you cackle at the moon and bask in the glory of the night.

Meet at 521 Balboa Street @ 7:15

Roll at 7:30

Leave with joy in your heart, musics in your ears, and memories in your mind. Add to your Calendar!

On the 15th, we’ll be teaching this month’s rotating Mechanic’s Class. This month’s topic - Tubeless Repair. We’ll teach you everything you need to know to patch your tubeless holes and rips and gashes. We’ll show you how to add sealant and keep your wheels rollin’. Show up ready to get your hands a little dirty and walk out of the shop with a new set of skills. Sign up Here!

And as always, the last Thursday of every month (January 29th) is Community Night. 7:00 to 9:00. Stop by, have a drink, join a conversation, and remind yourself that this is what it is all about.

We’ll see you soon, we beg. We yearn to be in your presence, all of you, all at once, or one at a time. Our hearts are full when we lead a ride of 65 people, and when a neighbor stops by on a Tuesday at 2:30 to say hi. Our commitment to keeping our doors open to serve our friends and neighbors is a gift to us above all, so, we’ll see you soon. Visit Our Website!

Scenic Routes Community Bicycle Center, 521 Balboa Street, San Francisco, United States

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