Posable Figures: Playing With Yourself ~ Dunia Sepeda

Not too long ago, I received an email with the subject line "famous pie plate." Naturally, I opened it immediately--even though there was another email right next to it notifying me that I had just won the Irish lottery. (Yes, I take pie plates that seriously.) The sender was a bicycle shop mechanic, and awhile back he removed a pie plate from a customer's Trek. That customer, he assured me, was actor Jake Gyllenhaal, seen here swaddled in Raphinery and "palping" the offending plat de pâté en croûte:

According to the mechanic, he had been treating the pie plate as a sort of talisman, but its "awesome power" was now becoming too much for him to handle. (This is hardly surprising when you consider the provenance of the thing, and the fact that it's a mere one degree of separation from Heath Ledger's reflector.) For this reason, the mechanic was offering the pie plate to me, and I accepted it faster than a Garmin physiologist accepts a job at Radio Shack. Well, I'm pleased to announce that it has finally arrived, and here it is in all its paired spoke-protecting glory:

My first few moments of Jake Gyllenhaal pie plate ownership consisted mostly of holding it to my chest and murmuring "I can finally die now" over and over to myself. However, this elation soon gave way to a gnawing sense of self-doubt. Why was I so happy? I pondered this question for awhile and eventually realized that this pie plate was a actually a physical manifestation of my own insecurity. Certainly, when I take pleasure in the fact that Jake Gyllenhall is riding a bicycle with a "dork disc," or a "nerd rotor," or a "Fred cog," or whatever you choose to call it, it's really because I long to feel superior to him. Furthermore, it is just this sort of insecurity that feeds the lurid world of tabloid journalism and celebrity gossip. Sure, we may snigger over pictures of Jake Gyllenhaal on his bicycle, or rumors that Lady Gaga is a hermaphrodite (false), or that Larry King is a hermaphrodite (true). In the short term it makes us feel better about ourselves, but in the long term it is this very impulse that may cost us our souls.

It was then that I realized Jake Gyllenhall's pie plate was actually a monkey's paw, and that the mechanic had in fact passed the curse on to me by grifting me with the old "pie plate flim-flam." I've already learned my lesson though, and as the Who famously sang, "I shan't be hoodwinked a second time." In fact, I've already been in touch with the Irish lottery people to arrange for collection of my winnings. Clearly my luck is beginning to change.

Still, even the most self-assured cyclist can't help being amused by the juxtaposition of Rapha clothing and a pie plate. The former represents stereotypical roadie fastidiousness, and the latter is the prototypical cycling fashion faux-pas. Of course, Rapha loves to play up this image, which is why they recently published their Rules of the Road--though I was especially baffled by rules 5 and 6:

Firstly, scarves are for magicians and aging rock stars, and should not be worn while cycling at all. Secondly, leaving a gap between your arm warmers and jersey is insouciant high style, since it implies you either pulled them down hastily in the heat of battle, or that they fell down due to the relentless pounding of the cobbles:

Of course, even Rapha will surely admit that blind adherence to such rules is ridiculous. Like the pie plate, these fashion codes speak to our need to distinguish ourselves from those who we deem to be "inauthentic" somehow, when in truth it is often the people who become indignant over things like improper sock height and Japanese components on Italian frames who are the least authentic. Style is probably the least interesting aspect of cycling, and sometimes listening to someone wax poetic about what is "PRO" or about "vintage" Campagnolo is like watching someone dry-hump a loaf of stale Italian bread.

Then again, it's hard not to judge others when you watch something like "Pedaling." Amazingly, the producers keep releasing new episodes, and as I watched the latest one (entitled "Baking @ Birdbath") I found myself pitying poor Meredith Miller, an accomplished professional racer who in this installment is forced to endure cycling insight from a restauranteur. Here he is explaining that, with regard to winter riding, "I kinda have the 40-degree rule," to which Miller replies, "Yeah...right:"

Certainly judging others by the weather conditions in which they prefer to ride is like judging them by their bar tape color, and you shouldn't ride in the cold if you don't enjoy it. Indeed, being able to approach cycling casually is perhaps the best way to enjoy it and an attitude many of us would do well to adopt. That said, it's hard not to wonder why casual, fair-weather cycling requires such exotic equipment:

After this, the restauranteur hands Meredith Miller over to someone even more bizarre--a man who makes his comestibles "in a low-energy manufacturing situation," by which I assume he means he bakes them while stoned:

Given his hemp cardigan, I braced myself when he told Miller that he was going inside to get his bike. Sure enough, he came out looking like there was a fire back in the 19th century and he was going to put it out:

Even the unflappable Meredith Miller can't keep a straight face.

Still, there's an important difference between the person with pro equipment who only rides when it's warm and the guy who gets baked and rides around with a mixing bowl on his head, and sometimes looking crazy can be more dignified than trying to look the part. If you're going to play pro cyclist but you don't like physical discomfort then you might as well glue a bunch of figurines to your dashboard and just drive around, as in this video which was forwarded to me by a reader:

Yes, why pose yourself when you can let the toys do it for you?

Just make sure that if you do get carried away playing with your toys and attempt to ride a bicycle yourself that you learn Japanese and read the "Street Bike Culture Start Book!!" from "Loop" magazine, which was photographed and forwarded to me by another reader: