BikeSnobNYC's Blog, page 54
November 15, 2016
Putting the "Semi" in Semi-Professional Bike Blogger
Yesterday was a perfect day for perambulation here in the northern precincts of the city, and I took advantage of it by leashing up a few of my seventeen (17) children for a stroll in the park. People in floppy hats were painting:
And water fowl alighted upon the reflection of autumn's auburn splendor:
I reveled in it all until a brace of swans approached and started hissing at me:
Turns out swans are fucking assholes.
Today however the sky is grey and the rain is falling, and while I'd like nothing more to recline with my feet in a basin full of hot cocoa and blog for you from the comfort of my manse, the unfortunate truth is that I have various appointments in various places today. And all of these appointments are more important than you.
So like the country gentleman I am I must put on my Inspector Gadget jacket:
Unfurl my most diminutive bicycle:
And surrender to being a moistened multi-modal fop.
Please accept my apologies for the truncated post, or don't, whatever makes you happy, and I'll see you back here tomorrow with my usual assortment of tasty seasonal recipes.
Until then,
I remain,
Faithlessly yours,
--Wildcat Rock Machine
And water fowl alighted upon the reflection of autumn's auburn splendor:
I reveled in it all until a brace of swans approached and started hissing at me:
Turns out swans are fucking assholes.
Today however the sky is grey and the rain is falling, and while I'd like nothing more to recline with my feet in a basin full of hot cocoa and blog for you from the comfort of my manse, the unfortunate truth is that I have various appointments in various places today. And all of these appointments are more important than you.
So like the country gentleman I am I must put on my Inspector Gadget jacket:
Unfurl my most diminutive bicycle:
And surrender to being a moistened multi-modal fop.
Please accept my apologies for the truncated post, or don't, whatever makes you happy, and I'll see you back here tomorrow with my usual assortment of tasty seasonal recipes.
Until then,
I remain,
Faithlessly yours,
--Wildcat Rock Machine
November 14, 2016
Where have you been all morning?!?
Happy Beaver Moon!
(Via BKJimmy)
Do you know the Moon has not been this close to the Earth in 69 years?
(Do not click this link unless you want to visit Auto-Play Hell.)
Hey, don't look at me, it's just science.
Speaking of not looking at me, at least one commenter mocked my "middle-aged white guy shoes" not too long ago:
Alas, I wish I could return to those simpler days, because apparently now I'm supposed to burn them:
Hey, naturally as a member of the cultural elite (I am the world's greatest bike blogger after all), I'm profoundly disappointed in the election results. I'm also a veteran of the sanctimonious shoe wars, having worked for a certain documentary filmmaker during his promotion of a film about Nike's shitty labor practices. Nevertheless, I'm not burning up my goddamn shoes to spite my feet--especially when my alternatives are sneakers made by children or small-batch artisanal footwear made from chia and hemp. (And it's not like my sneakers are even made here, I think New Balance makes like three pairs a year in Maine and they cost like $800.)
The point is that keeping lazy Americans in athletic shoes is a sordid affair no matter which brand you're buying, so I'll burn mine only when the foot funk gets so overpowering I can smell them from the closet, thankyouverymuch.
And while we're talking about politics (however tangentially), third-party candidate Gary Johnson's post-election plans are to ride the Continental Divide:
Gary Johnson has run for governor of New Mexico twice and won both times, and he has run for president of the United States twice and lost both times.
He’s already talking about his next challenge, but it won’t be a try for public office. It will be on a bike, riding nearly 3,000 miles along the Continental Divide from Canada down into New Mexico.
“It’s sometime in early June,” he said.
And it will be a challenge too, because he's not even a cyclist--he's a triathlete:
Johnson, 63, a Taos resident and an ardent triathlete, is referring to the 2,768-mile Great Divide Mountain Bike Route from Banff in Alberta, Canada, to Antelope Wells in New Mexico’s Hidalgo County. He said he is done with political races. At least done with running in them himself.
In retrospect it makes total sense he's a triathlete, since running as a third-party candidate is basically the political equivalent of screwing the race up for everyone else just so you can go for your personal best.
As for the other candidates and their respective connections to cycling, Hillary Clinton had a PR opportunity at a bike shop in the early days of her campaign:
And was also a "charity ride chic" fashion plate back in the '90s:
(Bill's like "Fuck helmets.")
Whereas our President-elect (I wash my hands every time I type that) will be the only President to have had his name on a stage race, assuming he doesn't vanish in a puff of sulfur before taking office:
That's excluding Grover Cleveland's "Tour de Cleve" back in 1887, which was terribly unpopular as he grossly underestimated the popularity of the safety bicycle:
By the way, now's probably the time to cash in on that Tour de Trump memorabilia by putting it on eBay (assuming you haven't burned it along with your New Balances):
Check out this handsome garment:
They just don't make promotional windbreakers like that anymore:
It's the perfect ultra-ironic costume for the upcoming SSCXWC in Portland:
Though even in in the best of times Portlanders are somewhat humor-challenged, and even at an ostensibly irreverent event like this one odds are you'd get egged--and severely too, given how many people out there must have chicken coops.
And let's not forget Jill Stein, who (as you've no doubt seen on John Oliver's show) made a cringeworthy song about cycling:
She’s out there in the sun and underneath the stars
On a roll, she’ll try to go, don’t get there in their cars
Bikers of the nation are the future generation
[???]
But to her, it’s a salvation
Ridin’ through the streeeeeet and a sensation
Driven by the vision of a common liberation
Silver wheels are shining you can see her from afar
Hold on to your hat, here comes one less car
Plenty of people laugh at this (and rightfully so), though to her credit she was ahead of her time in terms of sheer bicycle-related smugness--though had she recorded the song today she'd no doubt have made obligatory mention of her Nutcase helmet.
Anyway, inasmuch as basically every candidate this year had at least some relationship with bikes at some point, it's clear to me that it's only a matter of time before bicycles break back into the political mainstream, just like racism has.
I mean it's no Bush vs. Kerry, but still:
That election was like the Apocalypse of Fredness, and I'm surprised the world didn't end...
...though given the results of this election maybe it has.
In other news, if you're wondering what happens to all those Kickstarters that get funded immediately and then you never hear about them again, consider the story of the Brim Brothers shoe-mounted power meter:
Zone DPMX is the world’s first wearable power meter. It’s affordable, portable, and provides dual left and right power measurement. Attached to your shoes, not your bike, so you can move between bikes and measure power on all of them. Compatible with Speedplay® Zero pedal and cleat systems, and works with ANT+® bike computers and smartphones. From best bike to winter bike to trainer to loaner, just change bikes and go – and your power meter goes with you.
It was funded immediately, because Freds are idiots who get excited about stuff like this:
Everything is on your shoes, and installation is as easy as fitting new cleats. There’s nothing on the bike, not even a magnet, so you have your own power meter whatever bike you choose to ride. That means you get consistent power measurement and recording every time you ride. No more frustration because your power meter is on your other bike. No more wondering whether different power meters are calibrated the same.
Hey, I'd rather have dog shit on my shoe than a stupid power meter, but the market wants what it wants.
Anyway, apparently after getting funded and then sume, Brim Brothers fell apart like a crabon frame, as James Huang recently chronicled:
Apparently they failed to adequately account for two things: 1) The product needs to be tested; and 2) shoes flex:
“This was the first time we had had more than a handful of these units to test at the same time and noticed that there were differences between them,” Redmond said. “After a lot of investigation over the last month and a half, it turned out that the force sensor is affected by the flexing of a cycling shoe. A lot of the time, the system is accurate. You think a cycling shoe is rigid, but it’s not; it will flex just a fraction. And what we found was that this was affecting the sensor plates more than we thought it would. And in some circumstances, it could contribute to quite a serious accuracy problem.
Oops.
The upshot is that the donor Freds lost their money, and so did the inventor:
“I am one of the people who lent the company money, and we’re not going to be repaid. I was unpaid for the last eight years. I got no salary. I just lived off of my family for the last eight years, plus put quite a lot of cash into the company. It’s certainly not as simple as some people think it is — far, far from that.”
So there it is.
And to his credit, at least he isn't throwing a Tantrum:
I dunno, maybe it's good and maybe it isn't, but at a certain point I strongly believe that it's enough with the mountain bike technology and at a certain point people just shouldn't be able to ride in certain places.
I know it's human nature to want to go boldly where no person has ever gone before, but if we don't stop the madness soon there's no place on earth you'll be able to be alone and the same idiot Mountain Bros you see riding around the park with baggy shorts and using speaker systems on their handlebars are going to be crossing Antarctica and summiting Everest.
In 10 years base camp in Nepal is going to be a parking lot filled with pickup trucks and empty hitch racks.
Lastly, here's your robot-welding porn of the day:
Here's more on this factory from an article I found:
The Tianjin-based manufacturer, which claims to account for 12-15% of China’s total annual bicycle production, counts Avanti, Bianchi, Cannondale, Scott and Walmart amongst its long list of international clients.
It's infusing the bike with Italian passion.
(Via BKJimmy)
Do you know the Moon has not been this close to the Earth in 69 years?
(Do not click this link unless you want to visit Auto-Play Hell.)Hey, don't look at me, it's just science.
Speaking of not looking at me, at least one commenter mocked my "middle-aged white guy shoes" not too long ago:
Alas, I wish I could return to those simpler days, because apparently now I'm supposed to burn them:
Hey, naturally as a member of the cultural elite (I am the world's greatest bike blogger after all), I'm profoundly disappointed in the election results. I'm also a veteran of the sanctimonious shoe wars, having worked for a certain documentary filmmaker during his promotion of a film about Nike's shitty labor practices. Nevertheless, I'm not burning up my goddamn shoes to spite my feet--especially when my alternatives are sneakers made by children or small-batch artisanal footwear made from chia and hemp. (And it's not like my sneakers are even made here, I think New Balance makes like three pairs a year in Maine and they cost like $800.)
The point is that keeping lazy Americans in athletic shoes is a sordid affair no matter which brand you're buying, so I'll burn mine only when the foot funk gets so overpowering I can smell them from the closet, thankyouverymuch.
And while we're talking about politics (however tangentially), third-party candidate Gary Johnson's post-election plans are to ride the Continental Divide:
Gary Johnson has run for governor of New Mexico twice and won both times, and he has run for president of the United States twice and lost both times.
He’s already talking about his next challenge, but it won’t be a try for public office. It will be on a bike, riding nearly 3,000 miles along the Continental Divide from Canada down into New Mexico.
“It’s sometime in early June,” he said.
And it will be a challenge too, because he's not even a cyclist--he's a triathlete:
Johnson, 63, a Taos resident and an ardent triathlete, is referring to the 2,768-mile Great Divide Mountain Bike Route from Banff in Alberta, Canada, to Antelope Wells in New Mexico’s Hidalgo County. He said he is done with political races. At least done with running in them himself.
In retrospect it makes total sense he's a triathlete, since running as a third-party candidate is basically the political equivalent of screwing the race up for everyone else just so you can go for your personal best.
As for the other candidates and their respective connections to cycling, Hillary Clinton had a PR opportunity at a bike shop in the early days of her campaign:
And was also a "charity ride chic" fashion plate back in the '90s:
(Bill's like "Fuck helmets.")
Whereas our President-elect (I wash my hands every time I type that) will be the only President to have had his name on a stage race, assuming he doesn't vanish in a puff of sulfur before taking office:
That's excluding Grover Cleveland's "Tour de Cleve" back in 1887, which was terribly unpopular as he grossly underestimated the popularity of the safety bicycle:
By the way, now's probably the time to cash in on that Tour de Trump memorabilia by putting it on eBay (assuming you haven't burned it along with your New Balances):
Check out this handsome garment:
They just don't make promotional windbreakers like that anymore:
It's the perfect ultra-ironic costume for the upcoming SSCXWC in Portland:
Though even in in the best of times Portlanders are somewhat humor-challenged, and even at an ostensibly irreverent event like this one odds are you'd get egged--and severely too, given how many people out there must have chicken coops.
And let's not forget Jill Stein, who (as you've no doubt seen on John Oliver's show) made a cringeworthy song about cycling:
She’s out there in the sun and underneath the stars
On a roll, she’ll try to go, don’t get there in their cars
Bikers of the nation are the future generation
[???]
But to her, it’s a salvation
Ridin’ through the streeeeeet and a sensation
Driven by the vision of a common liberation
Silver wheels are shining you can see her from afar
Hold on to your hat, here comes one less car
Plenty of people laugh at this (and rightfully so), though to her credit she was ahead of her time in terms of sheer bicycle-related smugness--though had she recorded the song today she'd no doubt have made obligatory mention of her Nutcase helmet.
Anyway, inasmuch as basically every candidate this year had at least some relationship with bikes at some point, it's clear to me that it's only a matter of time before bicycles break back into the political mainstream, just like racism has.
I mean it's no Bush vs. Kerry, but still:
That election was like the Apocalypse of Fredness, and I'm surprised the world didn't end...
...though given the results of this election maybe it has.
In other news, if you're wondering what happens to all those Kickstarters that get funded immediately and then you never hear about them again, consider the story of the Brim Brothers shoe-mounted power meter:
Zone DPMX is the world’s first wearable power meter. It’s affordable, portable, and provides dual left and right power measurement. Attached to your shoes, not your bike, so you can move between bikes and measure power on all of them. Compatible with Speedplay® Zero pedal and cleat systems, and works with ANT+® bike computers and smartphones. From best bike to winter bike to trainer to loaner, just change bikes and go – and your power meter goes with you.
It was funded immediately, because Freds are idiots who get excited about stuff like this:
Everything is on your shoes, and installation is as easy as fitting new cleats. There’s nothing on the bike, not even a magnet, so you have your own power meter whatever bike you choose to ride. That means you get consistent power measurement and recording every time you ride. No more frustration because your power meter is on your other bike. No more wondering whether different power meters are calibrated the same.
Hey, I'd rather have dog shit on my shoe than a stupid power meter, but the market wants what it wants.
Anyway, apparently after getting funded and then sume, Brim Brothers fell apart like a crabon frame, as James Huang recently chronicled:
Apparently they failed to adequately account for two things: 1) The product needs to be tested; and 2) shoes flex:
“This was the first time we had had more than a handful of these units to test at the same time and noticed that there were differences between them,” Redmond said. “After a lot of investigation over the last month and a half, it turned out that the force sensor is affected by the flexing of a cycling shoe. A lot of the time, the system is accurate. You think a cycling shoe is rigid, but it’s not; it will flex just a fraction. And what we found was that this was affecting the sensor plates more than we thought it would. And in some circumstances, it could contribute to quite a serious accuracy problem.
Oops.
The upshot is that the donor Freds lost their money, and so did the inventor:
“I am one of the people who lent the company money, and we’re not going to be repaid. I was unpaid for the last eight years. I got no salary. I just lived off of my family for the last eight years, plus put quite a lot of cash into the company. It’s certainly not as simple as some people think it is — far, far from that.”
So there it is.
And to his credit, at least he isn't throwing a Tantrum:
I dunno, maybe it's good and maybe it isn't, but at a certain point I strongly believe that it's enough with the mountain bike technology and at a certain point people just shouldn't be able to ride in certain places.
I know it's human nature to want to go boldly where no person has ever gone before, but if we don't stop the madness soon there's no place on earth you'll be able to be alone and the same idiot Mountain Bros you see riding around the park with baggy shorts and using speaker systems on their handlebars are going to be crossing Antarctica and summiting Everest.
In 10 years base camp in Nepal is going to be a parking lot filled with pickup trucks and empty hitch racks.
Lastly, here's your robot-welding porn of the day:
Here's more on this factory from an article I found:
The Tianjin-based manufacturer, which claims to account for 12-15% of China’s total annual bicycle production, counts Avanti, Bianchi, Cannondale, Scott and Walmart amongst its long list of international clients.
It's infusing the bike with Italian passion.
November 11, 2016
BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!
(He's since moved on to riding gravel.)
Surprise! Betcha didn't expect a quiz! Well, you know what to do. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right then great, and if you're wrong you'll see a new spin on an '80s stand-up comedy motif.
Thanks for reading, ride safe, and if you attempt to defect this weekend make sure you're running the correct tire pressure first.
Cordially,
--Wildcat Rock Machine
1) Zipp's new $4,000 biomimetic wheelset is inspired by:
--A hawk
--A tiger
--A puma
--A humpback whale
("Thinking I might get a license and try a Cat 5 race...")
2) Humpback whales cruise at about 3-9mph but can go as fast as 16.5mph when in danger--just like the Freds who buy Zipp wheels!
--True
--False
3) Bicycling recommends keeping what kind of journal?
--A training journal
--A sleep journal
--A bowel movement journal
--A tire pressure journal
4) Why will airless tires never catch on?
--Limited compounds and tread patterns
--Not gravel compatible due to large holes in sidewall
--Weenies cannot dork out on #whatpressureyourunning
--All of the above
("ATMOATMOATMOATMOATMO")
5) Celebrated frame builder Richard Sachs shocked his fans when he announced at the Philly Bike Expo that going forward all his bikes would feature disc brakes and Boost 148 spacing.
--True
--False
6) Which is not a feature of this astoundingly ill-timed election-themed "Freedom Bike?"
--Costs $1,300
--"Designed in New York City and crafted in Taiwan"
--Weighs "a mere 26 pounds"
--Will "Make America Great Again"
7) Fill in the blank:
To fill your queasy stomach during your third 112-mile bike ride, you will discover the best way to eat a sausage-and-egg sandwich: shove it in your _____ and let it slowly dissolve.
A) Mouth
B) Water bottle
C) Cycling shorts
D) Rectum
(He left out American, someone should ask for his birth certificate.)
8) Before voting on Tuesday, Vice President-elect Mike Pence:
--Went Rollerblading
--Washed his 2007 Chevy Tahoe in his driveway
--Rode his sweet Trek 29er
--Took his turn at a public restroom to make sure no transgender people try to use the "wrong" bathroom
***Special Bike-Handling Skills-Themed Bonus Video!"
November 10, 2016
Sorry I'm late, I guess society is collapsing already.
What has the fins of a humpback whale, the skin of a shark, and costs $4,000?
If you answered two Anthony Weiners, you're wrong:
(Seems positively quaint now.)
No, the answer is of course Zipp's new Fred casters, which harness the awesome marketing power of "biomimicry:"
Utilizing the principles of the emerging science of biomimicry, Zipp engineers studied the environment around them for instances of how nature solved similar problems of speed, control, and efficiency for the next generation of Zipp wheels. Think of a humpback whale’s fast but graceful movements thanks to the special features on the leading edge of its pectoral fins, or the unique micro texture of a shark’s skin, which gives it the ability to glide effortlessly through the water. These structures inspired Zipp advanced development engineers to, for the first time, systematically apply biomimicry to solve the complex challenge of designing a wheel that reduces both aerodynamic drag and side force.
Oh my god.
Please allow me to translate:
Utilizing time-tested principles of bilking Freds out of large sums of money by turning scientific terms into marketing buzzwords, Zipp's marketing team turned to Google to solve the problem of how wheels can't get any rounder and found this cool-sounding word "biomimicry." Think of a humpback whale's ability to make Freds feel better about the fact that they're at least 40lbs too heavy to get any performance benefit from these things, and think of a shark's skin because sharks are cool. These magnificent creatures inspired Zipp's hand-picked team of bullshit artists to solve the complex challenge of selling even more overpriced wheels to sucky Freds and tridorks who already own multiple pairs.
Come on, this is even dumber than Fizik's "Spine Concept," where you were supposed to pick an inner "scranus animal" before buying a saddle:
(I notice "I'm easily duped" is not an option.)
And yes, Brooks and Fizik are both under the same corporate umbrella, but at least Brooks's "Retrogrouch Concept" was a little more honest:
No matter how you responded the answer was always "B17."
Anyway, in addition to biomimicry and wheels inspired by the stiffness of whale boners, Zipp has also come up with a staggering amount of proprietary gimmicks. Here they are:
SawTooth™
AeroBalance™
HyperFoik™
HexFin™ ABLC dimples
Showstopper™ brake track
ImPress™ NSW graphics technology (which I assume refers to the whale boner decals)
Cognition™ hubset
Axial Clutch™
Holy shit, I feel like I just got HyperFoiked!
We're getting very close to the point where wheels will have more bullshit trademarked terms than actual spokes.
But they are hand-curated Indianapolis:
Each Indianapolis-made 454 NSW rim requires 12 hours to create and represents a true blending of hand craftsmanship and advanced manufacturing techniques. After each rim is laid up, molded, drilled, printed, and inspected, every wheel is assembled and tensioned entirely by hand in Indianapolis. 454 NSW rims are laced to our Portuguese-made Cognition hubs using Belgian Sapim® CX-Ray spokes and Secure Lock nipples for unmatched performance and reliability that is made to last.
Yet after all that you still suck.
No word if they're gravel compatible, so that can only mean a more expensive version is in the works. Presumably this pair will cost twice as much due to its biomimetic Gastrolith™ gizzard stone rim bed technology.
In other news, like many Americans I'm still thinking about the election. Specifically I'm thinking about how years from now when we're part of Putin's global empire we'll turn to each other and say, "So where were you when you learned Trump won?" Well, all I know is when I got on a subway train in Brooklyn everything was fine, and by the time I got off the train in the Bronx Trump had clinched it.
I shuffled off the train as if part of a funeral procession, but incredibly there were signs of hope! The area around the subway station is a pedestrian nightmare, but now it was littered with traffic cones. "Great!," I thought to myself. "They're finally going to do something about the quagmire of diagonal parking spaces:"
"And the goddamn sidewalk crater!"
As visions of pedestrian plazas and traffic calming and buffers discouraging heedless drop-offs danced in my head I checked out this sign and found out the reason for the cones is that they were filming an episode of "The Blacklist:"
My hopes were dashed twice in rapid succession.
Speaking of the election, I finally got a chance to take my official post-Election Day ride this morning, which is the reason for my more-than-usual tardiness:
I was very nearly home and riding up a particularly steep street when an oncoming motorist stopped and asked for directions.
"Were's the blah-blahblah-blah?," she asked, a cigarette dangling from between her fingers.
No excuse me, nothing.
It's a pretty quiet street, but there we were in the middle of it, with traffic liable to arrive at any time. I didn't immediately know the place she was asking for but I thought I did. I felt nervous and at the same time wanted to be helpful and so racked my tiny brain. Then it hit me:
Why the fuck am I bothering?
"Sorry, I dunno," I answered, and rode off.
And at that moment, I made a solemn promise to myself, which is to never, ever give a motorist directions again, no matter what the circumstances. I don't care if we're right in front of the place you're trying to get to, 'cause I ain't telling. The most you're getting out of me is a "No idea." Too often I have been stopped while cycling, 2nd Ave. traffic bearing down on us while some moron asks me how to get to 1st Ave. Too often I have been stopped while pushing a stroller in a crosswalk, my tiny window rapidly closing while some vapid SUV pilot attempts to tap my valuable wisdom. Too often I have been driving when some suburban dolt wastes a whole cycle of the light asking me how to get someplace while I bite my tongue to refrain from yelling, "I don't live in this stupid fucking town!"
So that's it, drivers. You've got your bluetooth, you've got your phones, you've got your Google Maps. You've got more navigational power than they did on the Moon landing.
You're on your own, suckers.
If you answered two Anthony Weiners, you're wrong:
(Seems positively quaint now.)
No, the answer is of course Zipp's new Fred casters, which harness the awesome marketing power of "biomimicry:"
Utilizing the principles of the emerging science of biomimicry, Zipp engineers studied the environment around them for instances of how nature solved similar problems of speed, control, and efficiency for the next generation of Zipp wheels. Think of a humpback whale’s fast but graceful movements thanks to the special features on the leading edge of its pectoral fins, or the unique micro texture of a shark’s skin, which gives it the ability to glide effortlessly through the water. These structures inspired Zipp advanced development engineers to, for the first time, systematically apply biomimicry to solve the complex challenge of designing a wheel that reduces both aerodynamic drag and side force.
Oh my god.
Please allow me to translate:
Utilizing time-tested principles of bilking Freds out of large sums of money by turning scientific terms into marketing buzzwords, Zipp's marketing team turned to Google to solve the problem of how wheels can't get any rounder and found this cool-sounding word "biomimicry." Think of a humpback whale's ability to make Freds feel better about the fact that they're at least 40lbs too heavy to get any performance benefit from these things, and think of a shark's skin because sharks are cool. These magnificent creatures inspired Zipp's hand-picked team of bullshit artists to solve the complex challenge of selling even more overpriced wheels to sucky Freds and tridorks who already own multiple pairs.
Come on, this is even dumber than Fizik's "Spine Concept," where you were supposed to pick an inner "scranus animal" before buying a saddle:
(I notice "I'm easily duped" is not an option.)
And yes, Brooks and Fizik are both under the same corporate umbrella, but at least Brooks's "Retrogrouch Concept" was a little more honest:
No matter how you responded the answer was always "B17."
Anyway, in addition to biomimicry and wheels inspired by the stiffness of whale boners, Zipp has also come up with a staggering amount of proprietary gimmicks. Here they are:
SawTooth™
AeroBalance™
HyperFoik™
HexFin™ ABLC dimples
Showstopper™ brake track
ImPress™ NSW graphics technology (which I assume refers to the whale boner decals)
Cognition™ hubset
Axial Clutch™
Holy shit, I feel like I just got HyperFoiked!
We're getting very close to the point where wheels will have more bullshit trademarked terms than actual spokes.
But they are hand-curated Indianapolis:
Each Indianapolis-made 454 NSW rim requires 12 hours to create and represents a true blending of hand craftsmanship and advanced manufacturing techniques. After each rim is laid up, molded, drilled, printed, and inspected, every wheel is assembled and tensioned entirely by hand in Indianapolis. 454 NSW rims are laced to our Portuguese-made Cognition hubs using Belgian Sapim® CX-Ray spokes and Secure Lock nipples for unmatched performance and reliability that is made to last.
Yet after all that you still suck.
No word if they're gravel compatible, so that can only mean a more expensive version is in the works. Presumably this pair will cost twice as much due to its biomimetic Gastrolith™ gizzard stone rim bed technology.
In other news, like many Americans I'm still thinking about the election. Specifically I'm thinking about how years from now when we're part of Putin's global empire we'll turn to each other and say, "So where were you when you learned Trump won?" Well, all I know is when I got on a subway train in Brooklyn everything was fine, and by the time I got off the train in the Bronx Trump had clinched it.
I shuffled off the train as if part of a funeral procession, but incredibly there were signs of hope! The area around the subway station is a pedestrian nightmare, but now it was littered with traffic cones. "Great!," I thought to myself. "They're finally going to do something about the quagmire of diagonal parking spaces:"
"And the goddamn sidewalk crater!"
As visions of pedestrian plazas and traffic calming and buffers discouraging heedless drop-offs danced in my head I checked out this sign and found out the reason for the cones is that they were filming an episode of "The Blacklist:"
My hopes were dashed twice in rapid succession.
Speaking of the election, I finally got a chance to take my official post-Election Day ride this morning, which is the reason for my more-than-usual tardiness:
I was very nearly home and riding up a particularly steep street when an oncoming motorist stopped and asked for directions.
"Were's the blah-blahblah-blah?," she asked, a cigarette dangling from between her fingers.
No excuse me, nothing.
It's a pretty quiet street, but there we were in the middle of it, with traffic liable to arrive at any time. I didn't immediately know the place she was asking for but I thought I did. I felt nervous and at the same time wanted to be helpful and so racked my tiny brain. Then it hit me:
Why the fuck am I bothering?
"Sorry, I dunno," I answered, and rode off.
And at that moment, I made a solemn promise to myself, which is to never, ever give a motorist directions again, no matter what the circumstances. I don't care if we're right in front of the place you're trying to get to, 'cause I ain't telling. The most you're getting out of me is a "No idea." Too often I have been stopped while cycling, 2nd Ave. traffic bearing down on us while some moron asks me how to get to 1st Ave. Too often I have been stopped while pushing a stroller in a crosswalk, my tiny window rapidly closing while some vapid SUV pilot attempts to tap my valuable wisdom. Too often I have been driving when some suburban dolt wastes a whole cycle of the light asking me how to get someplace while I bite my tongue to refrain from yelling, "I don't live in this stupid fucking town!"
So that's it, drivers. You've got your bluetooth, you've got your phones, you've got your Google Maps. You've got more navigational power than they did on the Moon landing.
You're on your own, suckers.
November 9, 2016
Weirdest Wednesday EVER
(...though if Chuck were still with us today he'd probably be pretty psyched.)
Whoa.
I don't know what's worse: the fact we just elected Donald freaking Trump as President of Canada's Undercarriage, or all the sanctimonious Tweeting from despondent liberals.
"We should have done more!!!"
Oh shut up.
Either way, I feel less like we voted and more like we threw a bunch of shit at the wall to see what stuck--and the shit that did stick indicates we've got a diet rich in carrots.
I also think about how many years ago I was at a fashion event (long story) and found myself standing mere inches from Donald Trump. At the time all I could think about was that hair (it's way crazier in person), but now I realize ruefully that it's the closest I've ever been to a past, present, or future President.
Had I known then what I know now perhaps I could have done something to alter the course of history (like record him admitting he thinks immigrants have a better work ethic than native-born Americans and thinks abortion and Jews are "really great," thus totally undermining his campaign), but instead I just giggled to myself and he went off to grab some pussy.
Worst of all, I've always counted on the notion that if things ever get really bad in America I can at least slap a kippah on my head, Jew it up a bit, and take advantage of the Law of Return. However, now that I've researched it I'm not sure I'd technically qualify. I mean yeah, I'd ace the "Seinfeld quotes" section of the test, and at least one of my grandparents moved to Florida, but a quick search of my blog alone would no doubt put me out of the running. Plus I don't want to move there anyway, it's hot as balls.
Hmmm, maybe Trump's wall is really to keep us all in.
Meanwhile, let's not lose sight of the biggest problem facing America today, which is kids on bicycles running wild:
I dunno, my first instinct would be to congratulate him on the awesome wheelie, but some people want to put a negative spin on everything:
Throggs Neck residents are asking the 45th Precinct put the brakes on a group of unruly pre-teen bicyclists.
On Thursday, October 13, Linda Perry was driving to Throggs Neck Pharmacy to pick up medicine for her 80-year-old mother when a boy riding a bicycle without a helmet cut in front of her car causing her to jam on the brakes.
OK, a couple things:
1) Who gives a shit what you were doing? Does picking up medicine for your mother make you a saint? You're driving to the neighborhood drugstore, not delivering a freaking kidney;
2) Using the same logic, does wearing a helmet somehow make you a villain? What if the kid had been wearing a helmet and carrying medicine for his 80-year-old grandmother? Would that be better?
Then again, it does say that he was "riding a bicycle without a helmet," so maybe the problem is that he wasn't riding one of those helmeted bicycles.
When she exited the vehicle at the corner of Lafayette and East Tremont avenues, four pre-teen boys intimidated her by riding their bikes around her.
“I said to them, ‘You could have killed someone. What’s the matter with you’,” she recalled.
I have no doubt it was an irritating encounter, but I've never heard of a bicycle wheelie killing an innocent bystander.
Perry claimed one of the boys allegedly gave her the middle finger and made sexually explicit remarks following her question.
Ah yes, a child/adult street interaction that goes at least as far back as the days of rolling a hoop:
Though here's a modern spin on another one:
She claimed the boys allegedly photographed her and her car and that one of them threatened to have his mother beat her up.
Hey, used to be you threatened to sic your father on someone. Let's hear it for gender equality!
Anyway, rest assured the local police precinct is going to take care of the problem:
“I’ve dealt with these kids myself and most of them are good kids,” she said. “I take this situation seriously and we’re going to scare them straight.”
I don't know what that means, but my best guess is that it will involve showing them old Canadian helmet PSAs:
Ah shit, that reminds me, I've gotta sew maple leaves on all my backpacks now:
Pro tip: if you suspect a tourist may be an American masquerading as a Canadian, simply administer this foolproof test:
1) Ask tourist to say something in French;
2) Ask tourist his or her height in centimeters;
3) Ask tourist to name Canadian prime minister;
There isn't a single person in the United States who can answer all three of those questions correctly, and that includes our President-elect.
Lastly, if you're still fretting over the election, take solace in the knowledge that it could be worse. For example, not only are the British still grappling with the reality of a "Brexit," but they're also now confronting change to their beloved Toblerone:
(I've only seen those in airports, you mean people actually eat that shit?)
The 170-gram and 400-gram milk chocolate bars (about six ounces and 14 ounces) have been cut down to 150 grams and 360 grams to reduce costs, because of rising prices for ingredients, said Mondelez International, which makes the bars. The altered shape is visible only once the box is opened.
Wow, it's lighter and you get less but it isn't any cheaper?
They must be taking their cues from the bike industry.
November 8, 2016
You Know What You Gotta Do
Today is Election Day, which means I'll be casting my vote and then sitting in a corner and drinking until I pass out because this may very well be the end of the world as we know it:
(White male landowners exercise their right to vote in the world's greatest democracy.)
So get out there and make your voice heard. Then, once you're finished shouting, go vote. And if you can't vote because you're not a US citizen, please list 10 awesome things about your country in the comments below, because depending on how things turn out I may need somewhere to spend the next 4-8 years. (If you can't vote because a man in a Trump shirt is exercising his Second Amendment rights outside of your polling place, that's a whole other story.)
See you tomorrow!
--Wildcat Rock Machine
(White male landowners exercise their right to vote in the world's greatest democracy.)
So get out there and make your voice heard. Then, once you're finished shouting, go vote. And if you can't vote because you're not a US citizen, please list 10 awesome things about your country in the comments below, because depending on how things turn out I may need somewhere to spend the next 4-8 years. (If you can't vote because a man in a Trump shirt is exercising his Second Amendment rights outside of your polling place, that's a whole other story.)
See you tomorrow!
--Wildcat Rock Machine
November 7, 2016
BSNYC Field Trip: Philly Bike Expo
As I mentioned last week, this past Saturday I spoke at the Philly Bike Expo, which is a bike expo in Philly. I also proctored a live quiz, and here I am arriving with the grand prize over my shoulder:
It is not, as one person on Twitter commented, an artisanal crabon axe. It is a Specialized S-Works something or other frame and fork that may or may not be cracked:
This frame has seen many a Cat 3 race under my chamois, which means it has slid off the back like a toddler trying to stand on Mario Cipollini's unctuous back more times than I can count. So given its questionable structural integrity I gave it away "for display purposes only."
Anyway, as for how I got down there, after considering various multimodal options (Amtrak and Brompton, commuter rail and Brompton, hitch hiking and Brompton) I eventually decided that the most cost-efficient and time-efficient manner of travel was to say "screw it" and drive THE CAR THAT THE BANK OWNS UNTIL I FINISH PAYING THEM BACK.
Hey, don't blame me, blame America for incentivizing intercity travel by private automobile.
I'm just a victim of the system, man.
Speaking of Bromptons, it turns out that if you rode one to the Expo on Saturday you got in free, as the owner of the bike on the left told me:
I took the above photo this past spring at my Brompton-Optional Bike Expo New York ride. It is customized specimen complete with disc brakes and Rohloff hub, and its owner very well be the most enthusiastic Brompton enthusiast in this hemisphere. I was pleased to see him again this past Saturday at my seminar, though I suppose it was probably just a pretense to ride his Brompton.
By the way, not only did I drive, but as a seasoned New York City driver I refused to pay for the space I took up with my vehicle and instead glommed some free street parking about a mile from the convention center and walked the rest of the way.
I maintain that qualifies as "multimodal."
Anyway, I arrived at the conference room with about 10 minutes to spare, and remember I told everyone to print and sign a release? Well, only one person did:
In retrospect I should have given him a prize just for doing that, but sadly it didn't occur to me, so thank you and please accept my apologies Satan of Fredonia--which I first read as Freedonia:
It's funny because his giant quill pen is longer than a regular pen and it wiggles in a humorous fashion when he writes.
As for for my seminar, I gave a quiz and lots of people won hats and books and stuff, as well as the aforementioned frame which I signed and bedazzled with stickers for the winner. The winner was also videotaping the event, so perhaps it will one day be available on line your your delectation and my humiliation.
After my seminar I sauntered over to the show itself, availing myself of this handsome crabon coat rack:
Speaking of racks, I got into a 20-minute argument with the proprietors of this booth when I insisted they must honor my Scalian interpretation of their sign and sell me the actual rack at 50% off:
A sign hastily written with a Sharpie is not a living and breathing document and should be read exactly the way the framers intended.
Sadly they were unmoved, so I moved on to this virtual trainer:
The best things about virtual trainers is you can virtually visit anywhere on the planet and do identical boring-ass road rides:
(Yawn.)
Then I went to what was clearly the cool booth, where people with knit hats and Slayer shirts were hanging out:
But I didn't linger because I knew I wasn't cool enough, as you can see in this photograph:
Which is probably why I got chased off the photo thingy:
("Hey, cool people only, man!")
So I went and perused some art instead:
I'm sure there's a story here, but I don't particularly need to know what it is:
Nevertheless, it's hanging in my living room now and nobody else in the household is particularly happy about it.
Of course, as a semi-professional bike blogger it's recumbent on me to seek out the latest trends, and whether you like it or not this whole e-bike thing is really catching on:
Finally, we've reached the point where nothing on a bike will work if it's not charged.
If bikes had started out this way then the advent of one that worked entirely mechanically would be considered an incredible innovation:
As it happens, I actually had that exact same bike:
I bought it used, and I think I found it in the Pennysaver if you can believe people used to exchange goods that way. From what I could tell the owner had never ridden the bike. It had original everything (including the Biopace rings and the gel saddle) and there was absolutely no wear on the grey anodized rims. It also had a Vetta computer on it the size of one of those old Coleco portable football games. I bought it as an auxiliary/second/training/city/whatever road bike, and believe me when I tell you that having not one but TWO road bikes hanging on my wall (a Cannondale and a Trek no less) made me feel like I'd truly arrived a total Fred. I even tried to convert it into a fixie at one point with disastrous consequences. (This was well before the fixie trend. Fixies were not yet cool I was a newly-minted bike racer and the common wisdom at the time was you were supposed to train on a fixed-gear bike.) Alas, I eventually sold it on the street in a moving sale and kind of wish I didn't, because I entered a period of Specialized ownership during which virtually all of them failed in one way or another.
But I digest.
Moving on, also still trendy? Bamboo:
I didn't actually listen to their conversation but I'm going to guess the guy on the left is explaining the advantages of bamboo as a frame material for the 426th time that day and the guy on the right will be the 426th person to say, "Wow, interesting!" and then walk away.
Surly also has a new go-anywhere bike with huge tires called the "Wednesday," which brings their total number of fat bike models up to like 50:
I'm a big Surly fan, but their lineup is totally bewildering, and the dude-to-dude copy on their website never helps. "The Portly combines the long wheelbase of the Tubby with the 36" tire clearance of the Porky and the 72 braze-ons of the Torpid. All share the the same 'Whatevs Bro' dropouts that are marginally compatible with every drivetrain spacing, axle size, and shifting system on earth, and are perfect for people who hang out around bonfires, wear flannel shirts, and drink beer out of cans. Just figure out exactly what kind of dirtbag you are and go to town!"
I was hoping this particular model name was an homage to me given my well-known "Wednesday" references, but apparently it's merely an Addams Family reference like the Pugsley.
Oh well.
I also wondered the same thing about Lone Wolf's name:
Remember that guy?
You can be sure both Surly and Lone Wolf Cycling will be hearing from my lawyers.
It's nothing bad, they just wanna say hi.
Then there was bamboo's stodgier cousin, wood:
Including the flammable belt drive crotch-crutch of your dreams:
I also got to see some of those famous show bikes you see all over the Internet after NAHBS. You may remember this ass-branding saddle, for example:
(If it doesn't sear your buttocks when you hop on after the latte stop then you're bound to get your "pants yabbies" caught in that two-pronged nose.)
Well, it turns out it's attached to this bike:
And it has an equally untenable cockpit:
That appears to be based around the Silver Surfer's schvantz:
Unfortunately the bottom has completely fallen out of the exotic customs market due to the fact that Robin Williams is dead and Lance Armstrong is still alive but can no longer afford them:
He paid $15,000 for that thing. If he hadn't attempted a comeback he'd still be jetting around buying the cheesiest bike at every bike show on earth.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the show bike spectrum is this horrid thing:
(Ground Up? It should be.)
I don't know what's going on with that rear triangle:
Nor do I wanna know:
But I do like those crankarms.
And of course to get the bike's full performance potential be sure to ride it in this:
On the other hand I was genuinely impressed by these bikes which were built by students in the University of Iowa's bicycle building class:
(Studying framebuilding in college: when philosophy is too practical.)
Hey, they're still in school and they're already running circles around Ol' Man Budnitz:
Good for them.
And naturally as an Engin owner myself I checked in there to discuss my next bike, which I'll be ready to order in about 30 years when I'm finally an empty-nester (though by then I hope he's building walkers because I'll be like 106):
See those bolts holding the dropout onto the frame?
They're also internally threaded for mounting fenders.
Neat.
There was also a kids' test track:
Which unfortunately I was too tall to ride:
I limboed under it but they just said, "Nice try, putz."
And of course this being Philly there were not one:
But two home improvement booths:
I'm hoping next year Kohler is showing:
If so, it's only a matter of time until Calfee starts making crabon commodes.
Speaking of stuff you can get at Home Depot, someone had to come around with a wet-dry vac every 15-20 minutes because of all the people drooling over Richard Sachs:
("We need another cleanup here ATMO.")
Anyway, as much as I would have liked to linger the ol' New Jersey Turnpike was a-callin', so I headed back towards my car and narrowly avoided getting plowed over by some Segway Freds:
I also passed this rock club:
I subsequently looked up "Need To Breathe" and learned they're a Christian band, which would explain why nobody wanted to buy any of the hard drugs I was offering. Also, I was glad to be skipping town before the Bret Michaels gig on the 25th.
In all, it was an enjoyable trip, and so by way of an epilogue I took a ride on my Engin the next day:
See you there next year, and if you need me I'll be drooling over the lugged toilets.
It is not, as one person on Twitter commented, an artisanal crabon axe. It is a Specialized S-Works something or other frame and fork that may or may not be cracked:
This frame has seen many a Cat 3 race under my chamois, which means it has slid off the back like a toddler trying to stand on Mario Cipollini's unctuous back more times than I can count. So given its questionable structural integrity I gave it away "for display purposes only."
Anyway, as for how I got down there, after considering various multimodal options (Amtrak and Brompton, commuter rail and Brompton, hitch hiking and Brompton) I eventually decided that the most cost-efficient and time-efficient manner of travel was to say "screw it" and drive THE CAR THAT THE BANK OWNS UNTIL I FINISH PAYING THEM BACK.
Hey, don't blame me, blame America for incentivizing intercity travel by private automobile.
I'm just a victim of the system, man.
Speaking of Bromptons, it turns out that if you rode one to the Expo on Saturday you got in free, as the owner of the bike on the left told me:
I took the above photo this past spring at my Brompton-Optional Bike Expo New York ride. It is customized specimen complete with disc brakes and Rohloff hub, and its owner very well be the most enthusiastic Brompton enthusiast in this hemisphere. I was pleased to see him again this past Saturday at my seminar, though I suppose it was probably just a pretense to ride his Brompton.
By the way, not only did I drive, but as a seasoned New York City driver I refused to pay for the space I took up with my vehicle and instead glommed some free street parking about a mile from the convention center and walked the rest of the way.
I maintain that qualifies as "multimodal."
Anyway, I arrived at the conference room with about 10 minutes to spare, and remember I told everyone to print and sign a release? Well, only one person did:
In retrospect I should have given him a prize just for doing that, but sadly it didn't occur to me, so thank you and please accept my apologies Satan of Fredonia--which I first read as Freedonia:
It's funny because his giant quill pen is longer than a regular pen and it wiggles in a humorous fashion when he writes.
As for for my seminar, I gave a quiz and lots of people won hats and books and stuff, as well as the aforementioned frame which I signed and bedazzled with stickers for the winner. The winner was also videotaping the event, so perhaps it will one day be available on line your your delectation and my humiliation.
After my seminar I sauntered over to the show itself, availing myself of this handsome crabon coat rack:
Speaking of racks, I got into a 20-minute argument with the proprietors of this booth when I insisted they must honor my Scalian interpretation of their sign and sell me the actual rack at 50% off:
A sign hastily written with a Sharpie is not a living and breathing document and should be read exactly the way the framers intended.
Sadly they were unmoved, so I moved on to this virtual trainer:
The best things about virtual trainers is you can virtually visit anywhere on the planet and do identical boring-ass road rides:
(Yawn.)
Then I went to what was clearly the cool booth, where people with knit hats and Slayer shirts were hanging out:
But I didn't linger because I knew I wasn't cool enough, as you can see in this photograph:
Which is probably why I got chased off the photo thingy:
("Hey, cool people only, man!")
So I went and perused some art instead:
I'm sure there's a story here, but I don't particularly need to know what it is:
Nevertheless, it's hanging in my living room now and nobody else in the household is particularly happy about it.
Of course, as a semi-professional bike blogger it's recumbent on me to seek out the latest trends, and whether you like it or not this whole e-bike thing is really catching on:
Finally, we've reached the point where nothing on a bike will work if it's not charged.
If bikes had started out this way then the advent of one that worked entirely mechanically would be considered an incredible innovation:
As it happens, I actually had that exact same bike:
I bought it used, and I think I found it in the Pennysaver if you can believe people used to exchange goods that way. From what I could tell the owner had never ridden the bike. It had original everything (including the Biopace rings and the gel saddle) and there was absolutely no wear on the grey anodized rims. It also had a Vetta computer on it the size of one of those old Coleco portable football games. I bought it as an auxiliary/second/training/city/whatever road bike, and believe me when I tell you that having not one but TWO road bikes hanging on my wall (a Cannondale and a Trek no less) made me feel like I'd truly arrived a total Fred. I even tried to convert it into a fixie at one point with disastrous consequences. (This was well before the fixie trend. Fixies were not yet cool I was a newly-minted bike racer and the common wisdom at the time was you were supposed to train on a fixed-gear bike.) Alas, I eventually sold it on the street in a moving sale and kind of wish I didn't, because I entered a period of Specialized ownership during which virtually all of them failed in one way or another.
But I digest.
Moving on, also still trendy? Bamboo:
I didn't actually listen to their conversation but I'm going to guess the guy on the left is explaining the advantages of bamboo as a frame material for the 426th time that day and the guy on the right will be the 426th person to say, "Wow, interesting!" and then walk away.
Surly also has a new go-anywhere bike with huge tires called the "Wednesday," which brings their total number of fat bike models up to like 50:
I'm a big Surly fan, but their lineup is totally bewildering, and the dude-to-dude copy on their website never helps. "The Portly combines the long wheelbase of the Tubby with the 36" tire clearance of the Porky and the 72 braze-ons of the Torpid. All share the the same 'Whatevs Bro' dropouts that are marginally compatible with every drivetrain spacing, axle size, and shifting system on earth, and are perfect for people who hang out around bonfires, wear flannel shirts, and drink beer out of cans. Just figure out exactly what kind of dirtbag you are and go to town!"
I was hoping this particular model name was an homage to me given my well-known "Wednesday" references, but apparently it's merely an Addams Family reference like the Pugsley.
Oh well.
I also wondered the same thing about Lone Wolf's name:
Remember that guy?
You can be sure both Surly and Lone Wolf Cycling will be hearing from my lawyers.
It's nothing bad, they just wanna say hi.
Then there was bamboo's stodgier cousin, wood:
Including the flammable belt drive crotch-crutch of your dreams:
I also got to see some of those famous show bikes you see all over the Internet after NAHBS. You may remember this ass-branding saddle, for example:
(If it doesn't sear your buttocks when you hop on after the latte stop then you're bound to get your "pants yabbies" caught in that two-pronged nose.)
Well, it turns out it's attached to this bike:
And it has an equally untenable cockpit:
That appears to be based around the Silver Surfer's schvantz:
Unfortunately the bottom has completely fallen out of the exotic customs market due to the fact that Robin Williams is dead and Lance Armstrong is still alive but can no longer afford them:
He paid $15,000 for that thing. If he hadn't attempted a comeback he'd still be jetting around buying the cheesiest bike at every bike show on earth.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the show bike spectrum is this horrid thing:
(Ground Up? It should be.)
I don't know what's going on with that rear triangle:
Nor do I wanna know:
But I do like those crankarms.
And of course to get the bike's full performance potential be sure to ride it in this:
On the other hand I was genuinely impressed by these bikes which were built by students in the University of Iowa's bicycle building class:
(Studying framebuilding in college: when philosophy is too practical.)
Hey, they're still in school and they're already running circles around Ol' Man Budnitz:
Good for them.
And naturally as an Engin owner myself I checked in there to discuss my next bike, which I'll be ready to order in about 30 years when I'm finally an empty-nester (though by then I hope he's building walkers because I'll be like 106):
See those bolts holding the dropout onto the frame?
They're also internally threaded for mounting fenders.
Neat.
There was also a kids' test track:
Which unfortunately I was too tall to ride:
I limboed under it but they just said, "Nice try, putz."
And of course this being Philly there were not one:
But two home improvement booths:
I'm hoping next year Kohler is showing:
If so, it's only a matter of time until Calfee starts making crabon commodes.
Speaking of stuff you can get at Home Depot, someone had to come around with a wet-dry vac every 15-20 minutes because of all the people drooling over Richard Sachs:
("We need another cleanup here ATMO.")
Anyway, as much as I would have liked to linger the ol' New Jersey Turnpike was a-callin', so I headed back towards my car and narrowly avoided getting plowed over by some Segway Freds:
I also passed this rock club:
I subsequently looked up "Need To Breathe" and learned they're a Christian band, which would explain why nobody wanted to buy any of the hard drugs I was offering. Also, I was glad to be skipping town before the Bret Michaels gig on the 25th.
In all, it was an enjoyable trip, and so by way of an epilogue I took a ride on my Engin the next day:
See you there next year, and if you need me I'll be drooling over the lugged toilets.
November 3, 2016
Next Stop: The City of Siblingly Love!
[Please note there will be no post tomorrow, Friday, November 4th, because there won't. I will resume regular updates on Monday, Nov. 7th, because I will.]
This Saturday, November 5th, which is the fifth day of the 11th month of the two-thousand one hundred and sixteenth year since Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ rolled over the odometer on the calendar (or, if you prefer, the VIth Annus of the Lobster--not to be confused with the VIth Anus of the Lobster, lobsters only have one), I'll be at the Philly Bike Expo in guess which mid-Atlantic city famous for cracked bells and cheese steaks:
More specifically, I'll be giving a "seminar" at 1:30pm, which will most likely involve a live quiz with valuable* prizes, assuming I can get it together:
*(Prizes will be of little to no monetary value.)
I'm very much looking forward to seeing at least some of you there, but please note that in order to attend you must first print and sign this waiver which was drafted by my legal team, Cipo, Cipo, & Cipo, LLP: We'll Get You Off!™
And yes, I will be checking.
Anyway, all those fantastic prizeways won't curate themselves, so today's post needs be short. However, rest assured you can revel in lots more of my prose by reading my latest column for Reclaim, which is the Vanity Fair of the smugness set:
The short version is we should be using 21st century technology to stop drivers from slaughtering people, instead of the twin-pronged approach we use now which is basically a combination of victim-blaming and nothing.
Lastly, speaking of bikes and Jesus, the Gun of Sod's tomb is getting a sweet titanium upgrade:
Rainwater had deteriorated much of the mortar over the centuries. Iron support bars that were fully corroded will be removed and replaced by titanium.
I wonder if it will be more laterally stiff and vertically compliant than it was when I visited like 25 years ago:
Jesus wept...over my outfit.
See some of you on Saturday and the rest of you on Monday.
Until then,
I remain,
Etc. and so forth,
Wildcat Rock Machine
This Saturday, November 5th, which is the fifth day of the 11th month of the two-thousand one hundred and sixteenth year since Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ rolled over the odometer on the calendar (or, if you prefer, the VIth Annus of the Lobster--not to be confused with the VIth Anus of the Lobster, lobsters only have one), I'll be at the Philly Bike Expo in guess which mid-Atlantic city famous for cracked bells and cheese steaks:
More specifically, I'll be giving a "seminar" at 1:30pm, which will most likely involve a live quiz with valuable* prizes, assuming I can get it together:
*(Prizes will be of little to no monetary value.)I'm very much looking forward to seeing at least some of you there, but please note that in order to attend you must first print and sign this waiver which was drafted by my legal team, Cipo, Cipo, & Cipo, LLP: We'll Get You Off!™
And yes, I will be checking.
Anyway, all those fantastic prizeways won't curate themselves, so today's post needs be short. However, rest assured you can revel in lots more of my prose by reading my latest column for Reclaim, which is the Vanity Fair of the smugness set:
The short version is we should be using 21st century technology to stop drivers from slaughtering people, instead of the twin-pronged approach we use now which is basically a combination of victim-blaming and nothing.
Lastly, speaking of bikes and Jesus, the Gun of Sod's tomb is getting a sweet titanium upgrade:
Rainwater had deteriorated much of the mortar over the centuries. Iron support bars that were fully corroded will be removed and replaced by titanium.
I wonder if it will be more laterally stiff and vertically compliant than it was when I visited like 25 years ago:
Jesus wept...over my outfit.
See some of you on Saturday and the rest of you on Monday.
Until then,
I remain,
Etc. and so forth,
Wildcat Rock Machine
November 2, 2016
If you find everything to be annoying the real annoyance is probably you.
I've been reading The World-Wide Internet Web™ this morning and now I'm very upset.
Maybe it's the collective anxiety before the election bubbling up through the various social networks, maybe it's the post-Halloween sugar crash, or maybe I'm just suffering from pre-manstrual syndrome. (Yes, manstruation is a thing, don't make me mansplain that to you.) Or maybe it's just the fact that the Internet exists only to make people agitated. Whatever the reason, there's some irritating stuff going on out there. The first thing that stressed me out today was this, which I saw retweeted in @jasongay's feed:
Really? Her heart is exploding, my head is exploding:
Like every ostensibly cute thing parents and pet-owners do, there are a number of serious problems with this, including but not limited to:
1) She's three. She doesn't understand dates. She can wear goofy clothes and eat candy any day of the week. She doesn't need to join the mile high trick-or-treating club.
2) Halloween was on a Monday this week. People work and go to school. Was there really not a Halloween party in their neighborhood on Sunday? I saw kids walking around in costume a full two weeks before the 31st. If you do it right your kid's burnt out on Halloween by the time it actually rolls around.
3) If Halloween is such a big freaking deal to your three year-old (who won't remember trick-or-treating tomorrow, let alone when she's a teenager and making out her list of reasons to hate you), why the hell are you flying? ("Remember when you made us fly on Halloween? I HATE YOU DAD! That's why I'm dating a weed dealer.")
4) Further to #3, what kind of jaded three year-old is this that she's not so excited to be on an airplane she no longer gives a shit about Halloween? Kids LOVE airplanes, which is why the little shits can't stop kicking the back of your seat.
5) Don't call your kid a donut.
6) YOU WANT THE CANDY BACK, REALLY??? What, are you going to pull the same stunt again at the car rental place?
As a parent of 17 children I can assure you that had I been on that flight I'd have pretended to be asleep.
Next up was this:
As Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration moves forward on plans for a new streetcar line from Queens to Brooklyn, city officials on Tuesday unveiled the different routes they are considering for the project.
The $2.5 billion waterfront streetcar would run on streets in some of New York City’s most popular and crowded neighborhoods along the East River, including Williamsburg and Downtown Brooklyn. City officials plan to discuss the routes at community meetings over the next two months before selecting a path early next year.
So basically it's a bus that can't get around the inevitable double-parked car and requires rails designed to fell cyclists:
No matter, I'm sure it will work out great, because if there's one thing New York City drivers have proved time and time again it's that they're always willing to share the streets. In fact, they're so downright magnanimous that they also share our bike lanes--which is why you can now report these kinds of overshares to 311:
New Yorkers have long had many ways to deal with people parked in bike lanes. There’s the classic death-glare, or taking a photo for online shaming, or getting in a yelling match and maybe knocking a mirror off with your U-lock.
This week the city added another option: officially reporting lane squatters through its 311 app and 311 website. To make a complaint, go to the drop-down selection for “Illegal Parking” and specify “Blocked Bike Lane.”
Sounds great, until you consider that the number one blocker of bike lanes is the NYPD:
The Police Department responded to the complaint and with the information available observed no evidence of the violation at that time.
Reporting bad police behavior to the police is like smoking banana peels: sure, you can try it, but I can promise you nothing's gonna happen. Plus, you get the same answer from 311 even if you're not complaining about the police. Last time I complained to 311 about an illegally parked vehicle this happened:
1) Police arrived at vehicle;
2) Police parked in front of vehicle;
3) Police opened sandwiches and ate lunch in their car;
4) I got an email saying pretty much the same things as above;
5) They drove away.
I'd have gone downstairs and kvetched but my kid was napping and I didn't want him to wake up alone because I'd been taken to jail.
I also happen to live on a street with no alternate side parking that is close to a subway station, which means people use it for long-term car storage. (Don't get any ideas.) Here's what happens when you report that:
LONG TERM PARKING IS NOT ILLEGAL FOR PASSENGER CARS
Except that it totally is (PDF):
(9) Street storage of vehicles prohibited. When parking is not otherwise restricted, no person
shall park any vehicle in any area, including a residential area, in excess of seven consecutive
days.
But why would that matter?
I'd prefer and "OFFICER DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT AND WAS HUNGRY" to an outright lie.
Meanwhile, the city needs to repair the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway:
The crumbling 1.5 mile stretch of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway that wraps around Downtown Brooklyn may not be in need of emergency repairs, but representatives of the Department of Transportation said Tuesday that a combination of eroding concrete, leaky joints, and corroding rebar are proof the city needs to be proactive or face emergency repair work and gridlock across the neighborhood a decade from now.
"The structures have been out there some 60-odd years and are starting to show their long life now, and we're going to need to start planning," said project manager Tanvi Pandya.
Here's an idea: tear that piece of shit down and replace it with a bike lane.
Done and done.*
*[If you'd like to read my New York Times op-ed about how New York City should allow Staten Island to secede and annex Yonkers and Mt. Vernon to offset the lost revenue you can do so here.]
Anyway, I was just coming to terms with my 311 frustrations when some company tweeted this at me:
Shoka: Is There Anything This Bicycle Bell Won’t Do?
It might look like a cross between a vintage microphone and a Nokia 3310, but the Shoka Bell is a bicycle bell which will smarten up your ride with am impressive array of features. It packs an LED light which adjusts to ambient light and even your speed to optimise safety and energy efficiency - that of course frees up some space on your handlebars for other useful things. Shoka doubles up as a GPS navigation tool as well, directing you with an LED display and audio system; it doesn’t score quite as highly on this front as the BeeLine compass, but it’s certainly not short of additional features. The Shoka Bell links up to your phone to provide you with ride-tracking information and will alert you if your bike is moved by anyone other than yourself (provided you are within 250m radius).
I don't know, how about make a bell sound without having to be charged first?
So basically it's the phone you already have, the bike light you already have, and the bell you already have with the added benefit of needing to charge it.
All in one ugly bumble bee package.
No thanks.
Lastly, there seems to be some Twitter kerfuffle over
Hmmm, I dunno. I went to a school with more than its fair share of what are politically-incorrectly referred to as "JAPS" and "Guidos" (hey, as what is polictically-incorrectly known as a "pizza bagel" myself I feel entitled to use these terms provided I put them in "quotation marks"), and I can assure the writer that "white girls" (and boys) have been wearing nameplates long before "Sex and the City" was a glimmer in Darren Star's eye. Indeed, the only thing that differentiated one group from the other was whether they paired the nameplate with a Star of David or a crucifix--well, that and a mysterious shrinking of the nose at 16. (I wouldn't even be surprised if WASPs wore then too, but the fact is I never saw a live WASP until I was 21 and working in book publishing.)
In short, I don't think nameplate necklaces are in any way a case of cultural application...though the kid in my class who wore a rope chain with his "Italians Do It Better" t-shirt might be another story.
Maybe it's the collective anxiety before the election bubbling up through the various social networks, maybe it's the post-Halloween sugar crash, or maybe I'm just suffering from pre-manstrual syndrome. (Yes, manstruation is a thing, don't make me mansplain that to you.) Or maybe it's just the fact that the Internet exists only to make people agitated. Whatever the reason, there's some irritating stuff going on out there. The first thing that stressed me out today was this, which I saw retweeted in @jasongay's feed:
OMG, my heart is exploding right now. Dad of the year just passed out candy to everyone on the flight so his 3 year old could trick or treat pic.twitter.com/vfsAcYNrhr— Stephanie Kahan (@stephaniekahan) November 1, 2016
Really? Her heart is exploding, my head is exploding:
Like every ostensibly cute thing parents and pet-owners do, there are a number of serious problems with this, including but not limited to:
1) She's three. She doesn't understand dates. She can wear goofy clothes and eat candy any day of the week. She doesn't need to join the mile high trick-or-treating club.
2) Halloween was on a Monday this week. People work and go to school. Was there really not a Halloween party in their neighborhood on Sunday? I saw kids walking around in costume a full two weeks before the 31st. If you do it right your kid's burnt out on Halloween by the time it actually rolls around.
3) If Halloween is such a big freaking deal to your three year-old (who won't remember trick-or-treating tomorrow, let alone when she's a teenager and making out her list of reasons to hate you), why the hell are you flying? ("Remember when you made us fly on Halloween? I HATE YOU DAD! That's why I'm dating a weed dealer.")
4) Further to #3, what kind of jaded three year-old is this that she's not so excited to be on an airplane she no longer gives a shit about Halloween? Kids LOVE airplanes, which is why the little shits can't stop kicking the back of your seat.
5) Don't call your kid a donut.
6) YOU WANT THE CANDY BACK, REALLY??? What, are you going to pull the same stunt again at the car rental place?
As a parent of 17 children I can assure you that had I been on that flight I'd have pretended to be asleep.
Next up was this:
As Mayor Bill de Blasio’s administration moves forward on plans for a new streetcar line from Queens to Brooklyn, city officials on Tuesday unveiled the different routes they are considering for the project.
The $2.5 billion waterfront streetcar would run on streets in some of New York City’s most popular and crowded neighborhoods along the East River, including Williamsburg and Downtown Brooklyn. City officials plan to discuss the routes at community meetings over the next two months before selecting a path early next year.
So basically it's a bus that can't get around the inevitable double-parked car and requires rails designed to fell cyclists:
No matter, I'm sure it will work out great, because if there's one thing New York City drivers have proved time and time again it's that they're always willing to share the streets. In fact, they're so downright magnanimous that they also share our bike lanes--which is why you can now report these kinds of overshares to 311:
New Yorkers have long had many ways to deal with people parked in bike lanes. There’s the classic death-glare, or taking a photo for online shaming, or getting in a yelling match and maybe knocking a mirror off with your U-lock.This week the city added another option: officially reporting lane squatters through its 311 app and 311 website. To make a complaint, go to the drop-down selection for “Illegal Parking” and specify “Blocked Bike Lane.”
Sounds great, until you consider that the number one blocker of bike lanes is the NYPD:
@bikelaneblitz @D00RZ0NE @BrooklynSpoke @bikesnobnyc @nyc311 @NYPD88Pct filing of false instruments, #noblockvember day 2. @OIGNYPD pic.twitter.com/kc0fay9Xro— Andrew W (@wandrew_w) November 2, 2016
The Police Department responded to the complaint and with the information available observed no evidence of the violation at that time.
Reporting bad police behavior to the police is like smoking banana peels: sure, you can try it, but I can promise you nothing's gonna happen. Plus, you get the same answer from 311 even if you're not complaining about the police. Last time I complained to 311 about an illegally parked vehicle this happened:
1) Police arrived at vehicle;
2) Police parked in front of vehicle;
3) Police opened sandwiches and ate lunch in their car;
4) I got an email saying pretty much the same things as above;
5) They drove away.
I'd have gone downstairs and kvetched but my kid was napping and I didn't want him to wake up alone because I'd been taken to jail.
I also happen to live on a street with no alternate side parking that is close to a subway station, which means people use it for long-term car storage. (Don't get any ideas.) Here's what happens when you report that:
LONG TERM PARKING IS NOT ILLEGAL FOR PASSENGER CARS
Except that it totally is (PDF):
(9) Street storage of vehicles prohibited. When parking is not otherwise restricted, no person
shall park any vehicle in any area, including a residential area, in excess of seven consecutive
days.
But why would that matter?
I'd prefer and "OFFICER DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT AND WAS HUNGRY" to an outright lie.
Meanwhile, the city needs to repair the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway:
The crumbling 1.5 mile stretch of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway that wraps around Downtown Brooklyn may not be in need of emergency repairs, but representatives of the Department of Transportation said Tuesday that a combination of eroding concrete, leaky joints, and corroding rebar are proof the city needs to be proactive or face emergency repair work and gridlock across the neighborhood a decade from now.
"The structures have been out there some 60-odd years and are starting to show their long life now, and we're going to need to start planning," said project manager Tanvi Pandya.
Here's an idea: tear that piece of shit down and replace it with a bike lane.
Done and done.*
*[If you'd like to read my New York Times op-ed about how New York City should allow Staten Island to secede and annex Yonkers and Mt. Vernon to offset the lost revenue you can do so here.]
Anyway, I was just coming to terms with my 311 frustrations when some company tweeted this at me:
@bikesnobnyc you'll love this bike bell https://t.co/T3lc01E57b— Fat Lama (@fat_lama) November 2, 2016
Shoka: Is There Anything This Bicycle Bell Won’t Do?
It might look like a cross between a vintage microphone and a Nokia 3310, but the Shoka Bell is a bicycle bell which will smarten up your ride with am impressive array of features. It packs an LED light which adjusts to ambient light and even your speed to optimise safety and energy efficiency - that of course frees up some space on your handlebars for other useful things. Shoka doubles up as a GPS navigation tool as well, directing you with an LED display and audio system; it doesn’t score quite as highly on this front as the BeeLine compass, but it’s certainly not short of additional features. The Shoka Bell links up to your phone to provide you with ride-tracking information and will alert you if your bike is moved by anyone other than yourself (provided you are within 250m radius).
I don't know, how about make a bell sound without having to be charged first?
So basically it's the phone you already have, the bike light you already have, and the bell you already have with the added benefit of needing to charge it.
All in one ugly bumble bee package.
No thanks.
Lastly, there seems to be some Twitter kerfuffle over
Why white girls need to stop wearing nameplate necklaces: https://t.co/VDbTSa80Ka pic.twitter.com/WmOHqiq1It— Fusion (@Fusion) November 2, 2016The nameplate necklace was always a cultural touchstone of black and brown urban fashion—that is, until Sex and the City, something Rosa-Salas and Flower also noticed. I first began to encounter white girls wearing nameplates in the early 2000s, after the HBO show exploded in popularity. The series’ main character, Carrie Bradshaw, wore a single-plated version of the necklace that had a tiny diamond dotting the “i.” Google “Carrie Bradshaw…” now, and the search autofills to “necklace,” yielding results such as “Unique carrie name necklace related items” and “Personalized Boutique, Inc.: Sex and the City Style.”
Hmmm, I dunno. I went to a school with more than its fair share of what are politically-incorrectly referred to as "JAPS" and "Guidos" (hey, as what is polictically-incorrectly known as a "pizza bagel" myself I feel entitled to use these terms provided I put them in "quotation marks"), and I can assure the writer that "white girls" (and boys) have been wearing nameplates long before "Sex and the City" was a glimmer in Darren Star's eye. Indeed, the only thing that differentiated one group from the other was whether they paired the nameplate with a Star of David or a crucifix--well, that and a mysterious shrinking of the nose at 16. (I wouldn't even be surprised if WASPs wore then too, but the fact is I never saw a live WASP until I was 21 and working in book publishing.)
In short, I don't think nameplate necklaces are in any way a case of cultural application...though the kid in my class who wore a rope chain with his "Italians Do It Better" t-shirt might be another story.
November 1, 2016
The Police Department responded to the complaint and determined that police action was not necessary.
Well, Halloween is over, which means we're passing under the flame rouge and on the final run-in to the holiday season. This means it's time to enjoy food and drink with friends and family--or, if you're a Fred or Frederica, to obsess over your weight and indulge your body dysmorphic disorder:
It may seem strange clicking on a story about holiday weight gain before you've even made Thanksgiving plans.
But consider this: The average American starts putting on weight in October, and the pounds you gain between Halloween and Christmas can take five months to lose, according to recent Cornell University research.
Chances are you’ll snack on some bite-sized candy bars this week—and keep munching all the way to New Year’s Day.
You're goddamn right I will. Taking food advice from Bicycling is like taking sex tips from Catholic Digest. See, we're genetically predisposed to store fat in winter, and it's a survival mechanism that's way older than your favorite "10 Steps to Rock-Hard Abs!" glossy fitness magazine:
While common throughout the animal kingdom, adipose tissue is a particularly useful strategy of metabolic thrift for humans. Adipose tissue provided an energy buffer against abrupt changes in food resources as our species left Africa 60,000–120,000 years ago to colonize virtually every habitat on the globe.14,15 In addition, humans have relatively long gestation and neonatal maturation periods as well as large brains that require a constant supply of glucose. Adipose tissue mass as a percentage of body weight is highest during the neonatal period, when brain growth is most rapid, in order to protect against the detrimental effects of malnutrition on the developing brain. Adipose tissue continues to exert a strong influence on reproductive fitness in adulthood, as human females are infertile in the absence of sufficient adipose tissue stores. The maintenance of adequate adipose tissue reserves is thus essential for the perpetuation of our species, and as such, powerful systems have evolved to defend these reserves. Collectively these systems comprise the so-called adipostat, the sum of all metabolic processes that act to maintain adipose tissue mass.
Which is why dieting doesn't really work:
Obesity is considered by many to be a consequence of inadequate self-discipline or “willpower”. As such, individual diet and exercise have been historical mainstays of treatment. But vast evidence demonstrates failure of such efforts in almost all cases. The reasons for this failure are based in the tightly regulated systems that control body weight and energy metabolism. The neural networks that regulate these systems are rooted not in the frontal cortex, the seat of human cognition and conscious “willpower”, but rather deep in the hypothalamus of the midbrain, an area of the brain that long predates humans. We often believe we can consciously control how much and how frequently we eat, but in fact this control is much less than we perceive. While we are capable of limiting our food intake for short periods of time, the control mechanisms for long-term regulation of body weight are well beyond our conscious control. As a result, individual dietary efforts are almost universally followed by weight regain. Obesity is highly persistent. Obese people cannot simply choose to eat less
I mean sure, our ancient ancestors didn't have fridges full of food twelve months out of the year, but I doubt you can thwart millennia of genetic programming with "cheat days:"
(When you're a pro cyclist evey day is a "cheat day.")
Or with pre-treat "burpees:"
I just assumed a burpee was a sugary drink from 7-11, but it's actually an exercise:
1. Begin in a standing position.
2. Drop into a squat position with your hands on the ground. (count 1)
3. Kick your feet back into a plank position, while keeping your arms extended. (count 2)
4. Immediately return your feet to the squat position. (count 3)
5. Jump up from the squat position (count 4)
Just for fun, offer a Fred or Frederica a cookie and watch them break into a frantic burpee session like a puppy begging for a Milk Bone.
Anyway, it seems to me a much more sensible approach is not to freak out over a little winter weight gain, and rest assured that you'll burn it off in spring when you're riding more and your body is no longer compensating for that vestigial winter food scarcity.
You know, work with your body, not against it.
Unfortunately, athletic endeavor has little to do with physical health. On the amateur level it's mostly about turning you into a teenage girl with an eating disorder, and on the professional level it's about destroying your sense of independence and self-worth in a militaristic fashion:
"I saw Shane and Iain and asked if I could have some of the information. They couldn't give it to me and said I'd been on the programme too long, that I was too old at the age of 25. Shane said that I should just move on and go and have a baby.
"Don't get me wrong, the boys don't get it easy, but I can't imagine him saying something to one of the men about their body shape or telling them to go off and have a baby."
I can totally imagine a coach telling a male athlete to "go off and have a baby," or at the very least to "get off the rag." Because nothing scares male athletes more than being compared to women and homosexuals.
Aside from the comments in that particular incident, Varnish says she has "a list as long as my arm about comments I've had about my figure" in the past.
"After 2012 I was told that, 'with an ass like mine I couldn't change position within the team sprint'," she said. "I see things that are right and wrong and have done since I was in reception class and there are things going on in British Cycling that are wrong.
Hey, if this whole presidency thing doesn't work out for Trump then maybe he could become the head of British Cycling.
Then you've got super-duper-extra-ultra-ultra-ultra endurance events, which aren't sporting events so much as they are gatherings for people with self-defeating personality disorder:
SPOTSYLVANIA, Va. — Crushed by exhaustion, you may dream of a competitor’s head morphing into a Pokémon-like demon — and then open your eyes and still see it. The next day you will quit the race.
To fill your queasy stomach during your third 112-mile bike ride, you will discover the best way to eat a sausage-and-egg sandwich: shove it in your mouth and let it slowly dissolve.
After 500 miles on a bike, 10 in the water and more than 100 on foot, it will make perfect sense to grab a branch and a broomstick in a desperate bid to propel yourself — like a giant mutant insect — the last 31 miles. It will not be enough. You will collapse on the road.
Jesus, just take a fucking hallucinogen already.
The sores from chafing are so bad you will think nothing of tugging open your shorts and squirting in ointment in full view of strangers. There is no modesty here; they seem to understand.
GET HELP.
Actually, no. They don’t really understand. They are not competing in this race. And nobody not competing in this race understands.
Uh, no, it's exactly the opposite. Everybody but the people competing in this race understands that this behavior is completely untenable:
David Jepson was unable to hold up his head during the 560-mile bike leg. Despite injuries, including a blister the size of a golf ball, he was able to complete the 131-mile run and win his division.
560-mile bike leg? Can't even keep his head up?
Is he sure that golf ball-sized blister isn't just his brain?
And at least in ridiculous event like RAAM you actually go someplace, whereas in this Anvil thing you just ride around in circles for like a week:
All the legs were done in confined loops (30 laps in a section of the lake, 101 laps of a more-than-five-mile course for the bike and 75 laps of a nearly two-mile course for the run) at Lake Anna State Park, earning the course the moniker “the squirrel cage.”
And here's the universal excuse for stupid behavior:
Some of those family members came to watch their loved ones destroy their bodies, if not their minds, for nearly a week because … because … why? “If you have to ask,” more than a few racers replied, “you will never know.”
That's pretty much the same answer a teenager gives when asked to explain why they've been cutting their forearms up with a razor blade.
Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of these events is that people view them as accomplishments, whereas they're actually just a new way to compensate for the fact that you suck. Think about it: if you can't win at a normal-length event then all you have to do is suck longer than everybody else and by default you "win." However, the fact is that once a sporting event exceeds a certain length skill and tactical savvy are no longer in the picture and it's simply all about how much boredom and discomfort you can endure, at which point you might as well watch a "Police Academy" movie marathon for three weeks while sitting on a sharp rock. I mean, come on, it's no longer a race if you have to stop for fucking naps in the trunk of an SUV:
("Fuck it, I'm sleeping in a Hyundai.")
It's basically just having the flu, and the only thing you're accomplishing is not dying:
“With this kind of test,” he wrote, “these athletes were not racing for money or fame but purely to discover what is possible in terms of endurance limits.”
How did it go?
“I was hit by a car three times,” Kurtz said in an interview. “It was a zoo. We’re lucky nobody died.”
Nice.
It also ravages your heart and is worse for you than sitting on your ass and eating Cheetos:
Ultra-endurance athletes appear to have an increased rate of cardiac arrhythmias, or unusual heart beats, most likely because of scarring of the heart known as fibrosis. But what, if any, danger that poses has been hard to pin down, Hoffman said.
“Exactly why the fibrosis occurs probably isn’t understood, but seems to be an adaptive response to this sort of exercise,” he said.
Yet even doctors manage to rationalize it:
“I know this is not good for my body,” said Jay Lonsway, a urologist who completed the quintuple. “But it is good for my soul.”
Don't you have to go to medical school to be a urologist? Didn't they explain to you in school that you don't have a soul? Where did he get his degree, a storefront church?
And it won't surprise you to learn that some of the participants in a "sporting event" based on the triathlon format don't even know how to ride bikes:
To qualify, a competitor must have finished at least a double Ironman-length race, yet here was Jerome Libecki, 46, doing his first-ever triathlon. He had sort of slipped into the race — although he had done other endurance events, he needed a friend to persuade Kirby to let him in.
His triathlon inexperience showed: About 300 miles into the bike leg, after a friend took a harder look at his bike, he realized he needed to shift into a higher gear.
“I was just pedaling,” Libecki said.
And here's the most tri-dorkulous bike crash account I've ever heard:
Steve Hendricks, who had coughed up blood and had the nightmare and hallucination of the Pokémon character, earned gasps when he told the gathering he had broken a rib on the third day. He fell off his bike while fumbling with a cookie and his odometer, and the lingering effects made finishing the race impossible.
Nicely done.
Lastly, speaking of hallucinations, I got an email from a PR person informing met that the blunt has now gone artisanal:
I wanted to let you know about these new amazing, high-end marijuana blunts produced by Honest Marijuana.
Honest Marijuana’s “Honest Blunts” are unlike anything else on the market. They aren’t rolled with tobacco, but instead come in two varieties: an organic hemp roll and an organic mint rolled sugar leaf.
Honest Blunts contain probiotically-grown cannabis, which is free of pesticides and chemicals. The plants were hand-watered and hand-trimmed for the best user experience possible.
They should give those out along the course of the Quintuple Anvil Triathlon.
It may seem strange clicking on a story about holiday weight gain before you've even made Thanksgiving plans.
But consider this: The average American starts putting on weight in October, and the pounds you gain between Halloween and Christmas can take five months to lose, according to recent Cornell University research.
Chances are you’ll snack on some bite-sized candy bars this week—and keep munching all the way to New Year’s Day.
You're goddamn right I will. Taking food advice from Bicycling is like taking sex tips from Catholic Digest. See, we're genetically predisposed to store fat in winter, and it's a survival mechanism that's way older than your favorite "10 Steps to Rock-Hard Abs!" glossy fitness magazine:
While common throughout the animal kingdom, adipose tissue is a particularly useful strategy of metabolic thrift for humans. Adipose tissue provided an energy buffer against abrupt changes in food resources as our species left Africa 60,000–120,000 years ago to colonize virtually every habitat on the globe.14,15 In addition, humans have relatively long gestation and neonatal maturation periods as well as large brains that require a constant supply of glucose. Adipose tissue mass as a percentage of body weight is highest during the neonatal period, when brain growth is most rapid, in order to protect against the detrimental effects of malnutrition on the developing brain. Adipose tissue continues to exert a strong influence on reproductive fitness in adulthood, as human females are infertile in the absence of sufficient adipose tissue stores. The maintenance of adequate adipose tissue reserves is thus essential for the perpetuation of our species, and as such, powerful systems have evolved to defend these reserves. Collectively these systems comprise the so-called adipostat, the sum of all metabolic processes that act to maintain adipose tissue mass.
Which is why dieting doesn't really work:
Obesity is considered by many to be a consequence of inadequate self-discipline or “willpower”. As such, individual diet and exercise have been historical mainstays of treatment. But vast evidence demonstrates failure of such efforts in almost all cases. The reasons for this failure are based in the tightly regulated systems that control body weight and energy metabolism. The neural networks that regulate these systems are rooted not in the frontal cortex, the seat of human cognition and conscious “willpower”, but rather deep in the hypothalamus of the midbrain, an area of the brain that long predates humans. We often believe we can consciously control how much and how frequently we eat, but in fact this control is much less than we perceive. While we are capable of limiting our food intake for short periods of time, the control mechanisms for long-term regulation of body weight are well beyond our conscious control. As a result, individual dietary efforts are almost universally followed by weight regain. Obesity is highly persistent. Obese people cannot simply choose to eat less
I mean sure, our ancient ancestors didn't have fridges full of food twelve months out of the year, but I doubt you can thwart millennia of genetic programming with "cheat days:"
(When you're a pro cyclist evey day is a "cheat day.")Or with pre-treat "burpees:"
I just assumed a burpee was a sugary drink from 7-11, but it's actually an exercise:1. Begin in a standing position.
2. Drop into a squat position with your hands on the ground. (count 1)
3. Kick your feet back into a plank position, while keeping your arms extended. (count 2)
4. Immediately return your feet to the squat position. (count 3)
5. Jump up from the squat position (count 4)
Just for fun, offer a Fred or Frederica a cookie and watch them break into a frantic burpee session like a puppy begging for a Milk Bone.
Anyway, it seems to me a much more sensible approach is not to freak out over a little winter weight gain, and rest assured that you'll burn it off in spring when you're riding more and your body is no longer compensating for that vestigial winter food scarcity.
You know, work with your body, not against it.
Unfortunately, athletic endeavor has little to do with physical health. On the amateur level it's mostly about turning you into a teenage girl with an eating disorder, and on the professional level it's about destroying your sense of independence and self-worth in a militaristic fashion:
"I saw Shane and Iain and asked if I could have some of the information. They couldn't give it to me and said I'd been on the programme too long, that I was too old at the age of 25. Shane said that I should just move on and go and have a baby.
"Don't get me wrong, the boys don't get it easy, but I can't imagine him saying something to one of the men about their body shape or telling them to go off and have a baby."
I can totally imagine a coach telling a male athlete to "go off and have a baby," or at the very least to "get off the rag." Because nothing scares male athletes more than being compared to women and homosexuals.
Aside from the comments in that particular incident, Varnish says she has "a list as long as my arm about comments I've had about my figure" in the past.
"After 2012 I was told that, 'with an ass like mine I couldn't change position within the team sprint'," she said. "I see things that are right and wrong and have done since I was in reception class and there are things going on in British Cycling that are wrong.
Hey, if this whole presidency thing doesn't work out for Trump then maybe he could become the head of British Cycling.
Then you've got super-duper-extra-ultra-ultra-ultra endurance events, which aren't sporting events so much as they are gatherings for people with self-defeating personality disorder:
SPOTSYLVANIA, Va. — Crushed by exhaustion, you may dream of a competitor’s head morphing into a Pokémon-like demon — and then open your eyes and still see it. The next day you will quit the race.
To fill your queasy stomach during your third 112-mile bike ride, you will discover the best way to eat a sausage-and-egg sandwich: shove it in your mouth and let it slowly dissolve.
After 500 miles on a bike, 10 in the water and more than 100 on foot, it will make perfect sense to grab a branch and a broomstick in a desperate bid to propel yourself — like a giant mutant insect — the last 31 miles. It will not be enough. You will collapse on the road.
Jesus, just take a fucking hallucinogen already.
The sores from chafing are so bad you will think nothing of tugging open your shorts and squirting in ointment in full view of strangers. There is no modesty here; they seem to understand.
GET HELP.
Actually, no. They don’t really understand. They are not competing in this race. And nobody not competing in this race understands.
Uh, no, it's exactly the opposite. Everybody but the people competing in this race understands that this behavior is completely untenable:
David Jepson was unable to hold up his head during the 560-mile bike leg. Despite injuries, including a blister the size of a golf ball, he was able to complete the 131-mile run and win his division.
560-mile bike leg? Can't even keep his head up?
Is he sure that golf ball-sized blister isn't just his brain?
And at least in ridiculous event like RAAM you actually go someplace, whereas in this Anvil thing you just ride around in circles for like a week:
All the legs were done in confined loops (30 laps in a section of the lake, 101 laps of a more-than-five-mile course for the bike and 75 laps of a nearly two-mile course for the run) at Lake Anna State Park, earning the course the moniker “the squirrel cage.”
And here's the universal excuse for stupid behavior:
Some of those family members came to watch their loved ones destroy their bodies, if not their minds, for nearly a week because … because … why? “If you have to ask,” more than a few racers replied, “you will never know.”
That's pretty much the same answer a teenager gives when asked to explain why they've been cutting their forearms up with a razor blade.
Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of these events is that people view them as accomplishments, whereas they're actually just a new way to compensate for the fact that you suck. Think about it: if you can't win at a normal-length event then all you have to do is suck longer than everybody else and by default you "win." However, the fact is that once a sporting event exceeds a certain length skill and tactical savvy are no longer in the picture and it's simply all about how much boredom and discomfort you can endure, at which point you might as well watch a "Police Academy" movie marathon for three weeks while sitting on a sharp rock. I mean, come on, it's no longer a race if you have to stop for fucking naps in the trunk of an SUV:
("Fuck it, I'm sleeping in a Hyundai.")
It's basically just having the flu, and the only thing you're accomplishing is not dying:
“With this kind of test,” he wrote, “these athletes were not racing for money or fame but purely to discover what is possible in terms of endurance limits.”
How did it go?
“I was hit by a car three times,” Kurtz said in an interview. “It was a zoo. We’re lucky nobody died.”
Nice.
It also ravages your heart and is worse for you than sitting on your ass and eating Cheetos:
Ultra-endurance athletes appear to have an increased rate of cardiac arrhythmias, or unusual heart beats, most likely because of scarring of the heart known as fibrosis. But what, if any, danger that poses has been hard to pin down, Hoffman said.
“Exactly why the fibrosis occurs probably isn’t understood, but seems to be an adaptive response to this sort of exercise,” he said.
Yet even doctors manage to rationalize it:
“I know this is not good for my body,” said Jay Lonsway, a urologist who completed the quintuple. “But it is good for my soul.”
Don't you have to go to medical school to be a urologist? Didn't they explain to you in school that you don't have a soul? Where did he get his degree, a storefront church?
And it won't surprise you to learn that some of the participants in a "sporting event" based on the triathlon format don't even know how to ride bikes:
To qualify, a competitor must have finished at least a double Ironman-length race, yet here was Jerome Libecki, 46, doing his first-ever triathlon. He had sort of slipped into the race — although he had done other endurance events, he needed a friend to persuade Kirby to let him in.
His triathlon inexperience showed: About 300 miles into the bike leg, after a friend took a harder look at his bike, he realized he needed to shift into a higher gear.
“I was just pedaling,” Libecki said.
And here's the most tri-dorkulous bike crash account I've ever heard:
Steve Hendricks, who had coughed up blood and had the nightmare and hallucination of the Pokémon character, earned gasps when he told the gathering he had broken a rib on the third day. He fell off his bike while fumbling with a cookie and his odometer, and the lingering effects made finishing the race impossible.
Nicely done.
Lastly, speaking of hallucinations, I got an email from a PR person informing met that the blunt has now gone artisanal:
I wanted to let you know about these new amazing, high-end marijuana blunts produced by Honest Marijuana.
Honest Marijuana’s “Honest Blunts” are unlike anything else on the market. They aren’t rolled with tobacco, but instead come in two varieties: an organic hemp roll and an organic mint rolled sugar leaf.
Honest Blunts contain probiotically-grown cannabis, which is free of pesticides and chemicals. The plants were hand-watered and hand-trimmed for the best user experience possible.
They should give those out along the course of the Quintuple Anvil Triathlon.
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