BikeSnobNYC's Blog, page 29

Farewell Yuba, I Hardly Knew Ye.

Good morning!

First things first, I've got a new Outside column on Outside's website:


It's all about my experiences riding the Yuba Supermarché and the sociological implications thereof...though yesterday I officially returned the bike because they asked for it back.  This involved a 20-mile ride from my Bronx estate to 718 Cyclery in Brooklyn, who you should be sure to visit for all your adventure and cargo bike needs:



It snowed here on Saturday night, so when I approached the bike yesterday morning here's what it looked like:


I briefly considered leaving the snow in the tub to enhance my workout, but instead I leaned the bike over and dumped out the snow in the middle of the street.  Then I shoved off, sticking to the surface roads since the Hudson River Greenway was undoubtedly a mess.  Things were a little messy at first, and I'd have rather been on the greenway than in amongst the car traffic on a large bicycle, but by the time I reached Central Park I was pedaling through a winter idyll:


So was this guy:


And yes, he was listening to a handlebar-mounted speaker system.

Anyway, all was going well until the bike started going a little squirmy, and that's when I realized I had a front flat.  Naturally I'd brought no flat-fixing supplies with me whatsoever, but fortunately there's a bike rental place on 7th Avenue just outside the park, and so I availed myself of their mechanical services:


The gentleman who performed the repair declared himself the "flat king," inasmuch as he services all the pedicabs and various other pedal-powered conveyances that exist in the tourist ecosystem around Central Park, and said he repairs 50 a week.  At $20 a pop (see what I did there?) that's a cool grand a week in flats alone, unless of course I paid the sucker rate.  (Honestly I have no idea what the going rate is for flat repair these days.)  But I was in no position to haggle at this stage of my journey, and at any rate he earned every penny because I was up and running again just as fast as you can say, "Lemme run across to the ATM real quick," and I was grateful for his services.

Hey, it's pretty much impossible to make it through midtown without parting with $20 one way or another, so consider it congestion pricing.

Finally I crossed the Manhattan Bridge and alighted in Brooklyn, but before dropping off the bike I figured I'd stop at Whole Foods and make one last farewell haul:


The Gowanus Whole Foods has ample bike racks, though even the progressive (by American standards) designers of this yupster flagship didn't account for cargo bikes.  Therefore, parking was a bit awkward, but I made it work:


Then I made scant use of the bike's voluminous hauling capacity by loading up on six (6) whole cans of beer to gift to 718 because I felt guilty about returning the bike in such a filthy state:


Once I'd discharged the bike and the beer, I figured 20 miles of riding a heavy bicycle (which I didn't Strava, by the way, because my Apple watch was acting all wonky) wasn't enough, and so I grabbed a Citi Bike for the next leg of my journey.  Despite its size and heft the Yuba is quite easy to ride, and even my long trip on it was quite manageable.  Still, it was a bit of a relief to get onto a bicycle with a "short" wheelbase, if only because I didn't have to be so careful about accidentally blocking the crosswalks.

It's also worth noting that by now (in Brooklyn anyway) most of the snow had disappeared, though you've got to give motorists credit for still finding a way to obscure their visibility with it:


Seriously, it's two swipes with the snow brush, what's so hard about that?

Then, before leaving Brooklyn, I docked the Citi Bike bought myself a drink:


Because I deserve it, dammit.

Black Wednesday

So where were you when the Great Strava Blackout Of '18 hit?


That's right, yesterday afternoon the Fredliverse reeled as the world's foremost digital wank bank was, for a tortuous stretch of time, "temporarily unavailable".  Even if you weren't a Strava user you knew something was amiss, as Freds and Fredericas all over the world suddenly dismounted and stood there like automatons seeking a Wi-Fi signal, uncertain as to what to do next:

(A lone, rudderless cyclist waits by the side of the road.)
Oh sure, they could have continued riding while Strava was down, but to what end?  To the true roadie, the unrecorded pedal stroke is not worth turning, and churning away as potential data vanishes into the void is like pouring fine champagne down the storm drain, or like a prize stallion spilling his thoroughbred seed upon the parched earth instead of into a fertile mare.
I'll never forget where I was: clomping back upstairs after a Fred ride when, to my chagrin, my ride was taking longer to upload than usual.  How I longed to retrace the contours of the ride, to see my feeble output quantified...  But no!  The activity simply failed to materialize, and I wondered if I'd even ridden my bicycle in the first place.

Would I have to do it all over again?  Without digital confirmation that I'd done something, how could I know???

Such is the conundrum of 21st century life.  What's the point of bon mots if we don't tweet them?  Why ingest a delicious meal if you're not going to Instagram it?  Why hoist yourself upon the bowl if you're not going to log the results into a poop tracker?


Track your bowel movements with this simple poop log app. Ever wonder what your bowel movements mean and how they affect your health? Curious to find out how frequently you suffer from bowel conditions like constipation, diarrhea, or bloody stool? Do you know if your diet is causing you constipation or diarrhea? Well now tracking your bowel movements is easier than ever. 

It's good to know there are other Stool Freds out there.
Oh sure, there was a time when I eschewed Strava, and when I mocked it for being the cycling equivalent of this:


And now that I'm using it I know this to be true, and that the sad, captive, pud-pulling ape above is me.

Though when you think about it, isn't he all of us?

Given my tendency to eventually succumb to that which I mock, my greatest fear is now that I start using Zwift.  I like to think that this will never happen, for the simple reason that I have no place for a stationary Fred setup like this one:

Is there anything sadder than a half-dressed Fred grinding away on half a bicycle?  I don't know, but the power of Zwift to remove bicycles from the road rattles me to my core:

But here is the somewhat baleful truth about why I wasn’t riding outside: I just didn’t feel like it. (Note: If you’ve read this far without knowing what Zwift is, you need to get inside more.) This is a hard thing to say, one that I fear may see me exiled permanently from the cycling tribe, but there are times when I actually prefer Zwift—when I even hope for some Nor’easter to blow into town so I can maintain a shred of self-respect while crawling into my pain cave. Shame about the weather, heh, guess I’ll have to get on the trainer.

None of this is to say I don't understand.  I totally do.  In an attempt to feed both your cycling addition and your data feed it's easy to see how doing so in this manner may be tempting.  However, I do have one advantage, and that's geography:

But I am beginning to shake these feelings. For one, I enjoy an epic ride as much as the next cyclist, when I have time. Living in Brooklyn, New York, means I have, basically, two major ride options. The best choice is through Manhattan, across the George Washington Bridge, and up toward one of the Hudson River towns. But this is at least a four-hour ride, two hours of which are “junk miles” to get to and from the actual ride (a typically judgmental cyclist opinion—some might fail to see how riding through the world’s greatest city could be junk). This usually leaves laps around Brooklyn’s Prospect Park’s undulating oval. It is a beautiful ride, but one that I have done so many times I no longer actually see it. Since I’m already riding in a simulacrum, why not simply Zwift?

I know what he's talking about.  I used to live here:


And like 90% of the good riding is here:


Now I live here:


And I congratulate myself for my brilliant choice every single day.

Indeed, had I stayed in Brooklyn that very well could have been me toiling away in front of the Zwifting box.  Instead I'm just a Strava-addled doofus on a $10,000 wooden bicycle and deep in the throes of a midlife Fred crisis:


Speaking of which, yes, I'm still riding the Renovo, and yes, I'm still greatly enjoying it.  I haven't even had to charge the Di2 yet.  Indeed, I'm enjoying it so much I've made arrangements to keep it into the summer, which is when the real testing will begin.

Just stay away from me with your damn magnifying glasses.

The Power of Prayer

For as long as we've been sentient we've pondered the purpose of existence.  Indeed, literature, art, and song all resonate with cries of "What does it all mean, anyway?"  Is life merely a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing?  Should we be content to cultivate our gardens?  Are we destined to boogie oogie oogie until we just can't boogie anymore?

Nobody knows.

Nevertheless, the search continues, which is why some of us turn to religion--and it turns out elite-level Freds and Fredericas are no exception, as VeloNews reports:



Amid the scene, a group of eight riders gather near the lobby bar and exchange hugs, greeting each other like old friends at a reunion. Veteran rider Ben King joins the group, as does Evan Huffman and Greg Daniel. One by one, they slip out of the room, walk down a hall, and into the silent back corner of the hotel’s empty bar. The conversation simmers, and the riders sit in silence.

Then they begin to pray.

Our Fred, who art in Lycra, crabon be thy frame...

The prayer session is another meeting of the cycling-centric ministry of Athletes In Action, the national Christian sports group that was founded nearly half a century ago. AIA’s cycling ministry is just five years old, launched in 2012 by Todd Henriksen, himself a talented racer whose pro career ended just shy of the European peloton. Henriksen and his co-chaplain, Brian Firle, crisscross the country during the season, holding prayer sessions for cyclists on the eves of the country’s largest races.

Frankly it's surprising it took this long, because if ever there was a sport to make people question their life choices it's cycling:

Riders in the UCI Continental ranks rarely perform in front of television cameras or huge crowds. How does one define his or her place within the cosmos when success depends on grabbing a water bottle from a team car?

“Everything they do is based on performance, and their value as a person is wrapped up in that,” Henriksen says. “As a Christian, you know that God loves you no matter what you do, no matter if you’re successful or not. That kind of thinking gives them a purpose-based identity. It gives a lot of freedom to live your life.”

Actually, if you think about it, there's really no sport that's more Christian than cycling.  Consider:

Guy acts like he can walk on water and heal the sick One of his trusted disciples betrays him Guy gets crucified Guy comes back and starts a podcast nobody listens to

Come on, if Jesus came back you'd never know it.  The sad truth is that if the beatitudes were a tweet storm nobody would retweet it.

(Crickets)

Of course, just like the early Christians who had to meet in secret, the Christians of the peloton are also a misunderstood minority:

“Most people think that if you’re Christian, you’re some crazy Bible thumper.”
Guilty!

Hey, I'm just being honest.  And I can assure you my feelings in this regard are by no means limited to Christians.  For example, one time we were in a restaurant we didn't realize was kosher and my wife took out an orange slice to feed to our baby.  Now, you can't bring filthy non-kosher food into a kosher establishment, and for all they know we could have been keeping that orange up a pig's ass.  Anyway, our inadvertent transgression caused a kerfuffle, and presumably they had to then scrub the place down like the candy bar scene in Caddyshack:


Now that's crazy.

All that aside, it is true that life in the peloton is life on earth distilled: a roiling, churning, all-consuming entity that alternately elevates the ego by dangling in front of it the prospect of victory, and then wears it away on the grinding wheel of pain and difficulty.  And amid this abject existence of oxygen debt, this stampeding herd of Lycra-clad haunches, this swarm of goo-slurping locusts (and mixed metaphors), it's hard not to come to the conclusion that if there is indeed a God then it's an Old Testament one who governs by attrition.  It's also hard not to conclude that the rules to which this God demands adherence are more or less arbitrary, and that the inconsistent manner in which this God punishes transgressions is equally so.  But it's easiest of all to conclude that all of that's irrelevant and it is what you make of it.  So if nothing else I supposed you've got to admire these people for seeking what Jesus represents in an environment where any evidence of those qualities is scant at best, though you've also got to admit that ultimately it's a place for the pragmatist--which is why it seems silly to expect Chris Froome not to race:


Froome is allowed to race while the case continues, although many in the cycling community — including UCI president David Lappartient — said he should sit out until a ruling is made. A decision, and any appeals, could take up to one year.

Sitting it out because people think you should just isn't how survival works.

People Can't Stop Saying Dumb Things About Bike Lanes

Bike lanes.  They've been compared to Nazis:


They've been accused of inducing a "dizzying type of vertigo" (as opposed to the non-dizzying type?):


And now, finally, the former mayor of San Luis Obispo has finally "gone there" and compared them to out-and-out rape:

"The rape will not be performed by a male penis, but by thousands of inanimate bicycles."

Weirdest off-key description of proposed bike infrastructure in history, by San Luis Obispo's former mayor.https://t.co/8BSvvsPMqO pic.twitter.com/8DE45hLvha— Peter Flax (@Pflax1) February 9, 2018

Yeah, that's right, rape:


Just think about it: until now you probably had no idea who former San Luis Obispo mayor Ken Schwartz even was.  Now you know him as the person leaning jauntily on a white piano who uttered one of the dumbest and most insensitive things ever said by a human being:


It's a good thing he specified male penis, by the way.  That's an important distinction to make:


Also, somebody should probably tell him that he's watching too much Black Mirror and that self-riding bicycles which roam cities raping people aren't a thing yet:


So what is this "urban rape" anyway?  Well, apparently the city wants to put in a [gasp] bike boulevard:


In past meetings and city polls, community members have criticized adding bike pathways on the city’s north end, including Broad, Mission and Ramona streets. They believe bicyclists will be in harm’s way of motorists and disrupt the neighborhood’s parking and traffic flow.

Others say it will provide needed safe cycling routes to Cal Poly and Foothill Boulevard, as well as for area children getting to school.

Wow, making the streets safe for children getting to school?  Now that definitely sounds rapey.


Actually, the only explanation for Ken Schwartz's letter that makes any sense is that he suffers from a rare brain disorder which makes him think "rape" means "make safer."

Yes, spare some sympathy for poor Ken Schwartz, who lives in a lonely world where these are called rape goggles:


This is a rape pin:




And where in 1983 Canadian synth-pop sensation Men Without Hats delighted the world with this catchy number:


("Rrrr...Aaaa....Pppp...Eeee...Yyyy...")
On second thought, don't spare him any sympathy, he's clearly a giant asshole.
Anyway, if people on bicycles constitutes urban rape I'd love to know what this schmuck thinks cars have been doing to us all these years.

Speaking of words that don't mean what people think they mean, meet the Freedom Bottle, the hydration system which reduces your versatile bottle-and-cage system to a proprietary pin for some reason:



Here's the pin:


"Eliminating the cage, we can mount anything on our pin."
Hmmm, there's a word for what that pin's doing to that bottle, but I can't quite think of what it is...

License And Registration, Please

Firstly, I'm pleased to report I've got a new Outside column live on the Internet, and it's about how our Cracker Jack box system of licensing is killing people:


In it I make reference to nonagenarians driving muscle cars, and interestingly I'd already completed and filed the column when Captain High Pants and his chihuahua copilot launched his Camaro into someone's house:



According to police, a 91-year-old man-whose name has not been released-was driving a cherry red Chevrolet Camaro with his pet chihuahua when the incident occurred. 

The driver thought that he had put the car into drive, but it was instead in reverse.

Too bad we'll never succeed in putting an expiration date on driving privileges.  Suggest maybe people don't need heavy artillery to shoot at deer and the NRA will come down on you with everything they've got; suggest maybe people born before the 1929 market crash shouldn't be driving and the AARP will be on your ass like it's an early bird special.

Of course deciding when people should retire from driving isn't necessarily cut and dry, but when your pant waist starts irritating your nipples it's probably time to start thinking about garaging the Toyota Avalon for good.  This is especially true now that you can summon a car at the push of a button, and some kind of one-key Uber for Seniors device seems like just the thing.  Well, granted, there is such a thing, but it only takes you to the hospital:


But hey, as long as the Uber device is clearly marked and easily distinguished it shouldn't be a problem:



Oh, and are people on Facebook still the dumbest?  You're goddamn right they are:

Here's someone upset that the person in the photo is walking his bicycle without wearing a helmet:

If he's never seen a story about proper bike setup he should really consider a subscription to Bicycling, since that describes like every third article.
Then there's this guy, who is exactly half right:

Yes, Hunter Grantham Hall, you are a fucking idiot.
By the way, it's funny how people never look the way you expect them to:

He looks like he should be blissed out, not pissed off.
Oh well, stupid comes in all shapes and sizes.  Sometimes it even wears scented beard oil.
Moving on, yesterday I shared with you the thrilling news that I'd gotten a new bag:

(Fredly's got a brand new bag.)
Well promptly after posting I stuffed it full of sundries, strapped it to my bars, and took off for deepest suburbia:


I've been absolutely loving the Jones bars, which are not only supremely comfortable but also offer multiple hand positions while remaining utterly capable on technical terrain.  (Alas, I'm not utterly capable, but that's a separate issue.)  Furthermore, as I became better acquainted with them, I realized that I was not using them to their full potential, since Jones bars without a bag are kind of like a bikepacking bro without a beard.  See, here I was relishing this ramblin' all terrain hop-on-and-go lifestyle yet still portaging my comestibles and accessories in a backpack of all things.  So on it went:

My one reservation was that in adding the bag I'd sacrifice some of those hand positions.  However, in practice, the only one that's really off the table with the bag is this one here:


Though to be honest I almost never use that hand position anyway (which is why I still haven't gotten around to taping that portion of the bar), and if I really wanted to I could probably set the straps a little looser or something to create a little more space.

As for the hand positions I do use most often, in addition to the obvious hands on the grips placement, I also use this one a lot, wherein I kind of grab the bar junction and the brake lever bodies:


That's sort of the Jones bar equivalent of putting your hands on the hoods, and the bag does not impede it one bit.

Then of course there's getting aero and putting the hammer down:


With the bag I sort of rest my palms on the bar instead of fully grabbing it, but it's a non-issue.

Plus, it's that much easier to put the hammer down when you have a bag in which you can easily stow a hammer.

As it happens, I did not bring a hammer with me yesterday, and the contents of the bag were as follows:



BananaFood barBaggie full of trail mix20+ year-old Blackburn mini pump (still going strong!)Hiploc zip tie thingies in case I want to stop someplaceEven with this generous payload there was room to spare, and the bag was nice and secure even on rough terrain.  In conclusion my adorable little bro purse seems like it will be just as handy as I hoped, and if you want more technical details about its construction and so forth you can find them here.

Oh, I should also add I did the whole 30-ish mile all-terrain adventure in those Mission Workshop jeans I'm testing:


(Not my lower half, I wouldn't be caught dead in those shoes.)
I was perfectly comfortable every pedal stroke of the way, and as a recovering Fred I'm very proud of the degree to which I've been able to embrace riding in underpants.

Finally, if you're wondering how I've been doing on my one-bike resolution, the answer is, uh, not that great.  Fortunately I've got the New York Times to help me:

Let’s talk about Feb. 14.

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day, but more important than that: It’s the day by which 80 percent of people who made a New Year’s resolution will have given up.

But this year, let’s stick it out together and keep each other accountable.

Yes, let's.  Unfortunately it's probably a waste of time, since I made my resolution for all the wrong reasons:

“If you do it out of the sense of self-hate or remorse or a strong passion in that moment, it doesn’t usually last long,” psychiatrist Dr. Michael Bennett told Jen. “But if you build up a process where you’re thinking harder about what’s good for you, you’re changing the structure of your life, you’re bringing people into your life who will reinforce that resolution, then I think you have a fighting chance.”

I can't think of a worse group of enablers than other cyclists.

Put This In Your Bag And Ride With It

As much as I'd like to kick up my feet and hang around here with you all day I'm afraid I can't, because this arrived from Jones and I need to perform some rigorous product testing:


In case it's not obvious enough for you, that's a handlebar bag, and my rigorous product testing will involve affixing it to my bars, putting some stuff in it, and going for a ride.
Hey, I'd find a different job that didn't involve so much fucking off to ride if I could, but unfortunately I'm the only person who will hire me.
Plus I might be going on a "bikepacking" trip soon, which is a thing the kids are really into these days, and I've got to train for it.
Oh yes.
Speaking of product testing and putting things in other things, the Yuba Supermarché continues to delight:

Kids love being in boxes. pic.twitter.com/vr5GBRvMbm— Bike Snob NYC (@bikesnobnyc) February 5, 2018

It's really true.  My older son even declared it "awesome," which is praise he's only previously bestowed on the F150 we rented that one time:

As a semi-professional bike blogger raised among Jews and suffering from middle age-onset smugness I can assure you the size of this vehicle coupled with its sheer goyishness sent me into an existential crisis that even shopping at Whole Foods could not undo:


Sorry for sharing two pictures of my kid (to be honest I feel awkward sharing even one) but I could not resist the ironic juxtaposition of the truck and the bike.  (Also ironic: in the short amount of time I've had the Yuba I've already hauled more with it than I did with the truck.)

Lastly:

Finalizing the courses of my @chasecancellara rides and thinking about which would be the best one to invite him… #philgaimon #bepreparedforthis pic.twitter.com/fG8KhTyVYB— Fabian cancellara (@f_cancellara) February 2, 2018

Yeah, right.  I know someone browsing Abercrombie.com for new underwear when I see it.

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz On Monday!

Good morning!  I'm pleased to present you with a quiz.  As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer.  If you're right that's fantastic, and if you're wrong you'll see putting the hammer down.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and cover your answers!


--Wildcat Rock Machine








1) What kind of tracks are these?

--Raccoon
--Dog
--Rat
--Surly's new 36-inch wide "Paw Patrol" tire





(He's sad because his penis is broken.)
2) Cycling causes sexual dysfunction.

--True
--False




3) Chris Froome claims his "adverse analytical finding" was due to:

--Tainted meat
--A malfunctioning asthma inhaler
--Kidney failure
--Being clinically dead





(Via @stravawankers)
4) Strava users are unwittingly giving away:

--Their personal data
--Their adulterous rendezvous
--The locations of secret US army bases
--How badly they suck





5) The driver:

--"...hit the accelerator instead of the brake"
--"...was attempting to pass a pack of cyclists riding two abreast"
--"...was confused by a newly-installed bike lane"
--"--was not wearing a helmet"





6) This bike is the Yuba ___________"

--Spicy Curry
--Supermarché
--Washtub
--Smugness Skiff




7) Who is Charlie Butt?

--An Australian trucker who hates cyclists
--A Canadian adult film director
--Historian, wit, bon viveur, and rear half of the Johnson brothers
--He's you, he's me, he's all of us


***Special "Bicycles Are Destroying Society"--Themed Bonus Video!***

No charges for the driver who gave chase and hit an NYPD officer though.

You Take the Low Road, I'll Take the Highbridge

Back in December I wrote for Outside about Highbridge Park, home to Manhattan's only legal mountain bike trails.  Highbridge opened in 2007, and shortly after it did I headed up there with some friends and found these feeride trails cut into the side of a bluff far too burly for my timid and dainty singlespeed-oriented style of riding.  Plus, it was far from my home in Brooklyn, and when the far more flowy Cunningham Park trails in Queens opened shortly thereafter I knew I had found my in-the-city mountain bike spot.

Then in 2012 I moved to the Bronx, a mere three mile ride from Highbridge.  So I rode down, not having been there in five years, and not only did I still find the trails daunting but I also interrupted two people in an advanced state of intimacy and generally found the whole riding experience to be uncomfortable.  I also now lived less than an hour's ride from Sprain Ridge Park, a popular mountain biking destination outside of the city I could only drive to when I lived in Brooklyn, and that soon became my default for knobby-tired rides.

Recently though it began to dawn on me that living so close to mountain bike trails and not taking advantage of them is stupid.  Also, while riding to and from Sprain is eminently doable, it's still a couple hours round-trip not including actual trail time.  And while I don't mind that round trip in the least, as the parent of seventeen (17) human children and the curator of an equal number of blogs I don't always have the time.  So I resolved to finally figure out this Highbridge thing.

Here's something going on there next weekend by the way:

Dig, then ride with us on NYCMTB's monthly welcome days at Highbridge park in Manhattan.

Bring your friends and family for a day of fun in the woods and learn what it takes to build, maintain, and ride the most progressive urban bike park in America. All participants, NYCMTB members, or anyone with logged volunteer hours, receive a free 20 minute clinic and a guided ride throughout the trails. Bikes and helmets provided!

Highbridge Park is the home of NYC's first Mountain Biking Course. The 3 mile course offers trails of varying difficulty from Intermediate to expert, and a free-ride trail that includes drops, steeps, and berms. The park also features a Dirt Jump Park and pump track, which makes it a good place to develop different skills at all levels. The course has been featured in national magazines and is stewarded by volunteers just like you!

Getting to Highbridge from my home is a straight shot right under the elevated tracks of the 1 train.  This means I can get there in 15 or 20 minutes.  I also found that if I edit out all the super rocky body armor-type stuff I can do some fun loops on the more cross country-oriented sections of the trail.  Of course, owing to the diminutive size of the park riding in one corner of it is not the sort of thing I'd want to spend hours at a time doing, but for a quick ride it's highly enjoyable--not a full meal but definitely a satisfying snack that will hold me over until the next big dirt ride.  So when I've only got an hour and a half to squeeze in a ride, or when it's so goddamn cold I don't want to be out for that long, or when I want the novelty of a city ride with a singletrack detour, Highbridge is just the thing.

Anyway, yesterday was bitterly cold with some residual snow from the previous evening, which made it a Highbridge morning.  On the way there however I took a little detour into Van Cortlandt Park, where I availed myself of the facilities:


I should also mention that after trying various subtle spots on the Jones bar to mount my artisanal bell I found they all interfered with my hand positions, and so I was finally forced to place it front and center where it sticks out like one big cycloptic nipple:


The best thing about the Jones bars is that they're amazingly comfortable, and the second-best thing is they force you to surrender any aesthetic considerations you may have when it comes to your bicycle.

From Van Cortlandt Park I headed down to Highbridge.  That's a mountain bike trailhead, a protected bike lane, and a subway station, all in one place, and in Manhattan:


Come on, now that's incredible.

I could have entered there, but instead I headed onto the bike lane, climbed the mighty Fort George Hill (where they once held automotive hillclimb races don't you know) and went in by the dirt jumps.  As you can see, Highbridge Park is indeed high:


The trail had just the right amount of crunchy snow on it:


And I followed the tracks of some animal that had evidently been running laps in the night:


I don't know shit about animal prints, but I'm assuming that's from a raccoon, or else one big-ass rat.

Here's a photo of Ol' Piney cutting a dashing silhouette against the "Extreme Difficulty" trail marker:


And here's the trail marker for the trail I actually ride:


Oh, I should also mention that part of the joy of riding in Highbridge is wearing "regular" clothes: I just grab a bike and go.  On this particular day though I do confess I was wearing some fancy Mission Workshop pants--these pants, I believe:


Because I am a world famous blogger and social media influencer the same people who hooked me up with the Renovo proffered the pants, and where I come from when someone offers to drop trousers on you you don't say no.
Wow, that didn't sound good.
I should point out that at this point in my blogging career I've tried a lot of bikey pants: Rapha, Levi's bike-specific jeans, Outlier...  So far the only ones that didn't die the same crotch hole-related death as ordinary pants do were the Outlier--which seven years after I took delivery of them were still going strong.  Unfortunately though they've also recently gone missing, and I've turned my wardrobe inside out searching for them to no avail.
Outlier notwithstanding, I'm currently of the opinion that the best jeans for cycling in terms of cost, comfort, and durability are the ones from Uniqlo with a little stretch in them.  They're not ostensibly bike-specific, but they are relatively inexpensive and hold up at least as well as anything I've tried.  Nevertheless, I seized upon the opportunity to try the Mission Workshop jeans to see if they're worth the considerable premium.  At this early stage I simply don't know yet, but here's the waist-down selfie that you never thought you wanted and now you wish you could unsee:


We'll see how they hold up after six months of Highbridge rides and infrequent-to-nonexistent washings.

Once I'd shredded enough (to be fair I don't shred so much as I vainly attempt to cut with leftie scissors) I hit the city streets once again, and the other great thing about riding at Highbridge is stopping at Target on the way home:


There's nothing quite as exhilarating as the transition from trail to linoleum, and from mountain bike to shopping cart:


Of course, being a dutiful Strava douche I paused the app while I shopped.  Nevertheless, as I browsed the aisles I received a notification from them:

So how do I keep @Strava from sending me messages like this? pic.twitter.com/a4KkqpPUD3— Bike Snob NYC (@bikesnobnyc) January 31, 2018

Naturally my tweet prompted the predictable "Why would you want to?" responses.  I dunno, are there really people who would enjoy getting messages like this?  It's 2018, and thanks to the Internet you have instant access to any type of erotic image imaginable.  Sure, you could enjoy it in private, but why do that when instead it can appear on your wrist in the checkout line at Target?

Anyway, I rode home with a full backpack and carrying a pair of plastic Target bags (hey, I overshopped) and by the time I got home and went to block whoever sent the message the account seemed to be gone, so maybe Strava saw my tweet and deleted it.  And if they're reading this now, I hope they don't take away my (probably erroneous) KOM from the other day:


It's all I've got.

Looting, Pillaging, Sacking A Major City

Sooner or later (though probably later) I'll regail rigale tell you the tale of my epic mountain bicycle ride yesterday:


In the meantime I'm kindly nudging you over to today's Bike Forecast, since who doesn't enjoy a sensational news report about how bikes are destroying America?

See you when I see you!
XOXO,

--Wildcat Rock Machine

Naughty Fred: Being Bad Never Felt So Good

As you're no doubt tired of hearing by now, I've made a New Year's resolution to only ride Ol' Piney in 2018:


Of course, because I'm a semi-professional bike blogger (and also because I'm full of it), in making the resolution I allowed myself to ride test bikes--such as this exotic wooden Fred Sled:

(YES THE GODDAMN BRAKE PADS ARE TOED IN)
Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before I cracked like a counterfeit Specialized:

(Oh, wait, that's a real one.)
And if you suspected I wouldn't make it through January without dipping into my vast bike supply then you were correct, because yesterday I went for a ride on the Ritte Rust Bucket:

Doing so felt really good for two reasons:
A) I felt delightfully naughty, like a kid sneaking bacon in Hebrew school;
2) Unlike the Renovo it's my bike, dammit!
Indeed, with regard to that second reason, I'm tempted to say it was like slipping on a pair of old blue jeans.  However, I'm loath to use such a cliché, so instead I'll say it was like slipping on a pair of old underpants--but clean ones, and with plenty of life left in the elastic.  See, as fun as it is to ride a fancy road bike with push-button shifting (and it is fun, that Renovo is a blast) there's nothing like going back to a bicycle you've been breaking in for years.  No smooth, unwrapped crabon bar tops here, just the reassuring roundness of aluminum tubes wrapped in worn tape.

Even the mechanical shifting was a pleasure:

(Rivendell's new mechanical shifting group.)
To be honest, I've been finding myself liking this Di2 stuff more and more, and on my last ride with it I even caught myself wondering if I could ever go back to analog.  Well, I'm pleased to report that I can go back, and as addicting as it is to shift with a tap of the button and a little "zewp" sound, the moving of an actual lever followed by the "gerthunk" of the chain finding its cog remains both satisfying and timeless. 
Also, while the Renovo is an absolute joy to ride, adn while it put me back in touch with my inner Fred, I have to say it felt really good to get back onto a scuzzy bike again:

In fact the desire to ride a scuzzy road bike is ultimately what did me in.  See, this is what it was like yesterday:

And even though I don't want to coddle or spoil the Renovo I also didn't particularly feel like riding a bike with crabon rims, 23mm tires, and tight clearances in those conditions.  (It's just not a confidence-inspiring combination in foul weather.)  As for Ol' Piney, it was too warm and sloppy to ride offroad, and as for riding it on the road...well, you know, I'd have to ride it like this:

Ugh.
Plus I still haven't fixed that broken spoke:

Meanwhile, there's the trusty old Rust Bucket with it's metal wheels and slightly wider tires just waiting to be ridden, and all that stands between me and a brisk jaunt down to Central Park is slapping on those quickie fenders.
So I did it, and I regret nothing--well, almost nothing, since I did manage to slip and fall on some wet wood:

You know those falls where your front wheel goes out from under you and the bike just slams you to the ground in a way that only skinny-tired bikes with drop bars can?

It was one of those.

And look, you can see exactly the path my ass took when I wiped out:

If you think about it, it's ironic that in avoiding the wood bike in favor of something more surefooted I ended up getting taken out by some wood.
Of course, as per the terms of my resolution, I must now run three (3) miles to atone for my transgression.  However, my ass hurts now and I don't know if I can.  Riding, however, is not a problem, and at this rate I can see myself digging a marathon-sized hole for myself in a matter of weeks.
What I'm saying is I've made a huge mistake.
Anyway, despite all this I do still plan to make good see all this through...at least until such time as I come up with a decent excuse for bailing.