BikeSnobNYC's Blog, page 23

Shoal Me The Money

I've already mentioned this on the Bike Forecast this morning, but so significant is the news that the CBC has covered shoaling that it warrants addressing here too:

A whole @CBCNews article about SHOALING (a term coined by @bikesnobnyc). We always enjoy it when @GiacomoPanico takes on these hard-hitting #ottbike issues. https://t.co/XqxCMJH6K1— Bike Ottawa (@BikeOttawa) June 28, 2018

Particularly significant is the fact that Canadians have tempered the act of shoaling with their trademark politeness by including the act of simply pulling up next to somebody as shoaling:


"...rather than line up behind Mary, Bob wiggles past in front of the queue, next to Mary."
This runs counter to the spirit in which I coined the phrase.  "Shoaling" specifically refers to the act of stopping in front of somebody.  Moreover, it's called shoaling because then the next person pulls over in front of that person, and then the next person pulls up in front of that person, etcetera ad nauseum and so forth.  The resulting mass of humanity then starts curving in the direction of traffic as it enters the intersection, and the entire mechanism resembles a sandbar, or shoal, hence the word.


(A shoal drifting eastward along with the current as it forms in the 14th Street channel.)
Another aspect of shoaling touched upon in the CBC piece (and which I addressed briefly in the Bike Forecast) is the common perception that it is sexist behavior, to wit:
​"I often get shoaled by men. I don't wear the full gear, I look like a regular person on a bike — I guess maybe because I'm a woman," Dollin ventured.

More often than not, Dollin said, she'll easily blow past the offending shoaler without uttering a word. 

I'm sure this is plays a role in plenty of instances of shoaling.  However, overall, I don't think shoaling is gender-specific.  I myself have been shoaled by women countless times.  Alas, I've not kept an accurate count of the total number of times I've been shoaled or the gender of each shoaler, but anecdotally I'd say I've been shoaled just as often (if not more often) by women.  If this is true (which is a big "if," since as I say I have not properly logged this data), and inasmuch as there are fewer female cyclists than male cyclists owing to the lamentable gender gap inherent in our preferred travel mode, then it would logically follow that women shoal with greater frequency than men.  
Of course trying to say one gender shoals more than another is counterproductive; it's a distraction that only breeds infighting and will bring us no closer to solving the problem.  It is vital that we unite regardless of genitalway, preferred pronoun, etc. and acknowledge that every road user is prone to shoaling.  Indeed, in the photo I took just after the one used in the Gothamist piece, you'll see that particular shoal includes both a woman and a person on a skateboard:

To be honest I'd almost prefer skateboarders to shoal me since when they're behind me I worry that they might attempt to skitch.
Skitching is way worse than shoaling.
(Although now half the people on skateboards are using motors this is becoming less of an issue.)
Another common conception regarding shoaling is that it's competitive behavior; i.e. the shoaler arrogantly considers himself or herself athletically superior to the shoalee.  On the surface of it this would appear to be common sense, and I know I've often drawn the same conclusion.  However, upon deeper reflection (as a semi-professional blogger I ponder these issues so you don't have to) I've decided this common conception is indeed mostly a misconception.  Rather, I've come to the conclusion that the shoaler is not thinking competitively precisely because he or she is not thinking at all.  The shoaler is clueless, existing in a state of complete oblivion regarding velocipedal etiquette, and instead is concerned almost entirely with preserving forward momentum and going as far as possible without having to stop.  In fact, it is the shoalee who is the competitive one, and the very fact that the shoaler takes affront and puts the situation in a sporting complex is supporting evidence of this.
Additional evidence that shoaling is not inherently competitive is that, as all competitive cyclists know, you are at a greater competitive advantage when starting from behind as it's the perfect scenario in which to launch an unexpected attack.  Furthermore, shoaling behavior is commonly (indeed near-universally) exhibited by children, to wit:

Perfect I’m going to rename my 6yr old the shoaler. Every. Ride.— Bryan (@bedub247) June 28, 2018

This is further evidence that shoaling is the product of naïveté rather than cunning or cold calculation.

Alas, if only the CBC had thought to consult me, the world's foremost authority on shoaling, circling, salmoning, and all other forms of cycling behavior, they might have been able to give the great Canadian public far greater insight into this bizarre phenomenon.

I daresay one of Canada's trademark apologies is in order.

Oh wait, I've already gotten one:

Sorry, on behalf of the CBC.— Bike Ottawa (@BikeOttawa) June 28, 2018

Sorry!

Wood Bike Status Update

As a semi-professional bike blogger ostensibly engaged in long-term product testing, it is my responsibility to apprise you of how things are going with the Renovo Aerowood:


They are going quite well.  In fact, since replacing the tires with 25s, they are going extremely well indeed.  This tiny bit of extra volume is exactly what the bike needed, and my only quibble now is that the clearance is rather tight:


Once in awhile I can even hear the unmistakable sound of herringbone on wood when I'm pushing it on a climb.  (Well I mean I guess it could be my knees, but I'm reasonably certain it's the tire rubbing.)  However, since I took delivery of this bike Renovo have updated the Aerowood with clearance for 28s, so if you're considering purchasing a Tan Tenovo for yourself you can rest assured you won't set it on fire due to tire rub:


So should you buy a Tan Tenovo for yourself?  Well that's between you and your financial advisor.  (And if you don't have a financial advisor you probably have no business considering an expensive wooden bicycle.)  All I know is that my opinion of the bike has evolved thusly:

Before getting the bike: Intrigued by the novelty factor and an excuse to make gratuitous wood punsShortly after receiving the bike: Impressed by the exquisite craftsmanship but also kind of embarrassed by it at the same timeShortly after riding the bike for the first time: Wow, it feels great, but what's that creaking?  I bet it's brokenOnce I'd solved the creaking by tightening the bottom bracket: I really like riding this bikeToday: All bikes should be made of wood, metal and crabon is for vulgariansBy the way, I really did think the bike was broken due to some very small cracks I found early that turned out to be merely cosmetic.  Had I been a paying customer Renovo would have replaced the bike immediately, but I am not a paying customer so I have no problem riding an aesthetically imperfect specimen.  (In fact even though I'm not a paying customer Renovo were ready to swap the bike, but I declined since it seemed like a waste of everybody's time.)  As for the creaking, as mentioned above it turned out to be a bottom bracket in need of tightening.
Something else to consider when contemplating ownership of a wooden bicycle is the attention you'll get.  The most common question people have is, "Is that wood?," and if they're cyclists they then follow up with "What kind of wood is it?," to which I reply "I don't know" since I really don't know without checking the website.  [*Checks website* it's wenge and maple.]  Then I realize they must think I'm a giant asshole for riding an expensive wooden bike and not knowing what it's made from; I mean, imagine someone on a titanium bike who couldn't tell you what kind of metal it is.  (Though to be honest they probably think the guy on the wooden bike is an asshole even before they start talking to him.)  So I make sure to add that it's not actually my bike and that I'm testing it, but then I get depressed because it occurs to me they clearly don't read my blog or have any idea who I am.
I've got a lot of hangups.
Ultimately though my only quibble about the bike is still the fact that it only has one water bottle mount, which I've mentioned about a thousand times before.  However, the Drysdale has zero water bottle mounts so I guess that makes the Renovo 100% better:

Too bad you can't drink a decal.
If I were Renovo, which of course I'm not, I'd offer a "race" version of the Aerowood appointed thusly:Two water bottle mountsA slightly shorter headtubeDisc brakesNot that I think road bikes need disc brakes by any means, but it seems to me that if you're going to make a high-end Di2-only wooden Fred toboggan you might as well go for the whole schmear, especially since whoever's piloting such a toboggan is invariably going to want crabon wheels.  (The braking has quieted somewhat, but there is still occasional shrieking under the right circumstances.  Then again, that probably happens with road discs too.)
In all, I've become quite attached to the bike, and I'd go so far as to say that in terms of both feel and finish it's the nicest one I've ever ridden.  (Yes, "nice" is a vague adjective, but that's intentional.)  And it does look good in the early morning sun.


Can't say the same for me.

The Timeless Quality of Fredness

When I first reached out to Paul at Classic Cycle to grub an old-timey bike for my L'Eroica California new/old shootout,  one of the velocipedes he offered me was a 1950 Drysdale Special, made in New York, NY by one Alvin Drysdale:


I would have happily palped this bicycle for the ride, but while the Drysdale was indeed old it still fell short of the "Holy shit that's old!" status that was so crucial to the narrative, which is why I ended up going with the Mead.
Nevertheless, Paul was insistent that I experience the mid-century glory of the Drysdale in its native habitat, and so he was kind enough to ship it out this way.  The bike arrived on Friday in a hard case that I opened eagerly:

Though owing to parental responsibilities I was unable to ride it until yesterday.
Assembly was fairly straightforward, though I did send one neurotic email to Paul when the brake pads barely made contact with the front rim as something seemed to be out of alignment:

In response, Paul disabused me of my modern notions considering tolerances and advised me simply to set the wheel off-center as necessary, adding that "a hammer and lowered expectations just might be the right tools for adjustment."  (This also happens to be great parenting advice by the way.)
The hammer turned out not to be necessary, but I did remove all the spacers from beneath my overly heightened expectations and duly "slam" them as Paul had advised.  A few turns of the adjustable wrench later and the bike was together:

There it was, in my basement, a 1950 Drysdale Special:

Back home in the city of its birth:

And yesterday I finally got a chance to take it for a ride:

In addition to a couple of Classic Cycle t-shirts for the kiddies, Paul had also included both a hairnet and a pair of shoes:

Sadly, the hairnet doesn't even come close to fitting on my head and instead sits atop it like a padded yarmulke or a too-small diner waiter's hat.  The shoes however fit perfectly, though I did forego them for the inaugural ride in favor of sneakers.  While of course I've got plenty of toeclip experience (which is how I know they're stupid) I admit I've never used them with real cycling shoes complete with the notched cleat, so I figured I'd have more fun getting used to the bike if I were able to put my foot down relatively easily.
Rest assured that I'll wear the shoes complete with wool shorts and jersey (but sans tiny hairnet) in due course.
Speaking of what I do and don't have experience with, besides the pedals the two obvious equipment differences between the Drysdale and today's modern Fredding machines are the downtube shifters and the tubular tires.  (Though of course plenty of modern-day Freds still use tubular tires.)  Unlike some people who are raised into a life of Fredness from birth, I didn't start getting seriously interested into road bikes until my early 20s, which is to say around 1995.  By this time integrated shifting had taken over the high end and was making its way down to the midrange and even the entry level bikes, and indeed my first fancy (to me) road bike had STI shifters.  (7 speed if I remember correctly.)  I did however also own a bicycle with downtube shifters during my nascent Fredding years, and it was pretty much exactly the same as this one (though not actually this one):

This was a big milestone for me because with the purchase of this bike I officially became a two-bike roadie, which to my mind meant I was the real deal.  Also, I think I may have been flirting with a return to messengering and bought this with an eye towards using it in that capacity.  I ditched the Biopace for aesthetic reasons and equipped the bike with clipless pedals, but I enjoyed the downtube shifters for their simplicity and straightforward functionality.  (Though of course they were indexed.)  Eventually I sold the bike in a sidewalk moving sale on W. 22nd Street, probably for more than I paid for it, though I kind of regret that because in retrospect it's a pretty cool bike.
As for tubular tires, of course as an overzealous bike racer I used them for awhile, so while I've long since abandoned them I'm more than adequately versed in their care and feeding and don't find them intimidating.
Anyway, once I strapped a spare tire under the saddle (thoughtfully provided by Paul, which is a good thing because I recently threw away all my old tubular tires after years of holding onto them "just in case"), I set out be-sneakered and be-jorted and soon rolled up behind a fellow vintage vehicle enthusiast:

Mine's cooler.

While I love integrated shifting and have become addicted to Di2 despite my best efforts, I find something very enjoyable about operating downtube shifters.  Granted, it's a facile comparison, but they're satisfying in the way that manual car transmissions or motorcycle shifting is satisfying.  And of course the lack of indexing adds another element of rider involvement that's particularly fun and novel in today's precise pushbutton world.  (Dialing the rattling out after a gear change is like tuning in a radio station, which is something else you don't have to do anymore.)
Hey, I'd be lying if I said I wanted to ride that way all the time, but on this ride I was totally into it.
Also, they're pretty cool to look at:

Also cool to look at is the Campagnolo Gran Sport derailleur moving across a five-speed freewheel:

And of course the Stronglight cranks with close-ratio chainrings:

We're totally spoiled nowadays as far as gearing goes, but there's something to be said for making do with what you've got.

As for the feel of the bike, it fits me well and is smooth and comfortable.  Really, the only thing that truly sucks by todays standards is the braking.  Stops require some advance planning, and I realized just how much I take for granted the ability to slow down quickly with just the flick of a few fingers when a driver shoots out of a driveway.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say that better braking is by far the single most important improvement in road bikes over the past century and is probably worth at least as much as wider gearing, integrated shifting, and clipless pedals combined.

I should also address something numerous people have remarked upon, which is the saddle angle:


Note that I have not adjusted the saddle angle since taking the bike out of the box, and I reserve the right to do so at any time.  However, note also that, while every perineum is different, Brooks saddles tend to be more comfortable with the nose angled up.  Also, as you can see, this saddle is quite old, and the cover is so flexible that at this point I imagine the saddle angle hardly matters anyway.  In any case, appearances aside, it felt totally fine while riding it.  Really, my only complaint is that the ancient leather stained my shorts brown, which as you can imagine is rather embarrassing--especially since I didn't realize it until at least eight hours later when my wife pointed it out.

I guess what I'm saying is that everyone should feel free to take their fit recommendations and shove them up their asses.

So there you go.  Things are a bit hectic here for the near future but I am very much for the opportunity to get all wooled up and take a good long ride.  Keep an eye out for me--or at least listen for the chattering.

What Decade You Running?

Good afternoon!

Just back from a little spin on my new test bike courtesy of Classic Cycle:


I'll tell you all about it.
Just not right now.

It's Summer! It's Friday! It's a New Outside Column! That's Three Things To Be Wildly Excited About!!!

This is what passes for culture nowadays, seriously?



And does this illustrator have it in for me or what?

Hey, I'm not gonna lie, I've been known to palp flip-flops when the temperature starts tickling the undercarriage of the triple digits, but I don't run the sweater/shorts/sandals combo.  
Not that I have anything agains those who do, it's just not what I'm about. 
(I don't actually know what I'm about, I just know what I'm not about.)
I'm surprised he didn't put me in socks to really drive it home:

Speaking of kids on bikes, the Junior Fred Sled continues to work out well:

And I'm looking forward to some outings once school is finished.
Maybe I'll even let my son get a turn on it.

Golf Is The Old Cycling

Firstly, an important update to yesterday's art as suggested by a commenter:


Now if you look closely you'll see a "litter bike" by the flying cat's tail.

Also, if it's unclear what's going on here, basically I'm enjoying the Moon's low gravity by hurling cats.

There's a whole bag of 'em just out of frame.

Secondly, every few months we get a story from one of the white collar publications about how cycling is the new golf and how high-powered Freds are half-wheeling and dealing:


It's ironic that VeloNews, the golfiest of all the cycling publications, disagrees.

Anyway, here's the latest one from the Wall Street Journal:

'I have executives say, ‘Send me your cycling calendar.’ They’re using it to decide which conferences to attend' https://t.co/RgggOpKXAv— The Wall Street Journal (@WSJ) June 21, 2018

Which starts off with a bit of a head-scratcher:


I see what the writer was getting at, but was there ever a time when you'd tell people you ride bikes and they'd respond: "Wait, you mean cycling?  That obscure sport for kids?"

But that's just nitpicky and I'll take a story like this over another anti-bike lane editorial any day.  In fact my only real problem with this story is that it made me anxious, because apparently I'd better get myself a cycling calendar right away if I ever want to get ahead:

“I have executives say, ‘Send me your cycling calendar.’ They’re using it to decide which conferences to attend,” says Ben Rabner, Adobe’s head of experiential marketing, who founded the bike program five years ago.

Okay, here you go!


Have your people call my people.

By the way, when I googled "Cycling Calendar," that was pretty much the only result that was safe for work.  So it's only a matter of time before some male executive desperate to pass himself off as a cyclist sends one of the NSFW ones and winds up out of a job.

I was also intrigued to learn that there are people who use Fred rides to choose high-powered law firms:

“When potential clients are choosing a law firm,” says Edwards, “chemistry is important. If we can get to know them in a more informal setting, like on a bike, it’s a good way to find out if you get along.”

That's interesting, because usually the way you meet lawyers while cycling is when they hand you their business card as you're being loaded into an ambulance.

I do take issue with this claim however:

It’s also an inherently social sport, thanks to drafting—following in a tight “pace line” formation where a lead cyclist (or two, side by side, in a double pace line) cut the wind for the cyclists behind them. 

I maintain that pacelines are inherently antisocial.  After all, how do you chat in a paceline?  Unless your idea of conversation is shouting into someone else's asshole then this doesn't make sense.

Then again, I'm a bike blogger who fires off wisecracks from the couch, so we should always keep in mind that when it comes to the corporate world I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about.

Still, even I can see that this is an unfortunate bit of branding:



O’Neill quit his job to build out ICE, now 1,000 members strong. Sponsors (like Vodafone Global Enterprise and EY’s Data and Analytics Practice) get their brand on the club’s “kit” (cycling gear), website and social-media presence and have the chance to offer sessions at the breakfast that follows the rides. Sponsors can also seed the club with a couple of their own cycling employees. (O’Neill says sales talk is frowned upon by sponsors unless it springs up naturally.) There are ICE chapters in Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong and the U.K., and there are plans for seven more cities by 2023, including at least two in the U.S.

Seriously, you're going to launch a company in the US called ICE now?


(Via here.)
Of course we are dealing with corporate America, so maybe it's perfect branding.
I guess it pays to know your customer.

Who Doesn't Love Wednesday?

Just a quick pop-in to rub your faces in the fact that I went for a leisurely Wednesday morning ride today and this "litter bike" thing is really getting out of hand:


Wait, sorry, wrong pic:


I did in fact encounter both of these things along the trail today and I'd argue that both are equally useful in their own way.

I guess White Plains has bike share now, hence the Ofo, and it's interesting to note that when you leave the city you can now gauge your location based on which company's dockless bikes you see.  That way, if you're lost and your phone is dead, the knowledge that you're in Ofo country can help you with your wayfinding.  Indeed, between the bikes and the position of the sun in the sky you've got all the geographical information you could possibly need, so you might as well throw that Garmin in the trash.

Oh, also hopefully no poison ivy, but I showered with Dawn dishwashing detergent just in case.

Yours Etc.,


--Tan Tenovo

The Current State of Affairs

It was a profound honor to be photographed by none other than Ultra Romance during my Eroica California expedition, and while the images that ultimately made it into the Outside feature are each wonderful in their own way, none captures my essence even remotely as well as this one:


(Photo: Ultra Romance)
This was on top of the big climb, and I was in the process of removing my base layer as the temperature had gone up a good 20 degrees since our rollout that morning.  Here's a later shot I screen-grabbed from I don't even remember where:

(Photo: I Don't Remember)
Astute viewers will notice that I subtly inserted it into an image I used in this post:

Basically I'm angling to become the next Nonplussed Bib Shorts Guy.
Of course you don't cultivate a physique like mine by sitting around on the couch all day.  You've got to actually lie down on the couch, and I find the best way to encourage a full day of loafing is to get up really early and go for a short ride:

It's really not about training, it's about priming yourself for a solid nap.
For my chariot, I chose my trusty Milwaukee, which by the time I returned had accumulated a pleasingly postmodern splattering of mud:

It felt good to sample a little bit of dirt, even if it was just a small portion of the Old Croton Aqueduct, though I admit I've been a bit woods-averse lately.  See, while road riding does expose you to the risks presented by both motorists and law enforcement, once you leave that road you risk running afoul of nature itself.  This is true even when those woods are located within the city limits, as are the trails upon which I was knocking around just a couple weeks ago:

Indeed, I had just darted into Highbridge Park when I managed to put a wheel wrong and found myself falling over into the undergrowth.  This is a daunting proposition in Highbridge, where the vegetation could be hiding all manner of perils, including discarded needles and human feces.  Fortunately I encountered neither, but unfortunately I did encounter a large-ish rock.
While I sustained no injury from the rock, a few days later it became clear to me that I had managed to contract poison ivy.  Owing to middle-aged allergy onset, I seem to be especially sensitive to the oils of the Toxicodendron radicans as of late.  A brush with it last year resulted in some strange corporeal colorways upon my person, and this particular case, while more localized, is decidedly bubonic in character.  Of course, one can never rule out the possibility of contracting some heretofore unknown illness in the wilds of Highbridge, but I'm fairly confident it's nothing quite so insidious.
Anyway, in addition to being wary of routes that may result in lots of leaves brushing against my body, I'm also frightened of Ol' Piney itself.  See, the bike fell in the foliage with me, and until I can give it a good hosing down I'm considering it toxic.  And when it comes to washing my bikes I'm like a kid at bathtime in that I'll find pretty much any excuse not to do it.
I should also disclose that this was the day after I fell off of a skateboard and onto my ass, so this is me in my mid-40s: battered coccyx, contact dermatitis, and ticketed for alleged light-running.
Clearly I should grow up and lease a Hyundai already.

The Indignity of Getting a Ticket

It was rather a dramatic weekend of velocipeding over here, beginning with the ticket I received on Saturday morning:


(Your's Truley, receiving a ticket.)
The day started out rather auspiciously.  I awoke to perfect weather, and after contemplating my riding options I decided to go for a good old-fashioned standard-issue Fred ride.  First, I donned an entire suit of Rapha clothing.  (Back in 2011, Bicycling magazine invited me to their Editor's Choice testing confab, which they held in Austin that year to coincide with NAHBS.  I requested--and received!--an entire Fredding suit from Rapha on the off-chance I would be photographed for inclusion in the magazine.  I was not photographed for inclusion in the magazine.  However, I still have the Fred threads, which I don from time to time.)  Then I straddled my $10,000 artisanal wooden bicycle complete with push-button shifting and wheels made from high-tech fibre de crabon.  And off I went over the George Washington Bridge and up Route 9W.
I was feeling uncharacteristically sprightly, and leaving early meant I was ahead of the Fredly rush hour that overwhelms this corridor over the course of the weekend.  Just shy of 40 miles later I was almost home, looking forward to preparing a post-ride repast and already emitting a blissful post-ride aura, when I heard the blip of sirens behind me and pulled over.  The officer--courteous to a fault--informed me that he was stopping me for failing to stop for a red signal, and after 10 minutes of standing around I was issued the following:

Now let's imagine for one moment that I did run a red light.  If I did, it's only because the area between the Broadway Bridge and my home is a total shitshow of motor-vehicular mayhem, and anybody negotiating it by bicycle cannot be reasonably expected to opt for adherence to the letter of the law over self-preservation.  Furthermore, as the Internet's foremost authority on cycling ethics, you can be assured I ride scrupulously at all times.  Never would I engage in actions that would put any other road user at risk or violate their right-of-way.  And finally, if I had run the light I had merely made a right turn on red, which is legal in like 99% of the country.
I explained none of this to the officer.  He politely administered my ticket, and I politely accepted it.  I was still in way too good a mood to be bothered by a computer printout, and of all the misfortunes that can befall you out on the roads this one barely registered.
Of course now, two days later, I'm a bit less sanguine about it.  However, given the fair market value of my time, I don't know that I can be bothered to fight it.  (My time is not valuable due to my writing; it's valuable due to my capacity as a childcare provider.)  Then again part of me feels duty-bound to at least make a token effort against it, so we'll see.

Either way, there are some errors with the ticket.  First of all, I was riding an exquisite Renovo made from "Wenge and Figured Maple".  However, the ticket says I was riding a "Tan Tenovo":


I may have to adopt "Tan Tenovo" as a pseudonym.

Additionaly, the ticket says this happened in the Bronx, but it was technically Manhattan:


All of this makes me imagine myself pacing in front of a jury box with the officer in the stand, demanding that he explain how I could have run a light on a Tan Tenovo in the Bronx when in fact I was riding a woodgrain Renovo in Manhattan.

"You can't handle the truth!," I'd conclude, and then lead the courtroom in a rousing chant of "USA!  USA!"
It's also worth noting that, while you may read searing editorials in local newspapers about those evil scofflaw cyclists, when you're actually getting a ticket while riding one the people walking by generally go, "Are you getting a ticket on a bicycle?," and then shake their head in commiseration.
Anyway, the next day I headed down to Central Park ridiculously early to engage in some Fred racing.  All was going well until about halfway through the race when the pack got strung out and suddenly I could no longer hold the wheel in front of me.  While I'm generally as sanguine about getting dropped as I was when I got that ticket, for some reason this one stung.  Maybe it's because it was Father's Day.  Maybe it's because I thought I was feeling good and my success (as defined by me as completing the race) had seemed like a fait accompli.  Or maybe it's because I'd gotten that ticket less than 24 hours earlier and now I felt like a two-time loser.  Whatever the reason, I rode home with my proverbial tail between my literal legs, though spending the rest of the day at the beach with the family more than made up for it.
And while I refuse to say whether or not I ran that light on Saturday morning on the grounds that it may incriminate me, I can assure you that on race day I ran at least 30 of those fuckers on the way to and from the park.
Gotta amortize that fine.

Sincerely,


--Tan Tenovo

BSNYC Friday Zoological Expedition

Before we all go forth into the weekend, I'd just like to follow up on the Islabikes Luath 24, which I mentioned in yesterday's post:


(I have no idea how to pronounce either "Islabike" or "Luath.")
I'll be honest: my first impression was that they got the bike all wrong.  Tiny wheels, cramped cockpit, tons of toe overlap...but then I realized the bike was for my son and not me and that changed everything.

Yesterday I assembled the bike and we knocked around the neighborhood for a bit, but today we made a proper outing.  Schools were closed today for Eid al-Fitr, which it may shock you to learn we don't observe, and my son was on me to ride pretty much as soon as he woke up.  So after dropping his little brother off at the Apple factory (tiny hands are ideal for assembling today's ultra-thin smartphones) we set out for a ride to the Bronx Zoo:


There are two ways to get to the Bronx Zoo by bike from my estate.  The shorter way is about four and a half miles and takes you to the zoo's much more human-scale "pedestrian entrance" but involves a lot of sidewalk riding if you're traveling with a kid.  Or, you can get there almost entirely via a protected bicycle greenway, but this adds about a mile or so and puts you on the opposite side of the zoo.

Naturally we went the longer greenway route, as this trip was more about the ride than the zoo itself.  Parts of the greenway are very pleasant and absolutely ideal for a kid who's very excited to be on his first real go-fast bike:


Though there are some frustrating crossings at various Bronx River Parkway on- and off-ramps, as well as the usual NYPD personal vehicle parking, though you hit that no matter which route you choose:


You can tell they're NYPD because of all the Punisher decals.

Of course the only thing better than traveling to the zoo along a dedicated bike route is gloating over all the schmucks waiting to park:


Hey, I'm not gonna say I never drive to the zoo myself, but I will say I know how to avoid waiting on line when I do it.
If there are bike lanes anywhere in the vicinity of this particular zoo entrance I have no idea where they are, so instead we just shackled up to a pole:


Obviously since I have multiple human children and live just a few miles away I've been to the zoo roughly four billion times since we relocated to the mainland back in 2012.  However, I still learn something new with each visit, and today I learned that helmets are indeed useless:


See that?  The helmeted curassow was born with one and it's still going extinct:


That's why I always tell the California Condors not to bother:


It's also true that sometimes the most interesting wildlife sightings are on the way to and from the zoo.  For example, at Pelham Parkway we came across this wayward Lime bike from Yonkers:


It's only a matter of time before this invasive species reaches the Citi Bike zone and the two species interbreed.  Just imagine a herd of green and blue hybrid docking/dockless bicycles.  They'd become as ubiquitous as squirrels and pigeons in short order.

As for the Islabike, so far it's a massive hit.  Until now my son has been riding basically this:


My thinking was that the go-anywhere nature of a mountain bike would be better suited to a kid, and it never occurred to me to subject him to drop bars at this age.  But while the bike's been great, he's been expressing lots of interest in cyclocross bikes lately (I honestly don't even remember explaining to him what a cyclocross bike is), and the second he got on the Luath it was clear that's where he belongs.  Sure, Fred "Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo" speed may be 46mph:


But he was woo-hooing at barely over a quarter of that, something I never saw him do on the mountain bike.  And while kids are fickle and who knows how long the love affair will endure, it's the quickest I've seen him take to anything in recent years with the exception of video games--and that's not even addressing how disappointed he was when he found out I hadn't Strava'd our ride.

So I may have a Fred on my hands, Lob help me.