Yeah, it’s me – the bad penny has turned up again. I know a lot of you are thoroughly p*ssed off with me, and rightly so. Whether you’re one of those or not, you’re part of my extended family and deserve an explanation why I fell off the planet several months ago.

Twenty-one years ago I started doing methamphetamine. Like anyone who ends up with a substance abuse problem, it began innocently enough; I didn’t get up one morning and say, “I think I’ll become a drug addict.”, but I did. It starts out being fun, then it becomes fun but with some problems. Then it’s a problem that’s still fun, and eventually it’s just a problem. Over the years I accomplished a lot of things in the company of meth that I’m still proud of, but unfortunately I can’t remember how I did a lot of it. That’s one of the big rubs; if you don’t sleep you don’t lock in short-term memories. Then there’s the health and financial concerns, and yada, yada, yada. You’ve all heard this part before and I won’t bore you with it.

I kept on for quite a while, rationalizing that I couldn’t afford the time it would take to get well; I couldn’t keep up the decal business and probably couldn’t even flip bikes while I tried to get cleaned up. Eventually I came to the realization I couldn’t do anything if I was dead (rocket science, huh?), and one day I just decided I couldn’t do it any longer. I stopped answering the phone, I stopped answering e-mail, I pretty much crawled into a hole and pulled it in behind me. But I stopped doing meth, too.

I could’ve – and should’ve – done it with more class; I left a lot of people hanging. I should’ve told you guys what was happening but I couldn’t. It’s pretty hard to admit to yourself you’ve got a problem, let alone tell anyone else – even though they may have already figured it out. I was ashamed; I couldn’t face up to talking about it, and was afraid if I did and fell off the wagon it would only be worse. I’ve slipped a couple times, and while I don’t take anything for granted I’m at a point now where I think I may finally have the upper hand.

It hasn’t been pleasant. I couldn’t get out of bed for several weeks, and once I did I was thick as a plank. It’s hard to explain the appeal of meth to someone who hasn’t had experience with it; it’s very seductive. It’ll light your neocortex up like you wouldn’t believe. I could figure out how to rid my computer of spyware without the benefit of Google; I could pick up a guitar and play a song I hadn’t thought of in 20 years. It’s really easy to become accustomed to being smarter than you really are, and really hard to get used to being dumber than you were on drugs. I can get out of bed and function now; I’ve built a couple bikes, but it took a looooooong time. It’s kind of like the world’s longest hangover with no idea how long it’ll last.

Dope didn’t kill Velographic, though; it only drove in the last nail. Without my own production equipment I could never control quality, costs, or delivery times to the degree I felt necessary to ensure good service, a good product, and a reasonable price. I’m sure any number of people could’ve made it work, but it turned out to be beyond my modest abilities as a businessman. It all started with my old Raleigh and bigbossman’s Mondia, and I never dreamed it would try to grow into a business, but it did and along the way I was privileged to get to know the greatest bunch of people anyone could want to meet.

What to do then, to make things right if I can. I’ve let a lot of folks down; my wife, my friends, and the vintage bike community. Money’s tight, I have no means of production, but I can still draw and the Velographic library is intact. I don’t expect everyone to just let bygones be bygones – that wouldn’t be the fair or right way to treat people that have become my friends and teachers the past few years. Those of you that were left with paid jobs hanging, contact me; we’ll work something out. To everyone else, Velographic may be toast, but I’d still like to make a contribution to the community however I can, even if it’s by getting lost.

Mike