Lashing Out: Apparently Everybody Hates Everybody

Remember the Great New York City Bicycle Crackdown of 2011, when cyclists were getting tickets for laughably minor offenses such as mismatched tires, poor taintal hygiene, and having tiny pieces of spinach lodged between their teeth? Well, in the waning days of summer it may seem like all this happened a lifetime ago, but for those who received those $575 spinach summonses the pain is still all too real. (I'll never eat a spinach omelette ever again.) And now, "Reclaim," the Transportation Alternatives member magazine, has published an interview with a cycling police officer known only as "Officer X" in which he reveals the truth about the NYPD and cyclists (via Gothamist):

The biggest revelation is something I've long suspected, which is that pretty much everything is Critical Mass's fault:

Let's get right down to it: Do police officers hate cyclists?

No. But a lot of things have changed since the Critical Mass incident in 2007, when that rookie cop pushed a cyclist off his bike in Times Square. Now whenever an officer views a cyclist, he immediately associates them with Critical Mass riders and that incident. Even when I ride my bike to the precinct, I get that: “You riding Critical Mass? You one of them?”

Thank you, Critical Mass, for screwing us all with your dildo of self-righteousness.

But wait, there's more! "Officer X" also tells us how exactly to run a red light without fear of reprisal:

We've got about 10,000 subscribers, many of whom are cyclists in New York City. As an officer, and a cyclist, is there anything you would like to tell them?

As a beat cop speaking to cyclists, I would say to follow the law so you have nothing to worry about. As a cyclist speaking to a beat cop, I'd say sometimes it makes more sense to look both ways and coast through a red light.

If a cyclist should ride to a light, see that no one is coming and proceed cautiously, why not? But from an officer's perspective, that is too messy. What if a vehicle comes out of nowhere? How long did the cyclist look to each side? Did they actually come to a complete stop? Was he rolling? It would be impossible to make something so subjective stick in court.

If you must, though, here's a way to safely blow a red light: ride up to it, look both ways, then get of your bike and walk through the intersection, then get back on. No self-respecting cop is going to write a jaywalker.

Unfortunately, this isn't going to work, because while no self-respecting cop is going to ticket a jaywalker, no self-respecting cyclist is going to walk his bicycle through an intersection either. However, I see people on motor scooters do it all the time, which is probably because people who ride motor scooters are already deficient in self-respect.

And best of all, whether you cycle, drive, walk, or putter around on a motor scooter, you can do whatever the hell you want now anyway, because according to "Officer X" apparently they're no longer giving tickets to anybody:

In the next two to three weeks [late July/early August] you may see a sudden decline in the amount of summonses issued to everyone: cyclists, motorists, everybody.

Let the insanity begin!

Speaking of insanity, now that the fixed-gear is finally falling out of favor among New York City cyclists, I've noticed a new form of idiotic intersection behavior that is rapidly filling the void left by the trackstand. Here's how it works:

1) Approach a heavily-trafficked intersection without slowing down at all;

2) Ride right through the red light;

3) When you're almost hit by a honking car, come to an abrupt stop and put down a single foot;

4) As traffic continues to roar past you, awkwardly push yourself the rest of the way through the intersection with that single foot like an elderly crab with a walker.

I don't understand the thought process behind this idiotic behavior, but I've seen it at pretty much every red light I've encountered this week. My best guess is that as fixed-gear riders transition to bicycles that coast they still don't understand how brakes work, and so when trouble arises their first instinct is to put their feet down Fred Flinstone style.

Meanwhile, in Kalamazoo, Michigan (a place that, to my surprise, actually exists outside of cartoons), a reader informs me that, instead of running down cyclists, drivers are "cutting out the middle man" as it were and driving right into the bike shops:





So far the authorities are at a loss as to what happened:



There is no word yet on what caused the driver to crash into the building.

Though I hope they're investigating the theory that the motor vehicle operator is a complete and utter moron.



Of course, something like this could never happen in Portland--or could it? Apparently not every Portlander is a bike-humping smugmonger, for a reader recently forwarded the following photo:



In which one car owner makes his thoughts on cycling quite clear:





As it happens, the car would appear to belong to somebody involved with a shop called "DynaSport," and their website describes their enterprise thusly:

DynaSport was founded by enthusiasts to serve enthusiasts. There’s something special about BMW’s and MINI’s, and we believe there should be something special about the way your vehicle is serviced as well. As BMW and MINI owners ourselves, we understand what’s behind the wheel.

I'm pretty sure I understand what's behind the wheel too, and that would be a raging douchebag.

In any case, with all the anti-cycling sentiment out there, it's no wonder that some of us feel persecuted. One way to deal with this is to band together and form rides like Critical Mass, which only serve to make the situation worse. Or, another way is to channel all your rage into a gruesomely violent "hilpster" revenge fantasy, as in this short film to which I was alerted by another reader:

Human Cop Killer from jay dougrey on Vimeo.

In it, we see a rider who's a member of the "trying to be scary" hilpster subset:



As he rides around, he performs stupid hilpster tricks such as skidding into pedestrians so that they're forced to admire the expensive crabon disc wheel he bought on eBay:



Then, he stops to drink a wine cooler:



After which he is denied entry into his favorite brunch spot by a bouncer who looks like Kevin Bacon on HGH:



This makes him so mad that he sprints wildly--though not so wildly that he's able to overcome his fear of using the drops:



In fact, the thought of riding in the drops scares him so much that it makes him vomit:



Two and a half wine coolers later, a driver starts honking at him because he is riding like a upper-echelon idiot:



So he gets off his bike and confronts the motorist:



And then stabs him to death with his Bartles & Jaymes, leaving the rest of us to wonder what in Lob's name we just watched:



The moral of the story, of course is this: Fixed-gear riders really shouldn't try to look tough, since the "fierce kitten" effect almost always causes it to backfire.

(Leader of the "Hellkrew" will give you the scratching of a lifetime.)

I'd like to see the wine cooler-swigging Hellkrew guy try his antics in New York, where I've just been informed you're lucky to finish your ride without getting brained by packs of teenagers:

I'm pretty sure that once the debris started flying the Hellkrew would immediately cower in the nearest brunch spot, and if nothing else this story adds yet another dimension to the eternal helment argument. Mostly though, I'm relieved that the rider wasn't injured more seriously, and I'll also add that if you haven't had a hard object hurled at you while traveling in a car, on a bike, or on foot in New York City, then you probably haven't lived here very long. Or else you're very, very scary looking.

Speaking of things that look scary, a reader in Washington, DC recently spotted this:

Coincidentally, this is exactly what your ejaculate looks like under a microscope after you've eaten an entire bag of Skittles.



Even scarier is this homemade recumbent spotted by a reader in Sacramento:





Given the situation in New York City these days, if you ride a recumbent in Brooklyn you should probably wear a goalie mask.

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The Indignity of Commuting by Bicycle: Playing With Your Test-Cycle

I'm not what you'd call a "social butterfly." If anything, I'm more of a "social locust" in that I come out roughly once every 17 years, and when I do nobody's particularly pleased to see me. Nevertheless, slimy things with legs do like to crawl upon the slimy sea occasionally, and so it was that I headed into the Manhattan yesterday evening in order to share my unctuousness with the rest of the world.

Now, you may recall that I am in the process of "testing" a so-called "Base Urban RD 1.0" belt-driven bicycle, which looks like this when it's not on some flashy website and some sarcastic bike blogger half-assedly points his "smarting phone" at it instead:

You may also recall that my first impression was less than favorable, owing at least in part to the fact that the ostensibly quiet belt drive instead made a disconcertingly loud and rhythmic "womp womp" sound that evoked, among other things, swamp life and humping.

Also, I find the bike to be more than a little bit ugly.

Well, it would seem that word of my tribulations made it all the way to Gates, the people who make the belt drives, and they were very eager to help me diagnose the problem so that I might, like Pootie Tang, become a believer in the belt. And so it was that I found myself communicating with--on the phone and with my voice no less!--one of the Gates people, who asked me a question that would require me to muster every tool and bit of technical know-how I had at my disposal. The question was:

"Have you checked the chainring bolts?"

No. No I hadn't.

So I checked the chainring bolts. Naturally, one of them was loose, and once I tightened it the noise was diminished considerably--not completely, mind you, but enough so that it is audible only in relative quiet and is not especially bothersome. (Though it might be if I'd actually paid for the bike.) In the spirit of good faith I will continue to examine the problem with the help of the good people at Gates, and I have no doubt the system can be made to operate totally quietly, though I am also compelled to note that whatever out-of-whackness still exists in the drivetrain would be a complete non-issue on a chain-drive bicycle. (In the final analysis, chasing down alignment issues is a lot more time-consuming than lubing your chain.)

It's also kinda noisy when I'm climbing. Maybe the bottom bracket on the Base Urban is not "beefy" enough.

Anyway, with my drivetrain now 75-80% quieter, I decided to use the Base Urban for my jaunt into the city. I know it's going to be a good ride when I spot both a recumbent rider and a rider in bib shorts with no jersey, neither of whom can be bothered to stop at the light or even use the bike lane for that matter:





Eventually I made it to the city, where I secured the Techno Express to a street sign:

I happen to believe that one of the most interesting aspects of cycling is what it can teach you about yourself, and this extends to testing bicycles. In the case of this bicycle, what it's teaching me is that my tastes apparently differ from most people's. As I said earlier, I find this bicycle aesthetically objectionable. If it were a person, it would wear Axe body spray and put its Yankees cap on sideways, and would carry an iPod full of music with Auto-Tune vocals. In fact, the company didn't send me an owner's manual, but I'm reasonably sure that while the belt drive doesn't require lubrication the rider is obliged to wear cologne. I don't wear cologne, and maybe that's why the bike is still creaking.

But while I find this bicycle's circa 2007 "tarck chic" appearance to be tremendously objectionable, apparently nobody else does, and in the short time I've had it strangers have been kvelling over it constantly. At first the compliments seemed to come mostly from recently-arrived Eastern Europeans wearing copious amounts of fragrance, so this was hardly surprising--I'm pretty sure Vladimir Karpets and Dmitry Fofonov would be all over this baby. However, last night as I loitered near it I watched in amazement as people of both genders with no discernible accent went out of their way to look at it and remark to one another how nice it was. Yes, this:



It made me feel exactly the way I used to in middle school when Bon Jovi was popular, and I just assumed there was something wrong with my ears because there's no way they could be hearing what I was hearing and like it.

But looks are looks, and what evokes a mid-aughts urban cycling fad to me is simply a shiny, matching, speedy looking bicycle to your average non-"bike culture"-immersed person. This in itself was something of a revelation to me, since it explains how year after year new cyclists continue to buy impractical and uncomfortable race-inspired (or now messenger-inspired) bikes instead of practical bikes. The simple fact is that a bicycle like this draws the eye, whereas a more utilitarian one doesn't, since people don't have the experience that tends to make utility appear attractive. Consequently, this is what they think a city bike should be. And there's your "Thruster Fixie" at Walmart.

In any case, more important than looks is how it rides. So how does it ride? Well, not all that well. The handling and fit are good, but there's a harsh quality that could maybe have something to do with the wheels and tires, but is definitely enhanced by this saddle:



I realize that saddles are highly subjective, but this is one of the most uncomfortable saddles upon which I've ever perched myself. Have you ever encountered one of those office building plaza ledges in Manhattan that have metal spiky things on them to discourage loiterers, but you're really tired from walking all day so you sit on it anyway? That's what sitting on this feels like. But then again, maybe my posterior is as out of step with the world as the rest of me apparently is, and everyone else will like it.

Obviously it's easy to try a different saddle, and I intend to do so. I'd also like to try a different set of wheels to see if that would improve things, but like most people I don't have too many disc brake internally-geared road wheels laying around. I suppose I could just change the tires and maybe put one of my mountain bike wheels on the front, and I very well may do that. I also have a perverse desire to use the bicycle in a cyclocross race, but that depends on whether knobbies will clear the sublimely unnecessary and brilliantly un-drilled rear brake bridge, which is already pretty close to the tire:



For that matter there's not much clearance up front either:

But I guess there's only one way to find out.

Anyway, here's an obligatory shot of the belt drive:





And one of the Alfine hub:



And one of the guy wearing an accordion who totally blew by me on the way back to the Manhattan Bridge:



Accordions, I should not have to remind you, are now the new messenger bags, which is why you can expect to see a lot of this at the Interbike "Urban Yard" this year.



Still, I enjoyed riding the bike last night. This is partly because it's pretty hard not to enjoy riding a bike, and also because the bike dork in me cannot help nerding out over the drivetrain. It's also nice to not have to worry about getting schmutz on your pants or about your hands getting filthy if you have to change a tube on the way to work, and I think something like this has the potential to be a good all-weather commuter if only the frame weren't so poorly designed. I also still think the $1,750 price is absurd given that this is basically a novelty bike, though you could have had it for free if you took it while I ran into the store on the way home for some eggs:



I was quite surprised when I returned to find that I had missed the top tube completely, and insofar as I was not even remotely intoxicated, I can only blame the frame's vexing design.

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Come On With the Rain: Hot, Wet Smugness

As you may know, back in June, after a trip to Gothenburg, Sweden, I changed my name to Wildcat Rock Machine. While the name ostensibly comes from a bicycle brand and model name, I know that the Almighty Lobster on High actually emblazoned those words on those tubes so that I might see them, just as so-called "God" wrote those so-called "Ten Commandments" on two so-called "tablets." And indeed the Lob has spaketheth again, for commenter Leroy has recently spotted a Wildcat here in the Lob-forsaken wasteland that is Brooklyn:



"So, who is this Wildcat Rock Machine?" is a question I receive not at all ever, and the truth is that Wildcat Rock Machine is a person who has not only undergone something of a spiritual awakening, but who is also the sort of douchebag who refers to himself in the third person and answers rhetorical questions nobody ever asks or cares to have answered. As for the spiritual awakening, it consists of realizing that he (by "he" I mean "I," remember he's still writing in "douche"), must strive to liberate himself from the societal constructs to which we are all in thrall, and to live not by the clock and the calendar, but rather by the rhythms of nature and of Life Itself.

In other words, I'm very often late, and I rarely shower.

So what does all this crap about living according to the natural rhythms of the whatever entail? Well, mostly it involves surrender and understanding that we cannot impose our will upon the world; rather, it imposes its will upon us. Instead of fighting the will of nature, we should heed its guiding hand. (Or guiding claw, inasmuch as, according to my worldview, it is embodied by an omnipotent lobster.) Consider, for example, the rain.

There are those who say, "If it rains take the bus." I disagree. However, there are those who say, "If it rains then be a man/woman/whatever, ride through it, and be wet and miserable." I also disagree. I believe there is a Middle Way (or "Meh-ddle Way"), which is, "If it it rains then seek shelter and wait it out." I put this into practice yesterday when I set out on my Smugness Flotilla with one of my 17 children in tow, only to get caught in a sudden downpour, at which point I sought shelter beneath an overpass:

Others more hardy than I am braved the rain, but I was content to watch it fall upon the horse manure:



At first I was impatient, but then I found myself being lulled by the sound: countless drops falling upon trees and cars and building roofs and piles of horse doody, each individual impact with its own unique timbre, yet all of them blending together into a seamlessly transcendental "Shhh." It was like the universe itself were telling me to hush, and to relax, and to take this non-negotiable moment to listen and to reflect. This was not something to hurry through with hunched shoulders, cursing as the rainwater filled your shoes. It was actually a reprieve from timetables and routine and tedium and monotony.

Still, despite my profound sense of inner peace, I must have looked like a grinning idiot who should not be entrusted with a child, for at one point a woman pulled over in her car and proffered an umbrella to me. Naturally I declined, and assured her that I already had like three umbrellas, a complete set of patio furniture, and an entire rotisserie chicken inside my Xtracycle FreeLoaders.

Nevertheless, I thought to myself, "Could I have found the key to happiness?" Sure, you can't always wait out the rain since sometimes you need to keep an appointment. But what if the person with whom you have the appointment also waited? What if the rain were a cue to everyone beneath it that, for however long it lasted, we should take time to rest and ponder and stay dry and do other things? Wouldn't it then become like some bucolic church bell summoning us all to worship at the altar of our own contentment?

Of course not. Obviously it would be a complete fucking mess. Pull your head out of your ass, Wildcat Douche Machine.

Anyway, it wasn't long before the rain stopped, though much to the nonplussitude of the fenderless the flooding remained:

So deep was the water in places that it caused minivan rotors to steam:





It submerged not only the bike lane but the horse lane too:



Fourteen head of Brooklyn's finest Tennessee Walking Horses lost their lives that day. Ten drowned, the other four had to be shot by their riders, and a group of children from a nearby day camp looked on in horror. Had I not been spiritually "foffing off" beneath that overpass as they struggled then maybe I would have been able to help them.

Damn you, cursed rain. Damn you!

Speaking of chain gangs (inasmuch as day camp can be likened to a chain gang, I know that was my experience at Camp Hillel anyway) I was browsing the Kickstarter recently when I spotted this project:





The Chain Gang is a comic book about bikes that can talk, and the plot is clearly lifted wholesale from "Bike Kill:"



Instead of waiting years for me to draw all 1,000 pages, I'm going to be releasing The Chain Gang in 24-page monthly issues. Each month will welcome a new limited-edition (only 100 copies) issue of The Chain Gang's ongoing, sprawling epic as they battle in junkyards, wrestle dogs, avoid the police, jump over people's houses, and ride inside whale skeletons. They're breaking all the rules and will stop at nothing in their quest to spread their trouble!



I must admit I was intrigued by the part about riding in whale skeletons, since if there's an antithesis of the bamboo bike then it's almost certainly a bike made out of the bones of an endangered species. (Though strictly speaking I suppose the antithesis of a bamboo bike would be a panda bone bike.) Still, it's pretty audacious to ask people for money before drawing your comic, especially when Rick Smith (the Bill Watterson of cycling cartoonists) gives you a new Yehuda Moon every day for free:

Though I admit I do pay a premium to receive the special "NSFW" version of the strip:

It's positively teeming with "hot bhabis," and if you want to borrow my password it's "pantsyabbies69."

Lastly, speaking of suggestive imagery, a reader recently spotted the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork Bret at T.J. Maxx on a package containing a "Mammoth Precision Tool:"

I had no idea T.J. Maxx had an "adult" section.

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Fully Loaded: A World Gone Bananas

In Tuesday's post, entitled "Hate Muffins," I mentioned so-called "hipster bystanders" on fixed-gears and the London riots. Well, I've since learned from the Tweeter that, in Bristol, at least one fixed-gear rider was not content to stand idly by while the rioters ran amok. Instead, he transformed himself into a skidding-and-Tweeting Edward R. Murrow, and as such he is now being lauded as a hero:





Not only did he risk his own safety, but he also rode up hills:



Supported by several friends around the city, Piers cycled the often hilly streets around the epicentres of the unrest – St Pauls, Stokes Croft, Cabot Circus and Broadmead – on his custom-built bike, covering about 35 miles in under two days and putting out over 200 bulletins and requests for information.

Granted, as a club DJ he might technically be more of a "duder" than a "hilpster," but the fact remains that he provided a valuable service during what must have been a very frightening time. Also, he rode 35 miles in under two days, which is more than most fixed-gear riders manage in a year. Rapha should present him with half a jersey.

Meanwhile, here in New York City, life has been considerably quieter--at least for those of us who don't work on Wall Street. So, given the relative placidity coupled with the fact that we're finally experiencing some non-sweltering weather, I resolved to actively appreciate my good fortune by launching my Smugness Flotilla and journeying to distant shores:

(My Smugness Flotilla, docked on the banks of the Big Skanky.)

Since acquiring the Surly Big Dummy well over a year ago now, it has proven itself indispensable to me by not only facilitating family-style excursions and "portaging," but also by working in tandem with my fundamentally lazy nature. For example, awhile back I made a trip to the beach, and I have yet to unload my folding chair and beach umbrella:



Sure, I considered unloading them at one point, but then I figured "Why bother?" I don't even know it's there when I'm riding in the same way an elephant doesn't know there's a bird sitting on his ass, so it seems easier to just leave the stuff there until next time I go to the beach. Plus, you never know when you might want to create a little impromptu poolside scene next to some fetid puddle somewhere, and if I should suddenly get stuck in a downpour I can just open the umbrella and hunker down under it until the rain stops.

Also, it should go without saying that I always travel with a messenger-style diaper bag and a big bunch of bananas:



In short, at any given moment, the contents of my Big Dummy will allow a small family (complete with helper monkey) to subsist for days. Of course, the obvious downside is that I'm a robust target and therefore total looter bait--at least until I install the key fob-activated smokescreen, which will allow me to go from this:

To this:



By the time the smoke clears, I'll be gone.

Either that, or I may just hide it and myself under camouflage tarp that's painted to look like a dollar store that has already been looted.



Anyway, given the sublime pleasure that leisurely family-style cycling can be, I can't help bristling when I read something like this, which was forwarded to me by a reader:



Yes, it's a letter to the editor from someone named Janet, and she hates cyclists:



I will say it out loud; I hate bicyclists! And, after a brief survey, I know I’m not alone.

There's certainly room for debate when it comes to municipal issues such as bike lanes and so forth, but when someone just hates cyclists because they hate cyclists then they forfeit their right to rational discourse. You simply can't fight this kind of stupidity with reason--it's like trying to verbally coax your shoelaces to untie themselves, or showing your dog a PowerPoint presentation about why he shouldn't eat his own feces. Sure, in the real world Janet deserves to be treated with as much respect as anybody, but when it comes to an exchange of words and ideas she does not warrant respect, intelligent answers, or indeed any sort of explanation. Instead, I believe situations like this call for "idiot diplomacy," and I will answer her many questions using this protocol:

Maybe it’s the outfits, or maybe it’s the attitude. Share the road? Safe passing law? That’s great for them, but what is my recourse?

Good question, Janet. Your recourse is exactly to go fuck yourself. Sure, this may sound harsh, but fucking yourself is fun. And, better yet, the more time you spend trying to fuck yourself, the less time you spend trying to fuck us. It makes the roads safer for everybody.

I pay licensing fees, registration fees, and passed a test to use the road. And the cyclist requirement? None. So when they ride three abreast, halting the flow of traffic, or, without warning, decide to ride the center of the road, whom do I call?

I'd try either 1-800-FUK-SELF, or any of the few remaining people in your life who are still willing to listen to your moronic braying.

They rarely follow traffic signs or use hand signals, and yet it’s my fault when we nearly collide?

Yes, it is, because you're an idiot. And you're lying if you say you've never seen a cyclist use this hand signal.

Why not require all cyclists, both home-grown and visiting, to pass a road test, register, and post a license?

Because it's stupid, and you're stupid. Anyway, cyclists do have to pass road tests, register, and get a license--when they buy cars.

Why don’t we tax them? Then we would truly be sharing the road. Until then, go ahead and call my plate in; I unfortunately have no recourse.

Wow, I must have a really shitty accountant, because I've been paying taxes for years. Can you please point me to the statutes that exempt me from taxes because I'm a cyclist? Could you also point me to the various laws that exempt cyclists who also own cars from licensing, registration, tolls, and fuel costs?

Also, here's another question: When you walk into a crowded room, is there an actual audible sucking sound when you cause the average IQ to plummet like an out-of-control hillbomber?

If you don't like people being exempt from taxes, go bother a religious organization instead of people who like to ride bikes. Who do you think has caused you more problems in this world: cyclists, or "God?"

Speaking of hillbombers, the opposite of hillbombing is climbing, and maybe it would become more popular with the brakeless set if it had a catchier name, like "hillhumping." As it happens, someone called Manuel Forspeed recently "Tweeted" a hillhumping "edit," and then dared me to find anything funny about it:

Here's the video:

A Manual for Speed: Driveway Time Trial from manualforspeed on Vimeo.

Well, Manuel, given that my sense of humor stopped maturing sometime during middle school, I find the idea of a 30-second video that consists entirely of someone bobbing up and down while panting to be extremely funny. He's like totally humping that hill. Also, it's kind of funny that you can see a reflection of Manuel sitting in a hatchback in the rider's sunglasses, which spoils the sense of isolation:



I won't bother to point out the glasses-under-the-helmet strap thing, though, mostly because it's a petty critique in that if I climb anything steeper than the hill in Prospect Park I look like I've been lost in the Florida Everglades for three days. And that's to say nothing of the hill in this video, which would probably cause me to sit on the pavement and sob with a giant snot bubble in my nose.



Anyway, he looks much better than football playing person Tom Brady, who another reader informs me prefers to wear both his helmet straps behind his ears:



Maybe he was confused as to whether the glasses go over or under the straps, so he just figured he'd do neither.

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Slam of the Tongue: Racing and Portaging

Did you know there's a three-week bicycle cycling stage race taking place in France right now called the Tour of France? There sure is. And even though it's the very first one, the cycling media is all over it. For example, Bicycling magazine has put their very best writers on the race. They've also put their worst writer on it--me--and here's my most recent Tour of France-related post. Also, here's other stuff I have wroten for them over the years. And here's a pretty picture of an egret. And here's a kid wearing an ALF t-shirt.

I realize that's a lot of stuff, but I'm just doing my best to please everybody.

Still, as hard as I try, I always manage to forget something. For example, you'd think that between the Tour of France crap and the egret and the kid in the ALF t-shirt I'd have satisfied every demographic. However, someone's always left wanting more--like the commenter who wanted to see Cadel Evans throwing his backwash onto Mark Cavendish:

Anonymous said...

Where is Cadel 'accidentally' throwing water at Cav?!

July 12, 2011 12:38 AM

Well, here it is:



Note the surreptitious manner in which Evans throws the water at the Vittel guy:

And them immediately supplicates himself before an angry Mark Cavendish when he's caught in the act, like a submissive dog exposing his belly:

It's clear who's the alpha male in the peloton, and I think mischievous heel-nipper Cadel Evans might benefit from a week with Cesar Millan:

(The Cadel Whisperer)

Also, speaking of creatures who can't control their tongues, here's Thomas Voeckler's wild Stage 9 tongue action via Cycling Inquisition:



I think he may have taken that old Sam Kinison routine about "licking the alphabet" a bit too seriously. Actually, it looks like he's spelling out "maillot jaune" with his tongue.

Moving away from the glamorous world of professional bicycle racing and on to the sordid world of amateur unsanctioned bicycle racing meant to generate images and marketing copy for luxury cycling apparel brands, yesterday I complained that my team didn't make it into the 2011 Rapha Northeast Gentlemen's Race video. Well, the filmmaker was kind enough to visit the comments section and offer an explanation:

Stebs said...

Sorry I missed filming your team! We were all over the place and unfortunately missed a lot of racers...

July 11, 2011 1:32 PM

Right. WHAT-everrr. You can make it sound like a coincidence, but I know it's all about looks. I bet we would have been all over that video if we had sweet integrated aero-beard face fairings like this guy did:

I guess he couldn't afford the Rapha neck gaiter and so he just grew one instead.

Also, in other cycling apparel-related news, a reader tells me that Conan O'Brien and actor Mark-Paul Gosselaar recently had a chat about Lycra and leg-shaving:



By the way, if you look up Gosselaar's race results, he's got fairly impressive palmarès for a famous actor:

Certainly way better than that Andrew Tilin guy who doped yet never made it out of the 4s:

And then wrote a book about it:


I've actually been reading this book for weeks now but I'm still only on page 125. If I ever do manage to finish it I'll let you know what I think, but I may have to take some kind of literacy-enhancing drug to get there.

Anyway, as far as I know Conan O'Brien doesn't have any race results, but he does ride a Serotta and looks like an elongated Alexandre Vinokourov:

Meanwhile, in the world of non-competitive (except for Cat 6 racers of course) cycling, local site Gothamist recently reported on perhaps the most offensive bike lane television news story I've ever seen:


In it, the reporter says of a bike lane that would pass the Israeli Consulate:

"Imagine if the man on the bike was a terrorist!"

Right. Remember those bicycles that bombed the World Trade Center in 1993, and then destroyed it in 2001? Neither do I. That comment has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard anyone say about cycling or terrorism--on TV or off--and I would have given anything to see her get hit by that cab when she stepped out into the middle of the street at 1:06:

Not enough to injure her seriously, mind you, but just enough to keep her off the air. Actually, maybe that already happened, because a severe head injury is the only thing that could possibly explain her idiotic reporting.

Idiot reporters aside, I'm very thankful for bike lanes, since they greatly facilitate child-portaging. I'm constantly refining my child-portaging technique, and I recently realized that I had installed my Xtracycle PeaPod LT a little too far back:

Now, though, I'm running it totally "slammed:"

I was proud of my aggressive new setup, and I even boasted about it by means of the Tweeter, though commenter "ce" totally humbled me yesterday:

ce said...

Snob, slam your kid seat properly by ditching the deck and the various bracket bits. Attach the seat directly to the V-Racks with SuperHooks. Then cut the LawyerLegs off the seat to clean up the lines of your cargo area.

The bit about the LawyerLegs really stung, and as a child-portaging "noob" I had no idea I was doing the smugness equivalent of "palping" a pie plate.

Slam That Stem was even tougher on me:

Eventually I'll get it together, though I'm not sure I'll ever attain this level of child-slammage:

Now that kid is slammed.

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