From Suck to Blow: The Storm Before the Calm

First of all, I'd like to thank the many people who sent well-wishings and messages of support over the weekend as hurricane Irene ambled towards New York City at speeds of up to 14mph, like a cyclo-tourist with panniers full of destruction. However, as much as I'd like to thank everybody, I can't, because I didn't receive any well-wishings or messages of support at all. Instead, I was forced to stock up on a week's worth of cheese steaks with the sad knowledge that my fate meant little to anybody:

(Translation: "Hot, from having recently been grilled, steaks in the Philadelphia cheeseway.")

Fortunately, New York City didn't receive nearly as much damage as was anticipated, and I extend my sympathies to those who elsewhere who were affected far more adversely than we were. Nevertheless, I find myself dismayed by what seems to be a growing "You New Yorkers are 'woosies' when it comes natural disasters" sentiment. I noticed it first when Californians scoffed at our little earthquake last Wednesday, and it seemed to continue when we shut down the entire city and evacuated a bunch of people who, for the most part, probably could have just stayed at home eating "hot" cheese steaks.

If you're one of these people (a "New Yorkers are weather 'woosies'" person, not a "sitting at home eating 'hot' cheese steaks" person), I humbly request that you keep two (2) things in mind:



1) Life is much harder in New York City than it is in the rest of Canada's pannier, and on a daily basis we're subject to a degree of difficulty and indignity that most people will never have to experience. If you've never shared a crowded subway car with a homeless person who has recently soiled himself, been kicked in the face by an errant street performer, or shopped at Fairway supermarket on a Sunday (three people were recently trampled to death at the free olive oil sampling station), then you have no right to criticize us. We pay thousands of dollars a month to live in apartments that are worse than your crappiest storm shelters, and laying any sort of "weather event" on top of all this this creates the sort of hardship that would have even the most hardy natural disaster veteran crying to FEMA.

2) Our national image has become somewhat tarnished, so as a "real" city New York is one of very few things that keep this country from devolving into a complete laughingstock to the rest of the world. It's bad enough that our status as one of the world's great cities is already being undermined by designer beard-wearing curators of artisanal handicrafts, so therefore any additional threats to our status and well-being (or at least our distorted concept of what qualifies as well-being) should be taken very seriously. Without New York City, the United States is Los Angeles, Chicago, and a bunch of smaller towns that may or may not have a Cheesecake Factory in them. If this doesn't worry you, it should, because if New York City is washed away then America will simply become that place Canadians visit to do their bargain shopping.



This is not to say that people in other parts of the country are not culturally enlightened or well-versed in the art of creative expression. Consider Virginia Beach, where a man exposed his "pants yabbies" during the Weather Channel's hurricane coverage:



In an America Without New York, the country would effectively become a giant college town, and you'd be likely to see this sort of behavior constantly, even during the State of the Union address.

Speaking of the hurricane, most New Yorkers spent the days preceding it stocking up on provisions, which could explain why one woman in Williamsburg was "portaging" a bunch of wooden logs:



The girl on the bike with wooden logs on her back - m4w - 30 (Bedford Ave/Williamsburg)

Date: 2011-08-26, 10:53AM EDT

Reply to:



You - the sweet girl in burgundy dress with such major connfidence,



Me - the Jewish guy in car,



You looked at me and said such a lovely HEY!



I wanna see you again and say a lovely HI!



I'm not sure if she planned to burn the logs for fuel, or if she was anticipating having to "curate" a log cabin shelter by hand using her artisanal axe, but either way I find this budding cross-cultural romance tremendously inspiring, especially given the strained relations between the "hilpsters" and the Hasidim in this area.



Somewhat less inspiring is this indication that incidents of "smugness baiting" may be on the rise:



"I'm annoyed by your smugness" - m4w - 28 (dean st.)

Date: 2011-08-25, 1:31AM EDT

Reply to:



What I yelled back was, "You're so cute, I was sorry I passed". Want to have coffee or a bike ride?

As a smug cyclist myself, I urge you to refrain from hurling anti-smugness epithets such as the one above when we are out "portaging." After all, hath not a smug cyclist two wheels? Hath not a smug cyclist a load of organic groceries? If you tip us, do we not topple? If you ridicule us, do we not become unduly sensitive? If you ask us about our bicycles, do we not unfurl soporific discourses on the relative merits of frontal versus rearward weight distribution? Hath not David Byrne, the Patron Saint of Smugness, a car?

Well, actually, no, I guess he hathn't.

While I'm on the subject of smugness, as commenter "CE" pointed out last week, some sort of Internet 2.0 nü-media social circle-jerking networking company or whatever they are has employed some sort of algorithm to determine the "most influential cycling bloggers:"

Evidently, the most influential cycling blog is Copenhagen Cycle Chic:





I certainly have no issues with being "dethroned" from the top spot on a meaningless list, nor do I have any illusions that I have any influence at all, though I was puzzled by their explanation:



At least 11 of the Top 50 cycling bloggers here are women. Cycling Chic Copenhagen has started a global movement — we can see many links pointing to her. This sub-community is rocking the blogosphere, or shall say women are rocking it! Women bloggers are a definite force to be reckoned with in the cycling world.

Now, I love to see women "rocking it!" and all, but I'm also pretty sure Copenhagen Cycle Chic is not a "her," since it was started by Mikael Colville-Andersen:

(Oh no, he's talking about helments! Seek shelter immediately!!!)

And while he may bear at least a stunt double's resemblance to Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich, he is clearly not a woman. Yes, I do believe the site has some female contributors, but according to the site's own FAQ it all started when Colville-Andersen took a picture of a woman from behind:

HOW DID THE BLOG START?

The photos came first. One photo in particular started it all off. Mikael has been involved in street photography for some time and one day he snapped a fellow cyclist in the morning rush hour. All at once a theme, a visual style and a subject was born.

That style? Surreptitiously taking photos of hot Danish chicks:

Now, don't get me wrong--I have nothing but respect for Mikael Colville-Andersen and his "Cycle Chic" empire, and he is clearly the Hugh Hefner of bicycle advocacy. However, maybe the people that made this list should take the time to look at the actual blogs, because if Colville-Andersen is a woman blogger then I should get some acknowledgement for being one of the rare cycling bloggers with an indigenous Australian background.



Speaking of doing stuff from behind, a reader tells me a writer for British newsing paper The Guardian named Peter Walker is actually questioning whether or not Cat 6 commuter wheelsucking is acceptable:





How is this even the subject of debate? Of course it is not acceptable, for the same reasons you shouldn't draft people when you're driving to work in your car. (Unless you're David Byrne, in which case you don't have one.) How come we never see articles in the automotive sections of newspapers that ask, "Where do you stand on tailgating?" Yet, shockingly, the writer not only supports commuter drafting, but also performs domestique duties for his wheelsuckers:



My position's pretty clear: I'm happy to either draft or be drafted. With the former I don't go ludicrously close to another bike's rear wheel and I'm vigilant in case my temporary helper has to brake or swerve to avoid something. And if we reach a red light I'll often try to set off quickly so as to offer a reciprocal helping hand. When in front I indicate well in advance, and point a helpful finger towards upcoming potholes and the like.



Wow, do they also get a "happy ending" with all that? Even more amazingly, he's surprised when he drafts people and they don't like it:

These malcontents react in different ways: some turn round and scowl; others begin weaving round the lane, slowing down or speeding up. One young man's facial expression was so laughably aggrieved – you'd have thought I'd propositioned his mother – that when we stopped at a red traffic light I felt obliged to ask him, politely, why he so objected to being drafted. "Look," he hissed, "we're individuals, we're not in this together. We're cycling alone. Don't you get that?" Even by London's famously misanthropic standards this was strong stuff.



I couldn't agree more with this so-called "malcontent." You are not automatically at someone's disposal just because you are both on bikes--the normal rules of society apply. Is it OK to follow someone at a distance of two inches when you're walking just because you're both wearing sneakers? No it isn't. In reading this article it became increasingly clear to me that Peter Walker must be the most irritating cyclist in London, and it must be incredibly disconcerting not being able to ride around the city without constantly turning around and seeing this:

("Would you mind terribly if I had sex with your mother?")

It should go without saying, then, that Peter Walker's solution to all of this is completely insane:

There is, of course, an obvious answer: if someone clearly doesn't like being drafted then don't do it.

Yes, this is a great approach. Just imagine if we extended this to every other manner of rude and unacceptable human interaction, too. After all, as I always say, "If a stranger clearly doesn't like it when you fondle their buttocks on public transportation then don't do it." The only people who are allowed to just do stuff to other people until they're told to stop aren't people at all; they're dogs. Sure, a dog can get away with sticking his muzzle in your crotch or humping your leg until you register your objection, but if people start acting the same way then human society becomes little more than a dog pack and the next thing you know your dinner guests are drinking from your toilet and urinating on your carpet.

Though I do acknowledge that, in certain social circles, these are indications that the dinner party was a huge success.

Nevertheless--or perhaps because of it--I remain a firm believer in keeping your distance.

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Modern-Day Apostles: Spreading the Word

Are you an American, or just someone who wishes you were an American? Do you love freedom, and hamburgers, and dungarees, and sickening excess, and access to anything you want provided you're willing to assume debt beyond your wildest dreams? Well, if so you might be experiencing anxiety now, since the economy is currently shakier than a cyclocross bike with a bad case of fork chatter:

("I am sooo fucked.")

Yes, these are scary times. Uncertain times. The kind of times that compel you to sob in the shower while fully clothed. So what's the solution? What do we do? Frankly, I don't know. I'm more than willing to abandon the social construct of "money" and form a new society based on trust and sharing and the bartering of artisanal handicrafts, but that doesn't work unless everybody else is willing too. So, until that day when we all go, "OK, so no more money starting...now!," all we can do is keep both hands on the bars and try not to crash. Also, we can buoy our spirits by remembering happier times; more bountiful times; the sort of times when some quasi-intellectuals could get a bunch of money to travel around the country playing a handlebar flute:

(Two-man handlebar flutes are the new "rusty trombones.")

So when was this idyllic period? Well, apparently it was the golden era of prosperity known as "mid-June:"





Yes, apparently back in mid-June Americans were so flush with cash that they could underwrite road trips on which people traveled around blowing on bike parts in order to "spread the gospel of the bicycle"--albeit these travels were undertaken by car:







But lest you dismiss this as yet another "All You Strangers Fund My Self-Indulgence" scheme, you should know that the artists have more than paid their dues. In fact, one of them has a degree in talking clouds:

The Kjalvötn script was invented by Bob as an ancillary to his senior thesis - which was about clouds (yes, as in weather) speaking Old Norse. I bet you are curious. I bet you want something sealed with sealing wax.

This should serve to silence anybody whose ever said that studying a subject like Old Norse was a waste of time in that the language has no practical applications in modern-day America. Uh, yeah, it does--making up conversations between clouds. Like, what else would a cloud speak? French!?! And could anything be a better metaphor for liberal arts graduates than clouds that speak Old Norse? They're both white, fluffy, and insubstantial, and they communicate in a manner that's completely incomprehensible to the rest of the world. If that's what he was in fact going for, I hope he got an A+. (Or, if he went to one of those schools that uses an alternative grading system, I hope he got a "delighted chipmunk" or whatever the A+ equivalent would be. I understand some of these schools are using spirit animals as grades now.)

But such is the complex interplay between culture and the economy. In times of great wealth an artist can find patrons, and the culture too grows rich with creativity, ideas, and entertainment. But in times of great poverty we cinch our purse strings like a schlub tightening his sweatpants, and our culture becomes stagnant and reactionary. We seem to be entering into just such a period now--and it's not limited to Canada South, either. As we saw yesterday, up in Canada Proper, there's a growing anti-pennyfarthing movement, and a reader in Germany now tells me that p-fars are not welcome there either:

I don't understand German, but I'm pretty sure that says that pennyfarthing riders are not allowed to get rad. This is a backwards attitude--almost as backwards as the fork on this in-store display spotted by a reader in an Austin, TX wine shop:

That bike must handle like a p-far.

But there are glimmers of hope and forward-mindedness. Sure, it's considerably tougher to fund your handlebar flute tour now, but if your message is sustainability and cost-savings you can still find funding for your "epic" bicycle tour--especially if you want to "Bicycle Down the West Coast, Meet Women, Talk about Menstrual Cups, and Live on $4 a Day:"



A reader brought this to my attention, and I can't help wondering how many lascivious and wanderlust-smitten "duders" must have been taken in by the ride description. "Bicycle down the west coast? Yes! Meet women? Yes!!! Talk about...menstrual cups? Whoa." Personally though I applaud these menstrual cup apostles for promoting something they believe in, and when you consider that a single menstrual cup costs $35 and will last you for ten years then you begin to understand why they're the Chris King headset of feminine hygiene. Plus, I can't think of a better title for a folk song than "Talkin' 'Bout Menstrual Cups."

In fact, I may very well take to the road and preach the menstrual cup gospel myself, and if I did I'd almost certainly do so in this elegant recumbent that was forwarded to me by a reader:



Yes, they sure knew how to build recumbents in those days:

("Hey, wanna talk about menstrual cups?")

You can even play the handlebar flute together while you ride.

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Life on the Open Road: Buzzkills and Vibration Damping

Before we begin, it is recumbent upon me to make two (2) important announcements:

1) Today's post will be something of a departure for me, focussing mostly on my newfound hobby of artisanal urban pickling;

and

2) On this past Friday's quiz, dated August 12th, 2011, the shoddy overseas testing service I use made a mistake on question three (3). In case you missed the quiz because you skipped school that day and were getting high while throwing bottles at passing trains instead, this was the question:

3) After happening upon a marijuana patch while out on a Wednesday ride, a California cyclist immediately:

--Filled his panniers

--Dropped to his knees and cried, "Thank you, Jeebus!"

--Passed it over in favor of an adjacent meth lab

--Called the police

The correct answer was "Called the police." However, the testing service originally inserted the wrong link (it's since been fixed), and had you clicked on the right answer what you should have seen this:



The irony that this "epic" instance of "narcing" took place on a Wednesday aside, I think it's a shame that the whistle-blowing cyclist is the subject of derision. Instead, he should be commended for alerting the authorities to the presence of a controlled substance. What if, instead of an adult cyclist, a group of kindergardeners had happened upon this marijuana patch and inadvertently consumed the substance with their Fisher Price bongs? Imagine the disaster that would have ensued: Fruit Roll-Up binges; incessant giggling; three hour conversations about the homoerotic subtexts of the "Barney & Friends" TV show... Their precious little brains could be warped forever, and everybody knows that children should be eating McDonald's and not thinking too deeply about stuff. It's for their own good. So instead of calling the cyclist "Señor Buzzkill," they should call him "Generalissimo Awesome," for he's truly an American hero--just like our brave and selfless day traders.

Anyway, given the error, please add one million bonus points to your quiz grade for Friday--or, if you prefer, I'll send you a jar of my very own homemade artisanally pickled Fruit Roll-Ups instead. They're totally delicious. Like, a bunch of us meet up every weekend in a bar in Park Slope (many of us with our children, who all have long hair and last names for first names) and share pickling tips and recipes. Our urban pickling club is even going to be profiled in one of those annoying New York Times trend pieces. Plus, we even have a few members who live in tiny houses, and who pickle individual corn kernels inside of tiny vials. Either way, whether you choose the bonus points or the edible handicrafts, please have your parents sign your quiz and then mail it to the following address:

BSNYC Educational Learning Systems, Inc.

c/0 Teach-O-Mat Conformity Factory

6rd Floor #2, Bannerghatta Road Bangalore-560029

INDIA

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Speaking of the New York Times, I wonder if Bruce Weber has found any marijuana patches so far during his cross-country cycling trip:

If he has, he's not saying. Either way, I briefly mentioned Mr. Weber's trip about a month or so ago and it seems as though he's since managed to put some distance between himself and the Pacific Ocean--though not without experiencing what Paul Sherwen would call the occasional "spot of bother." In any case, a number of readers brought this article to my attention, and in reading it I came to the realization that I could never, ever ride across the United States. For one thing, my geography's pretty hazy, but I don't think it would be possible to design a route that allowed me to avoid every single state except California and New York. (Other states scare me, especially the ones in the middle part.) For another, there's no way I could stand the barrage of Fredly "advice" from people who think they know better. Here's just a bit of what Bruce Weber has had to put up with so far:



Those Shorts!



Ditch those baggy shorts (you’re not going surfing) and buy some good padded biking shorts. You’ll feel much more comfortable and less prone to chafing. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?

B. S .B., Princeton, N.J.

Didn't your mother teach you to mind your own business? I'm sure he's got some cycling shorts underneath his baggy shorts, and I'd also imagine he's got his reasons for wearing them. Maybe he's insecure. Maybe he wants the extra pockets. Maybe when he clomps into some weird desert gas station he doesn't want to offend the locals with the visible outline of his penis. Or maybe he just finds the "whoosh, whoosh" sounds soothing. Anyway, not everybody is a paradigm of roadie style, like this guy:





Here's some more unsolicited advice:

Rethink Those Handlebars ...

I agree with those who’ve questioned the straight handlebar. I also think this is a mistake. A straight bar gives you only one position for your hands and, as others have pointed out, offers no option to drop down when you’re pedaling into the wind. A turned down handlebar gives a variety of hand positions, and some of the new ones, like the Cinelli Neo Morphe, add flat spots and bumps so you get even more hand positions.

Nicole Hamilton, Redmond, Wash.

I too think the flat bar is an odd choice, but the writer has ridden across the country before, and if he likes his flat bars then he likes his flat bars. (Plus, they do go well with his baggy shorts.) Either way, of all the drop bars to recommend to someone who's on a cross-country tour, would you really choose the overpriced lumpy crabon Cinelli "Neo Morphe?"

I knew these bars looked familiar. At first I thought it was because it looks like the sort of thing that might fall off your baby stroller and that you'd just throw away, since you have no idea how to put it back or in fact where it even came from, and anyway the stroller seems to work just fine without it. But then I realized I had actually written a fake review of this bar back in 2007--it's the one that has labels for the "Power Zone," the "3 Finger Zone," and so forth. (As it happens, Mario Cipollini has similar labeling on his "Little Mario.") Actually, maybe Rivendell should get into the crabon touring bar movement. Their bar could have a "Handlebar Bag Zone," and a "Friction Bar End Shifter Zone," and a "Bell Zone," and even an "Ornery Zone" for when you pass someone whose stem is insufficiently lofty.

Anyway, there's a point at which ergonomics give way to contortions, and with its vast array of superfluous bends and indentations the embodiment of this point is the Cinelli Neo Morphe. If you want to spend a bunch of money to steer your bike with something misshapen you might as well just wrap some sort of ultra-modern desk lamp and bolt it to your stem.

Plus, I'm sure if Mr. Weber was unhappy with his bars he'd change them, just like he did his gearing:

And most notably, after experiencing some of the hills between the Oregon coast and the Columbia River Gorge (O.K., I had to dismount and walk a few times, damn it), I stopped in Hood River, Ore., where the mechanics at Mountain View Cycles replaced the rear cassette on my gearing unit, giving me larger chain rings that allow for easier pedaling uphill.

I doubt larger chain rings would be a good idea for easier pedaling uphill, but then again maybe it doesn't matter if you use Neo Morphs and you put your hands in the "Power Zone."

The greatest piece of advice though was this one:

...Along With Your Bike

I ride a lot. My best road bike cost $14,000 (custom full-carbon). I think you’re underserved by a steel bike. But then, I’m old (75), though I do log 5,000 miles per year cycling, in the U.S. and Europe.

jbailiff, Stevens Point, Wis.

For a brief moment I thought for sure this was written by Larry Olmsted, but then I saw the name. (Also, Larry's a titanium guy.) I agree that Bruce Weber is underserved by a steel bike, and he really should have gone with a crabon racing bike that, while being wildly unsuited ot the task at hand, would nevertheless be a better fit with his Cinelli Neo Morphe bars. Really, it's too bad there wasn't someone around to punch him before he strayed from the Crabon Weave Road.

We're off to see the Fred

The Wonderful Fred of Crabon

Because, because, because, because, because

Because he's laterally stiff and vertically compliant

We're off to see the Fred

The Wonderful Fred of Crabon!

The only thing missing from the article is someone writing in and calling Bruce Weber an idiot for not doing his cross-country tour on a tall bike, like these riders to whom I was alerted by a reader:

Though I do find it ironic that, after going through all the trouble of welding two bikes together, he still needs a foot of spacers and a nearly vertical stem:



Clearly he should have listened to Larry Olmsted and gotten a custom tall Seven.



In any case, maybe when they all finally reach the east coast they can move into this "cycling co-op," of which I was informed by another reader:



Cycling Co-op (Cambridge or Brighton)

Date: 2011-08-12, 5:44PM EDT

Reply to: [deleted]



I decided that I wanted to get involved in something different and unique, so the idea came along to get a housing co-op based around cycling. Pretty much I am looking for a group of cycling enthusiasts to share a place with. The idea is to find anything from a 5 bed to a 8 bed averaging around 500-600 a person + utilities. All types welcome, from bmx to fixed to road to touring. All can apply. The biggest thing would be focusing on the community aspect of the house, so in an ideal world we would tool share and cycle together. (if possible, setting up a small shop in the basement for our use.) If you are interested give me an email and we can see whats up.



I'm not sure if he's trying to found a utopian society or a reality TV show, but either way he should just save himself a lot of time and energy and move to Portland, since that's exactly what he's described in his post.

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Subjective Realities: Lifestyles of the Dandy and Eccentric

In yesterday's post, entitled "America: The Wonderful World of Tube-Shaped Meats and Canned Cheeses," I posted the following picture:

And then made the following flippant remark:

I'm not one for fawning over bicycles, but I do believe that our bikes communicate with us, and what this bike is saying is, "You're an idiot."

Subsequently, a commenter made the following observation:

Bobby said...

Saying these woodland downhilling fixie hipsters are idiots because they burn through tires is a lot like saying rally car drivers are idiots because they damage their vehicles. Burnt tires don't detract from the physicality of the riders, the art in the way in which they've chosen to connect to their machines, and the rush of participating in risk-taking behavior. No, not idiots...

August 9, 2011 3:48 PM

I've never been one to shy away from intelligent discourse--provided of course that such discourse centers around an elementary subject, such as which packaged snack food is more delicious, or who was the best blonde on "Three's Company." (I gotta go with Terri on that one, she had a career and thus was the most empowering.) Beyond that, I'm hopelessly out of my depth.

Nevetheless, Bobby's comment made me think. (It also made me drool, because I drool when I think. Also, I have trouble thinking and typing at the same ditniewfnnn.) Mostly, what I thought was that the hillbombers are nothing like rally car drivers, since rally car drivers use specialized equipment on closed courses and the hillbombers use the most ill-suited equipment possible on public roads. Actually, in my opinion, the hillbombers are more like unlicensed drivers in Formula One cars with no brakes who are rallying in a national park. At best, maybe they're the guy in your neighborhood with the flat-brim hat and the Honda Civic who's into "drifting" and winds up in the New York Post because he slammed into a gas station at 4am.

Still, I do think Bobby makes an interesting point, which is that when it comes to sporting endeavors "idiotic" is highly subjective, and that one person's pastime is another person's idiocy. I mean, there are people out there who believe that anybody who rides a bike is an idiot. (These people are called "Americans.") So why is whip-skidding down a mountain idiotic, but barreling down one on a full-suspension bicycle is not? (Depending on whether or not you think downhill mountain biking is idiotic, which is a whole other debate.)

Well, after giving it about 19 seconds of thought, I came up with a criterion (not a criterium) for what constitutes silly recreational cycling behavior--at least for me. It's not meant to be a judgment; rather, it's my own personal way of qualifying my own opinions. Basically, my criterion for silly cycling is this:

If it's a type of riding that is already well-established, only you're using the wrong bike for it, then it's silly.

See? Simple. For example:

--Doing tricks on BMX bikes=not silly. Doing tricks on fixed-gear bikes=silly.

--Commuting on commuter bikes=not silly. Commuting on custom titanium bikes=silly.

--Riding downhill fast on bikes with brakes=not silly. Riding downhill fast on bikes with no brakes=silly.

Sure, I know what you're thinking: "Who's to say what's the 'wrong' bike? What about my rad-tastic mountain-bike-trail-on-a-cyclocross-bike 'epic,' or my compulsion to be the token singlespeeder at any competitive cycling event?" Well, rest assured I don't mean using a bike that's perhaps not optimal--I mean, we all enjoy a challenge. Still, I do think there's a point at which the bike you're using is just wrong, and one of the signs of this is when you like riding bikes downhill but your tire frequently explodes in high-speed situations, leaving you with no other means of slowing the bike:

Of course, it's human nature to want to do things "wrong." We are genetically programmed to disregard sound advice from more experienced people and instead repeat their mistakes. This is why, despite all our nifty technology, our collective consciousness is only slightly more elevated than it was thousands of years ago. Basically, the human condition consists of doing really stupid stuff over and over again, and as such our advancement is barely perceptible. It's sort of an "intellectual creep." I guess that's what happens when you have to spread a learning curve over billions of people. Anyway, "intellectual creep" is why we're all still looting and killing each other, and it's also why it will take these hillbombers years before one of them realizes, "Hey, why don't we try this on road bikes?"

Anyway, if the hillbombing bike is saying "You're an idiot," what is this bike saying?



The above bicycle was photographed by a reader in (I shouldn't even have to bother typing the next word) Portland. I suspect it actually fell from the future through a wormhole in time, and that it's actually the Flying Pigeon Coquettish Hilpstress's bike 20 years from now--you know, when she has 19 cats, her apartment has gone from "shabby chic" to just plain shabby, and she is officially eccentric.

Still, I have no idea what the bike is saying, for it speaks of a lifestyle I'm simply not equipped to envision:

I mean, I know abstractly that people in Portland lead the kind of lifestyles that require them to carry bird cages and tattered paperbacks and whimsical tapestries and multiple yoga mats and plastic bags full of fanzines and a whole lot of what at least appears to be burlap, but I can't imagine what it would actually be like to be such a person in the same way I'll never truly understand what it feels like to, say, be a dolphin, or to be sand on a beach. Like, what does this person actually think about in the morning? Do they soberly and rationally think, "OK, better load up the Peugeot with delightful bric-a-brac since I have a hard day of reading, stretching, sack racing, and general pretending ahead of me"? Or is it simply instinctual and mindless animal behavior, like the way magpies steal shiny things?



Honestly, it's impossible for me to say, though I do suspect the New York City equivalent of this person is the "dandy" who has his dandying supplies delivered by bicycle, a service of which I was informed by another reader:



This is terrific news if you ever find yourself on a naked ride that gets harassed by the cops, because with a simple phone call you can place an order and transform it into a tweed ride. Still this operation clearly has no credibility, since no self-respecting dandy would either ride or accept a delivery from what at least appears to be an ill-fitting "vintage"-styled Huffy.



Also, how would you know that your toe finally poked through your sock if you were at work? Presumably you'd be wearing your shoes, so you really wouldn't have any idea. Or do dandies tend to work shoeless? For that matter, do dandies even work? I thought they just spent their days at roll-top desks writing letters to relatives on expensive stationary asking them for advances on their trusts.



Equally vexing is the mystery of this cockpit, which was forwarded to me by yet another reader:





I don't know what purpose this structure serves, but I do know PVC is the crabon of the DIY cockpit enthusiast.

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Apocalypse Now: All You Haters Dis My Topia

So this is it. The Apocalypse™ is finally upon us, and life as we know it is now coming to an end. Of course, we can't say we didn't see it coming. Indeed, in retrospect it was completely obvious:

March 10th, 2009: The fixed-gear scene is closed.

April 7th, 2010: Walmart starts selling fixies.

July 24th, 2011: Cadel Evans wins the Tour de France. (I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that one.)

These, then, were the signs--clearer than the ironic mustache on your face--that human existence was about to be transfigured. Now, there's no turning back, for it has begun. America's credit rating has been downgraded from Dura Ace to Ultegra. The stock market is plummeting so quickly that Andy Schleck should hire it as his descending coach. And in London and beyond, people have been rioting for days.

Now, there's nothing particularly funny about this sort of violence. To be perfectly honest, it saddens me deeply, and given the Apocalyptic™ state of affairs recently it's hard not to feel despondent. Nevertheless, I should share that readers have been alerting me to the apparent phenomenon of "hipster bystanders:"



Secondly, one of the most peculiar thing was the amount of hipster bystanders. Either shocked by the force of the police, or targeted by rioters. We witnessed one hipster’s fixed speed bike being stolen, as he protested “hey man you can’t steal my bike, that’s not on, that’s unfair” his mugger simply looked him dead in the eyes asserted the well known phrase “OR WHAT?” and rode off.

Hipster or no hipster, it seems to me that a looting victim is a looting victim. And then when you read stuff like this, it all seems like some Anthony Burgess near-future dystopia:



Youths used text messages, instant messaging on BlackBerry phones and social media platforms such as Twitter to coordinate attacks and stay ahead of the police.

This is frightening. Really, no matter where we live or how secure we may feel, we're all just a few "tweets" away from a socially networked wave of violence and destruction--and if the looters don't destroy your livelihood then the crumbling economy will. But don't blame the looters:

"This is the uprising of the working class. We're redistributing the wealth," said Bryn Phillips, a 28-year-old self-described anarchist, as young people emerged from a store with chocolate bars and ice cream cones.

And don't blame their financial industry looting counterparts either. They're just being the most awesome duders they can be:

The above video was forwarded to me by a reader, and it truly is a stunning piece of self-aggrandizement:

Legitimate daytraders, swing traders, and active investors are true masters of their craft, rising above human nature to churn out profits consistently from the market. Just like great artists, athletes, and professionals train years to become proficient, so do great traders, honing their skills of analysis, risk control, and mental discipline to gain an edge in the markets. While doing so they also benefit the economy by adding liquidity. Despite this, the independent trader and investor is in an industry where his/her needs are unrecognized and unmet. Our goal is to change that by addressing their needs like never before.

Like firefighters, they are true American heroes--even if churning out profits consistently for yourself despite what the market is doing is a skill akin to liberating a plasma TV from a burning store, inasmuch as both involve acting purely in your own self-interest on a moment-to-moment basis.

So what will the post-Apocalyptic™ world look like? Will socially networked looters and day traders in fortified Wi-Fi hotspots pick the landscape clean as hipsters look on with bemusement? Or are hipsters and looters both unwitting agents of our financial overlords, mere instruments of consumption, differing only in their methods and wardrobe? Most importantly, how will the rest of us flee, and to where? Frankly, thanks to the Upscalification of Everything, few of us can even afford basic survivalist tools anymore. Axes cost hundreds of dollars:

A decent "Summer Camp Care Package" full of cheap novelty shit to help you while away those lonely nights off the grid will set you back $145:





Even toy blocks for grownups are like $85:



There is some indication though that pods of hipsters may already have sought refuge in the wilderness and are even now living lives of pure idyll. Consider this video which was forwarded to me by a reader, in which some of them have formed a utopian hillbombing society:

Mountain Cream B&T from CREAM Bikes & Things on Vimeo.

In this mountain society, there are no laws, apart from the Law of Gravity:

There are also no brakes, which is why they "whip-skid" incessantly and can't make it down a single descent without completely destroying a tire:



I'm not one for fawning over bicycles, but I do believe that our bikes communicate with us, and what this bike is saying is, "You're an idiot."

So what do the hillbombers do when they need new tires in their mountain retreat? Perhaps they don't. Perhaps they "curate" them from nearby rubber trees, or else the tires simply fall from the sky. Also, when hungry, they cook their meat over an open flame, which they tend to using an artisanal hatchet:



The hillbombers know nothing of toil, or hardship, or responsibility. They know only the joy of endless libation:



And of looking through mirrored sunglasses upon the landscape while trackstanding in a state of perfect Zenlike tarck-tastic stasis:



Aloof, they flirt with death, whip-skidding their way out of dangerous situations:





Oh, how they whip-skid, free from the constraints of all common sense::





All they need is their bikes, and each other, and maybe an extra headband or two, and of course the willing woman whose job it will be to bear their children and carry on their legacy:



These, children of the future, are your forebearers. Forgive them, for they knew not what they did.

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Easy Riders: Roam Wasn't Filmed in a Day

(Your daily affirmation, via the Tweeter)

Have you ever wanted to "light out?" Just grab your Scattante, stuff a few jars of Cheez Whiz into your panniers, abandon your tiny house to the next duder, and go? Of course you have. Sometimes it's hard to not to feel like you hear the open road a-callin' your name. "Wildcat, Wildcat!," I hear it whisper sometimes while I'm watching "Judge Judy," and I look longingly at my Smugness Flotilla. Why not just load my family aboard it, leave the workaday world behind, and roam free for the rest of my days as the wily patriarch of a roguish clan of street-savvy vagabonds?

Well, mostly because I need constant access to clean restrooms, and life on the road is "grody."

Some people however are not confined by such "square" concerns, nor are they afraid to set themselves free to fly upon the capricious winds of fate. For these whimsical souls, the bicycle is their wings, the road is their home, gainful employment is their sworn enemy, and crotch rot is their bunkmate. Most importantly, though, the video camera is their constant companion. And of course the car to carry the camera. And the cameraman. And all their stuff. They're like modern-day Huckleberry Finns, forsaking the mighty Mississippi in favor of the log flume at Six Flags Great Adventure.

Yesterday, I mentioned a Kickstarter campaign in which a disgruntled MFA will draw his way across the United States of Canada's Athletic Cup. He will travel a well-worn furrow, plowed by many before him--including the members of Bandcycle, a pair of intrepid Brooklyn duders who rode across the country in order to see bands play and then made an Internet TV series out of it. Here is the trailer, which was forwarded to me by one of the members:

As a clean bathroom enthusiast and person who's always found it necessary to do some kind of "work" in exchange for the money with which I can purchase essential goods and services, I've never "lit out," and so I'm always interested in what empowers those who do. In most cases, the protagonists of these "lighting out" videos sort of skirt the issue, but the Bandcycle duders confront it head-on:

"We grew up with them telling us, 'You can do whatever you want. Any dreams you have, you can accomplish them.' And we believed it. And we, we still kinda do."

That's it! I finally understand it now! In fact, this may very well be the Rosetta Stone that explains every lifestyle trend, project, video, product, "collabo," artisanal enterprise, and social phenomenon by which I have heretofore been vexed or flummoxed. Apparently, people are actually growing up being told that they can do whatever they want! And so they are!

"I want to ride my bike and check out bands for an extended period of time instead of working."

"I want to sell fashionable extension cords."

"I want to be an ascetic even though I have the same amount of crap everyone else has."

"I want to build human dollhouses."

Actually, Best Made Co. might want to rethink their entry into the fashionable extension cord business, since if the tiny house craze continues to grow then there's going to be zero demand for them.

Anyway, like (I thought) most people, I grew up being told that you can't do whatever you want--or, more accurately, that you can technically do whatever you want, but if you do you'll be fucked. It's a good thing I did, too, since even if I had made it through samurai school I don't see how I could possibly have made a living at it. Therefore, the idea that there are now entire neighborhoods inhabited by people who really do believe they can do whatever they want is simultaneously fascinating and horrifying to me. I can't decide if this belief is the secret to a new era of human liberation and fulfillment, or if it's an insidious delusion that will lead us swiftly to our own artisanally curated demise.

Either way, I'm pretty sure that the Bandcycle crew saw the wrong side of Fred Woo-Hoo-Hoo-Hoo speed on numerous occasions:


Though evidently they also hit Fred "Oh Shit!" speed at least once:


And also fell fell victim to the "double-Fred body sled:"


And even the dreaded "triple-Fred chainring tattoo:"

Though it wasn't all bad, and there was the time they got to be totally lazy in two states at once:

In any case, I'm sincerely glad the Bandcycle duders got to live their dream and enjoy what looks like an "epic" adventure, and I'm also convinced we're now living in a new golden age of bearded American back-country adventure cycling:

If you don't believe me, look no further than Rapha, who are to "epic" as Primal Wear are to charity rides:

Rapha Continental USA Pro Cycling Challenge Prologue from RAPHA on Vimeo.

The above is their latest "Continental" video, and in it you will see untrammeled beards flowing wild and free:


By the way, if you're wondering what the "Continental" is, so are the riders themselves:

"I was asked at the start of this trip, 'What is the Rapha Continental?' It seems like no one knows."

It seems odd to me that something Rapha invented and made innumerable movies about would still be so difficult to define at this point. I mean, if you made something yourself, how can you not know what it is? Sure, there are exceptions to this, like the amorphous blobs kindergardeners make out of fingerpaint and macaroni, but I can't imagine this is what they were going for. (Though I could see Primal Wear introducing a fingerpainting jersey.) In any case, since everyone's having so much trouble, I'll take a stab at it and say that the Continental is a bunch of people who make movies of themselves riding bikes in Rapha clothes. Feel free to add something about the ineffable spirit of cameraderie that grows out of self-imposed suffering, and about how the smell of boutique embrocation mingles tantalizingly with the heady aroma of Stumptown coffee in the morning, and I think that pretty much nails it.

As for the beards, that's a bit more ambiguous. I'm guessing it's a symbol of freedom and individuality. Then again, it could also just be something the rest of the riders like to rub for luck:

(A friend with a beard: it's like a rabbit's foot for vegans.)

Of course, there's more to the Continental than that, too. There's also the bikes. The Rapha Continental riders ride handmade steel bikes in somber hues. They do not ride Dayglo plastic singlespeeds, as forwarded to me by a reader:

So what is it? It's a bike made entirely out of venetian blinds:

With bike design, it's almost impossible to produce something entirely new because the basic format has been perfected over 100 years. Leave it to a design student to shake things up with an altogether different take on the urban bike -- a groovy, multicolored ride made from plastic with shutter-shade slats.

Indeed, leave it to a design student to ignore a century of subtle refinement and build a shopping cart without the grocery-"portaging" ability. Then again, the venetian blind technology could be useful in time trialling--just open the slats in crosswinds and close them in headwinds. Perhaps Andy Schleck, who was undone by his subpar time trialling, could benefit from this innovation since I'm sure he's getting desperate:

Or else maybe Frank Schleck could grow a beard and Andy could rub it before every stage for luck.

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