Memories of Vancouver: All You Haters Taste My Rainbow

Did you know that there's still such a thing as local network TV news?  Well, it's true.  Naturally, I'd just assumed it had gone the way of rotary phones and VCRs, but amazingly it's still on--and with many of the same anchorpeople and weather doofuses I remember from back in the rotary phone days!  I know this because I found myself watching the local news last night, and there was a hard-hitting story about how "Curb Your Enthusiasm" star and creator Larry David stole a bike:

Around 5:00 p.m. May 26, a service-entry camera captured a balding, middle-aged man dragging a green ladder out of the building and up to a roughly ten-foot pole with a bicycle locked to it. Balancing on the steps of the ladder, the man can be seen hauling the cycle up and over the top of the pole, then dropping it to the ground.


The man then calmly folds up the ladder, returns it to the building and walks off with the bike on his shoulder.

Actually, they don't say it's Larry David, but he certainly fits the description.  (Then again, so do I, but I know I didn't steal the bike because at 5:00pm on May 26th I was at my lawyer's office discussing a lawsuit against the adult entertainment company that released my helper monkey Vito's sex tape.)  Here's shocking video of the event:

 
I know what you're thinking: "How can a man climb a ladder and steal a bike in New York City in broad daylight without a single person stopping and offering to hold the ladder steady for him?"  I couldn't agree more, and there was a time back in the rotary phone days when New Yorkers looked out for middle-aged balding men and offered to lend a hand so that they wouldn't fall down and break a hip.  In any case, we're living in cruel times, and I'm sure Dutch city bike enthusiasts will step in and say this is yet another reason why we should all be riding around on bikes that weigh like 75lbs.

Meanwhile, speaking of local news and the olden days, they say that print is dead and that smartphones are responsible for an epidemic of distracted driving.  Well, it turns out that the old-fashioned newspaper is still alive and well, and it can be just as engrossing as your smartphone or tablet--especially if you drive a train for the busiest commuter railway in the United States:

View more videos at: http://nbcnewyork.com.

But don't worry, because the MTA is addressing the problem:

The MTA said in a statement that "reading anything, texting or using cell phones while operating a train is obviously not acceptable. Metro-North will take action to ensure this does not happen again."

They don't say what this "action" will entail, but I suspect it will involve immobilizing the driver's head with duct tape:

This photo is the amateur bike racing equivalent of a Faces of Meth "after" picture, and the CPSC really should mandate that it be placed as a warning sticker on all crabon fiber bicycles.  It would certainly do a whole lot more good than those stupid "lawyer tabs."

So what's the opposite of a revolting photograph of a decrepit and duct-taped Fred in the advanced stages of cycling-induced delusion?  A pretty picture of a rainbow!  Here's one that I saw yesterday evening just after I finished duct-taping my head into place for the 30-minute ride home:

(If you squint you can kind of see it.)

Rainbows are a powerful symbol in our culture.  For example, did you know that in hipster mythology the Supreme Being rides a fixiebike, and that's why they call rainbows "God's Skidmarks?"  Well, it's true!  Also, obviously the rainbow flag is a symbol of gay pride, and while some people are under the misapprehension that it's meant to convey the ideals of diversity and inclusiveness, it's actually supposed to represent the many hues of blood which will gush forth from the severed arteries of their enemies when they finally start the revolution.

Anyway, as I stared at the rainbow softly drooling to myself, I thought back to the last time I saw a rainbow, which was during my BRA in Vancouver, British Canadia.  In fact, I actually stopped mid-BRA to photograph it:

Here's a closer look:

In every city, there's always one moment that gives you sudden insight into the character of it's people.  In Vancouver, this moment occurred when I said, "Look, a rainbow!," and someone in the audience replied, "Is it a double rainbow?"  That's when I realized that I was dealing with a populace so pampered and spoiled by natural beauty that they can't even be bothered to turn their heads for a single rainbow.  "Pffff.  Single rainbow.  We don't even look at those," they might as well have said.  I suppose if I had seen a killer whale they'd have said, "Well is it waterskiing while being fellated by a dolphin?  'Cause if it's not I don't care."  It kind of makes you sick that people like this get free health care, while honest Americans who actually need it because we can't stop shooting each other and eating ourselves into diabetic comas get bubkes.

By the way, I did see a killer whale waterskiing while being fellated by a dolphin while I was in Vancouver, and there was also a double rainbow behind them, but I snapped the photo just a second too late:

Of course, when you think about Vancouver you think of stuff like mountain biking, and marijuana, and other kinds of outdoorsy stuff, and marijuana.  You don't really think of culture.  This is true of most cities that lie in regions of great natural beauty, because instead of actually creating stuff they can just smoke marijuana and look at stuff that's already there.  This is what's going on here:

(Nature-jaded Vancouverites just all like "whatever.")

You couldn't even smell the sea for all the Wednesday Weed.

The only problem Vancouverites ever seem to face is when their oddly socialist-looking architecture blocks their view of all the pretty stuff, which is why they ride around on tall bikes.  Unfortunately, they're all so high on the pot that they don't plan ahead for red lights:

Yes, when you're riding in Vancouver always lend a hand to tall bikers lacking in long-term planning skills.  Also, watch out for the dog taxis:

More to the point, watch out for the dogs themselves, because they're always running out into the streets to hail the taxis.  It's also not uncommon for two dogs to fight over one taxi, and here's an example of that I managed to catch on video:



Since they were both headed to the airport I suggested that they just split the fare, but they wouldn't listen to me.

Another thing about Vancouver is that evidently not much happens there, because they put me on the local news.  Here's what it looked like where I was standing:

See, when you write about cycling, local news producers think it's a good idea to make you stand around in a parking lot with your bike instead of inviting you to sit down in a comfy chair with a cup of coffee like they do with normal people.  I'm not sure why I had to be interviewed next to my bike.  Dr. Ruth writes about sex, but I've never seen her being interviewed while receiving cunnilingus.  Also, there was a big hockey game that day, so pretty much everyone in Vancouver was wearing one of these:

(By "one of these" I mean a hockey jersey, not a pair of headphones.)

Yes, in Vancouver they love hockey--or, if you prefer, "bikeless ice polo."  As for me, I'm not even remotely a sports fan, which is why I'm immediately suspicious of non-athletes in sports jerseys.  I kept having visions of suddenly coming down with appendicitis and being rushed to the hospital, where the last thing I'd see before going under was some scalpel-wielding surgeon in a Canucks jersey with Molson on his breath and one eye on the operating room television.  Fortunately, that didn't happen, but I wasn't comforted by the fact that everyone responsible for my flight was wearing one as well:

But while the TV news made me conduct an interview on my bike, the Independent Smugness Media was even worse and made me do an interview while actually riding my bike:

By the way, in the link above you may have noticed the interviewer wrote this:


I discovered that The Bike Snob isn’t nearly as frighteningly acerbic in person as he seems on his blog, though he’s still very funny, and it was a thrill to have a rare sunny day (we prayed heavily) to show him around on his first trip to Vancouver.

What?  Not frighteningly acerbic in person?!?  Well screw you, goddamn it!!!*

*(I must really not be acerbic, because if a Canadian doesn't find you acerbic, you are not acerbic.  To Canadians, "Sesame Street" is acerbic.)


Also, here's what a cameraman looks like when he's forced to work on the back of a cargo bike:

He seemed a bit nonplussed, but not remotely as nonplussed as this person who watched me go pee-pee in the restroom a Vancouver "epic burrito" spot:

It was highly disconcerting, and I had to run the tap for like 14 minutes until I was relaxed enough to go.

Less frightening was the Musette Caffe:

Sure, the socialist architecture that looms over it was kind of scary, but I found the decor entirely soothing:

So soothing in fact that I went pee-pee right where I was standing.

Then we all went for a ride:

Every one of their expressions says, "More killer whales being fellated by dolphins while waterskiing, or Ima fucking kill you."

Finally, lastly, and in closing, I'd just like to let all the shiksehs know that "Hasidic Dude" is still looking, for he has reposted his plea:

Hasidic Dude For Shikseh Bike Riding Partner - m4w - 28 (North Brooklyn)
Date: 2012-06-06, 11:22PM EDT
Reply to: [deleted]


Ok, this is not exactly a missed connection to a particular person, but I am a real hasidic dude who is looking for a multi cultural bike riding partner/expiriance. I do like to ride down to Coney Island and fort Tilden and Im sure there's a non religious girl who is wants to have a conversation wih someone totally different and learn a thing or two about he culture. I am down for drinks too, but really the weather is so beautiful and this is te time of year.

It should be obvious to him by now that his ad isn't working, and you'd think that he'd at least clean up his spelling errors, or maybe even add some seductive lines like "I wanna roll you in the sands of Rockaway like a schnitzel on a bed of Kosher sea salt."  Anyway, if this is indicative of how the Hasidim are using the Internet, maybe all those rabbis the other day were right:

In an extraordinary gathering of nearly 60,000 ultra-Orthodox Jews, leading rabbis of the yeshiva and Hassidic world all but banned the Internet.


A halachic decision rendered by Rabbi Shmuel Halevi Wosner, one of the senior rabbis in the Orthodox world, said the Internet could be used for work purposes in an office — but only if absolutely necessary, and with the use of a filter. There was no justification for Internet use at home under any circumstances.

"Yes, but what about using it to find non-Jewish sex partners?," I'm sure Hasidic Dude failed to add.  By the way, as anyone who rides a bike in Brooklyn knows, "work purposes in an office" does implicitly allow for operating a smartphone while driving a minivan.  Also, ironically, at least one attendee at the gathering used the Internet to upload a sick "edit" to YouTube:

He was almost certainly driving at the time.

Share and Share Alike: The Pox is Spreading

Even though I write this blog, I'm not really sure what it's about.  In my more pretentious moments I like to say it's stream-of-consciousness humor that chronicles and lampoons the idiosyncrasies and contradictions inherent in 21st century urban life, but mostly I think it's just an excuse for me to post pictures like this:

I do seem to recall though that back when I started this blog it was ostensibly about bikes.  I also seem to remember that riding bicycles was an enjoyable activity that I used to partake in before I spent most of my free time on airplanes.  Given this, even now I don't think it's entirely inappropriate for me to write about bikes, inasmuch at least some of you may still find the subject interesting.  In particular, I'd like to write about this one:

The above bicycle is my detachable travel chariot.  It happens to be a Surly Travelers Check, but the make and model is not nearly as relevant as the fact that it has those S&S coupler thingies in the frame:

These allow you to take the bike apart and carefully pack it in a case that is small enough to be checked as regular baggage at airports--or, if you're me, to haphazardly cram it into a case that is small enough to be checked as regular baggage at airports.

If you're a bicycle cycling enthusiast you've no doubt run up against the issue of flying with your bicycle at one point another, and have been confounded and vexed by deterrents such as exorbitant airline fees and unwieldy travel cases.  Simply put, many of us long to travel with a full-size bicycle as conveniently and inexpensively as possible.  So, having undertaken approximately 15 flights in the past couple of months, I'd like to say that I've found this system to be an excellent solution.  By my count, I've avoided something like $1,500 in bicycle fees during that time (I never paid a single bicycle fee), and was also able to fit to easily fit the packed case into airport shuttles, taxis, and even the overhead compartment of an Acela train.  Plus, while I have yet to remove the bicycle from its case since my last journey, assuming it comes out okay this time it will have accompanied me without sustaining any damage beyond superficial scratches--all despite my almost total disgregard for its well-being.

I should emphasize that this commentary is totally unsolicited; rather, as a bike geek, I just feel compelled to share my success with the system with those of you who want to travel with bicycles.

I also realize that there are people who "tweet" with the hashtag "#airportninja" and boast about how they manage to avoid bicycle fees even with non-coupled bicycles by disguising them as massage tables or sex dolls or whatever they do, but for the rest of us who don't have the time and energy for such subterfuge I think couplers are a good way to go.

Finally, I'm sure someone will point out yet again my gross excess of head tube spacers, but I remain proud of them.  After all, what is the appeal of the "slammed" stem anyway?

It's like cramming your feet into Sidis that are three sizes too small and then bragging about how your shoes are "slammed."  That's why I'm embracing my unslammed pride.  Indeed, "slam" spelled backwards is "mals," and from now on I will fly my "malsed" stem for all the world to see, like a pink-and-green Flag of Kludginess:

Best of all, there's always room for a spare cockpit:

Sheldon Brown was the Walt Whitman of cockpit curation.

In any case, now that I'm back I'm trying to catch up on the local bike-related goings-on, and one development has been this provisional station map of the New York City bike share system:

The blue dots represent the stations, and if it helps you can think of the ones in Brooklyn and Queens as "hipster pox," since they indicate areas of extreme gentrification.  I'm unsurprised to learn that the neighborhood in which I live is totally unaffected, since around here "bike share" means that they'll give your mangled bike back to you after they run you down with their minivans.  I was, however, surprised to learn that the system will be pretty expensive, and indeed much more so than London's:

This is a bit of a shame, and $10 for half an hour of riding is a lot of money.  Years ago, before New York City was afflicted with "hipster pox," you used to be able to ride all day for $10--though the "bike" was actually a "woman" named Frank in the Meatpacking District.

Speaking of bike share bikes, the ones in London are called "Boris Bikes" after the Mayor of London, who was recently profiled in "Vanity Fair" magazine:

Apparently, his "favorite journey" is "Through the sun-dappled streets of central London by bicycle at the beginning of April:"

I too enjoyed riding in London, though my time there I've never seen the sun dapple anything at any time of year.  I also wonder if he continues to enjoy cycling in London when he gets to the Elephant & Castle roundabout, because Jack Thurston of "The Bike Show" took me through there, and it totally sucked.

Another thing that sucks is my photography, and I was reminded of this when I received the professional photos of my visit to the Brooks factory in Birmingham.  I'm not sure why the Brooks people saw it fit to engage a photographer to chronicle some feckless wisesass from New York as he stumbled around their facilities in a state of extreme jetlag, but I suspect it was something of a hedge, since otherwise the only photographic record of the event would be my own crappy photos.  Yes, with a professional photographer you capture the interaction of man and machine:

And the spirit and pride of the workers:

And their strong yet nimble fingers with their sinewy dexterity:

Whereas with the wiseass bike blogger all you get is lousy pictures of the vending machine:

Which contained a mysterious and disgusting-sounding "beef drink:"

Which I didn't get:

Because obviously I opted for the haggis thick shake instead.

I really enjoyed my visit to the factory, though as I suspected I felt pretty self-conscious about the fact that I was traipsing around while everybody was working:

(This photo was taken by the professional, obviously.)

Indeed, one look at my soft hands and softer middle told them all they needed to know, which was why they made me use the ladies' room:

(Guess who took this photo.)

By the way, every time I went to the bathroom (haggis thick shakes go right through you) I expected a bunch of people to burst out of them singing "Every Sperm is Sacred:"

Though I didn't worry about catching an STD from the toilet seat because I had read this fact sheet:

(Yeah, that's another one of mine.)

At this point I should warn you that I'm about to violate one of this blog's few style guidelines, which is never to include a picture of the author.  However, in this case I'm going to make an exception, because I found this series particularly compelling in the way that it revealed the ineptitude of its subject.

Here's an idiot looking at a saddle top:

Here's an idiot looking at a document:

And here's an idiot just looking, and also drooling imperceptibly:

It's fascinating to me how fine the line is between idiocy and transcendence.  For example, the above photo evokes the cover of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme:"

Only Coltrane looks deeply contemplative, and I look deeply stupid.

I'd like to think it's the use of black and white:

Though a lot of it probably has to do with the fact that the tag of my sweater is sticking out in every single photo:

Really, between being unable to dress myself and asking questions like "So where does this thing go again?," it's a wonder the great Eric "The Chamferer" Murray didn't cut me right then and there:

("So, like, how does it attach to the bike?")

Frankly, I'm lucky they didn't laugh me out of there entirely.  Instead, they just told me to get the hell out, at which point I repaired to my "executive suite:"

(Photo credit: Wildcat Rock Machine)

Then I grabbed a beef drink to go and took the Reliant back to London.

(And if you're wondering, the answer is "Yes, you can dock them at a bike share station.")

BSNYC Field Trip: Full Bike Day!

Wikipedia defines "Stockholm syndrome" as "an apparently paradoxical psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and have positive feelings towards their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them."  I can certainly see how this can happen under circumstances of extreme duress.  For example, on Thursday night I was here:

And then a few hours later I woke up on an airplane to see this:

After which the plane landed and I found myself in a van looking at this:

This was Mesagne, in the Italian region of Puglia, and my captor was a man named Vincenzo of the Associazone Culturale Aeneis 2000, who had "invited" me to speak at their "Full Bike Day" festival.  And no sooner had I wrapped my head around my whereabouts then I was escorted back into the van and taken to Brindisi:

Where I was marched up a drab staircase:

And ushered into the offices of Gazzetta del Mezzogiorno.  Here, they took my photograph, which ultimately appeared in the paper the following day.  Also in that same paper was the happy news that authorities had finally arrested Fancesco "Lalla" Margherito:

I don't read Italian, but I'm guessing he was probably the head of another "associazone culturale," and that they had run afoul of the authorities by organizing some kind of "Full Drugs Day."

Then, after the photograph, I was forced to look at olive tree porn:

Apparently the Puglia region produces much of Italy's olive oil, though most of it is consumed by Mario Cipollini, who uses it to lubricate his hair, face, and body:

Then came a tour of a nature preserve:

I might have enjoyed the tour more if I hadn't been operating on something like nine minutes of sleep, and it didn't help that the already exhaustive tour effectively took twice as long as it normally would since everything had to be translated into English for me.  Still, it was a beautiful place, and here are the long early evening shadows that fell as the tour guide, the interpreter, and I walked towards the seashore:

And here's the van, in which Vincenzo followed us at a distance that hovered somewhere between "polite" and "menacing:"

(Few things are more disconcerting than being followed by a van.)

Here's the Torre Guaceto, for which the nature preserve is named, and from which the townspeople used to watch the coast for invading Turks many centuries ago:

We kept walking and walking towards it, but it never seemed to get any closer, sort of like that scene in "The Holy Grail."  Finally, though, we were upon it:

And then in it:

Scanning the horizon for approaching marauders:

Between my profound exhaustion and the solemn march backwards into time, I began to enter into what you might call a "weird headspace," and by the time we got back into the van and started through the gnarled and twisted olive trees again I sat there in a state of hallucinatory half-sleep as their trunks took the shape of demons and skulls.  It was like I had been sucked into the cover of some old death metal album:

(Mmm, death olives.)

By this point you'd think my captor would take mercy on me and put me to bed, but instead he took me to a really busy bike shop in San Vito dei Normanni for reasons I could not discern.  Here's the apprentice mechanic diagnosing a minor shifting problem on an impressive crabon Fred chariot in the fading evening light:

And here's the shop's third-generation owner working on a Cinelli something-or-other:

When I say the shop was busy, I mean it, and scores of people stood inside and outside where they had been waiting for hours for their turn with the maestro.  Here's a shot of the work area, which should be sufficient to put any tidy mechanics among you into cardiac arrest:

Here's a classic mountain bike which I guessed had been waiting for service since way back when it was cutting-edge technology:

A suspicion which was confirmed when I spotted the owner still waiting nearby:

And here's a gentleman in a sweatsuit doing what appears to be the equivalent of the Crabon Bike Parking Lot Test Ride:

Presumably he'll buy the bike, come back a month later for that first service, wait 20 years, and end up as another skeleton.  And so goeth the cycle of Italian bicycle retail.

On the second day I awoke rejuvenated by sleep and blissfully free from hallucinations, and my captor took me to visit the Longo Bikes factory.  Here's Signore Longo himself:

The frames are made right there in the factory (as the name "factory" would imply) though of course the crabon frames are made elsewhere.  In any case, you have to feel sorry for him, because while he could have had a visit from a media professional like James Huang he instead got some wiseass bike blogger with a smartphone.  I did my best though, and here's a somewhat Huangian disembodied-hand-displaying-a-crabon-wheel shot:

By the way, that's my abductor Vincenzo in the background with the camera.  I realize he looks a bit sinister, but that's only because he is.

Longo Bikes is located in the city of Ostuni, which hosted the World Championships in 1976:

Here's some more amateur smartphone bike porn, complete with bottom bracket crotch shot:

And here's a crabon frame and, of course, my ever-present abductor:

This is pretty much exactly what I saw any time I turned my head, opened a door, or pulled back the shower curtain.

In addition to making race bikes, Longo also supplies folding bikes which are being presented to local university students in a program to promote cycling in the region, and here is Signore Longo and my abductor posing awkwardly with my book:

By the way, here's Longo back in his racing days:

This photo harkens back to a simpler time when bike racers wore yarmulkes, and when middle-aged men could still wear paisley and get away with it.

After we visited the Longo factory my captor then took me to a high school in San Vito dei Normanni, where apparently I was to address the students.  Like most of what happened during the course of the visit, my captor sort of just sprung this on me, and I would have pulled the fire alarm and escaped were there evidence of any fire safety equipment whatsoever besides the tiny lone fire extinguisher:

To my horror, the students circled me and I desperately pleaded for my life lest they devour me:

Amazingly I survived, and was then returned to my gilded prison:

Poor me.

Though with the aid of my interpreter I did manage to slip away to Ostuni for some shopping:

As well as a little sunset porn:

The next morning, the sun rose again, and it shone brightly upon Full Bike Day:

I was genuinely moved to see the families of San Vito dei Normanni all gather for a ride to the nature preserve:

Where we admired student driftwood art:

And where the headmaster from the high school, still resplendent in his purple sweater, regarded me with unbridled nonplussitude:

Then we rode back to the piazza:

Where we were greeted warmly by the townspeople:

And coldly by this guy:

Though it won't do to express any sort of exuberance when you're the Coolest Guy in San Vito dei Normanno:

Of course, it wouldn't be a Full Bike Day without a bike-themed photo exibit:

And this one was my favorite:

Then came the ribbon-cutting ceremony:

After which we assembled in an ancient room:

And watched that stupendously awful Jared Leto "Kings and Queens" video:

Followed by a live interview with a semi-professional New York City bike blogger:

I don't want to speak for everybody, but I can safely say the headmaster was nonplussed:

It was a strange journey, but it was also a heartwarming one, and I don't think I've met a warmer and more welcoming group of people anywhere--though that may just be the Stockholm syndrome talking.