The Bald Truth: Spondee Is As Spondee Does

When you think of smugness, chances are you think of things like taking your kids to private school in a bakfiets, engaging in bike advocacy, or making bicycle frames out of bamboo.  However, the fact is that cycledom hath no smugness like a retired professional bike racer, as evidenced by this plea from retired Classics star Johan Museeuw:

"I am the first to admit it openly, and perhaps many people will blame me that I break the silence, but it must be: virtually everyone took doping at that time,” he told the Gazet van Antwerpen.

"We must break with the hypocrisy. The only way to come out of that murderous spiral is to break the silence, the silence that continues to haunt us.”

Conveniently, now that he's retired Museeuw would like to see the hypocrisy broken, which I'm pretty sure is the exact definition of hypocrisy.  I feel the same way about cutting the line when I'm merging onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway in a car--it's fine when I do it, but I'll be damned if I'll let anybody do it to me once I've gotten in there.  (And that includes that hypocrite David Byrne, should he ever attempt to cut in front of me in the car he claims he doesn't own.)  Also, while Museeuw is now quite willing to admit his doping openly, he's still silent with regard to his toupée:

Which evokes George Costanza in that toupée episode of "Seinfeld:"

The only way to come out of that murderous spiral of wearing a bathmat on your head is to break the silence, the silence that continues to haunt us.  Free yourself from your fuzzy hair yarmulke, Johan Museeuw, and let your scalp shine in the bright lights of honesty and gradual baldness:

(And that was two years ago, my head shines much more brightly now.)

Either that, or just shut up about it.  Why exactly is it so important to clean up the sport anyway?  Is it for the future generations of aspiring riders?  If so this is a tremendous mistake, because if anything young people should be actively discouraged from becoming professional cyclists regardless of how clean or dirty the sport may be.  We need people who do important stuff like building things and teaching children and helping sick people.  We don't need people who ride bikes fast for flooring companies.  Trust me, I know a thing or two about useless jobs, and that's because I have one.  In fact, if there are three subjects on which I'm an expert, it's balding, being a hypocrite, and contributing nothing to society.  Anyway, if any of my seventeen children ever tell me they want to become a professional cyclist I'll rend my garments in despair and do my best to convince them to choose a wiser career path, such as rock drumming or rapping.  At least rappers sometimes go on to having movie careers, whereas the best you can hope for as a cyclist is to become a directeur sportif like Jonathan Vaughters:

Writing openly in the Cyclingnews forum, Vaughters further said that Tom Danielson, Christian Vande Velde and David Zabriskie had doped in the past, bluntly discussed personalities on the team and discussed his standards for hiring riders, all the while relating virtually all of it to doping.

Actually, maybe doping's not such a big deal after all.  I mean, how much of an advantage could doping be if Tom Danielson was doing it?  Maybe it just doesn't work on him.  Some people are like that, you know.  He's like the guy in college who keeps saying "I don't feel anything" after you all drop acid.  Meanwhile, the rest of you are watching a tree doing Monty Python routines.  I guess it might also help if he didn't fall off his bike at key moments.  Someone needs to invent a drug that keeps riders from falling off their bikes--though I suppose it exists already and is called "glue."

Speaking of useless jobs, I'm thinking of making the move from bike blogger to bike photographer, since apparently you can get $60 a pop for taking a picture of a valve stem:

A reader forwarded me the above photo knowing that I'm no stranger to valve stem porn:

So for $55 (that's five dollars less than the competition) I'll send you a custom photograph of a valve stem in the orientation of your choice: 12:00, 3:00, 6:00, 9:00, or even 4:20 for the discerning "Wednesday weed" enthusiast.  Also, if you act now, I'll throw in a photo of a crooked Schrader valve on a department store Mongoose for free!  Just click here to order, and soon your home could be full of "art" that makes your visitors wonder what's wrong with you.

Indeed, cycling is not lacking in entrepreneurial opportunities, but the California Gold Rush of the bike boom is in lights.  Yes, everybody is rushing to build a better bike light, and the latest is the "Monocle," which turns your iPhone into a butt-blinky:

So basically, the Monocle requires:

--An iPhone
--A special sack for your iPhone
--An "app" that requires you to input all sorts of information about how long you want the light to be on and how often you want it to blink
--And of course a belt

Because nobody ever rides a bicycle without wearing a belt.

I'm not sure how all of that is simpler than just using any of the roughly nine million blinky lights currently on the market, but at least this way your phone's battery should be sucked dry when you find yourself stranded somewhere late at night.

By the way, when I plugged the phrase "light monocle" into a popular search engine, the first image it turned up was this:

Which is part of a feature called "Twelve Astonishing Steampunk Monocles."  This in turn immediately made me think of a photograph of Alexandre Vinokourov, which was sent to me by another reader:

Vino very badly needs an Astonishing Steampunk Monocle to complement his Olympic gold medal and his Giant Kazakh Hat of Distinction and transform him into a full-on supervillain.  Then he can star as the bad guy in the next Cipollini Bond movie, which will be called either "GoldTaint" or "OctoScranus."

Also, another potential supervillain who could use an Astonishing Steampunk Monocle are the mayors of Toronto, those Robs Fords:

Just imagine him wearing an Astonishing Steampunk Monocle.  Even as it is he's well on the way to supervillainy, and with that Kubrickian stare I can't tell if he's dreaming of running down a cyclist or of devouring one of those 12-foot party subs.  (Or, for the Canadians, one of those 3.65760 meter party subs.)  Or maybe he's just dreaming about being made completely of butter so that he can eat himself:

("I can't believe it's not literate.")

The above photo was taken by yet another reader, and clearly butter is the perfect medium in which to render those Robs Fords, since this exquisite sculpture manages to evoke both Winston Churchill and Jabba the Hutt.

In any case, if you're a Torontoite (or Torontoan or Torontwat or Tarantula or whatever the correct demonym is) chafing under the reign of those Robs Fords (despite the fact that those Robs Fords are buttery soft), you can always move to Chicago and join the Fox River Fixies, forwarded by still yet another reader:

Fox River Fixies (Batavia )

Date: 2012-09-01, 4:12PM CDT

Fox River Fixies is now recruiting new members to be part of an elite fixed gear club that hauls ass down Fox River trails. You must have a fixed gear bike, no single speeds and no brakes. There will be a one time membership fee of $30 which will include a Fox River Fixies T-shirt. 

Thanks,

Bryan 

That's silly.  Everyone knows that you can haul a lot more asses with a bakfiets than you can with a fixie.

What you should not do, however, is move to Brooklyn, which has become sickeningly precious and twee:

Hot Dads + Everyone Else! Thank You! - w4m - 45 (Cobble Hill/Park Slope)

Date: 2012-09-04, 9:11PM EDT

I walk the streets of our fine neighborhoods and every day I am totally floored by the very fine manhood that is out there. Maybe it's hormone surges that are keeping my eyes wandering but I would like to give a big shout out to all the hot dads, youngish hipster dudes, guys with dogs, guys on bikes, guys drinking beer, guys walking down the street, pushing ridiculously expensive strollers, sitting in open windows, swimming/working out at the Y, drinking fair trade coffee, waiting for the F train and just living -- you are such an amazing and welcome embellishment to this already great neighborhood and I cannot stop appreciating you.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for being fit, young or not, fashionable, good looking, friendly and well-groomed eye candy. I don't want to objectify you because so many of you seem intellectual, even if you're not actually but, I love seeing your taut skin or scruffy beards, when you stand there stroking/scratching your tight stomach (the muscular V makes me swoon) with your unironic t-shirt slightly hiked up while you chat, straddling your fixed gear bike. I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch you sometimes.

And, to those few of you who actually look me in the face and smile when you catch me checking you out -- extra special thanks for looking past the wedding ring, the kid, the dog, the bag full of crap, the harried look, the signs of having worshipped the sun unwisely in my youth and the jiggly arms/thighs/gut. You make me feel like a goddess! Oh how I wish one of you would speak to me one day to say something more meaningful than "Caramel Machiado for ______." Take the chance and say hello. You never know. 

It's exactly the people described above who have transformed Brooklyn into an impossibly expensive place to live, and I only wish they'd pack up their "good spondee" and their fair trade coffee and their fixie bikes and move back to San Francisco.

And they can take their "Patti Smith shit" with them too:

Asian bicyclist w/Patti Smith shit - m4w - 49 (Manhattan Bridge)
Date: 2012-09-06, 5:58AM EDT

On Monday Sept. 3, you were waiting for the light to change on Jay Street under the Manhattan Bridge. I arrived on my bike behind you and was dazzled by your beauty. Trying to think of something to say before the light changed, I noticed your t-shirt. "Is that Patti Smith?" I asked. You smiled and said yes. Then the light changed, and off you went, west on Sands St, while I (alas) was going south on Jay.

Well, I'm a Patti Smith fan and a bicyclist... We have two things in common.

Will you please be in touch? I'd be so happy to hear from you....

Smith.  Shit.  Now that's good spondee.

Cyclists: Better Than Nothing, But Only Slightly

I'm a parent.  As a parent, I sometimes engage in the act of parenting at times other than evenings and weekends.  For example, at 4:30pm on a Tuesday, I might shout to one of my 17 children, "Hey, Leafspring, don't flush the cat down the toilet!"  Then I remember we don't have a cat, which means the feline in the toilet must belong to the neighbors.  So I retract my previous order with a casual "Aw, fuck it," and then turn up the volume on "Judge Joe Brown" to drown out the sounds of flushing and meowing.

Well, until now I knew I was parenting.  I even knew I was parenting shittily.  But until I read the following article in the New York Times, I had no idea that, by interacting with a child during normal business hours, I was in fact parenting artisanally as well:

That's right, if you have a penis and take care of a child during a weekday, you're an "artisanal father:"

The Artisanal Father

In a way, the decision to opt out of the rat race to pursue a more “meaningful” career as a parent echoes the classic Plan B narrative of the stress-addled professional who bails out to immerse himself in roll-up-the-sleeves work — say, craft-whiskey distilling, or beekeeping. (Given the drudgery and muck involved, parenting might be considered the ultimate “artisanal” pursuit.)

So basically, whereas an artisan was once a "worker who practices a trade or handicraft," the term now refers to anybody who does anything at all, including following the natural impulse to keep your offspring alive:

(After kneading the child, the artisanal father flings it up in the air to stretch it, after which he will cover it in cheese and sauce and slide it into the oven.  Delicious!)

Also in the New York Times was an article about the Runcible Spoon:

The cafe in which I was once served a hairy muffin:

(I don't know how to use a camera, but if I did you'd see there's a hair in there.)

For those of you from out of town (if you don't live in New York you're out of town, even if you think you're home), Nyack is the prime cycling destination for those New York City Freds and tridorks who are hardy enough to make it past Piermont, and like their neighbors to the south, Nyack too resents its visiting cyclists--or at best considers them the lesser of two evils:

Villagers regard the regular flood of two-wheeled visitors as a mixed blessing. Across the street, a sign in a window admonishes sprawled-out riders not to lean their bikes against the building.

But Bob Mattern, 53, a daily visitor who works at a restaurant nearby, prefers them to the weekday play groups. “Given my choice,” he said, eating a bagel with bacon, egg and cheese, “if I had a table of cyclists and three mothers with their kids running all over the place, I’ll take the cyclists.”

Wow, Bob, how accommodating of you.  I'm glad you find us less annoying than women and children.  Of course, this is a restaurant in a small town in Rockland County and not a Michelin-starred restaurant in Manhattan, which raises an important question: who's hanging out in downtown Nyack without either a bike or a kid?  So if Bob were to get his wish and neither cyclists nor parents were to visit the restaurant in which he works, who the hell would be left?  One guy with an unnerving twitch who keeps ordering nothing but unthawed shrimp?  I'm sure Bob will miss the cyclists and the mommies as his one customer looks at him menacingly while crunching shrimp in his teeth like ice cubes and then leaves a 19-cent tip.

To be fair though, the Runcible Spoon emphatically does not resent its cycling customers:


Joohee Kim, 28, who manages the Spoon, which her mother, Okhee Kim, bought nearly six years ago, tries to cater to all the clientele, but acknowledges that the riders — 75 percent of her weekend business — help the bottom line.

“As much as the townspeople may say they really love it or they hate it because the cyclists are clogging roads,” Ms. Kim said, “for us, we’re open arms.”


For which they should be commended--especially when they're forced serve customers who talk like this:

“Usually, if I’m going to bonk, I will crush a few cows on the way out,” said Bernie Childs, 30, a member of the triathlon team TRI2B, who lives in Manhattan.

Fortunately, the article provides a translation:

Translation: “Usually, if my legs feel as if they are no longer attached to my body and I am about to pass out, I will eat some thickly frosted cow sugar cookies to help me get home.”

Unfortunately though, the translation is wrong, and what Childs means is that he crashes into actual cows when he inevitably careens off the road due to his abysmal triathlete bike-handling skills.  (Granted, I've never seen a cow in Nyack, but leave it to a triathlete to find one and crash into it.)  Also, triathletes never feel as though their legs are attached to their bodies.  This is because they have one "normal" brain in their head that they use only for poring over their aerobar-mounted electronic training accessories, and another walnut-sized brain in their hind-quarters that controls the motion of the legs.  (If you knock a triathlete over, the legs will continue to flail until the organism eventually rights itself, kind of like a potato bug.)

Meanwhile, on a more serious note, you may recall that last week a reader photographed the aftermath of a collision in which a driver hit a cyclist while driving on a separated bike lane in Queens.  Well, more details have emerged, and fortunately justice is being done:

No, I'm just kidding, the police aren't doing shit about it:

A spokesperson at NYPD told us that, since the victim is not known to be dead and the driver remained at the scene, “We wouldn’t have any paperwork, because there’s no criminality.” Assuming the victim survives, or even if he does not, this crash is likely one of thousands to go uninvestigated or under-investigated by NYPD.

If you have any information on this crash, let us know.

In other words, if you're ever hit by a driver operating his car someplace where it's not even remotely allowed to be, make sure you die so that the odds of a police officer actually bothering to fill out paperwork increase slightly.

Speaking of disrespect, a reader informs me that Slate has deemed mountain biking to be one of the "weird sports that nobody wants to watch," along with race walking:

Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympics, would be very upset to know that modern pentathlon has been relegated to the tail end of the London Games, alongside mountain biking and racewalking and all the other weird sports that nobody wants to watch.

This is grossly unfair--though I will acknowledge it was slightly weird that the bronze medalist finished without a seat:

I'm sure he was almost as disappointed as the seller of the Stanley Wiggins bike, which failed to meet its eBay reserve:

Though in checking it I did find another auction for this beauty, complete with taint-saving horseshoe crab saddle:

Sadly, it doesn't come with the bike:

Crank is again Shimano Dura Ace. The bike is really great for climbing as well as sprints.  Pedals and Seat not included

Which means the best you'll manage on it is bronze.

Placing Blame: A Thousand Middle Fingers Can't Be Wrong

Not too long ago, I was in the parking lot of a shopping center.  (I'm a freegan and was knee-deep in expired produce doing my marketing for the week.)  Suddenly, I heard the scream of a redlining motor, followed by a tremendous boom.  When I went over to investigate, it turned out that, in an attempt to leave a parking space, a driver had instead somehow managed to drive into the door of a department store.

I didn't stick around for the "sticky pedal" excuse that almost certainly followed, and amazingly nobody was crushed, but I did think about how that sort of thing just doesn't happen with bicycles.  Anti-veloist forces love to portray cyclists as menacing scofflaws, but I've never seen someone manage to smash a plate glass window while removing his fixie from a bike rack.  (Though I have seen it happen with a tall bike.) Nevertheless, as a culture we've become inured to the inevitable smashings and crushings that follow drivers everywhere, yet we're disproportionately outraged when a cyclist commits the slightest infraction.  This was also nicely illustrated in a recent New York Times opinion piece:

In it, the guy who used to be "The Ethicist" explains why and how he doesn't stop at red lights while cycling:

I roll through a red light if and only if no pedestrian is in the crosswalk and no car is in the intersection — that is, if it will not endanger myself or anybody else. To put it another way, I treat red lights and stop signs as if they were yield signs. A fundamental concern of ethics is the effect of our actions on others. My actions harm no one. This moral reasoning may not sway the police officer writing me a ticket, but it would pass the test of Kant’s categorical imperative: I think all cyclists could — and should — ride like me.

I agree that this is ethical behavior--unlike using an expression someone else has coined and not crediting them for it:

I am not anarchic; I heed most traffic laws. I do not ride on the sidewalk (O.K., except for the final 25 feet between the curb cut and my front door, and then with caution). I do not salmon, i.e. ride against traffic. In fact, even my “rolling stops” are legal in some places.

Actually, I'm just pleased that "salmon" has officially entered the lexicon, and I plan to credit myself for it in my epitaph anyway--just above another equally important attribution:

I only hope when the New York Times reports on how I drowned in a bathtub full of Jell-O they point out that I was wearing a helment.

Anyway, the writer then goes on to look at why light-running is so annoying to everybody:

If my rule-breaking is ethical and safe (and Idaho-legal), why does it annoy anyone? Perhaps it is because we humans are not good at weighing the dangers we face. If we were, we’d realize that bicycles are a tiny threat; it is cars and trucks that menace us. In the last quarter of 2011, bicyclists in New York City killed no pedestrians and injured 26. During the same period, drivers killed 43 pedestrians and injured 3,607.

This is true.  However, there is one thing he doesn't point out, which is that everybody thinks their rule-breaking is "ethical and safe."  I agree it's ethically fine to roll through a red light at a quiet intersection, and I'm also willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's smart enough to do so responsibly.  Unfortunately though, the clueless Nü-Freds who ride heedlessly through crosswalks and leave hordes of disgruntled pedestrians in their wake also think they're doing so ethically and responsibly.  I didn't study philosophy, so I really don't know anything about Kant's categorical imperative beyond Randy Cohen's brief explanation of it in the article.  Therefore, I have no idea if it takes into account the fact that that many, many people are complete morons.

Still, despite the moron factor, I mostly agree with the article.  I also agree that people's resentment of cyclists is irrational, as he points out:

But most of the resentment of rule-breaking riders like me, I suspect, derives from a false analogy: conceiving of bicycles as akin to cars. In this view, bikes must be regulated like cars, and vilified when riders flout those regulations, as if we were cunningly getting away with something. But bikes are not cars. Cars drive three or four times as fast and weigh 200 times as much. Drive dangerously, you’re apt to injure others; ride dangerously, I’m apt to injure myself. I have skin in the game. And blood. And bones.

I would argue that this impression stems from the mechanics of oppression in this country, which I like to think of as "oppressive equality."  By refusing to recognize differences between groups then we don't have to address the unique needs of those groups.  How many times have you been told as a cyclist that "You have all the rights and responsibilities as a driver of a car"?  This is a polite way telling you to go fuck yourself.  We don't have to make any changes to the infrastructure to accommodate your vehicle.  Instead, it's your job to strap on some safety gear and pretend you're a car.

By the way, not only do I not really know anything about Kant, but I also couldn't make sense of the accompanying illustration:

If anybody can explain to me what a cyclist presenting his buttocks to a riderless bicycle has to do with anything contained in the article then I'd be very grateful.

Meanwhile, here's Randy Cohen's deranged west coast bizarro-doppelgänger, as forwarded to me by a reader:

Basically, a cyclist who may or may not have been observing Kant's categorical imperative runs a stop sign, and the following exchange ensues:

The scrawny, pale, twenty-something with thinning curly dark hair – wearing only Bermuda shorts, a T-shirt and, of course, no helmet – flipped me off and shouted a string of expletives. I felt my Sicilian blood boiling as I kept pace with him. “Why is it you think you’re exempt from the law?” Suddenly and without warning, like the snake that he was, Curly whipped his head around and spit at me from the passenger side. I was in the process of rolling up the window, so his wad of spit didn’t hit me. Instead, it bubbled slowly down the window of my just-washed car.

I kept pace with Curly, rolling the window down part way again. “What you just did qualifies as battery in the state of California,” I yelled, “and you should be arrested for road rage.” Curly laughed and flipped me off with both hands as he steered the bike with his knees

At which point the driver attacks him with her car:

Curly sped up and so did I, pulling in front of his bike, and trapping him between my SUV and the car parked next to him. As he came to a screeching halt, I rolled the window down a couple of inches. What color he had in his pale face drained and suddenly the smug smile was gone. “Are you crazy?” he asked, his voice shaking. Any ability I had to be rational went out my spit-covered window. “If I was crazy I would crush you like a bug right now,” I screamed. “Fortunately for you, I’m not crazy – but the next person you spit at might be and they could run you over or pull out a gun and shoot you.”

No, actually you are completely and utterly crazy.  He may have been a complete douchebag, but you're a potential murderer.  Plus, you know nothing about they cycling lexicon:


But Curly hadn’t learned a thing. He pulled along my driver’s side and spit all over that window, then he spinelessly pedaled to the opposite side of the street and rode, illegally, against traffic. 

That's called "salmoning," just ask Randy Cohen.


Anyway, after reading this I delved deeper into Susan Dyer Reynold's journalistic output, and it would appear that she's some kind of bike douche magnet:

Basically, the pattern in every case seems to be as follows:

1) A cyclist does something she doesn't like;
2) She yells at him;
3) The cyclist gives her the finger.

To wit:

The very next day, I stepped into a crosswalk on Page Street and was nearly mowed down by a helmetless, headphone-wearing cyclist who ran a stop sign. I yelled at him about following the law and he flipped me off without even looking back as he blew through another stop sign.

By my count, she's been on the receiving end of "the bird" at least four times between these two articles alone.  I don't deny that there are some extremely inconsiderate cyclists out there, but when you're getting flipped off on a daily basis odds are bikes aren't entirely to blame.  Eventually, you have to come to terms with the fact that the real problem lies with you.

Speaking of problems and neuroses, I was reading Lennard Zinn's column on Velo-whatever because I find Fredly hand-wringing over equipment to be highly amusing, and as I read I was reminded of why I never want to have anything to do with crabon wheels:

The Reynolds engineering and design team simultaneously engineered the brake pads and brake track to be an integrated system, working together to effectively minimize heat buildup from pad-to-rim friction and provide the best possible performance. The Reynolds system is called CTg (Cryo-Glass Transition) and the chemistry of the Cryo-Blue brake pad is engineered as a complimentary component of the resin system in the carbon fiber laminate in the wheel’s brake track. In the case of a warranty claim, following the manufacturer’s instructions to a “T” is always in the customer’s best interest, and using anything other than a Cryo-Blue brake pad can void the warranty. Reynolds is not alone in recommending proprietary pads with our wheels, as Zipp, Easton and a few other well-known brands do the same.

Because of the nature of carbon fiber, it is critical that all cyclists follow their particular wheel brand’s recommendations to avoid problems that some of your readers have experienced.

In crabon, bicycle companies have found the world's most malleable material--not in terms of what shapes you can make out of it, but in terms of how it allows them to bend the Fredly mind to their will.  By investing it with all sorts of mystical and paradoxical qualities--stiff yet compliant, strong yet brittle, bulletproof yet temperamental--they've finally managed to put Fred-dom completely in their thrall.  Freds fear the crabon.  They covet the crabon.  They respect the crabon.  They worship the crabon.  They feed the crabon special brake pads, or else "because of the nature of carbon fiber," the crabon might explode.

Dispatches like the one above merely ratchet up the roadie neurosis so that they'll be primed for disc brakes--and then just when the roadies think they can brake safely someone will come out with crabon rotors and the cycle will continue.

Wednesday is Speed Hump Day

As an ostensibly humorous bike blogger, it's recumbent upon me to adopt a jovial persona.  However, this is merely a mask I use to obscure my inner turmoil, for the truth is that I'm no stranger to profound disappointment.  For example, I recently received a box-shaped box from the Chris King Precision Bicycle Component Bicycle Component Company:

What bicycle cycling enthusiast wouldn't be thrilled to receive a box from Chris King?  Beaming, I wondered what manner of precision-engineered bike booty it might contain.  A headset?  A pair of hubs?  Maybe even a headset?  Excitedly, I ordered my trained box-opening hamster to go to work, and when Nestor was done working his incisors I lifted the lid, only to reveal...coffee:

I do appreciate the gift, but it's difficult to describe the sort of deep disappointment you feel when you open a box from Chris King and find a bag of coffee.  I imagine it's the same way you'd feel if Peta Todd came to your house, asked you demurely if she could "show you something," and then slipped off her shoes and made you examine her bunions.  Then again, I suppose there are people out there who would actually prefer that scenario:

I would ask that you please not hold me personally liable for concepts, words, and scenarios that already exist elsewhere on the Internet such as the one above.

At this point you're probably disgusted by the fact I'm complaining about having received a lovely bag of coffee (not to mention the whole "bunionfucker" thing).  I suppose this disgust is warranted, but I maintain I complain ("maintain I complain" is almost mellifluous enough to make up for "bunionfucker") far less than the average American bicycle cycling enthusiast.  For example, it is still very much in vogue to complain about the Tour de France coverage provided by what is now NBC Sports and commentated upon by Phil Sherwen and Paul Liggett, but you won't hear me doing it:

(Paul Phigglett and Peter Sherwood checking out each other's bunions, via Cycling Inquisition)

Basically, among the chief complaints regarding this coverage seem to be:

--The coverage doesn't show the whole stage;
--The one with the gray hair can't keep the riders' names straight, and the one with the dark hair alternates between constant explanations of the concept of "drafting" and mind-numbing facts about castles and cathedrals;
--Both of them fixate on American riders like Levi Leipheimer, Dave Zabriskie, and Tom Danielson, who together are about as interesting as an earthenware tea set.

Sure, these things may be true, but I don't mind.  Firstly, I suppose there are people who may want to watch an entire Tour de France stage from start to finish, but there are also railfans who like to stand around all day watching trains, and I'd argue that both groups are straining the fragile membrane that exists between boring behavior and psychotic behavior.  Secondly, as someone who is completely unable to remember names or facts of any kind, I'm amazed that either of these guys do as well as they do, especially considering the length of the event and their combined age of 217.  Thirdly, somehow Leipheimer and Danielson have managed to dupe the cycling world into thinking they still have potential, and Zabriskie has managed to dupe it into thinking that speaking really slowly constitutes a personality, so you can't blame Pigglett and Sherman for playing along.  Most of all though, I don't like any other sports, but I've watched them, and almost all of them are vastly more intellectually offensive.  What's dumber, having to listen to an English guy screw up a name occasionally, or having to watch this?

By the way, in all his years of commentating, to my knowledge Phil Liggett has only made one racist flub, which I'm sure is a record unparalleled in all of American sports broadcasting.  Also, I have a policy of not including "spoilers" in my blog, so all I'll say about today's stage is that Thomas Voeckler won:

And here's the rest of the top ten:


1 Thomas Voeckler (Fra) Team Europcar 4:46:26  
2 Michele Scarponi (Ita) Lampre - ISD 0:00:03  
3 Jens Voigt (Ger) RadioShack-Nissan 0:00:07  
4 Luis Leon Sanchez Gil (Spa) Rabobank Cycling Team 0:00:23  
5 Dries Devenyns (Bel) Omega Pharma-QuickStep 0:00:30  
6 Sandy Casar (Fra) FDJ-Big Mat 0:02:44  
7 Egoi Martinez De Esteban (Spa) Euskaltel - Euskadi  
8 Pierre Rolland (Fra) Team Europcar  
9 Jurgen Van Den Broeck (Bel) Lotto Belisol Team  
10 Dmitriy Fofonov (Kaz) Astana Pro Team


I'd hate to say I told you so, but at 48th overall and over a half an hour behind Bradley Wiggins, Dmitriy Fofonov is ideally positioned to win this Tour.

Speaking of complaining, plenty of New Yorkers have been complaining about our imminent bike share system, but that hasn't dampened the enthusiasm of the smugerati, and I recently received this email from Transporation Alternatives:

How will I use Citi Bike?  With difficulty, because sadly I don't live anywhere near Gentrification Zone One:


Citi Bike will roll out with stations in Manhattan south of Central Park, Long Island City and in Brooklyn north of Atlantic Avenue, all the way up to Williamsburg and Greenpoint. 

Nevertheless, I too am excited about it, and I'm also excited that the city is lowering the speed limit to 20mph in certain parts of town:

Mayor Bloomberg and NYC DOT Commissioner Janette Sadik-Khan today announced an expansion of the city’s Slow Zone program, which lowers speed limits in selected areas from 30 to 20 mph and implements low-cost traffic-calming measures like speed humps.

I'm not sure how much difference changing the numbers on the signs is going to make, since it's pretty much impossible here to get a speeding ticket as it is.  Then again, the low-cost speed humps should help, because nothing is more relaxing than a cheap, quick hump, and once you're finished you're usually content to just roll down the windows and cruise.  Perhaps in addition to speed humps the city will experiment with other traffic-calming techniques, such as the ones contained in this article that was forwarded to me by a reader:

For example, consider this approach in Vancouver:


In West Vancouver, Canada, traffic safety groups painted holograms on the ground so that as cars approached, a child appeared to rise from the ground. (Never mind that detractors have said the holograms could cause cars to swerve and hit something real.)

I'm guessing it was highly effective, since pretty much everyone in Vancouver is completely stoned almost all of the time and are thus highly susceptible to holograms.

On the other hand, New Yorkers tend to be pretty jaded regardless of their intoxication level, which is why the holograms should be more arresting.  Sure, typical New York drivers have no problem running down a child, but they're sure to stop for a spectral naked recumbent rider:

Also, I understand that in the more gentrified parts of Brooklyn, reckless drivers are going to be reproached by an animatronic Martin Amis:

Yes, speeding is bad spondee.  Or is it good spondee?  To be honest, I still have no idea what spondee is.  At this point I've just decided that it's the same as "karma," which is another word people like to use despite not really understanding its true meaning.

Meanwhile, in other bike share news, another reader tells me the Bank of England was going to establish a sort of emergency bike share of six bicycles to use "in the event of a full-scale financial meltdown:"

I understand economics even less than I understand spondee, so I have no idea what any of this means.

In the meantime, here in New York cycling is more popular than ever, which is why we're now experiencing a bike parking shortage, as I've learned from yet another reader:

Rock Center Bike Jam - w4m - 38 (Midtown West)
Date: 2012-07-10, 11:39PM EDT
Reply to: [deleted]


Rockefeller Center - When I saw how full the bike rack at 48th and 6th was Tuesday morning I knew getting my bike in there would be a challenge. What I didn't know is that it'd be a problem for you too. When I retrieved my bike after work I found your note written on the back of a Sovereign Bank ATM receipt. "You jammed me in. Took 20 min to get out." All in capital letters. In pencil. And perhaps what struck me most is how you corrected your spelling from "jambed" to "jammed". And when I read it I thought, "Huh, which is it? Like a door jamb or like strawberry jam?" And I feel really bad for blocking you in. It was so hard to find a spot and I honestly didn't mean to inconvenience anyone else. I'm not sure how I'm going to get my bike parked in the morning (Hello, Rock Center? More bike rikes? Please?) but I will certainly be more careful about others' bikes in the future. So thank you for the note. And also, I think we might be meant for each other. ;)

I can't help thinking that the crisis might be alleviated somewhat by people being willing to walk more than half a block to find additional bike parking.  But I guess people would rather pile their bikes on top of other bikes and then leave notes, as I observed recently:

Yes, a note makes it all OK:

Full?  Lot?  Now that's good spondee.

Anachronisms: Getting a Handle on History

Early on in life, we learn two simple truths: bikes are good, and sharing is good.  Logically then, combining "bikes" and "sharing" should be even better, right?  Well, you'd think so, but unfortunately most people manage to unlearn these truths as they mature into what psychologists call "selfish assholes."  That's why New Yorkers keep finding new ways to complain about the new bike share system we're about to get.  Most recently, some people in Fort Greene, Brooklyn don't want a bike share station on their block because it's too ugly:

More specifically, they feel it goes against the historical character of their landmarked neighborhood:


The main objection on the block appears to be aesthetic, with residents complaining about the program’s bright blue, bank-logo–covered kiosks.


“The notion of having Citi Bike logos … will go against the [landmark] character,” said Mr. Cheek.


Oh, and also the bike share station will take up their free parking:

Like other car owners across the city, Washington Park residents also complain that the bike kiosk will cost them on-street parking.


They almost had me going until they got greedy and threw in the on-street parking thing.  See, it should be noted that the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission designates as Historic Districts "areas of the city that possess architectural and historical significance and a distinct 'sense of place.'"  Fort Greene is one of these districts, and as the official designation report pointed out back in 1978:


The Fort Greene Historic District reflects the architectural development of Brooklyn's middle-class residential neighborhoods in the twenty-five year period c. 1855-1880. The area included within the boundaries of the Historic District was built  up almost entirely during this period and a large part of the area retains much of its original 19th-century ambience. 

I agree that it's important to maintain this "sense of place," and they certainly didn't have bikes with bank logos on them in those days.  But do you know what else they didn't have in the twenty-five year period between 1855 and 1880 that is embodied by this neighborhood?  Streets lined with cars!  How are a bunch of Subarus and idling Fresh Direct trucks more in keeping with the landmark character of a neighborhood than a bike docking station?  You don't get to ditch the bike share but keep the free car parking.  I'm willing to defer to their argument if and only if the people of this neighborhood are willing to preserve their neighborhood's unique "sense of place" by eschewing all trappings of life post-1880 while within the boundaries of their landmarked district.  That means period-correct clothing only, and no cellphones, no computers, and no electricity.

Or, if the people of historic Fort Greene really want to know what it is to maintain a distinct historical sense of place, they can become Amish--or even Hasidic, which might actually suit them better, because not only can they stay in Brooklyn, but they also won't have to look at any unsightly bike share stations:

Evidently, the Hasidim are very frightened at the prospect of naked bike share customers:

"The women come through on bikes, and they're not dressed properly," said Joel Weiser, a Hasidic musician who lives in the area, echoing complaints heard during the backlash that forced the removal of a painted bike lane on Bedford Avenue. "They're more naked than clothed."

I'm not sure this is a legitimate concern, since when I was in London pretty much everybody I saw riding a "Boris Bike" was wearing a suit.  Even in Williamsburg, it's hard to imagine legions of people suddenly deciding, "Let's get naked and go bike-sharing!"

But that's life in the big city I suppose, and sharing it with people who don't like bikes because they're psychotic is worth it to me for the lack of space and high cost of living.  Still, I'd give it all up tomorrow for a chance to become a "storyteller and adventurer" like this guy:



Apparently, he wants money from you so he can ride all over the world, have adventures, and then teach the youth about "the process of the heroic journey."  Or, to put it another way, he wants to be Joseph Campbell...if Joseph Campbell were a gigantic Fred:


Somewhere out there an adventure calls each of our names.  We aim to help souls better heed its call.  Thus, I quit my 10-year university teaching career, joined the National Speakers Association, and I'm devoting the next 27 years to cycling the world, collecting stories, and educating about the process of heroic journeys.  


Mind you, this is no credit card trip.  No vacation.  I'm sleeping in the roadside heather like troubadours of old, and hoping to make friends of strangers.


I have a feeling he's going to have a hard time with the "making friends of strangers" part, because if I were approached by a chipper fellow in a cycling jersey who had clearly just crawled out of a roadside ditch I'd do my very best to get as far away from him as possible.  I'm also concerned about the fact that he's engaged a "teenage video wizard:"


WHY A TEENAGER


Dallin Green is a pint-sized Spielberg who creates eye-popping work.  I believe in his creative genius, and want to propel his career.  Besides, my collaboration with his team helps youth (and the youthful) see they can embark on "the most daring of all endeavors . . . to meet the shadowy future without fear, and conquer the unknown" (Ferdinand Magellan).

Really?  "Propel his career?"  It's one thing if this guy wants to destroy his life by quitting his job and becoming a Lycra-clad adventure seeker, but I really hope he's not pulling this kid out of school and wrecking his future as well.

Meanwhile, speaking of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps (or failing to), a reader has alerted me to this fine leather bicycle carrying handle:

I always thought that a bicycle frame already made for a pretty convenient handle, but apparently there are people who are unable to carry their wildly flailing bicycles without killing or maiming innocent passers-by:

For city dwellers, it makes carrying the bike up flights of stairs much easier by providing a natural-feeling grasp point. Carrying the bike low helps keep it laying flat against you and not flopping around, hitting others or knocking into walls.

Really?  Has it come to this?  Can people not find enough "natural-feeling grasp points" on this object?

It's marginally less difficult than finding the "grasp points" on Peta Todd:

Though only Mark Cavendish can tell you whether or not they're "natural-feeling."

Of course, it should go without saying that the leather bike handle is not only made in Portland, but that it has also already been more-than-funded via Kickstarter--where, amazingly, it is touted as "minimalist," even though having a handle for your handle is anything but minimalist:

Designed for urban commuters, this minimalist handle makes carrying your bike actually feel easier and lighter by lowering the center of gravity and using your normal muscle groups for lifting and holding your bicycle, same as lifting a grocery bag or carrying a briefcase.

There's also a video:



Which features people lifting their bikes from the drive side with utter disregard for the cleanliness of their pants:

I'm sure it's this failure to understand the basic concept of staying away from the dirty side of your bike that will pave the way for their next project: 

The artisanal leather chainring cover.

It's nearly as essential as a crabon fiber pie plate, as forwarded by another reader:

As well as a tattoo telling the world you have had a vasectomy, as forwarded by yet another reader:

Which should make you even more attractive to potential partners, even if they reply to your come-ons with a hearty "Fuck You!"

You said "You're gorgeous," I said "Fuck You" - w4m - 23 (Union Square)
Date: 2012-06-11, 12:40AM EDT
Reply to: [deleted]


I was walking through Union Square when you stopped me on the street because you "had to tell me something." I was on the phone and very stressed out because my bike wheel had just been stolen. I figured you were going to try to sell me something but I stopped just in case it was actually important. You told me I was gorgeous, then I yelled at you and stormed away angrily. I immediately felt terrible, and wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, and that was a nice thing to say.


Don't reply unless you can tell me what I said after I told you to shut the fuck up.

I bet the answer to that last sentence is "asshole."  That's the classic "shut the fuck up" follow-up.