Hopping back on my bike in the morning nearly brings me to tears – I can feel my ass having an argument with my saddle, my ass trying to work things out with it, the saddle not wanting to budge. Nobody is really willing to compromise. Straight out of the shotgun of my radio comes a blast up to 3457 Ringsby Court. A new building with that chic metallic look that feels and looks like something from Woody Allen’s Sleeper. The art inside is filled with junk statues and found objects – it’s all very interesting in how it's constructed but seems like it might be trying a little to hard – but what do I know? It’s a bit of an effort getting out there and back into town, at least at eight in the morning – so I make sure that my iPod is filled with as much good riding music as I possibly can. It happens that on this morning Dizzee Rascal has come overseas to help me get my day started – I still need to write a letter to thank him for that.
After that it’s straight out to Cherry Creek for a few pick ups and down Colorado Boulevard and a couple on Cherry Street. It’s amazing the distances that once seemed so far before I was a messenger are a cakewalk now. The most asked question of a messenger in an elevator is “how many miles you do in a day?” generally asked by weekend warrior roadies or slightly overweight, looking to get their childhood back suits – and our answers are usually the same, “I don’t want to know.” It’s Ira Glass and This American Life that takes me to and from the Creek today. I wish that Ira Glass was my dispatcher – that man has a voice that could make a straight man swoon. Talking into the radio isn’t easy, and for messengers with Nextel it’s even worse. Some people’s voices turn into a gruff mumble, incomprehensible and slightly disgruntled, others sound like Hitler giving a speech, loud, screaming, frightening and the girls, man, most of the girls sound like a train crashing into a nails on the chalkboard.
The rest of the day flies by as a breeze, we are fairly busy, busy enough that I don’t have a lot of time to stop and think about anything. After a while you start blacking out your day. You’ll call in 10-2 (empty handed) and your dispatcher will ask you if you made your drop at 1050 17th and Gilpin and 621 17th and you’ll have to think hard about it. Did I go there? Sure I did, it’s not in my bag, I must have. -- Thorin Klosowski
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to Westword's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Denver's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
Thorin Klosowski is a bike messenger here in Denver. This week he's been kind enough to give us a look at his weekdaily life.