What to Inspect When You're Expecting: Letting Nature Take Its Coarse

Further to yesterday's post, it turns out people have vociferous and disparate feelings when it comes to human reproduction. In particular, it seems that some people really do believe that not having babies will somehow save the Earth. Well, to them I pose the following question:

"Without more people, who will staff the Starbucks?!?"

Think about it. Do you think a moose or a kangaroo or even a monkey could figure out how to make a Venti White Chocolate Mocha? I doubt it. (Well maybe the monkey could, but not without a human in a green apron to teach him, and then he'd still be unable to make correct change.) And if there are no people left to make Venti White Chocolate Mochas, then who will make coffee for the animals? See, they need us--and we need them, so that they can fulfill their divine purpose by dying and becoming oil. It's called "symbiosis." Or "symbiolosis." Or "sciatica" or something. I don't know, look it up.

And I'm not even going to get into the fate of the iPhone in a people-free world. Won't somebody please think of the iPhones?!?

Anyway, one person who is untroubled by the moral implications of procreation is famed bicycle cycling sprinter and current World Champion Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish, who recently issued forth the following "Tweet" concerning the issue of his issue:

I'm assuming the "beyond doubt" part means he was withholding the "Tweet" pending the results of the DNA test. Yes, paternity can sometimes come down to what you might euphemistically call a "photo finish" if there are a lot of other "sprinters" involved, so it's always good to make sure the "win" really belongs to you and not one of your competitors. Such is the chaos inherent in the "bunch sprint" of life.

Needless to say, I'm very happy for them both, and since one day that mini-"Man Missile" or petite Peta (as the case may be) is going to ask his or her parents where he or she came from, I've prepared an explanation in a child-friendly storybook format so that they can let the little Man or Peta (not to be confused with mani-pedi) figure it out for him- or herself.

How Pro Cycling Babies Are Made

One day, Daddy, who was an awesome sprinter, saw something that he liked very, very much:

Actually, he saw two things that he liked very much, and both of them were attached to Mommy:

(So ample is Peta's bosom that it provides plenty of room for censorship by means of the "recumbabe," who is in turn censored by the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork Bret.)

Daddy was sponsored by a mobile phone company at the time, so he paid somebody at the company to give him Mommy's number, even though it was a secret:

("I'm thumbing my nipple right now, does that turn you on?")

Mommy wasn't impressed, but Daddy was persistent:

("I have something this big to give you!")

Mommy was amazed by the size of Daddy's, uh, palmarès, and so they did something with a dirty name that mommies and daddies do when they love each other very much:


Twelve minutes later, Daddy "popped his top""

Daddy's bottle was full of millions of tiny "bubbles," which all raced as fast as they could to make friends with Mommy's inside parts. Daddy's "bubbles" were very, very fast, but one "bubble" was even faster than the rest:

(The winning sperm benefitted from many off-season hours in the wind tunnel.)

Soon, something was growing inside of Mommy:

And then, nine moths later, a stork carrying a precious bundle came:

Which really has nothing whatsoever to do with the story, except that it happened around the time you came out of Mommy's vagina:

It hurt Mommy a lot, which is why she's squeezing Daddy's "pants yabbies."

Now, Mommy and Daddy are very tired all the time, and that's why they smell like whiskey:

The end.

Speaking of Twitter and the natural course of things, Copenhagenzine alerted me via the aforementioned social network of the following "modest proposal:"

A lot of deer get hit by cars west of Crown Point on U.S. 231. There are too many cars to have the deer crossing here. The deer crossing sign needs to be moved to a road with less traffic.

- Tim Abbott, Crown Point

Wow.

See? We don't need to stop reproducing in order to save the environment. All we need is better signage for the animals. Remember all that unpleasantness with the BP spill in the Gulf of Mexico? Well, we could have been spared all those images of oil-slathered wildlife if only BP had posted a bunch of these all over the beach:

Sure, you'd have to tweak it a bit since I don't think there were too many oil-coated baboons and kangaroos paddling around out there, but you get the point. With adequate signage, all the animals would have simply gone to the pool instead until the wonderful people at BP had a chance to fix the leak. This is yet another argument in favor of human reproduction. Without us, who the hell is going to put up signs? Those stupid animals will have no idea where to go. They'd probably just stand around licking themselves.

Meanwhile, in other wildlife news, a reader tells me that a man who looks like he should be living in a ramshackle shack with a blunderbuss is selling a state-of-the-art time trial bike:

Of course, pro cycling fans will recognize the seller as Dave Zabriskie:

(Old Man Zabriskie says: "I done whittled it with my own two hands.")

If you want to own an authentic piece of artisanal backwoods hand-crafted Americana, this is the bike for you. If you don't, then git offa his property or he's a-gonna shoot.

And speaking of incongruous images, Eric in Seattle spotted this Huffy Santa Fe on the back of a Jaguar:

Either some snotty kid is going to be extremely disappointed with the fixed-gear conversion he's getting for Christmas, or that doofus John Cassidy is about to get back in the saddle again.

Forking in the Road: Midlife Crisisway

Last Friday I mentioned "(R)Evolutions per Minute," a forthcoming documentary on cargo bikes, as well as the accompanying video. I did so because, as a bit of a budding cargo bike enthusiast myself, I find the project legitimately interesting. Also, I'm fascinated by the many forms smugness can take. For example, consider this comment one viewer left on the video:

Just don't have children. It's the nicest thing anyone can ever do for the environment.

TheLonelyImmortal 2 days ago

As cloyingly smug as people with children can be, it cannot compete with the smugness of the resolutely childless. Parental smugness hinges on the belief that your children are special, which is obviously completely sickening to everybody around you. However, non-parental smugness is based on an even more self-righteous principal, which is that the millions of years of human reproduction that culminated in your birth were somehow acceptable, but now that you exist the entire system should be shut down going forward. They're like those people who have no problem shoving their way onto a crowded subway car yet refuse to let anybody else on.

Though arguably there's no greater smugness than that exhibited by the typical American dog owner:


Or by the cat owner who also happens to be moving by bike:

Are the signs really necessary here? I suppose so, since once you attain a certain "smugness quotient" you need the world to know that you're only voluntarily inconveniencing yourself and that you're not actually poor or homeless, which has considerably less cachet in most gentrified neighborhoods. You want everybody to know you still live in a brownstone and not a refrigerator box--though I'm sure it's only a matter of time before someone in Portland starts selling "live-in bakfiets."

Speaking of the cargo bike video, one blog commenter pointed out that the filmmaker is using clipless pedals with her "bake feets:"

This is a tremendous smugness style faux pas, since everybody knows that the only appropriate footwear for cargo cycling is the sandal:

If you're new to cycling you may not realize this, but the rest of us know that the complexity of your footwear should vary inversely with the weight of your bicycle. That's why when you ride a 17lb road bike you wear a ratcheting shoe made from space-aged materials that integrates with your pedals, but when you're carrying 60lbs of wheat germ, a used papasan chair, and a nonplussed Golden Retriever you wear a pair of filthy worn-out flip-flops. You can tell a "real" roadie from his shaved legs and tan lines, and you can tell a "real" cargo biker from his armor-like callouses and blackened toenails. Armadillo-like feet are the tanned-and-shaved legs of the cargo bike world. This also explains the "(R)Evolutions per Minute" pedicure scene:

You don't want to let your callouses get too big, or else they keep hitting the chainstays while you ride.

Of course, not all the video commentary was negative, and one viewer had this to say:

The bride sitting pretty with the groom pedaling them off into the distance beats the traditional carry her over the threshold! If only there were more brides and grooms like that.

c33r0k33 3 days ago


I disagree. It seems to me they could combine their love of cargo bikes with the whole traditional threshold thing by consummating their marriage in the back of a pedi-Sukkah:
As it says in the Torah, "If that pedi-Sukkah's a-davening, don't come a-knockening."

Of course, there are those who argue that the whole cargo bike thing is merely an affectation being embraced by middle-aged people with lofty ideals and disposable income. Indeed, sometimes it can seem as though there's a proverbial fork in the proverbial road of life that one eventually encounters. One fork leads to cargo bikes, and the other to expensive road bikes, as in this article which was forwarded to me by a reader:


In particular, it appears that aging techo-douches are increasingly turning to Fred-dom:

Men who once thrilled to Kraftwerk and Italian piano house get a thing for cycling gear because it reminds them of their original Balearic jaunts and harks back to Weller during his Cappuccino Kid days.

Eeew.

Not only that, but they're actually comparing Rapha to the Sex Pistols:

Cycling convert Gary Kemp, Spandau Ballet's guitarist, remembers the first time he clocked the carefully art-directed photography of the Rapha website four and half years ago. 'It was like the time I saw the Sex Pistols at The Screen on the Green and swore I'd never wear flares again. Here was a new tribe and I knew that I had to be part of it. Within minutes I was buying clothes from this supercool English company, and I didn't even have the bike!'

By the way, just in case you haven't yet reached that fork in the road that is middle age, this is Spandau Ballet. Perhaps now, going forward, Rapha's famous "epic" suffer-fest videos will have a slightly different atmosphere. Rapha should also phase out the "Gentlemen's Rides" and replace them with "Douche Rides" like these:

Gary and I are, as we were in our nightclub days, quietly hardcore. Mid-ride coffee breaks are full of compliments on each other's weight loss and new kit. We will swap stories of 100-mile jaunts to the Chilterns, the 21km climb up France's Col de Mont Ventoux, the grit of L'Etape du Tour (an amateur stage of the Tour de France), the perils of the strada bianchi on the annual L'Eroica in Italy's Chianti region. Anywhere there are big hills, expensive hotels and nice restaurants, basically. We go, as we once did to Soho bars, as a group - a gang of over-pampered rock'n'rouleurs.

Eeew.

And who's the patron saint of douchey Freds? Why, David Millar, of course:

In modern-day pro cycling, the cane/train hero is David Millar, captain of the Great Britain team that masterminded Mark Cavendish's victory at this year's World Championships in Copenhagen. Millar is a three-times yellow-jersey winner at the Tour de France, who came second in the recent Tour of Beijing, just days after his wife gave birth to his first son. He also has something of a reputation for good times. His autobiography Racing Through the Dark is a roller-coaster ride of punishing races, doping scandals and hog-whimperingly big nights out. He name-drops not just Lance Armstrong but also DJ Erick Morillo, describes the zigzagging 20 per cent climb of Alpe d'Huez on one page and thrills to the delights of Paris's Les Bains Douches nightclub the next. He's that rare breed of sophisticated, worldly and articulate gentleman sportsman who wants to win in life as well as on the road.

He even parties at a club with "douche" in the name.

Naturally, if you're contemplating becoming a techno-douche-turned-Fred, you'll need a suitable bike, and another reader has forwarded me a handy guide to the "Best Custom Road Bikes:"

It contains all manner of NAHBS artisanal handmade bike porn, such as Felt:


And Cannondale:

And of course the ultimate in custom handmade exotica, Trek:


Though when it comes to buying a custom road bike, you'd be hard-pressed to beat this:

Apparently, "the bike's classic Brooks leather saddle will age nicely." The rider, however, will not.

And if the fork in the road you find yourself encountering is more of a "spork," you may be tempted by a recumbent bike. In fact, yet another reader has informed me that the first recumbent trade show has just ended:


Its origins are folksy and humble:

OMONA, CA (BRAIN)—Year after year at Interbike, show attendees from the recumbent industry would get together for a dinner to discuss the state of the market in their corner of the cycling world. Often, the talk would turn to creating their own trade show, said Chuck Coyne, publisher and editor of Recumbent & Tandem Rider Magazine.

I'm guessing the discussions went something like this:

"Hey, we should have our own recumbent show. What do you think?"

"Totally! I'm down. What about you?"

"ZZZzzz..."

Nevertheless, the show became a reality, and by all accounts it was a smashing success:

Some 36 exhibitors displaying recumbent bikes, trikes, tandems, hand cycles, components and accessories—as well as representatives from advocacy groups—were set up in a 12,000-square-foot hall, with a demo area outside for test riding the latest in laid-bike cycles.

I'm assuming the "laid-bike" thing is a typo, because I'm not sure how "laid" you'd get on one of these:

(Spotted by a reader in Virginia.)

Then again, judging from the sexy "colorway" of that fairing, I could be totally mistaken. "If that 'bent's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."

BSNCY Friday Fun Quiz!

It's autumn in New York. The leaves are cool and crisp, the air is a brilliant red and gold, and the rats are wearing adorable little sweaters in a manner that simultaneously turns your stomach and warms your heart. But for cyclists, autumn means only one thing:

It's smuglocross season!

If you're looking to engage in some smuglocross this weekend, be sure to see the film "With My Own Two Wheels" this Sunday at Lincoln Center:

Details on the screening are here, and additionally the filmmaker has asked me to share the following information:

We are also doing an informal pre-screening ride from from the Brooklyn War Memorial in Cadman Plaza to Lincoln Center: roughly the distance that a student in Zambia has to commute to school every day. The ride departs at noon, and bike parking will be provided at Lincoln Center. We will have a specially-designed bike from World Bicycle Relief on hand for people to take turns riding, and SRAM and World Bicycle Relief founder FK Day will be in attendance.

Now that's some smuglocross. By the way, if the distance seems too daunting, I've been assured the ride will be making "guilt stops" every couple of blocks during which you will be upbraided for your life of Western privilege by a qualified World Bicycle Relief guilt administrator.

If that's not enough smuglocross for you, how about taking part in a "crowdsourced documentary" about cargo bikes?



As a proud (by which I mean smug) Big Dummy rider, I'm actually tempted to create my own "edit" and submit it to the project. At the moment, I'm leaning towards converting my Big Dummy to a "fixie," removing the brakes, and doing some "hillbombing" with a helmetless child and six full bags of Trader Joe's groceries.

Of course, if smugness is not your bag of organic groceries, then maybe you'd be interested in yet another pointless "collabo" bike:

Sure, it can't really carry all that much, and sure it's not really helping anybody in need, and sure it's just a brown hybrid with some gratuitous bags on it, but the bike does have the ability to promote numerous brands at once as well as the capacity to "portage" a single t-shirt:

Cannondale's Michael DeLeon tells us that, in order to create the Junk Food version of their Bad Boy bike, the team spent two weeks meticulously stripping the black finish and removing every spoke from the rims, for a clean, detailed, matte-green repaint. Junk Food also designed the leather saddle bag—made to hold a rolled-up tee—and the tool bag gracing the bike frame that easily converts into a shoulder bag.

That's right, two whole weeks of meticulous stripping. Now that's what I call epic.

With that, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right you'll experience a profound sense of happiness not unlike what you'd experience riding a cargo bike or helping a Zambian studient, and if you're wrong you'll see "cycle chic" American style.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and beware of falling leaves.

--Wildcat Rock Machine





1) "ABSOLUTE NO!" Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish refuses to wear:

--White shorts

--Black shorts

--Half shorts

--Bib shorts

2) "ABSOLUTE NO!" Mario Cipollini refuses to wear:

--Pants

--Underpants

--A prophylactic device

--All of the above

3) Portland cyclists were recently sabotaged by means of:

--Severed brake cables

--Thumbtacks in the bike lane

--Perforated fenders

--The old "Stumptown/Folger's switcharoo"

4) A Utah man was recently arrested for smuggling which piece of contraband inside his bicycle?

--A pound of marijuana

--$20,000 in counterfeit bills

--Thousands of Viagra tablets and a single live hamster

--A samurai sword

5) This is a walk-behind bakfiets.

--True

--False

6) Feelin' the need for:

--Speed

--Weed

--Tweed

--Artisanal mayo

7) This bike is a:

--Pacific
--Mongoose
--Huffy
--White Extremist

***Special Ultimate Commuter-Themed Bonus Question***

The ultimate commuting frame material is:

--Distressed steel
--Disguised crabon
--Discolored aluminum
--Disgusting bamboo

Draining the Lizard: The Scaly Scales of Justice

Like most of my fellow Americans, I do my best to keep my head buried either in the sand or else in the recesses of my own posterior, depending upon availability and space. Sure, this is partially due to apathy, but it's also an essential survival instinct. This is especially true of cycling, because if you pay too much attention to how bad you have it as a cyclist in this country you'll either become a vigilante or else resolve to never touch a bicycle again.

But no matter how resolutely you avert your eyes, you're eventually going to see something infuriating, and for me it was this brief posting on sarcastic local news blog Gothamist:

Reading about someone getting killed is upsetting enough, but then I made the big mistake of looking at the comments. Blog comments about fatal bicycle accidents are like a glimpse into our collective national super-ego, and they are very revealing as to just how profoundly stupid we are. For example, the first one was this:

I don't drive along side trucks. Why would you bike beside one?

Hopefully this person gets shot walking out of his house one day so someone can post a comment that says, "I don't ride my bike past guns. Why would you walk in front of one?"

More revealing of what idiots we are though was this one:

I do both regularly and the bikers i encounter while driving dont' have much respect for the power of a car. I get the sense that they think they're on equal footing in regards to the road and it's not the case. A tap from a car can kill you and you're not always visible. It's really annoying to watch because there are so many potential accidents waiting to happen.

Someone is dead here, and these are the conclusions people are drawing? That victims are merely "potential accidents" with nobody to blame but themselves? Sure, cyclists should ride intelligently, but having respect for the power of a car is the driver's job. If they lack that respect then the car should be taken from them. Cyclists are "on equal footing in regards to the road." Saying they're not is like saying women should have more respect for the Park Slope Groper, and that they're wrong to think they're on equal footing with men.

Amazingly though, the comment above accurately reflects how a great many people think. It's fascinating how readily we've come to accept this notion that we must have respect for a car's "power," as though it's some force of nature beyond all human control. Sure, someone who goes into the wilderness, starts poking grizzlys with a stick, and then gets eaten should maybe have a little more respect for the power of the bear, but that's a different scenario. Oddly though, if a bear is just doing its bear thing and kills somebody we'll go out of our way to destroy the bear. Yet if a human being kills somebody with a car we just charge them $42 and blame the victim.

So why is this? Why does something made by human hands that we pay lots of money for and register with the government and obtain a license in order to operate suddenly become this unstoppable beast once it's out on the open road? And more importantly, why are we so accepting of this, as though it's an inevitability, and as though it's common sense that a human being in a car should be afforded all manner of privileges and protections that another human being is not, and that everybody else should just get out of the way?

I was considerably vexed by all these questions until I read something that, while depressing, was strangely comforting. It was actually that Vanity Fair article I mentioned awhile back, which contains a description of Arnold Schwarzenegger's barbarian riding style. The article is about the dire financial situation in California, and in it a neuroscientist at UCLA explains why Americans are so bad with money:

In academic papers and a popular book, American Mania, Whybrow argues, in effect, that human beings are neurologically ill-designed to be modern Americans. The human brain evolved over hundreds of thousands of years in an environment defined by scarcity. It was not designed, at least originally, for an environment of extreme abundance. "Human beings are wandering around with brains that are fabulously limited," he says cheerfully. "We've got the core of the average lizard."

Basically, we make stupid decisions because we are lizards:

The succession of financial bubbles, and the amassing of personal and public debt, Whybrow views as simply an expression of the lizard-brained way of life... The boom in trading activity in individual stock portfolios; the spread of legalized gambling; the rise of drug and alcohol addiction--it is all of a piece. Everywhere you turn you see Americans sacrifice their long-term intersts for short-term rewards.

What happens when a society loses its ability to self-regulate, and insists on sacrificing its long-term interest for short-term rewards? How Does the story end? "We could regulate ourselves if we chose to think about it," Whybrow says. "But it does not appear that is what we are going to do."

Suddenly, it all made sense to me--of course our lizard brains want the cars, which deliver the short-term reward of travel without physical effort. And of course we want the biggest, plushest cars we can possibly wrangle and spend ourselves into, and once we've succeeded in doing so it follows naturally that we'd resent anybody or anything that impedes our effortless forward progress. Sure, this involves sacrificing long-term interests such as our financial well-being and our good credit and our ability to cross the street without getting flattened, but according to Whybrow we're not really even able to conceive of that--at least until something really awful happens to us, or we die.

Of course, as I read this, I did my best to ignore the fact that I was doing so in "Vanity Fair," a magazine bursting with ads for useless luxury goods and literally reeking of expensive fragrances. This was easy to do, since having recently attained "Full Douche" I'm a master of cognitive dissonance.

Anyway, it's a dire state of affairs to be sure, but I suppose until now much of my frustration came from disappointment in my fellow human beings. At least now I realize we're not human beings but lizards, so I know not to expect so much in the first place.

But what if you persist in refusing to surrender and know your place as a cyclist among the lizard-brained? Sadly, you have only two choices:

1) Be an "outlaw;"

or

2) Be one of those smug people who memorizes traffic statutes, wears a camera on his head, and tries confound police officers, as in this video that came to me by means of the Twitter:

Sadly, neither of these options is for me. As a father of 17 children I'm far too old, tired, and uncool to be an outlaw. And as for becoming one of those helmet cam-wearing amateur lawyer types, I've never been very good at confronting authority figures. Plus, I live in New York, where the above scenario tends to play out out like this:

And so I just ride, savoring the good days, doing my best to avoid trouble, and keeping in mind that when it does strike the Motor-Vehicular Industrial Complex will somehow find a way to punish me.

Then, when I get to where I'm going, I watch everybody's favorite TV show, "Ushi & The Family," which features an entertaining interview with The Frandy Schleck starting at about 14:10:

Frank, it turns out, is the funny one:

And, lest we forget, there's one kind of bicycle that Americans are comfortable with, and that's the beach cruiser:

When I spotted this on Craigslist I thought this was an actual Landshark, but the paint was not nearly horrendous enough. I was rather compelled by the post though:

Land Shark Lager Limited Addition Beach Crusier Bicycle - $110 (Huntington/Northport Area)

Date: 2011-10-19, 7:23AM EDT

Reply to: [deleted]

Be the envy of the Boardwalk with this Limited Collectors Addition Land Shark Lager Beach Crusier Bicycle $110.00. Brand New/ Has never seen the boardwalk Single speed w/ coasting brakes. White wall tires . This bike could become a collectors item as only approximately 1100 of these bikes were manufactured. . Great for everyday commuting to work/school in style. A beer collectors dream bike. Great for restaurant/bar decor. 100% functional bicycle, can use at summer beach house or home by the lake.

Terms of sale as follows... Cash only, You pick up at my house. Respond to this ad and be sure to include your phone # with the area code and a good time to contact you. I will call you back. Sorry, I will not respond to emails/questions that do not include a good phone # that I can call you at. Any emails with out a phone # and area code will be deleted. There are too many spammers out there looking for email addresses.

Deliver of the bike is possible for a reasonable addition delivery charge but the bike and delivery fee must be paid for advance as stated above.

If you see this ad the bike is still available. I will remove the ad when the bike is sold.

In particular, I was intrigued by the claim that it had "never seen the boardwalk," and I wondered if boardwalks are to beach cruisers as velodromes are to track bikes. Presumably at some beach somewhere there are a bunch of people with sunburns and zinc oxide on their noses talking about all those damn "fakenbeach" riders will never ride their bikes on the boardwalk. Meanwhile, the "fakenbeach" riders all talk about how they can't wait to hit the boardwalk one day, if only they had enough time/the city would build them one/hadn't lost that eBay auction for those "vintage" Jams.

At least you won't get hit by a car on the beach. Well, actually you might. I'm only surprised someone didn't blame the victim for not wearing enough sunblock.

Wet Wednesday: Waiting for the Other Ball to Drop

As a bloggener, I have been known to proverbially drop the proverbial ball from time to time. (Proverbially speaking of course.) Fortunately, thanks to the vastness and omniscience of the social networking network, it isn't long before someone alerts me to my error or omission or whatever the case may be. Most recently, the creator of the famous "Hipsters Discussing Cyclocross" video expressed disappointment via the Twittar that I failed to furnish him with an appropriate "shout out:"

I do agree that "shit was like Nostradamus," and also very amusing as well to boot too, and while at the time I thought linking to the video was, ipso facto, a "shout out" (I have no idea if I just used "ipso facto" correctly, by the way) I realize now that it was insufficient and therefore I am also linking to his blog. (Click here to see his blog, or if you missed that last link because you were reading too fast, you can also click here.) I hope that this is an appropriate "out-shouting," and that he accepts my sincere apologies.

While, I'm out-shouting stuff I like (which is different from out-housing, which is an old-timey euphemism for "making"), I should also out-shout the Yehuda Moon Kickstarter:

I was disappointed to learn that Rick Smith had stopped his comic not too long ago, though I'm pleased to see that his campaign to produce the remaining three volumes in book form is already nigh unto its goal. (Ipso facto and proverbially speaking to boot.) So do support him if you're inclined, and if you act now you'll also get a limited edition signed copy of "Yehuda After Dark:"

Door-to-door bra salesman, eh? Sultry. I wonder where they're going with that plotline. You'll just have to order to find out.

Also, in other Kickstarting news, mobile-bike-shop-slash-rolling-party-guy-who-wants-to-move-to-Portland-and-got-mad-cause-I-mentioned-him continues to draw incrementally closer to fulfilling his own fundraising goal:

Still, with only eight (8) days to go he remains 4,449 USA Fun Tickets short. At this point, his only hope may be a mysterious wealthy benefactor with an irascible nature that belies a heart of gold. If you're such a Dickensian character, then consider giving generously. Remember: for the price of a single custom bicycle, you can help make a young boy's dreams of smugness come true.

But probably the biggest, fuzziest ball I dropped yesterday was forgetting to post the following photo, which was taken by a reader in a Manhattan Trader Joe's:

Yes, that is indeed a man in a helment and inline speed skates with a water bottle strapped to his waist perusing the ingredients on a box of crackers. After my initial delight subsided, I wondered two things:

1) Do Rollerbladers get even more annoyed by wonky shopping cart wheels than normal people do? I'd think they'd be extremely critical when it comes to any vehicle with tiny wheels. Along the same lines, I wonder if they consider mundane activities like pushing shopping carts or pulling wheeled luggage to be "junk miles," in the same way that roadies consider commuting on a city bike to be junk miles. Either way, it would not surprise me in the least to learn that this guy has a $250 ceramic bearing upgrade kit on his Samsonite;

2) Who would win in a one-lap race around Central Park? Roller Shopper, or Bart Kaufman, the owner of the World's Greatest Madone?

I'd pay good money to see that race. I mean, I wouldn't pay send-a-guy-to-Portland money, but I'd easily fork over like eight bucks. Maybe I should "curate" a Kickstarter to make that happen.

Of course, I'd pay a lot more if at least one of the competitors were to wear this stunning Wednesday-themed jersey which was forwarded to me by a reader and is available on a popular online auctioning site:

Amazed, I checked out the manufacturer's website, and it turns out they're sort of like a European version of Primal Wear, only they're not afraid to "go there." And when I say "go there," I mean making bold pronouncements like "F*ck the System:"

Don't let the asterisk fool you--these guys aren't afraid to openly mock signage of all types. "'Max Speed 30?' Fie!" "'The WC is that way,' you say? I don't believe you!" "'Except yesterday all day loading max-20 mins?' I'll load what I like, when I like, thankyouverymuch!" If you want to let the world know you think most highway gradient signs are spurious at best, this is the jersey for you.

Then, once you've "F*cked the System," you can move onto "F*cking the Gravity:"

It's about time someone had the nerve to tell Sir Isaac Newton exactly where he can shove that apple of his. In fact, I may get one of these myself, since it's that pesky gravity which is making me drop balls all over the place. In yet another example of my negligence, at least one commenter feels I have not written about the "pro peloton" enough:

Anonymous said...

Hey, are you ever going to write about the pro peloton again? E.g funny photos/celebrity lookalikes etc.

October 18, 2011 1:57 PM

I was about to reply with a simple "No," but then I went to Cyclingnews, where I saw Philippe Gilbert's hair:

If you're wondering what's going on, Frank Schleck is lending him some hair gel, and Andy Schleck is laughing because it's dripping all over his crotch.

Speaking of pro cycling style, Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish is upset because the UCI won't let him wear black shorts with the World Champion stripes:

Of course, what he failed to mention was that these are the black shorts he submitted for UCI approval:

("Rawr:" Cavendish's black team shorts with the rainbow stripes of the World Champion)

They were designed for him by his girlfriend, breast model Peta Todd, shown here in a stunningly tasteful (and emphatically unsafe-for-work) tribute to Native American culture:

At first glance it may seem a bit lurid, but keep in mind this is a totally accurate recreation of the manner in which Native Americans once used their mammaries to communicate with each other over long distances.

In other pro cycling news, the big story is that there's going to be a great big stage race in France next summer, and they've just unveiled the route:

Evidently, there's going to be a lot of time-trialling:

PARIS, October 18, 2011 (AFP) — Contenders for the 2012 Tour de France yellow jersey have been given notice of the need for strong time trialling skills after organizers unveiled the race route for the 99th edition Tuesday. A total of 96.1 km of racing against the clock will feature on the course, spread over the opening prologue (6.1km), Stage 9 (38 km) and the penultimate Stage 19 (52 km).

Seriously, that's just mean:

(The Frandy Schleck is so screwed.)

As you can tell from the above photo, not only are Frank and Andy Scheck upset, but they've also had their bodies fused into one during the off-season in an effort to bolster their meager time-trialling abilities, but sadly even that may not be enough to help them.

And lastly, the tech world is abuzz with speculation about Future Dura-Ace:


Details are still hazy, but it appears STI will soon stand for "Shimano Total Incompatibility."