If you’re a parent, you have some idea of how the birth of a child is supposed to go. After the most intense experience of the mother’s life (and sometimes the dad’s, too), a baby pops out, the nurses clean it up and then mom gets to hold her baby, skin-to-skin. In our case, when Matthew was born, they had to save his life and then whisk him away to a neonatal intensive care unit. We never even had a chance to touch him, let alone hold him. The urgency was surreal, so was watching his heart rate drop.
When playing drums in a rock and roll band didn't turn at to be as lucrative as he'd hoped, Padraig left his hometown of Memphis to pursue an MFA in poetry at UMASS Amherst. Writing about his other love, bicycles, seemed a natural progression; certainly it paid better than either poetry or rock music. His work has appeared everywhere from Bicycling Magazine to the LA Times. His feature, "My Day With Ilya," won a Lowell Thomas Award for travel writing. These days he lives in Sonoma County, California, where he attempts to inspire his two demitasse ninja with the wonder of bikes. Favorites: flavor: maple; wine: Boheme Pinot Noir; beer: Russian River Pliny the Elder; neurochemical: dopamine; poetry: Andrew Hudgins; fiction: Thomas Pynchon; music: David Sylvian; comedy: Firesign Theater; event: 8-Hours of Wente.