BSNYC Friday Fondue Party!

("This Is F***ing Urgent," photographed by a reader)

As you are almost certainly aware, the First Annual BSNYC/RTMS Cockpit of the Year Award is in full swing, and like Alberto Contador gorging himself on a succulent steak during a Tour de France rest day I may have bitten off considerably more than I can chew. There's simply no polite way to put this: I'm up to my neck in "Cockie." Indeed, it seems like every time I check my email another submission pops up as if to say, "Boo! Cockie!" In fact, if I had a "Vegan" chin tattoo, you probably wouldn't even be able to read it:

Though you'd still be able to see my multiple septum piercings.

Now, an email inbox full of "Cockie" wouldn't be such a problem in itself if the vast majority of submissions were of poor quality. However, the simple truth is that almost all the "Cockie" photos I have received have been profoundly engrossing. Just to give you an idea of how difficult "curating" this contest has been so far, just dipping my ladle into this bowl of hot "Cockie" more or less at random yields compelling entries such as this pair of apehangers complete with bar ends and complemented by the ultra-rare banana-seat-and-suspension-fork combo:

This incredible PVC-and-hose-clamp setup:


This "Jacob's Ladder" spotted in Salt Lake City:

This ornithologist's delight spotted in Florida:


And this totally "murdered out" department store mountain bike, noteworthy for its elegant minimalism:

In the meantime, while I'm coping with "Cockie," I invite the rest of you to partake in a quiz. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right, well, that's just fantastic, and if you're wrong you'll see "The Coffee Wars."

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and may your hands find secure purchase on your cockpit.

--BSNYC/RTMS

1) If you bet on Andy Schleck to win the 2010 Tour de France, it's now paying off.

--True
--False

2) Chef Paco Olalla refers to the Alberto Contador tainted meat incident as:

--"Tainted Meatgate"

--"The Notorious Day of the Steak"

--"Where's the Beef?"

--"Clen-tastically delicious"

3) If you bet on Shawn Milne to win the 2007 USPro Criterium Championships, it's now paying off:

--True

--False

(Humiliated hat jettisons self in search of wearer with a clue.)

4) "DTR" stands for:

--"Down To Ride"

--"Digital Tape Recorder"

--"Define The Relationship"

--"Denim Taint Rubbing"

5) Pressure washers; 3M adhesives; propane canisters; cooking equipment--just a few of the items you'll need in order to:

--Race cyclocross

--Start your own automotive detailing business

--Take up permanent residence in a mobile home

--Re-enact your favorite "MacGyver" episode

6) Fill in the blank: "Clipless pedals are out--_________ are in:"

--Toeclips

--Boutique Velcro straps

--Flat pedals

--Skateboard decks

7) Fill in the blank: "________ are the new Vino jersey."

--Alberto Contador signature series steak knives

--Cyclocross-specific George Foreman grills

--Rapha crotchal unguents
--Vino jerseys

***Special "Designer Douchery"-Themed Bonus Question***

"Best Made Company," sellers of the bedazzled urban doucheman's ax(e), also offer:

--A $300 wetsuit for cats

--A $90 artisanal nail clipper

--A $75 beard-specific lice comb

--An $80 "personal sail" to help slow you down while frolicking downhill

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Upright Mammals

Upon returning to the city and getting on my Gazelle again, I was surprised by how different the cycling experience felt from being on my Rivendell.

Normally, I ride both bicycles regularly, so the switch back and forth does not feel remarkable. But after having cycled solely on a roadbike for three weeks, I almost felt as if I had to forcefully uncurl my spine as I transformed from a quadruped to a biped.

While we were away, the Co-Habitant teased that I would get accustomed to using a roadbike for transportation and would probably just keep doing it when we got home - after all, it's faster. But it soon became clear that when it comes to upright bicycles, absence made the heart grow fonder. (Now, if I can just stop trying to use the non-existent bar-end shifters on my poor Dutch bike!)

I think that as upright mammals, we are accustomed to seeing the world from the vantage point of bipedalism and we feel the most relaxed when adopting that posture. It is only natural that people prefer to remain upright when moving through their environment - whether on foot, or on bike, or on public transport. While upright bicycles may not be appropriate for sport or long distance travel, their importance in the realm of "normal cycling" cannot be overstated. Most people considering a bicycle for transportation do not see themselves as "cyclists". They want to be their usual selves, except on a bike. I think the ability to remain an upright mammal is crucial to retaining one's inherent sense of self while cycling for transportation. 

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The More Things Change: Ushering In a New Error

Most of us are familiar with the phrase, "They don't make 'em like they used to," and while it's generally the sort of thing you'll hear muttered by ornery retrogrouches it happens to be true in many cases. For example, the pyramids they built way back in ancient times are still standing, whereas today's flimsy drywall constructions rarely last for more than a few years. Also, while it was possible "back in the day" to purchase a quality hand-crafted artisanal "dandy horse," nowadays it's all but impossible to find one that isn't far too small for the typical adult. And don't even get me started on how difficult it is to find a well-engineered abacus. Some favor Mac, others prefer PC, but in my opinion neither of them rivals the raw, minimalist computing power of some beads on a stick.

However, quality is not falling off in all areas, and in fact in some it is actually improving. The Gutenberg press used to be a big deal, but it sucks compared to the Internet. The average Dachshund is also over 30% longer than it was only 50 years ago thanks to huge advancements in dog food technology, and canine experts even predict that in order to support this increase the breed will evolve a third pair of legs by the year 2100. And professional cyclists' explanations for positive doping tests also to improve--at least in terms of entertainment value. Back in the Coppi era it used to be, "They spiked my bottle." Then, in the Vandenbroucke era, it was, "The drugs were for my dog." (In retrospect, this was a plausible explanation given what we now know about wiener dogs.) Today, it's "There was something in my meat," and Alberto Contador's cook now insists Astana has the receipt to prove it:

As everybody knows by now, a drug quiz administered during the Tour de France revealed that Contador had like a trillionth of a gram of a fad diet drug in his system, and it has since been revealed that there was also "plasticizer" in his blood, which means one of three things: 1) His blood may have come out of a bag; 2) He may be "running" those new Gore Ride On plastic arteries; or 3) He is in fact the comic book superhero known as "Plastic Man." Of course, the "plasticizer" test has yet to be validated by the World Anti-Doping Agency, so Contador's main concern is explaining the fad diet drug, hence the whole "meat" story--or, as the cook calls it in the above article, "The Notorious Day of the Steak."

But while the cook insists Astana has the meat receipt, they have yet to produce it, which is now prompting everybody in the world who has ever padded an expense report to ask, "How long does it take a bunch of bike racers to whip up a phony receipt, anyway?". Really, all you need to do is pull something like this out from between the seat cushions on the team bus:

(Number of guests changed from "9" to "8" because Vino ate separately.)

Done, and done. Just crinkle it up a bit, maybe add a coffee ring for authenticity, and start training for the 2011 Tour de France.

Another thing that is improving by leaps and bounds (or by bunny hops and elephant trunk skids) is the "epic" fixed-gear bicycle trip video trailer. Of course, by "improving" I don't mean that the artform is somehow becoming more interesting or edifying; rather, I mean that it's becoming exponentially more idiotic with each new release. The latest of these videos making the Internet rounds like an alleycat participant looking for "checkpoints" is "Down to Ride," in which seven ill-prepared people with marginal cycling skills endeavor to ride their crappy bikes from New York to Los Angeles:



"I don't think any of us have any idea what we're in for," says this person, unwittingly summarizing the vacuous mindset of an entire generation of fixed-gear riders:

"Dehydration, passing out, possibly death, but it's a risk I'm willing to take," says another rider as he manages to fall off his bicycle on a completely empty street:

"Just glad to be with my friends and on my bike," says the person who will do anything, no matter how ridiculous, as long as his friends and a bike are involved:


"I hope that everybody is aware of what I'm doing and they get out of my way cause I'm not going to get out of their way," says the guy who has apparently decided to out-dumb the three people who have spoken before him:

And who then raises his bicycle over his head as a "douche-clamation point:"

However, this being "Down to Ride"--almost certainly the goofiest fixed-gear trailer to date--he is immediately out-dumbed by the guy who skids into the frame on a road bike:

"I expect to ride plenty, bomb plenty of hills, maybe get a little scratched up, bruised...still 'DTR' baby, Down To Ride," says the final body in this pile-on of idiocy:

Judging from those glasses, he's also apparently 'DTETLOCNR,' or Down To Emulate The Look Of Charles Nelson Reilly:

But these riders aren't all talk, and they're out to prove they ride just as badly as they say they do. Here's one of them finally discovering that flat-brim caps tend to fly off the head once you exceed 1omph:

This dramatic moment is fraught with cultural significance;

I was particularly surprised to learn that Audrey Hepburn pants are still in vogue long after those Gap ads "dropped:"

In fact, the cast of "Down To Ride" appears to have used her as their wardrobe template:

To wit:

(Tarck Cavendish throws victory salute after winning Audrey Hepburn look-alike contest.)

Excluding, of course, the riders who opted to model themselves after Charles Nelson Reilly instead:

Still, as these riders make their way across the country, you can expect exchanges like these all over America:

Police Officer: "Ma'am, can you describe the bicyclist who hit you?"

Pedestrian: "Yes, he looked exactly like a young Audrey Hepburn--from the bob haircut right down to the slip-ons. Quite remarkable actually."

Meanwhile, this rider continues to sprint away from his purple hat, confident in the knowledge that the SUV driver will see the name tag his mother sewed into it and return it to its rightful owner:

Of course, it wouldn't be a fixed-gear trailer without a gratuitous shot of the riders ignoring a traffic signal, and while most videos go digital by ignoring red lights the "DTR" crew keeps it "old skool" by ignoring a good old-fashioned analog "Stop" sign:

As for the route they're taking from New York to Los Angeles, the video doesn't specify. However, since they don't have fenders or bags or proper clothes, it appears they're avoiding the surface roads in favor of indoor parking garages:

That should keep them safe from the elements.

But "Down To Ride" has more than just unintentional comedy; it also has PAIN:

And GLORY:

And RIDING ON THE SIDEWALK:

It's also ONE EPIC JOURNEY:

During which the participants actually learn important lessons about life, such as "Always hold your flat-brim cap on your head when riding over 10mph:"

And "Always cool your underarms:"


Yes, it's ONE EPIC JOURNEY all right. In fact, it's both metaphorically and literally a long ride off a short pier:

Indeed, to outdo this, the next fixed-gear crew will have to hire Christopher Guest to direct.

In any case, I do hope they at least take some time off from "hill bombing" and falling down in the middle of the street for no reason to stop and appreciate America's heartland, where one reader spotted this impressive "Cockie" submission:

They just don't make tractors like they used to.

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The Corrections: I Can See Clearly Now

This past Friday, on October something-or-other in the year 2000-something-or-other, I administered a series of challenging questions, or what people in the education industry refer to as a "quiz." This so-called "quiz" can be viewed by clicking on the following phrase:

NEW ENGLAND CLAM CHOWDER IS DELICIOUS

Or, alternately, by clicking on this photo of a bowl of New England clam chowder:

For those of you who don't know your chowders, New England clam chowder is the white one, Manhattan clam chowder is the red one, and "Cleveland clam chowder" is not actually a chowder but rather a slang term for a particularly filthy sex act, so keep that in mind when ordering to avoid disappointment, embarrassment, or arrest.

At this point, you're probably thinking, "That quiz was like months ago! Why are you bringing it up now?" Well, it has been brought to my attention by a popular cycling-themed bag, clothing and shoe company that the so-called "right" answer to one of the questions on this quiz was actually wrong. Here is the question in question:

As the Chrome representative explains:

...the two people who got the Chrome logo did so at their own will and were unexpectedly gifted bags as flattered thank yous. We definitely didn't expect people to volunteer the logo designs, and felt our die-hard loyalists deserved a special thanks for their continued support.

So what does all of this mean? Well, it means the following:

1) Anybody who answered "False" to question #7 on the quiz dated October something-or-other, 2000-whatever, will receive full credit on the question;

2) Anybody who answered "True" to this same question will also receive full credit, unless your urine or blood samples are found to contain Clenbuterol and/or plastic residue;

3) The members of the "bike culture" who got tattooed are not "bag whores" as I implied, since they did not get Chrome logo tattoos in exchange for money or goods. Instead, they are technically "bag sluts," since they got Chrome logo tattoos without expecting anything in return. This is an important distinction;

4) The sex act known as the "Cleveland clam chowder" is legal in Nevada, but it is illegal if you also order it in a "bread bowl."

My sincere apologies to Chrome Cycling Trends, Inc., all affected quiz-takers, and any unintentionally maligned "bag sluts" for my error. I guess that's what I get for not attending Interbike. (Though I did get to keep my dignity as a consolation prize.)

Speaking of dignity, Nylon--which, according to a popular user-edited online encyclopedia, is "an American magazine that focuses on pop culture and fashion"--recently published the musings of a cyclist who is dismayed by the haughty attitude displayed by the "fixerati:"

Apparently, they did not approve of his bicycle, which he describes thusly:

I have a silver 8-Gear TREK bike. It is not stylish. I bought it off a fidgety thug in the East Village. “Look at this seat! You know how much this seat costs?” He asked.

“No.”

“Two hundred dollars!”

“The seat?”

“Yup.”

“How much do you want for the bike?”

“Fifty.” Money switched hands, and thus my mountain biking life began.

Following this, the Nylon writer says: "If you ride a fixed gear bike, you don’t actually get to scoff at me." Actually, this is wrong, and the truth is everybody gets to scoff at him. Why? Because when you buy a bicycle for $50 from a "fidgety thug in the East Village" it means you're riding around on somebody else's stolen bike, and whether it's "a silver 8-gear TREK bike," or a Chari & Co.-curated freewheel "tarck" masterpiece, or a "Bicycling" magazine-reviewed road-tarded crabon fribé Fredcycle, you automatically forfeit the moral high ground and relegate yourself to the bottom of the cycling hierarchy the moment you hand the salesman his drug money. (Or, I suppose, the moment you decide to keep the bike instead of at least making an attempt to find the rightful owner.) I certainly have little patience for the preening self-importance of the "fixter," but at least most of them buy their bikes legitimately (with their parents' money). In any case, if you've recently found yourself less a silver 8-speed Trek bicycle, you might want to contact the editorial staff of Nylon to get it back.

If nothing else, that fateful encounter in which a pair of "fixter" doofi and a rube from Nylon wearing a wool blazer and riding a stolen Trek stood there glowering at each other must have been nothing short of a "circle jerk" of cluelessness, and this article was the inevitable "issue." Alas, if only some cycling optics company would make a pair of glasses that allowed clueless people to see things as they really are (sort of like those glasses in "They Live"), then the rest of us could be spared this kind of ejaculate in the future. In the meantime, it looks like we have to settle for glasses that show us our heart rate and wattage, like this pair forwarded to me by a reader:

As if roadies and triathletes weren't already "dorking out" hard enough, here comes a pair of sunglasses that means they won't even have to look down at the displays fastened to their crabon handlebars to see how slow they are. I wonder if the glasses also tell you what to say in certain situations, like in the famous "Fuck You, Asshole" scene in "The Terminator:"

They could allow you to choose from any of four Fred-tastic phrases:

It's perfect for that next group ride, Cat 5 road race, or charity event.

I was also intrigued to note that the glasses have an "audio system," which must be like like having your own personal directeur sportif:

Click here to experience what they say when a gap starts to open;

Click here to experience what they say when a gap gets too big;

Click here to experience what they say when you encounter a "fixter" or fashion writer on a stolen bicycle;

Click here to experience what they say when you encounter more than one vagina.

If they come with customizable regional accents and a free cleaning cloth, I don't know how you could say no.

Speaking of exciting new products, I recently received an email from the manufacturers of something called the "Stemie," which evidently protects the "pants yabbies" or vaginae during the sort of groin-to-stem contact you might encounter during elephant trunk skidding or other forms of pointless bicycle dry-humping:

What puzzled me most about this product was the actual name. I assume "Stemie" is supposed to refer to the "stem," and that you would pronounce the name of the product to rhyme with "Lemmy." However, with only one "m" I can't help reading this as "steamy," which--if you're immature like me--evokes a certain "steamy" companion act to the "Cleveland clam chowder." Then again, that could be what they were going for, and it does explain the final question in their "FAQ:"

In any case, if you have an inordinate amount of trouble with your stem jabbing you in the "breadbowl," then perhaps this is the product for you.

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