Going Down Hard: Saucy Kangaroos and Spicy Videos

Despite my belief in always sparing readers from my personal problems, the truth is there are some difficulties which are too great for me to bear alone. One such example was a couple of weeks ago when I got sick. Now, I find myself in need of support once again, for in "curating" The Great Meh BSNYC Free Scat Contest! I have been subjected to tales so woeful as to desiccate even the most exuberant soul. Following is an excerpt from one such account, which only proves that our existence is as cruel as it is meaningless:

Riding to work on a fire road at 4.30am I had coming together with a bloody big Western Red kangaroo. I spotted the stupid bastard in my helmet-mounted-eBay-purchased-from-Hong-Kong extra sthpecial seven-candlepower light with enough time to say "watchout ya stupid f*cker", it then proceeded to change direction twice before hopping and propping right in front of me. Those bastards are hard. And big. Make no mistake there's no cuddling kangaroos. I'm about 190 pounds and he had at least another 50 on me. We both went down and somehow I ended up spooning him momentarily. That was just before he decided to give me a swift kick in the groin. He sprung up like nothing had happened, took his first leap using my front wheel as a trampoline and disappeared into the darkness.

It only gets worse from there. A kick to the "pants yabbies" from a kangaroo is bad enough, but to also lose your bike in the process is an indignity of Jobian proportions. (That's "Jobian," as in the biblical figure Job, and not "Jobstian," as in serial retrogrouch and uber-curmudgeon Jobst Brandt. Jobstian stories are generally Bunyanesque tall tales involving things like sealing tires with spoiled milk and extruding MA2 rims in the forest with your teeth.) By the way, if you doubt the validity of the kangaroo story, I was also suspicious. However, I did some checking, and it turns out the submission comes from Australia. As it happens, Australia is the pretty much the only place in which Western Red kangaroos--or really any kangaroos--are found in the wild (though I think there may also be some in New Guinea, home of the penis gourd), and this is a little-known fact of which the average confidence artist would be unlikely to be aware. Also, if you're wondering what kind of person rides to work on a fire road at 4:30am, do keep in mind that he is Australian, so he's probably just your typical accountant or other white collar professional. There are very few actual paved roads and buildings "Down Under," and most people live and work in hollowed-out trees. Moreover, they live in constant terror of kangaroos, and so they tend to commute before dawn under cover of darkness

Despite my immense sympathy for the victim, though, please know that he is not necessarily going to win the Scattante. I merely wanted to give readers a taste of the bitter tonic I must constantly imbibe, and at this point the Scattante is still very much "up for grabs." However, I would like to stress that whoever does win the Scattante should emphatically not equip it with this "book caddy" from Performance, which was brought to my attention by a number of readers:

I should not have to point out that reading while cycling is extremely dangerous--more so even than listening to music. This is something I can say from experience, because while I mentioned the other day that I crashed into a beer truck this past summer, what I did not include was the fact that I was reading Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" at the time. This is a book that is as pants-yabbies-twistingly emotional as it is engrossing, and it's both Jobian and Jobstian. Anyway, there I was, riding and crying, and before I even had a chance to insert a bookmark to hold my place I found myself flying over the handlebars of my Empire State Courier and Euro-kissing the Bud Light logo like an overly-amorous podium girl.

Speaking of how not to use your Scattante, while I really have no control over what the winner does with it, I would implore him or her not to use it for epicurean adventures. No, the appropriate bicycle for such excursions is the Globe, as we all know from watching the web TV series "Pedaling: NYC." Such have been the rigors of my curatorial responsibilities that I have fallen an episode behind in my viewing, and have only just watched Episode 3, entitled "Sweet and Savory:"

At my age (I lie somewhere within the coveted 18-65 marketing demographic) I should know by now never to judge people solely upon their appearance. Still, when I first set eyes on the burly protagonist of "Sweet and Savory," my immediate impression was, "This guy is going to ride out to Coney Island and eat the fuck out of some Nathan's." I could not have been more wrong. In fact, he is a very affable and erudite British-accented man named Behroush Sharifi, and he's a spice importer known as "The Saffron King." Here's the King throwing a leg over a Globe:

This episode of "Pedaling" breaks with tradition a bit in that there's a lot more narration from the Saffron King than there was from the Fixie Crew in Episode 1 or the roadies in Episode 2. The Saffron King expresses his enthusiasm for cycling articulately and in a manner to which many of us can undoubtedly relate. "Every single time I get on my bicycle, it's a whole new adventure," he says. "I feel free."

I don't doubt the Saffron King's claim, though I must say that most of the time he's riding he also appears terrified:

Perhaps he was once the victim of a kangaroo attack. That kind of trauma will stay with you.

Also noteworthy is the Saffron King's approach to clothing, as he is clearly one of those people who wears shorts well into the colder months. Personally, I find the effect disorienting, since his heavily-clothed upper half is completely at odds with his scantily-clad lower half and I feel like I'm looking at two seasons at once. Basically, it's October upstairs:

But it's still July downstairs:

Even more disorienting is the music, which is incredibly tedious. I'm not sure who the artist is, but it sounds like The Breeders on Thorazine.

Eventually, the Saffron King, whose riding has been quite subdued until now, powers his Globe onto the sidewalk:


And then dismounts and enters the Blue Ribbon Bakery, leaving his bicycle completely unlocked and unattended:


Perhaps I misinterpreted the Saffron King's look of terror and it was actually one of discomfort. It could be that he hates his Globe, and that he's hoping it will get stolen so he can win a Scattante. I wonder if I've received a submission from him. You'd think this episode was filmed well before I even came up with the contest idea, but then again the King's multi-seasonal wardrobe makes it completely impossible to determine when it was made. Anyway, here's the Saffron King meeting the baker:


At this point, the Saffron King begins to withdraw plastic bags full of "spices" from his pannier:

If a bearded and ponytailed man who rides around town delivering powder in Ziploc bags seems suspicious to you, you're not the only one:

I haven't seen dealing this flagrant since Cheech & Chong's "Nice Dreams." Meanwhile, here's the scene outside the Blue Ribbon Bakery:

I know they're foreign policemen, but when you're taking on a criminal like Behroush Sharifi--street name "The Saffron King"--you need an international task force.

Anyway, presumably now higher than Tom Boonen on payday, the baker and the Spice King decide to bake some tarts:

Frankly, I'd be hesitant to eat anything baked by the Saffron King--not because it might contain narcotics, but because it might be full of beard hair. I'd at least like to see him putting on some sort of beardnet before going to work:

Here he is mixing in the beard hair:

Here they are sliding the tarts into the oven along with the freebase:

Here they are testing the finished product:

And here's the Saffron King pulling a really long beard hair out of his mouth:

"Can I grab a couple to throw in my panniers?," asks the Saffron King. "I'm going to ride further down towards Chinatown," he exclaims--clearly planning to sell the "tarts" to his next connection. However, the police are wise to the entire operation by now, and they seize him as soon as he walks out of the door:

And so it would seem that this particular episode of "Pedaling" was actually an elaborate sting operation designed to take the Saffron King down, and I'm sure the authorities are grateful for Mike Sinyard's participation. (Actually, he likely "ratted out" Boonen too, and the Saffron King was probably Boonen's supplier.) I'm looking forward to watching the next episode, which once again features the Fixie Crew, and I hope they too receive the justice they deserve.