Paring Down and Pairing Up: It's Not the Size of Your Load, It's How You Portage It

In today's logo-happy, brand-worshipping, status-mongering world, it can be increasingly difficult to distinguish yourself as a successful person. Sure, it may feel good to deck your bike out with Dura Ace, but what happens when someone rolls up with electronic Dura Ace? That first class airplane seat may feel comfy, but it's a bird dropping-covered park bench compared to the luxury of a Gulfstream cabin. And what about that sweet Bentley you're parking in the bike lane? Enjoy it while you can, for your feelings of superiority will suddenly become pangs of inferiority when you're passed by a Bentley covered in "vintage" $10,000 bills and powered by an engine that runs on polar bear blood, baby's tears, and Dom Perignon champagne.

Clearly, material status is an arms race you can't win. So what do you do? Well, wealthy American douchebags are increasingly figuring out that the answer is to "flip the script" and try to have less crap than everyone else instead. After all, if you have enough money you don't really need anything, since luxury and fulfillment is always just a credit card swipe away. This new form of 21st century reverse opulence is called "minimalism," and it seems hardly a day goes by without the media fawning over some quazi-Zen "bizarro" P-Diddy. The latest one is some "entrepreneur" named Andrew Hyde, whose clame to faim is that he only owns 15 things:

Unless you're totally "Wednesday weeded" out, you probably noticed that he's easily got more than 15 things with him in the photo:

And that's not even counting the additional crap he's wearing on his actual body.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I listened to as much of the ABC News Radio interview with him that I could stomach, and I learned that like most minimalists he has something of a creative bent when it comes to counting stuff. For example, he counts his toiletry kit as one thing, regardless of how much stuff is actually in it. By the way, here's a picture of his toiletry kit:

It contains 1,500lbs of dental floss, a full living room set, and a Mini Cooper.

Of course, this is America (Canada's overstuffed toiletry kit), and if wealthy people want to douchefy couch-surfing in the same way they've douchefied fixies and axes and anything else with a veneer of "authenticity" then that's their Lob-given right. Still, I've been watching a lot of "Sesame Street" lately, and I think I've got a pretty good handle on this whole counting thing. If Big Bird is learning how to count with apples, and he has six of them, he just admits he has six apples. He doesn't try to rationalize having too many apples by saying, "Well, I always keep my apples in an artisanal canvas fruit sack, so I really just count all my apples as one thing." If Big Bird were to pull a stunt like that I'd full expect Cookie Monster to kick him square in the "pants yabbies." Someone should really hand this Andrew Hyde guy a sippy-cup and sit his ass down in front of a TV for a few hours so he can get reacquainted with simple arithmetic. Come back to me when you're wearing a burlap sack and you've got nothing but a begging bowl and maybe then I'll be impressed.

Still, we could all do with less crap, so in the spirit of minimalism I've officially reduced my total number of possessions to zero things. This was easier than it sounds. All I did was form a corporation called the BSNYC/RTMS Holding Company, transfer all my assets and possessions to that company, and assign ownership of that company to my helper monkey, Vito. Then, I simply leased all my stuff back from him at a rate of one cent per annum. Not only do I get to say I don't own anything, but my lifestyle also hasn't changed at all. Plus, the best part is that Vito assumes all my tax liability.

Speaking of acquiring possessions, I recently received a press release for a bold and exciting new shoe:

A cross over between a sneaker and a boat shoe, the Veja Mediterranée style features an organic cotton canvas and a wild Amazonian rubber vulcanised sole.

I've been looking for a new "fixie"-riding shoe and a "collabo" between a sneaker and a boat shoe sounds like just the thing I need. I figure a shoe designed to keep me planted to the deck during a squall should me more than sufficient to help me maintain traction during my elephant trunk skidz. The fact that it also has a "wild Amazonian rubber vulcanised sole" and a brand name that looks like it could be pronounced "veejay" is just a bonus, and I'm sure my Mediterranean Vajayjays will look great with my Levi's cycling clothes:

You've doubtless heard by now that Levi's has been working on a cycling-specific Canadian tuxedo, and a reader was kind enough to forward me this Coolhunting post--which, as he points out, is most noteworthy in that they clearly couldn't figure out the integrated u-lock holder:

In any case, it was only a matter of time before Levi's realized that people are so determined to ride racing bicycles slowly that they'd prefer to buy specially-cut street clothes rather than just simply ride more comfortable city bikes, and that people like this need more wardrobe options:

(Serotta owner commuting to dental school.)

Either that, or they've not only figured it out but have since bought Dutch bikes and become so smug about it that they need to form clubs, as in this Craigslist post forwarded by another reader:


Calling all Batavus riders! (have Dutch bike, will travel....)
Date: 2011-05-01, 8:23AM EDT
Reply to: [Deleted]

Calling all Batavus riders! (have Dutch bike, will travel....)

Do you feel special as you pass other cyclists, perched extra-high and confident in the feeling that the stability and presence of your Dutch beauty provides a certain security -- from potential vehicle side-swipes and other cyclists on regular, mundane bikes -- that is only afforded us Batavus riders? Of course you do - and such elitism deserves celebration!

Which is why 'Batavus Uber Alles Toronto' wants you! BUAT needs you!

Check us out on Facebook:

Hope to see you soon!


If this is a Dutch bike club I'm not sure why its name is in German, but then again I'm not Canadian and as such I have a hard time comprehending subtlety and nuance.

Meanwhile, there's nothing subtle about riding the Five Boro Bike Tour on a bicycle without a saddle or seatpost, as photographed by yet another reader:

I'm not sure what kind of bike that is--maybe it's a Softride and someone made off with his crabon fiber beam.

By the way, as the World's Largest Fred Ride, the Five Boro Bike Tour has predictably generated innumerable "Missed Connection" posts, like this one:


Banana Girl in the 5 Boro Bike Tour - m4w (Brooklyn)

Date: 2011-05-01, 7:33PM EDT

You were doling out bananas at the Flushing rest area for the 5 Boro Bike Tour earlier today. I'm almost certain you noticed me looking at you. However, I was with a friend and you were on the job - so I couldn't quite screw up the courage to talk to you. You have dirty blond hair and striking, blue-gray eyes. I have a moustache, for my own part.

I'd really like to see you again. Drinks? Please get in touch if you see this.

As a bad pun enthusiast I liked the part about "doling out bananas:"


But I especially like that he says he has "a moustache, for my own part." He doesn't say which part, but I think we can infer that when he says he has a mustache for his "part" he means his pubic hair is groomed in this fashion:

I hear all the hipsters are sporting pubic mustaches now, since there's no kind of mustache more ironic than that. In fact, it's probably good enough to get you on TV, judging from this casting call forwarded by yet another reader:

HBO's How To Make It In America looking for featured Hipsters (Manhattan and Brooklyn)
Date: 2011-04-30, 1:48AM EDT
Reply to: [deleted]

Roman Candle Casting is seeking people to portray hipsters on the HBO show "How To Make It In America" starring Brian Greenberg, Victor Rasuk, Lake Bell, and Kid Cudi. So have you ever been called a hipster? Deny being one but own various wardrobe and sport a hairstyle that is considered non-mainstream.? Got any cool tattoos? Have a awesome beard or ironic mustache.? Have some cool vintage dresses? Did you make it to the LCD Soundsystem farewell show or desperately wanted to? If any of these things pertain to you, you're probably just right for the show. Basically we are looking for some cool interesting types to feature on the episode. Looking for model types too.

When submitting please include some candid pictures along with the best phone # to reach you. Also include your availability next week. We are shooting 5/3, 5/4, 5/5, and 5/8. All scenes are specific so if we think you are right for the project we would place you accordingly. We will be shooting in Bushwick and the Lower East Side of Manhattan. If these dates don't work for you there will be other opportunities throughout the season so feel free to submit.

Just don't show up on a track bike, because fixies are totally "out," and Danish sperm bank bikes are totally "in:"


Now that's what I call "load portaging." Too bad he doesn't have a matching sperm-shaped aero helmet. Sure, helmets aren't "cycle chic," but for that I think we can make an exception.

Cropped Out: Delusions of Fredness

As I mentioned yesterday, on Saturday I attended the New Amsterdam Bike Show. In addition to contending with treacherous stairways and ogling stylized Dutch-style bikes in a variety of colorways, I also got my daintily manicured hands on a copy of the June issue of "Bicycling." "Bicycling" is a magazine about bicycle cycling, and a magazine is sort of like a blog or a website, only it's printed on paper and you have to pay for it.

Ordinarily, I have to go to the dentist to read "Bicycling," and even then the issue is usually eight months out of date. (You can date an issue of "Bicycling" by finding the most expensive bicycle in it, measuring the "beefiness" of the bottom bracket in millimeters, and then dividing that figure by the number of rear cogs. In fact, sometimes this is the only way to tell the issues apart.) However, this time someone from "Bicycling" actually gave--gave--it to me, and not only was it "hot off the presses" (that's magazine publishing lingo for "new"), but I didn't even have to have my teeth drilled to get it.

This is because the June issue of "Bicycling" is the debut of the magazine's official redesign, and they want the bicycle cycling world to know it. Here's what the cover looks like:

Nice font, right? And not only have "Bicycling" redesigned the magazine, but they've also made it interactive. As you may have noticed, it says "flip open" in the upper right corner ("flipping" is the paper equivalent of "clicking"), and when you follow the instructions you see this:

That's right, it's two more Freds, making a total of four (4) Freds! That's a Total Fred Increase (TFI) of 100%.

Clearly "Bicycling" means business with this redesign.

But redesigning a magazine isn't just about increasing the cover's Fred Load-Bearing Capacity (FLBC). It also extends to the words and pictures on what publishing professionals call the "inside" of the magazine, and "Bicycling" have "dropped" an "edit" to show you what they've done. Basically, what I think they're trying to say is that the magazine is now less "Vanity Fair" for Freds, and more "Rouleur" for Freds.

In all seriousness, I do think "Bicycling" have done an excellent job with the redesign, and with each successive bathroom visit I'm enjoying the June issue more and more. However, this wasn't the reason I was excited to see it. No, I've been eagerly anticipating this issue because it's the one in which they announce the "Editors' Choice" winners, and since I was one of the testers I really wanted to see some Fred-tastic pictures of myself in crabon-testing action. (In case you care, which I'm sure you don't, my favorite bike in any category was the "Giant Defy Advanced 1," despite the fact that it's name is a full sentence long, and probably because it had 25mm tires whereas most of the other bikes had 23s.)

Now, as you know, as an anonymous blogger whose identity is a closely-guarded secret, I take great pains to obfuscate any and all of my personal details. However, even I have my vanities, and when "Bicycling" told me that on one of the test rides we'd be photographed I resolved immediately to be "ready for my close-up," as Norma Desmond said in "Sunset Boulevard." This was because, as an awful bike racer, I knew that appearing in the world's largest cycling magazine by circulation could very well be my last-ever chance to experience anything even remotely resembling competitive glory.

Or, to put it another way, I wanted some "face time" in Fred-dom's periodical of record.

But there was one problem: "Bicycling" told me that on photo day I had to wear non-team kit. However, I didn't have any non-team kit, since all my cycling clothing is from my stint with Mapei when I played a vital role in their 1996 Paris-Roubaix podium sweep:

I actually crashed out of the race before it even started when I collided with a frites cart on the way to the sign-in, but I still like to think that they couldn't have done it without me.

Anyway, the problem remained that I had no non-team cycling clothes. Generously, "Bicycling" offered to lend me an outfit from their closet, but I cringed at the thought of what Primal monstrosities might lurk in there, and there was no way I was going to be immortalized in dentist offices all over Canada's dickey in a "Tribal Fire" jersey.

Therefore, it became clear what I had to do. Say what you will about their overblown marketing copy, and their studiously "epic" videos, and their even more "epic" pricetags, but if you want to look good on a road bike you're not going to fail with the Rapha. Actually, that's not true. You can fail pretty spectacularly with the Rapha:

(His wardrobe is so "epic" it's making him queasy.)

Nevertheless, I was desperate, so just before departing for Austin I allowed my inner fop his head and obtained a complete Rapha ensemble: socks, shorts, jerseys, armwarmers, the whole schmear. And when photo day arrived, I removed each item from its special Rapha puch and put it on with the nervous excitement of a prom-bound teenager donning his first rental tuxedo. Then, I practiced my "epic" expressions in the bathroom mirror. (Hint: After much experimentation, I finally figured out the best way to attain a Rapha-esque wince is to let your mouth hang slightly open, think about your favorite food, and then concentrate on letting the saliva pool in the bottom half of your mouth without spilling it.) I have to say, the clothing was really nice. Like, surprisingly nice. Finally, it was time to mount my Focus Locus Hocus Pocus or whatever crabon bike I was "testing" that day and roll out with the "Bicycling" crew.

I should add that we were photographed constantly by this guy:

Whether it was eating our morning Cocoa Puffs, inflating our tires, stabbing at our "smarting phones," or even actually riding the bikes, nothing escaped his omniscient lens.

So as the road unfurled itself in front of me and I savored the perfect fit of my jersey and the taintal caress of my arguably overpriced but undeniably comfortable chamois, I just assumed it was a certainty that somewhere in "Bicycling" would appear a glossy photograph of me in full Fredly flight. Instead, imagine my surprise when the only picture of me was this:

Actually, I'm not even sure it's me, but there is the white Rapha arm band which signifies my membership in their "Army of Douche," and my head's also more or less level, which means I'm probably still focussing on not spilling my drool pool.

Of course, I am as Fredly as anybody, and the fact that I'm disappointed over this photo when it's right next to an entire page of my own writing perfectly underscores the Fred psychology--which, to fall back on a cliché, is to fail to see the forest for the trees. Why enjoy the ride when you can fuss over your power meter? Why enjoy amateur bike racing when you can pay a coach to help you take it more seriously? Why be satisfied with ten speeds when you can have eleven? And so forth.

Also, at one point, a urinal auto-flushed so hard as I stepped to it that it overflowed and someone else's urine sloshed all over my Rapha socks:

Now that's "epic."

Still, I'd rather be doused in urine while wearing Rapha then humiliate myself while wearing in a polar bear costume:

I'm not sure if this "protest" does a greater disservice to cyclists or to the polar bears themselves, but either way it's one of the most horrifically cringe-inducing things I've ever seen. If these people really want to pretend to be polar bears while making a point they should go find a rapidly-melting iceberg and film their last days on it Timothy Treadwell-style. As it is, if you're wondering why the NYPD is picking on us so much recently, this is probably part of the reason.

Lastly, I have just received an exciting press release about the "Sanitov CB:"

The Sanitov CB (cargo bicycle), is the product of a cultural meeting between traditional Chinese bicycle design and the functionalistic, Danish design approach. The Bicycle is of a traditional Chinese cargo-bicycle infused with the latest technological Know-how and Scandinavian minimalism.

The Sanitov CB is sophisticated built from the best materials we can find. The Design includes, matching full leather handles and saddle, high quality stainless steel and aluminum frames and rack, a world innovative GPS Tracker-system and a battery-driven engine. The built-in battery-driven engine facilitates the function when going over long distances or when transporting heavy goods; a supplement ensuring the convenience and usability of the bicycle in all situations.

Wow, sounds impressive--except it turns out it's not a bicycle at all. Actually, it's a trike with a cart on it:

I wonder how many polar bears you can "portage" with it.

BSNYC Field Trip: The New Amsterdam Bicycle Show

(Feelin' Patriotic.)

Well, it's officially Bike Month here in New York City, and despite--or perhaps because of--the ongoing NYPD "crackdown" on cyclists the festivities kicked off this past weekend with extra "flambullience." Not only did the city see the running of the Five Boro Bike Tour (which is the world's largest assembly of Freds in the Western hemisphere), but it also played host to the New Amsterdam Bike Show. Sadly, I was unable to take part in the Five Boro Bike Tour since my helmet mirror is still in the shop, but I am pleased to report I was able to pay a brief visit to the bike show. While I was there, I occasionally pointed my aging camera in the direction of stuff and then pressed the button with the grace and savoir faire of a "Bike and Roll" tourist snapping shots of the Golden Gate Bridge, and since I'm something of an amateur bicycle blog enthusiast I will endeavor to share the sorry results with you herewith.

Firstly, I should say that riding to the bike show was a bittersweet experience. It was sweet because the weather was lovely and my smugness caravan and I were able to travel almost the entire way on bike lanes, but it was bitter because here's what we encountered in those lanes:

--Pedestrians

--Illegally parked Hummers with New York State Association of Chiefs of Police badges on the bumper;

--Fish delivery trucks;

--Pickup trucks "corking" intersections for outlaw motorcycle clubs;

--Occasionally, cyclists.

The "corking" pickup truck was especially astounding since it was using the bike lane to roar from intersection to intersection at something like 50mph and had to have been running something like 20 red lights a minute. However, the police didn't seem to mind, and in fact the group also had something of a de facto NYPD Cushman escort. I guess this is because, while the driver or the motorcyclists could have easily killed somebody, none of them were doing anything really dangerous to the general public such as riding a bicycle with a tote bag on the handlebars.

Also, I did have the pleasure of riding along a brand-new, freshly painted bike lane:

Note that, even though it was only hours old, it already had a U-Haul in it in strict compliance with New York City bike lane policy.

Anyway, when we finally arrived at the bike show I knew it was going to be a good one since I immediately spotted actor and bicycle enthusiast Matthew Modine. In New York City, when David Byrne (who does not own a car) is either unable or unwilling to attend a cycling-related event, Matthew Modine (whose car ownership status is unknown) is there to fill the resultant smugness vacuum. Here's Modine outside the show, apparently attempting to "schluff" on two bikes at once:

Say what you will about Modine's performance in "Pacific Heights" alongside Michael Keaton at his diabolical best, but at least he' s not afraid to get his hands dirty. I'd like to see David Byrne (who doesn't have a car) try that.

Next, I ran the Gauntlet of Bikes (or G.O.B.) you'll find outside of any cycling-themed event, which serves as sort of a portal into the Realm of Bike Dorkdom:

There were low-locked bikes and there were high-locked bikes. In fact, there was even a high-locked Softride:

Softrides are to Y-Foils as Matthew Modine is to David Byrne.

For my part, I was having none of this "locking" nonsense, mostly because my smugness caravan was "palping" something like 300lbs of bicycle, and had I attempted to high-lock my Big Dummy I would have wound up pinned underneath it like a wrestling extra in the 1985 Matthew Modine film "Vision Quest." Trust me, the last thing I want is to be found laid out on the sidewalk flatter than Modine's performance in "Married to the Mob." Therefore, I went to valet our bikes--only to be told that the valet parking was "full:"

Yeah, right. Maybe if we had a Dutch bike or a "bake feets" or some other über-smug conveyance like all the highfalutin New York City bike advocacy set rides they'd have found us some room:

Clearly though my caravan didn't make the grade, so we had to make like the rest of the "proles" and use the poles.

Speaking of making like the proles, after I tethered our caravan to a street lamp I took my place at the end of the ticket line:

I knew I was in for a long wait, since the guy in front of me was yawning.

Eventually, though, we did make it in, and I ascended the narrow, vertiginous staircase:

As something of a "woosie" when it comes to heights, I found the staircase mildly disconcerting, and you can bet a true professional bike show organizer like NAHBS potentate Don Walker wouldn't force people to climb a set of stairs like this--or, if he did, he wouldn't allow them to use any other stairs within a 20-mile radius.

Nevertheless, I did manage to conquer my fears and ascend the hated staircase, and when I finally made it into the show itself I saw something that made me rejoice--it was another line!

Apparently coffee tastes better when it's served out of a vintage truck, but I was in no mood to wait on another line, so instead I joined the mobs of people wandering around and looking at stuff:

I also ambled over to this panel discussion:

There were some empty seats, though I bet if the panel were sitting in a vintage truck they'd have to drive the crowd away with a fire hose.

Next I sauntered over an area that was sort of sectioned off by "DisposaCones," and I took this as a warning that I was about to enter an Extreme Smugness Zone:

If you're a part of the "cone culture" like I am, you'll want a closer look at the DisposaCones, so here you go. I also made sure to include a pair of disembodied mandals according to "cone culture" photo guidelines:

As it turns out though, it wasn't an Extreme Smugness Zone. Rather, it was a bike demo area. Here's someone trying to figure out how to ride one of those "fixie" bikes you're always hearing about:

Clearly he was trying to figure out the hipster leg-over-bar mounting technique, and I'd have showed him myself if I wasn't reasonably certain I'd pull a groin muscle.

Of course, like a pervert in rose-colored MC Hammer pants, if an event is even remotely bike-themed you can be sure that Specialized is going to come along and pitch a big red tent:

Notice how the Specialized representative proffers the frame bottom bracket shell first to emphasize it's "beefiness."

There was also the requisite "Bamboo Ghetto:"

As well as local vendors like Hold Fast:

Who doubtless spent much of the day answering the question: "And these are different from PowerGrips how exactly?" (Answer: They're three times as expensive, use Velcro, and are available in "collabo" versions.)

Meanwhile, Bike Works NYC displayed some kind of clock that tells hipster time:


Even Craigslist fixture Spaceship had space at the show:


Spaceship are so Craigslist they just displayed one of their "For Sale" posts instead of an actual bike:


Speaking of spaceships, it was time for me to ascend to the next level, which meant more stairs:


This floor had a decidedly different flavor, and it was dominated by a Terrordome of Fixies:

I assumed that at some point in the day two hipsters would enter it and fight to the death, which would look like this:



There was also an extensive smugness section:


As well as a cursed soul doomed to furl and unfurl folding bikes in front of mildly curious onlookers for all eternity:


Eventually though, it was time for me to leave, which meant more freaking stairs:


And back on the street, I found a crowd had assembled to gawk at the considerable smugness of my Big Dummy:


In Portland, I'm sure it wouldn't rate a second look, but this is New York City, so they probably couldn't believe I managed to ride a bicycle this big without getting arrested:

Here's one of the gentlemen going in for a closer look, clearly impressed by the Sportster 883 V-twin I've got hidden behind the Xtracycle Freeloader bags. In fact, he was so taken with it I thought he might try to make off with it, and so I reached inside my diaper bag and prepared to brain him with a sippy-cup if necessary:

Eventually though he simply stood up and then asked us to explain how our u-lock worked, so I just hurled the sippy-cup at a passing unicyclist instead:


I wonder if it's possible to "schluff" on a unicycle.