Street Cred's Not Dead: Rebellion and Cycling ~ Dunia Sepeda

Further to yesterday's post, I'm pleased to report that as of this morning my condition has improved significantly. While I still feel as wobbly as a Nü-Fred on his first IRO, I can at least meet the minimal physical requirements of blogging, and I attribute this to the tremendous outpouring of support I was fortunate enough to receive. Indeed, my so-called "in-box" was deluged with e-mailed well-wishings numbering in the mid-single digits. I even received a virtual get well card from Erik K that was so salacious it took me two Opinionated Cyclists and a Larry King just to render it safe for public consumption:

Even this repulsive censorshipway is scarcely sufficient to obscure its tremendous healing power.

As far as the nature of my illness, as everybody knows the very best thing to do when sick is to diagnose yourself via the Internet, so that's exactly what I did. After much searching I came to the conclusion that I had been bitten by the dreaded beaked sea snake of South Asia. Even though I had not been swimming in any waters, much less those surrounding the coastal islands of India in which the beaked sea snake is most commonly found, I also knew that Internet forums are very rarely wrong, and that beaked sea snake venom is incredibly toxic. Since I probably had even fewer days left on this Earth than I had well-wishings in my "in-box", I summoned my family from the tuber farm and they were gracious enough to take a break from fighting the powerful vegan food lobby (an evil cadre of botanists is now claiming that the potato plant is carnivorous) in order to keep a vigil around my sick bed. As the sun set, they rubbed me with peeled russets in order to keep my fever down, and in a hoarse and feeble voice I bequeathed my worldly possessions to them. (Paw got my Scattante, sis got my Rapha silk scarf, and so forth.) Eventually, though, my fever broke and the sun rose, and realizing I might indeed pull through I reclaimed all my possessions and sent them home amidst a hail of recriminations.

As for the cause of my illness, while I have not ruled out the bite of the beaked sea snake, I'd be remiss if I didn't consider other possibilities too. Perhaps I acquired it during a weekend of frigid offroad riding:

(Now that I think about it, I was bitten by a Yeti at one point, though that happens pretty much every time I go to New Jersey.)

Also, I did travel by subway recently, and one never knows what sorts of germs other passengers are carrying. For example, I could have caught a rare European metalhead-borne illness;

Also, some months ago a reader forwarded me this photo of a "hipster" traveling on the subway with a pot of chili (presumably it was too unwieldy to transport by fixed-gear):

It could be that I had eaten in a restaurant that had served me food that had been transported by subway and consequently infected by European metalheads.

I also thought back to the last time I had traveled by airplane, and recalled that I had sat next to somebody wearing both a face mask and what appeared to be a non-Rapha silk scarf:

While I had assumed that this was to protect her against rare European metalhead-borne illnesses, I now realize that it could have been she who was the carrier, and that the inferior quality of her off-brand silk schmatta had allowed her to pass it on to me.

Or, it could have something to do with the woman wearing a clown nose and a middle-aged mullet (or "MAM") who I encountered on a different leg of that very same trip:

Though the trip took place some time ago, I could be suffering from late-onset coulrophobia.

In any case, my woes pale clown-like in comparison to those of Milwaukee's bike polo players, who a reader informs me were forced to spend a harrowing night in jail for trespassing:

Here is one player's mugshotway:

("In just" is "Unjust 2.0.")

And here is an excerpt from the gripping first-person account:

A black crystler rolled up 3 deep with undercover sheriffs. The sheriffs sprung out of the car instantly “every one come here and against the wall!” They count us out 11. Cop says “I thought there were 12″ Lodi had snuck out 5 mins before the bust. They tell us all that we are under arrest and will be receiving trespassing tickets $263 each. We tryed to talk our way out of it and that edabout 30 seconds. One by one we give our info and receive a ticket. We are then explained by one of the officers that we are being detained and no is under arrest his exact words are “if you are asked by a cop or employer have you ever been arrested say no.” We all got zipped tied it was explained to us that we will be going downtown to be processed and released and that it shouldn’t take too long “it’s just like a speeding ticket” they kept insuring us, except when you get a speeding ticket you don’t go to jail right?

While this treatment does seem a bit harsh, it also seems to have come after multiple warnings, and the fact is that while playing ball where you're not supposed to isn't that big a deal, it's a little different when all the participants are all adults. When the neighborhood kids accidentally send a baseball through a window that's just boys being boys; but when the "neighborhood kids" are legal adults with full beards and have already been scolded repeatedly it's reasonable to expect a bit more accountability from them. Then again, it is 2010, and the fact is that your 20s are now your "teens 2.0" and you're not expected to act like an actual "adult" until you're in your late 30s. At the same time, our country's infrastructure has yet to catch up, and so there's a dire lack of play space for the new generation of grown-up children. This means that they're either forced to steal places to play from actual children, or else commandeer them from actual adults, and until our cities and towns provide them with grown-up playgrounds there will only be more incidents like this one. And of course, because this particular instance of playing ball where you're not supposed to involved bicycles, there's an added layer of self-righteousness--the poloists have now been dubbed the "Milwaukee Polo 11" and will be receiving a fundraiser, presumably to defray their mallet replacement costs.

This is not to say that I am not concerned. Indeed, coming shortly after Milwaukee's famous "fancy riding" ban this trend is somewhat disturbing. Still, at least bike polo has now received the same essential infusion of "street cred" that fixed-gear freestyling got from the "fancy riding" legislation. In fact, polo may have bunny-hopped over fixed-gear freestyling altogether, since another reader informs me that the completely a-street-credulous Wall Street Journal believes it could be a "ray of fiscal hope" in the San Francisco Bay Area:

Fiscal hope is just not street-credible.