198 17
Panda
The last time I saw Panda I went to greet him with a first bump and he gave me a big bear hug.
His Laugh!
His real name is John.
The best laugh!
Panda’s the arbiter of taste in not just brilliant cyclist curation and photography, but in MUSIC.
He’s the only person I ride with I could talk about a CS-80 and he would know what I was banging on about.
Panda had this way of slinging your bike over his shoulders like it weighed nothing and magically fixing the chain/ brakes /derailleur/ whatever else, ad hoc.
He fixed my stupid bike for me so many times.
I’m not a strong cyclist and he often hung back just to make sure I didn’t feel like shit for not keeping up with everyone else.
When you’re knackered and you can’t do a thing but draft, he would happily pull you along on the “Panda Express” for miles and made it look so easy.
So humble.
I used to be sad that I knew so few women in cycling in LA. Panda was like, Louise: Meet Camila! Meet Priscilla! Meet Mary! Meet Sarah! Meet Julianna! And many more.
I’ve met countless wonderful people because Panda introduced us.
The biggest void.
I’m sure he’s hanging out with MF Doom in the sky.
