Slip It In: Finding New Places For Crabon

Celebrated American author Charles Dickens began his most celebrated novel, "Hamlet," with the following sentence:

"As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect-like creature."

I don't want to spoil the ending, but Finny dies.

This morning, I woke up to a revelation a thousand times more horrible than any existentialist entomological crisis.  See, as I slept, I had uneasy dreams of Fredness.  Then, when I awoke, I realized that I had been losing precious wattage through inefficient power transfer.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant and ordered a meal, and then when the meal arrives you realize it sucks, but even though it sucks you eat every morsel and sop up all the remaining juices with a piece of bread and then finally lick the plate clean with the enthusiasm and relish of a cat cleaning its privates?  Probably not. Nevertheless, this behavior is the essence of Fredness.  Even though we suck, we labor under the delusion that we need to channel every bit of our pathetic power output and ungainly pedal stroke into the drivetrain of our overpriced bicycles in order to propel us to a rarefied realm of glory and achievement that exists only in our minds.  And when it comes to this behavior, the equivalent of that piece of bread you use to sop up that lousy sauce is the $395 crabon insole, forwarded to me by a reader:

Actually, this insole is not the equivalent of the bread so much as it's the equivalent of paying a surcharge for an ultra-stiff table to help you consume your crappy meal more quickly and efficiently.

Let's just pretend for a moment that there aren't like 26 bones in the human foot, and that it doesn't move at all.  Let's also pretend that you could get a shoe with an upper so stiff and with fasteners so tenacious that you could lock your totally rigid foot with its fused joints into position so firmly that it wouldn't flex so much as a fraction of a millimeter.  Finally, let's pretend that this rigid foot scenario was actually desirable.

On top of this, since we're talking about Freds, we can already assume that the frame is crabon, and the crank is crabon, and the pedal is crabon, and the sole of the shoe is crabon. 

Why, then, would you also need to slip in another layer of crabon in the form of this insole?

Well, because Freds live in a "bizzaro" version of "The Princess of the Pea," and any material even remotely yielding must be eliminated at all costs.  (Apart from their own doughy physiques, of course.) This is why I know my new line of crabon socks is going to be a huge success:

(Crabon sock prototype: laterally stiff and vertically hobbled.)

Or, if you're a "weight weenie," you can just skip the socks and the shoes and opt instead for my crabon insole modification:

The ultra-high modulus crabon toe thong coupled with the three-hole cleat mounting platform transforms your crabon insole into the lightest, stiffest racing flip-flop available.  

Of course, once you've eliminated all traces of flex from your Fred sled you're then ready to hit the park where you can ride around and around in circles while regaling other Freds with tales of your upgrades.  Fortunately, if your park of choice is Brooklyn's Prospect Park, you'll be pleased to know that the Department of Transportation has finally removed the "Barrels of Shame:"

I mentioned the Barrels of Shame last month, but while they may be gone we're only free temporarily because it's only a matter of time before the DOT implements some sort of "Phase II:"

"City transportation officials removed dozens orange traffic barrels intended to slow cyclists on a crash-prone hill in Prospect Park — and now they want your advice on what to do next."

It's odd that the DOT is so concerned with cyclists in the park, yet I've never heard anybody complaining about the high number of cars that speed through it during car-free hours.  For example, the park is closed to cars all weekend long, yet early Saturday morning I actually had to dodge a speeding car salmon.  Of course, he had his hazard lights on, so that makes it OK.  Actually, maybe that's the answer--hazard lights clearly legitimize every type of traffic infraction, so if we were to put them on our bicycles maybe we'd have total immunity too.  

In any case if the DOT really wants suggestions for what to do about cyclists in the park, here's my idea:

Buy us off.

Sure, I can't speak for everybody, but for the low, low price of $100,000 from the City of New York I'd happily agree to never, ever ride my bicycle in Prospect Park again.  Then, I'd take the money and invest in the Crabon Fred Miracle Dynamo Light, invented by acclaimed director Werner Herzog:

I don't know how it works since I'm not very knowledgeable about science, but my guess is that it's filled with tiny demons.  Anyway, I'd be sure to make millions, and then I could buy and sell your measly little park like that. [Snaps fingers to indicate ease with which he could buy and sell park.]

In your face, DOT.

Speaking of entrepreneurial ideas, here in New York City it's fairly commonplace to receive deliveries by bicycle, but a reader informs me there are other parts of the country in which the concept of bicycle delivery is as mysterious as a light filled with tiny demons:

Consider the writer's amazement when a single human is able to carry three (3) whole bottles of wine while riding a bicycle:

I live on a cul-de-sac in downtown Raleigh, south of Oakwood. We're grateful the pizza man even remembers where we are. So it was with awe that I watched as a trim young man on a bike rode up to my front porch and pulled from his Swiss Army backpack three bottles of wine that I had selected online just an hour before.

She should go to Portland, where the sight of a soup delivery bike would probably melt her face:

By the way, if you're like a lot of people you probably have trouble keeping your chowders straight, so when you're ordering soup by bicycle in Portland try to remember:

--New England clam chowder is the white one;

--Manhattan clam chowder is the red one;

and

--Portland clam chowder is the one filled with tiny chunks of smugness.

Also, if it's your first time eating Portland clam chowder you should be very careful--those smugness chunks are a choking hazard.

But while it's oddly satisfying that people are amazed by the concept of bicycle delivery, I miss the days when the bicycle still had the power to terrify a team of horses:

("On Your Left," by Frederic Remington)

A reader tells me the above painting hangs in the Amon Carter museum in Fort Worth, Texas.  Frankly, I'm not sure which is more amazing: that they actually have art museums in Fort Worth, Texas, or that people were once able to undertake "epic" bike rides without the aid of social networking or Kickstarter.  Certainly that's not the case now, and here is his modern-day equivalent:

(Forwarded by yet another reader.)

But while cyclists may not scare horses now, they can make people drop their knitting needles:

Man on bike, cat on sidewalk. - w4m - 21
Date: 2012-02-24, 8:00PM EST
Reply to: [deleted]


I was walking. We made startled, awkward eye contact as I yelled after a tabby that had just run between my feet, "YOU, CAT ! ARE YOU MISSING?" I was trying to communicate with the tabby because, a block prior, I had witnessed a distressed youth hyperventilating before a LOST CAT sign posted to the trunk of a sycamore. You understand. 


You: Were on a bike, waiting on a red light. You probably always wait at red lights. I like that. You looked like you have at least one toddler at home. You're one of those guys who has mastered the art of making "fuck me" eyes with strong undertones of "I'm taken and happy, so get lost" eyes. You were hot. Like, Billy Zane when he's wearing a wig, hot. 


If you are this guy, a lost tabby, or some hyperventilating youth, hit me up. I'm a decent looking brunette, and I'm ready and willing to drop my knitting needles for the time it takes for dinner, a movie, and a good-night kiss on both cheeks. 

Though they're not quite powerful enough to overcome sexual orientation, even when paired with exotic pants:

British gay dude on bike....commented on my pants - w4m - 28 (Manhattan)
Date: 2012-02-27, 12:13AM EST
Reply to: [deleted]


You commented on my bike gear, and considering the fact you were wearing shorts today, we need to have this conversation. My pants were Outlier (outlier.cc) and they're the best pants I've ever owned.


ANYWAYS


You're gay, so this is totally platonic, but I still want to chat with you! You got my number but I'm not sure if you got the right one, because you never texted me. 


Your name was Alex (I think), you did some reporting for the BBC, we were going to chat about Occupy related stuff.....so get back at me! 

I think someone may have given someone else a fake number.

Off The Back: How To Dismount Your Replacement Horse

Fixed-gear bicycles.  Remember those?  Well, despite what you may think, not only are people still riding them, but they also continue to invent creative new ways of getting off of them:



I like this dismount, particularly because it involves doing sort of a "Triple Lindy" off of the rear filth prophylactic:

Just add a stiffer fender, a kiddie pool, and some sound effects and you've got yourself one sweet dismounting "edit."

Meanwhile, as you may know, "fiets" is the Dutch word for bicycle, and if you're like me you've never, ever wondered about the origin of the word.  However, Dutch speakers have wondered about it, since apparently its etymology has been shrouded in mystery.  Finally though, the shroud has been lifted.  Yes, linguists have finally solved the mystery of the "fiets," and the reader who forwarded me the article was kind enough to translate it for me:

Two language professors from the University of Ghent have solved perhaps one of the biggest mysteries in the Dutch etymology: where did the -quite recent- word "fiets" come from?
The discovery was actually accidental. Gunnar de Boel, professor of comparative linguistics at Ghent University, offered cider  to German friends from the southern Rhineland.


It then became clear that they regarded cider as "vice wine". They call it "Viez", a substitute for wine, as it were, and in certain parts of Germany that is pronounced like"fiets".


de Boel made ​​the connection with our "fiets" and  proposed his hypothesis with Professor Luc de Grauwe.


In German, the new vehicle with pedals was called "vice Pferd" at the time, literally "replacement horse." This was later shortened to "Viez", like the abbreviation from "automobiel" to "auto". The word that is pronounced like  "fiets" must have later been blown over to Flanders and to the Netherlands.


The word "fiets" emerged in Dutch around 1870 for the first time. Since 1886, the origin of the word became stuff for intense debate among linguists. For 140 years no one could adequately demonstrate where the word came from, until today.


So it is likely that the Dutch word for bicycle originated from German and meant something like "substitute horse". This etymological explanation also clarifies the pejorative synonym "stalen ros", meaning "steel steed", a common expression in Dutch.

I'm not sure I really followed any of that, but in any case I share this with you for two (2) reasons:

1) While the subject of Dutch etymology may seem a bit dry, being able to hold forth on the origin of the Dutch word for bicycle is exactly the sort of skill that can get you "laid" in Portland.  In fact, if you arrive at a Portland bar, execute the "Triple Lindy" fixie dismount, and then segue into the whole "fiets" thing, you'll suddenly be the most eligible bachelor or bachelorette in Multnomah County.  (Having a sweet old-timey moustache helps if you're a man, and having sweet old-timey underarm hair helps if you're a woman.)

2) From now on, I will refer to my bicycle a "replacement horse."

Speaking of Dutch cycling, a reader just sent me this photo of the Rabobank replacement horse racing team engaging in some early spring training:

(Somewhere, someone with white bar tape now thinks McDonald's is "PRO.")

Clearly they intend to Super Size their results this season.

Moving on from etymology to techny-ology, on Tuesday I mentioned belt drives, and when it comes to replacement horses you can bet that pretty much anything being touted as revolutionary replacement horse technology has been around for years in various incarnations.  Consider, for example, Biopace and "Biopace II: The Sequel."  (Tagline: "It's back, only this time it's even more expensive and lobsided.)  So I found myself browsing a popular user-edited online encyclopedia, where I found myself reading about the Bridgestone Picnica, a belt-driven folding bike that was introduced in 1985:

Being unfamilar with the proportions of the Picnica, the above photo sent my sense of perspective into a tailspin.  At first I thought the woman in the bumblebee hat was a giant, and then I thought the guy in the yellow shirt was tiny, and then I finally gave up and decided to watch more Brompton folding porn instead:

(Forwarded by a reader.)

To paraphrase an eloquent music fan, "More interpretive folding bike dancing, or Ima fucking kill you!"  In fact, the only thing I enjoy more than Brompton folding bike porn is "Star Wars"-inspired custom helmentry:

As you've no doubt guessed, the above rider and was spotted in Portland, and if you're looking for the equivalent of a "Three Feet Please" jersey that will ensure any potential dating prospects keep a safe distance from you at all times then I don't think you could do much better than an R2D2 helment.  I'm not sure where he's going, but it wouldn't surprise me if he was on his way to a hardcore action figure role-playing session with Wikipedia Nonplussed Bib Short Guy:

(Bib shorts are the ideal undergarment when wearing a Stormtrooper costume.)

By the way, the caption for the Wikipedia Nonplussed Bib Short Guy photo is:

"A man wearing bib style biking shorts. Normally a jersey would be worn on top."

Normally, yes--but not always, as this photo from a reader in Australia proves:

(International Fred Hand Signal for "Slowing!!!")

It's always a good idea to wear your bib shorts over your jersey.  That way, anything you're storing in your jersey pockets remains safely inaccessible, and you can focus on the hunt for bike lane romance:

Looking good in the bike lane - m4w - 30 (East Village)

Date: 2012-02-20, 6:01PM EST

Reply to: [deleted]

So I think we got off on the wrong foot last night just before 8pm. You were standing at the corner of 10th and 2nd Ave (I think that was it, I was riding pretty fast though) in the middle of the bike lane, gazing intently at your cell phone. I was on a bike (obviously, it's the bike lane afterall). I rang my bell at you (real slick, I know) and said something to the effect of "YOU'RE STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING BIKE LANE", or "GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE BIKE LANE" because I really didn't want to crash into you. Hitting girls is not what I'm about. That's when you fired back, "Whoa, chill the fuck out dude" and I knew that we had something special. In an instant whatever was captivating you so much on your cell phone while you were standing in the middle of the bike lane was no longer significant. You see, I didn't have many options at that point. To my right there was traffic and even cars making left hand turns down 2nd Ave so swerving in that direction simply wasn't happening. And I definitely didn't have an option on my left, with things like parked cars and curbs so that wasn't going to work either. You pretty much just needed to get the hell out of my way, so that's why I said those mean things to you. Maybe I did it because I already care deeply for you. Who says there's no such thing as love at first sight? So, how's about we put the past behind us and meet up for a drink or two? 

Isn't stopping an option?

Conspiracy: What's Good for the Goose is Good Propaganda

Admittedly I tend to engage in hyperbole, but what I'm about to tell you isn't hyperbole at all--it's just straight, regular, unembellished bole:

I have uncovered a massive conspiracy.

The "curator" of this conspiracy is the so-called "Sierra Club," described by a popular user-edited online encyclopedia as "one of the oldest, largest, and most influential grassroots environmental organization in the United States." Clearly however this is merely a cunning ruse, for their true purpose is obviously to ensure the continued dominance of the automobile as Canada South's primary mode of transportation, and to frighten commuters away from the act of bicycle cycling. Consider this seemingly innocuous though deeply insidious propaganda video entitled "Two Mornings," which compares car commuting with bicycle commuting in the Smugness Hive that is San Francisco:

Two Mornings from Sierra Club National on Vimeo.

On the surface of it, it's merely one of those typical videos where they juxtapose car commuting and bike commuting to show you how annoying driving is and how awesome "bi-keen" is. I mean, it's a foregone conclusion, right? But what they really do is prey upon our familiarity with the genre by ever-so-craftily making the driving look better than the "bi-keen." You hardly notice while you're watching, but if you look at each mode of transportation separately you'll see what I mean.

First, the driving. See how our fashionably dressed "duderette" enters her chic red Mini Cooper:



Notice she's able to do this while enjoying her morning coffee. She's also able to carry her belonging in a stylish leather bag, as opposed to one of those ridiculous Chrome bags with all the seatbelt buckles all over it that looks like a pair of 1980s bondage pants, or like a parachute might explode out of it at any second. Soon she's on her way, as easily as you please:



The streets are free and clear:



The most difficult thing she has to do during her commute is make a left-hand turn onto another empty street:





Though at one point she does have to wait at one (1) red light behind one (1) other driver:



And that's it! Where are the shots of the "epic" traffic jams? Where's the look of nonplussitude as she fills up at the gas station and discovers it costs like 50 bucks to fuel a car that could probably fit in a bakfiets? Where's the endless hunt for a parking space? If this is what driving in San Francisco is like then I'm buying a fleece vest and a trendy car, putting a Sierra Club bumper sticker on it, getting an Internet 2.0 gig with a job description even I don't understand, and becoming a total NorCal "duder."



By comparison, the cycling is abject misery. First of all, due to bike theft and the high cost of San Francisco real estate, she has to keep her giant bicycle in the middle of her bedroom:



How does she even get out of bed, much less visit the bathroom in the middle of the night without becoming a human spoke card?



Next, instead of carrying her coffee and bag to her car while wearing a sporty leather jacket, she has to wear a giant mustard-colored sweater and totally ruin her hair by strapping on a helmet so she doesn't die:



Evidently she didn't want to deal with the additional humiliation of the ridiculous Chrome bag, so she's not carrying anything at all.

Then, she shoves off in a bizarre manner that makes her look like a hood ornament, and the Sierra Club cleverly reminds us that, in San Francisco, you can apparently park your car right in front of your house where, unlike your bike, you won't trip over it in the night when you get up to make a pee-pee:



And things quickly go from bad to worse when some creepy guy starts hitting on her:

("I reeeally like your sweater. Is that mustard?")

The subtext is clear: stay in your car where it's safe, or ride your bike where you'll get drooled on by sexual deviants:

("I reeeally like mustard.")

Presumably she's finally able to shake this guy by giving him a fake phone number, but no sooner has she regained her solitude than some Cat 6 wheelsucker adheres herself to her:

In typical Cat 6 fashion, the wheelsucker sits on her despite the fact that the bike lane is totally clear, and given the fact that that our mustard-clad heroine hasn't even had her morning coffee yet it's a miracle she's managing even that strained smile:

Note they're also wearing the same helmet, since the wheelsucker is probably also a serial copycat.



Finally, after all that, the Sierra Club has the audacity to pull the old "reverse psychology" trick:

Yeah, right.

Evidently, the Sierra Club opted to leave out the fact that this was a "collabo" with ExxonMobil and News Corp.

Anyway, if I wasn't scared enough after watching this video, I sure was after I read this on the aforementioned user-edited online encyclopedia:



Observers of the Sierra club have charged that the club's views on population growth, and the efforts of some club members to restrain immigration, are a continuation of aspects of the Eugenics movement.

Sweet succulent Lob, what the hell kind of "club" is this anyway?!?

Ironically, while Smug Franciscans are being thoroughly brainwashed, here in New York things are finally going our way, for a judge has dismissed the lawsuit to remove the Prospect Park West bike lane in Brooklyn:



Though a reader informs me that there is a vitriolic anti-pennyfarthing movement brewing in Halifax:



Granted, this movement consists of only one man, but he's angry enough for at least a hundred, and he claims his "neighbours" are behind him:



This is for the asshat who lives on my cul de sac: take that fucking monstrosity back to what ever grave you dug it out of. Me and my neighbours (not your neighbours, we would never call you that!) have had enough of your shit. I sit down to watch TV in the evenings and what do I see wobbling down the road from my big fucking bay window? Your fucking penny farthing! Nothing irks me quite like the sight of unproportionate wheels do.

It's tempting to dismiss this as the ranting of a lunatic, but fear of vehicles with disproportionate wheels is a very serious condition. It's called "aliusrotasphobia," and the mere sight of a Big Wheel is enough to send sufferers into paroxysms of panic. Then again, I'd probably be leery of an ersatz Victorian who shows off his p-far to children too:



You smile and drive the length of the road, turn around, and come back again. Over and over and over. You stop and show it off to the kids on my street. Not my fucking kid, you can of shit. I wont let him out of the house when you are around.

"I remember when the pennyfarthing man used to come around," his child will write in his memoirs many years later. "Father would lock me in the basement, where I'd cower as I listened to him smashing things and shouting about the evils of asymmetry. He couldn't even use our hose caddy since the wheels were a different size than the spool. Harry John Lawson, inventor of the safety bicycle, was like a god in our house. Father said he saved us from the sin of 'unproportionateness.' There were pictures of Lawson everywhere, even in the bathroom. He still haunts my dreams"



Of course, a more euphemistic way to describe the p-far hater would be to call him "tempestuous," which is how one Craigslist seller describes NAHBS founder Don "Thou Shalt Have No Other Bike Shows Before Me" Walker:





One-of-a-kind Don Walker custom-built pursuit track frame. 56cm c-t-c effective top tube, 58.5cm seat tube c-t-c.

The founder of NAHBS (North American Handbuilt Bicycle Show), Don is a tempestuous and AMAZING builder - this frame is unbelievably well-made. Beautifully fillet-brazed Columbus EL-OS main triangle. Pursuit/sloping geometry, monostay rear bridge, MASSIVE oversized stays. Campagnolo headset and Suntour Superbe Pro track BB included. Both are in excellent shape. There are no drillings for brakes. 120mm rear spacing, 100mm front. Paint has minor scratches and scuffs, but absolutely no dents, dings, or scrapes anywhere. 27.2mm seat tube diameter.



$699

If you like your framebuilders like you like your Shakespeare plays--and your name just happens to be Eric Williams--then this could very well be the deal of the century:



Either way, I bet even Larry Olmsted's Seven Cycles questionnaire didn't allow him to select the personality of his frame's builder, which is of course a key component in determining ride quality. I only hope they begin offering this as an option soon:

97) I prefer my framebuilders to be:

--Endearing

--Lovably quirky

--Disconcertingly even-keeled

--Ornery

--Mercurial

--Tempestuous

--Steel-sniffing lunatics

A well-made bespoke bicycle is like a part of you, and this is even more true if you've actually been beaten about the head and face with portions of its tubing.

Lastly, on Friday I mentioned the Wikipedia "Cycling Shorts" entry model, and since then it seems they've been experimenting with a couple of new candidates, most recently this one:



Though I'm pleased to say our hero remains on the page--he's just been demoted to "bib shorts" representative, as opposed to the representative of all forms of cycling shorts:

("I'm just the bib shorts guy now.")

He doesn't look too pleased about this, but then again he didn't look too pleased to begin with either.

Disinformation: It's Not How Wrong You Are, It's How Wrong You Feel

Further to yesterday's post, in which I mentioned the New York Times article about randodonearing radodaneuring riding really far, a number of readers were kind enough to point out that I made an error:

Anonymous said...

Snob,

I'm misreading either the NY Times article or your blog. I thought the NY Times writer turned arouind at mile 37 and finished the 74 mile (120 kilometer) ride. You seem to be saying the writer quit.

JUNE 6, 2011 4:11 PM

Indeed it looks like I did read the article wrong, though at least one reader was unduly smug about it:

Anonymous said...

Seconding the previous commenter who pointed out that you, um, didn't actually read or understand the NYT piece. Too proud to acknowledge your mistake?

June 6, 2011 9:53 PM

I can't stress enough that I have no pride whatsoever, and I readily acknowledge that I make mistakes on a daily (if not hourly) basis. These mistakes are not limited to cycling or reading comprehension either, and scarcely a day goes by in which I don't do something stupid such as brewing coffee without actually adding the coffee, or washing my bathtub with coffee instead of Ajax. Sure, it's foolish, but these are the sorts of mistakes you make when you're under the considerable stress of not really having all that much stress in your life.

Plus, in my defense, I was merely showing the "Spokes" people the same lack of consideration and circumspection they've shown me in the past.

Still, I agree a tearful apology is warranted, so here goes:

I have not been honest with myself, my family, my constituents, my friends, my supporters, and the media. I am deeply ashamed, etc. I don't believe that I did anything here that violates any law or violates my oath, yadayadayada. However, I do maintain that I was merely shaving my chest brushing my teeth when my BlackBerry accidentally snapped this picture and Tweeted it to certain members of my constituency:

Speaking of nudity and criticism, I was also taken to task yesterday for not mentioning the World Naked Bike Ride:

Mellow Yellow said...

how dare you not mention the naked ride of epic smugness, wetness, and triple rushing!

5pm East River Park at Delancey June 11

JUNE 6, 2011 11:32 AM

For this I do not apologize. Not only have I indeed mentioned the World Naked Bike Ride recently, but I also think it's totally "grody." In fact, I think it's so grody that I'm going to Sweden this coming weekend mostly so I won't have to bear witness to the body-painted denizens of smugness who will no doubt put our cycling goodwill account in New York City even further into the red. If everybody already hates us and tries to run us down when we're fully dressed, then nudity can only hurt. If exposing yourself were a good political move, they'd be talking about Anthony Weiner for President right now instead of debating whether or not he should resign.

Then again, even cycling while fully clothed can cause you to run afoul of people's uptight sensibilities. For example, your "muffin top" might enrage the local Hasidim (or any similar group of religious retrogrouches). Or, your fleshtone saddle could evoke a certain body part, as in this photo via the proprietor of the Old Ten Speed Gallery:

Actually, I "can't say with certitude" that it's even a saddle at all:

Anyway, between my inability to read simple New York Times articles and my lack of certitude as to the above rider's genderway, it's obvious that I'm clueless--though maybe not as clueless as the "hillbomber" guy I mentioned some time ago. He actually "curates" something of an advice column, wherein he dispenses misinformation such as this:



hey emi! you're an inspirational rider for me!
i wanted to ask something, what is the different between a clincher and a tubular and what does it affect when we're riding it?

Anonymous

Thank you so much! Tubular wheels are designed for Velodrome Riding and Clinchers are designed for road riding. Tubular tires are also a lot more dangerous to ride if not properly installed. Tubular uses clue for tube tire compo and clinchers use tubes that are separate from the tire. Tubular tires always uses a much higher psi.

Yikes! That is one multifaceted glittering rhinestone of wrong. This guy is to bicycle tires as Sarah Palin is to Paul Revere. Pretty much every sentence is misinformed:

Thank you so much! Tubular wheels are designed for Velodrome Riding and Clinchers are designed for road riding.

Right. Similarly, blue helmets are designed for velodrome riding, and white helmets are designed for road riding.

Tubular tires are also a lot more dangerous to ride if not properly installed.

Actually, I'd much rather ride an improperly installed tubular than an improperly installed clincher.

Tubular uses clue for tube tire compo and clinchers use tubes that are separate from the tire.

I don't even know what this means, I think he's saying you can compost tubulars.

Tubular tires always uses a much higher psi.

Absolutely. That's why they use tubulars for cyclocross and the cobbled classics.

I think this hillbomber should branch out and start a sex advice column too:

hey emi! you're an inspirational rider for me!

how are babies made?

Anonymous

Thank you so much! Mommy and daddy go in the bedroom and jump up and down on the bed while yelling at God. Daddy comes out with no pants and drinks a beer and nine months later a baby comes out of mommy's butt.

I think that pretty much covers the broad strokes. Maybe then he could also tell me what kind of tires to install on my Segway when I compete in the World Championship of Segway polo in Folsom, CA, of which I was informed by a reader:

Segway polo may seem absurd, but it's no more so than bike polo. After all, Segway poloists play a game fit for schoolchildren on ridiculous contraptions that cost thousands of dollars:

While bike poloists play a game fit for schoolchildren on ridiculous contraptions that cost thousands of dollars:


Plus, both [gigglechortle] "sports" lend themselves well to ironic tattooing:



That chimpanzee on a Segway looks oddly like a rear derailleur.

Anyway, given the similarities between bike polo and Segway polo, it would not surprise me if practitioners of the former begin to segue into the latter as they age. I also suspect a lot of samurai are already making the transition to road cycling, as evidenced by this Craigslist post forwarded by another reader:

Road Bike in trade wanted - $500 (Seattle)
Date: 2011-06-05, 8:04AM PDT
Reply to: [deleted]

I'm after a road bike in trade for a Paul Chen Golden Oriole Katana Samurai sword. A $ 700.00 value in like new condition.

Hopefully when he finds his bike he installs some of those samurai sword-like bottle cages.

Personally, I'd like to see a bicycle with a samurai sword cockpit, but short of that this example spotted by Back Alley Bikes might have to suffice:

I'm reasonably sure that's the setup an orangutan would wind up with after a session on a Serotta fit cycle.

Investment Opportunities: All You Haters Fund My Venture

Here in the United States of America (also known as Canada's gratuitous undercoating), today is Presidents Day. On this day, many Americans are free not to attend work so that we may instead take advantage of big, big savings on designer clothing, flat-screen TVs, new automobiles (make sure you get that undercoating!), and other costly items we might otherwise have had the sense to forego had we simply headed into the office. Most importantly, though, we celebrate the lives, work, and of course hair of Presidents Andrew Jackson, Martin Van Buren, and William Henry Harrison:

The administrations of these three Presidents spanned the years 1829 to 1841, a period which historians universally agree is the "Golden Age of Presidential Hair." From Jackson's powerful pompadour, to Van Buren's inspiring sideburn aurora, to Harrison's pointy forelock that prefigured the coiffure of Glenn Danzig by something like 140 years, this was an exciting time during which Presidents still understood the sense of authority that can only be conveyed by truly "epic" hair. Sadly, this Golden Age ended with the untimely death of President Harrison on his 32nd day in office due to complications from tetanus (Harrison insisted on being shaved by a rusty razor for purposes of "street cred"), and while there have since been some flashes of Presidential barbatorial brilliance (Abraham Lincoln's "chin strap," Grover Cleveland's walrus-like lip curtain) there has also never been a dynasty to rival the one we celebrate today.

Meanwhile, if you've accessed the Internet at any point this weekend, you may know that the big news in cyclesport is that some track racer guy got a gigantic splinter in his leg, and while I have been known to post affronts to good taste such as this I draw the line at medical "grodiness" and am therefore posting a censored version of the photo using images that convey the nature of his injuries without actually depicting them:

If you'd like to see the original, it is here, though even when obscured by a pizza pie and a body modification enthusiast who will never, ever hold a job you can plainly see that he lies supine like Jesus on the cross just before the Romans hoisted him into a vertical position. (And the Jews did "golf clap," according to the Gospel of Mel Gibson.) The real tragedy of this injury is that all the hipsters who pretend to like track racing are already agog at how "badass" it is, and you can expect them to start inserting slivers of wood through their own calves as the new must-have accessory to complement their "shants:"

"Oh, this old thing? Yeah, it's been there for years, never bothered to take it out."

Speaking of must-have accessories, on Friday I mentioned this seatpost clamp that is the latest in a seemingly endless procession of bicycle components and accessories that can also open beer:

Since them, I've been more vexed than perhaps it's reasonable to be by a small piece of aluminum--mostly because you'd think that if someone were to integrate a little bottle top-popping dingle into a seatpost clamp, they might at least orient it in such a way that you don't have to hold the bottle sideways and spill half your beer in order to use it:

I'd maybe possibly perhaps consider accepting an argument that this seatpost clamp is designed to use while the bicycle is lying down, except for the fact that the promotional video contains shot after shot of the opener being used with the bicycle standing up as beer spills everywhere:

This is the beer-opening equivalent of an iPhone banking "app" that costs you $35 every time you log into your account.

By the way, this brilliantly-executed seatpost clamp comes in two versions. The first one is the "Nectar:"

According to the copy, this is for people who like PBR--a brand of beer most commonly consumed out of a can.

The second version is the "Elixir:"

This one's for the "tweaker"--which, as I always understood it, is a person who is addicted to methamphetamine.

At this point you're probably saying, "So what? This is Canada's gratuitous undercarriage coating, the land of the gratuitous undercarriage coating. Sure, it's nearly impossible to screw up a bottle opener, and somehow these people have succeeded, but if some designers want to manufacture a little anodized dingle with a poorly-placed dongle on it then that's their Gid-goven right." Of course, I couldn't agree more--except that's not what's going on here. Actually, the dongle-curators want us to give them $15,000 before they'll make us a poorly-designed bottle opener:
Sadly, they're a good $14,000 short, and I'd offer them a bridge loan myself if my money wasn't all tied up in a brake lever-slash-pizza cutter that uses a pinball instead of a circular blade. Still, I'm confident some sort of "angel investor" will step in--perhaps a mystery benefactor who has a vested interest in lots of people riding around on bicycles with sideways bottle openers on them, like an alcoholic recumbent rider:

As you can see from this recumbent rider's-eye view (or, more accurately, recumbent rider's-beard view), a world filled with horizontal seatpost clamp bottle openers would mean that, for the 'bent rider, refreshment would always be just an arm's length away. This in turn would provide yet another source of recumbent rider smugness:

Of course a recumbent commute like this hinges on having access to an uninterrupted and completely car-free bike lane. I'd like to see him try that commute in New York City during rush hour.

Speaking of spurious projects needing funding, a reader recently alerted me to a film called "First Winter," in which a bunch of Brooklyn hipsters traipse around in the country with Golden Age of Presidential Hair-caliber beards and artisanal blunderbusses to the strains of lugubrious accordion music:


They also stare pensively into the horizon:


Apparently, "First Winter" is sort of a "minimalist hipster survival movie," which I'm guessing will be the next hot new "indie" genre:

***
The Premise:

In December 2012, a massive collapse of infrastructure leaves a group of Brooklyn yogis snowed-in at a country farmhouse without electricity, cell phone reception, or running water. With nothing to rely on but their wits, a couple of old books, and each other, they must survive the first winter off the grid.

***
The structural skeleton of First Winter is the procedural aspects of survival: chopping firewood, melting snow for water, hunting for food, etc; but the movie at core is really a spiritual exploration. As the distractions of modern of life are replaced by the routine simplicity of living off the land, the friends gradually evolve out of their neurotic fixations into a more quiet, contemplative state of being (of course, not all of them make it).

Obviously, this film is a metaphor for the hipster's first year in Williamsburg, the Mission District, or Portland after graduating from Bard, Sarah Lawrence, or Wesleyan, and the journey towards independence and self-sufficiency which they all undertake but ultimately never achieve. Also, there's ironic sledding--during which, I assume, somebody dies:

As for the technique being employed by the filmmakers:

The aesthetic approach is rigorously formalist; mirroring the inner journey of the characters, the film gradually evolves from frenetic jumpy handheld close up camera work at the beginning to slower, wider, more composed shots towards as the film progresses.

In other words, as the filmmakers continue to shoot the film they gradually figure out how their equipment is supposed to work.

In any case, I predict "First Winter" will be a huge success. Not only is this a perfect product placement opportunity for companies like Best Made Co. and Base Camp X, but the filmmakers have already exceeded their financial goals. In fact, they've received nearly enough backing to start their own bottle-opening seatpost clamp business:
That's gotta sting the "Swarm" guys.

Lastly, another reader has forwarded me what he claims is the "Greatest Craig's List Post Ever," and while this is debatable there's no doubt it's noteworthy:

old bike - $500 (hyattsville)
Date: 2011-02-17, 1:41PM EST

This is mankind's crowning technological achievement. If you are not someone who can appreciate a 35 pound steel beach cruiser with carbon tubular race wheels on it, don't waste my time. You are not cool enough to even thinking about riding this bike.

Please note that no brakes are provided. All braking power is derived from the user dragging a foot on the ground, or in an emergency, putting an old Silca frame pump into the spokes of the moving front wheel. Nor are the tubulars glued.

If you play bike polo, leave me alone. This bike shits out bike polo players on the daily.

Here is a list of places to ride this bike to: a liquor store, a riot, a hockey game.

A good bike lasts 3-5 years, EVIL NEVA DIES.


Not bad I guess, but it needs more bottle openers.