Classless Society: Pinko is the New Black

Last night, at Sid's Bikes, in Manhattan (which is an island with tall buildings all over it that is a suburb of New Jersey), The Bicycling Magazine Bike Repair Challenge, Sponsored by Park Tool "went down." In it, nine brave contestants strove to complete feats of bicycle maintenance such as changing an inner tube as quickly as possible in order to win an array of fabulous prizes, and as they did so they looked remarkably like the "upperclass twits" trying to unhook the bras in that Monty Python skit:

Of all the contestants, one fearless fumbler reigned supreme--Roy DeGuzman, Port Jefferson resident and self-admitted BMXer, shown here with his booty (as well as his prizes):

My job during the contest was to heckle and ridicule the contestants (or at least that's what I decided my job was, for all I know Bicycling may only have invited me in the hope that I'd help clean up afterwards). However, I must admit I felt guilty as I did this, since I doubt I could have out-repaired even the slowest among them (and I can assure you, some of the contestants were extremely if not preternaturally slow). This is partly because I'm generally inept, and partly because I view flat tires not as inconveniences but rather as opportunities--a chance to let that field ride away from me, or to be late to an appointment, or to just generally loiter on a street corner while a deflated butyl tube dangles from my hand and a string of drool hangs from my chin.

Speaking of ignorance, as an American I am of course completely ignorant when it comes to other countryways that are not my own, and what I do know about them is informed mostly by movies, television shows, and broad stereotypes. For example, I know that Japan is a land with a strong work ethic where everyone is a martial arts expert; I know that every man in Ireland is either one of three (3) Daniel Day-Lewis characters or else a quirky artistic type in the manner of Elvis Costello; and I know from listening to people like Michael Moore that Canada is a milder version of the United States where nothing bad ever happens, where free health care falls from the trees, and where the only violence the gentle people know is in the form of hockey fights. Also, their chief exports are maple syrup and comedians.

Of course, like any American, I also grow sad and disillusioned when I learn that one of these faraway lands of make-believe isn't really exactly like I thought it was, since like my fellow countrymen I've been raised with the notion that the world should conform to my whimsical fantasies. This is why the recent news out of Toronto has shaken my belief system to its very core. First they elected that mayor who thinks that when people die on bikes its their own fault, and then they got Colonel Sanders's more "flambullient" cousin to say even more crazy bike stuff about bikes at the swearing-in ceremony:

When I first read these comments and saw that they were attributed to Don Cherry, I wondered why the noted trumpet player and stepfather of the pop singer Neneh Cherry was so against bicycles, and more importantly, how he had channeled these sentiments from beyond the grave. Then I realized this was actually a different Don Cherry, and that he's an ice hockey commentator and some kind of "Canadian personality" (which strikes me as being something of an oxymoron, since I thought if you had a personality in Canada the government exiled you to the United States, hence the whole comedian export thing). In any case, Toronto has now catapulted itself to the top of my list of cities I'm afraid to visit, trumping even Reykjavic, which I had also resolved never to visit because I'm deathly afraid of elves.

Speaking of Nordic countries, yesterday I mentioned those Ikea holiday gift bikes, and it would seem that they are already making their way onto eBay:

As well as Craigslist:

ITTET, it's worth noting that receiving any sort of holiday bonus is impressive, even if it's a really crappy bike--especially when you consider (as I understand it, at least) that in addition to the bike Ikea employees also received a decent-sized cash bonus, with which they can presumably buy better bikes, or else "curate" fantabulous cockpits for the Ikea bikes they already own--ideally using pieces of Ikea furniture. (I'd give almost anything to see an Ikea bike with a handlebar-mounted Fredrik 11-piece workstation accessory set, and perhaps a Snöig lamp for good measure.) Still, this bicycle defaces my image of Sweden in the same way that Don Cherry has dispelled my illusion of Canada--though I also think two very valuable things have come from this:

1) Many cyclists have often wondered what the world's cheapest new bike would look like, and now we know because Ikea has finally commissioned it;

2) The socio-political implications of the Ikea bike have plunged the smug populace of Portland into a spiral of infighting and self-doubt.

Ever since I first saw the story on BikePortland I've been following the comments, and judging from the controversy it has generated this innocent bicycle may very well be the thing that finally tears their "bike culture" asunder. Some Portlanders are disgusted by the poor quality of the bike; others are disgusted with them for being disgusted; and still others are accusing Ikea of being "classist" and exploiting their workers by photographing them with cheap bicycles. It's a symphony of self-importance as delightful as anything ever composed by the likes of Mozart or Tchaikovsky.

Then again, it doesn't take too much to send Portanders into a tizzy. Even this ridiculous Chris King espresso tamper stirred up a little concerto of conceit:

Comments on that one seem to range from (to paraphrase) "You've got to be kidding me," to "How dare you not understand the tribulations of the working barista forced to handle inferior equipment?"

Personally, I'm still waiting for a decent Ikea bike "disembodied hand" shot, though I did receive from a very astute reader a photo from a Cyclingnews review of the Cannondale CarbTastic SuperX-Whatever-o-Cross in which the bike is being propped up by a disembodied stick:

Incidentally, the accompanying text is:

"The horizontal squish of the chainstays as they meet the bottom bracket shell seems to be a source of flex under pedaling."

In other words, the bottom bracket junction is just not "beefy" enough.

One can only imagine what the reaction in Portland would have been if Ikea had had the temerity to gift its employees with sub-par cyclocross bikes. They probably would have formed a mob and stormed the Ikea corporate headquarters with artisanal Chris King espresso tampers and given those "classist" Swedes the tamping of a lifetime.

Lastly, yesterday I also mentioned the Outlier "six foot scarf," and while I may scoff I'm sure Outlier are on to something big because it's no secret that the "fixerati" love to cover their faces and pretend to be bandits when they ride. Here in New York, this happens as soon as the temperature drops below 65 degrees Fahrenheit, which is "freezing" on the fixed-gear scale. Here's another variation on that theme from San Francisco-based Martin Clothing:

You really need that for those brutal San Francisco Mission District winter nights.

Speaking of things that aren't beefy enough, the Martin model is definitely a candidate for the title of "America Next Top Fixie Model:"

Though not if Outlier have anything to say about it. There are a number of ways to approach the fixed-gear model shoot, and Outlier prefer the "story" approach. In this one, we see the model riding the bike:

And then we see him chasing after the guy who stole it:

Cadence clothing, on the other hand, appeal to fans of the "I'm in fifth grade and I walk to school all by myself" look:
Which is a variation on the non-threatening tough guy "Who you callin' a Nü-Fred?" pose captured by Mission Workshop:


And the "designer hoodlum" look embodied by the gynocentrically-named "Vag-X:"

I wonder how many Portlanders have ever received the message: "Hey, I think I left my Chris King espresso tamper in your VagX last night." Probably more than a few.

Coming Apart at the Hems: Excessive Panting

Even though I throw together (I tend to "throw things together" instead of "curate" them) a cycling-themed blog, very few companies take the time to notify me of their new products. Still, once in awhile somebody does take the time to copy me on a press release, and for one glorious moment I feel special and legitimate because I know I'm reading something only a select few people are important enough to receive. For example, I recently learned of a "miracle increasing solution" that will "make your pecker glorious." I also just found out about a "CUSTOM KEYCHAIN FOR FIXED RIDERS :-)" that can be "customised as you like:"

This keychain comes all the way from Lyon, which is in France--a country in which Greg LeMond is a "rock star" and the roadies consume pâté like it's Gu. Not only does this fixed-gear-specific keychain allow you to express your derision for precipitation, but it also allows you to share your gear ratio with other riders:

This is actually something that could come in handy, since each group of cyclists has its own customary salutation, and for fixed-gear and singlespeed riders that salutation is "What gear are you running?" This way, you can just point to your keychain instead of squandering costly syllables. Incidentally, other common cycling salutations include:

"What pressure are you running?" (Cyclocross)

[Scowl and avoid eye contact] (Road riding)

"Where did you buy your mankini?" (Triathlon)

Unfortunately for cyclocrossers, roadies, and triathletes, none of these greetings are available. Then again, cyclocrossers, roadies, and triathletes don't carry their keys on the outside like fixed-gear riders do. Instead, they simply leave them in their race bags, or they keep them in their jersey pockets, or they secret them in an orifice so as not to spoil the lines of their skinsuits. (This partially explains the scowling and avoiding eye contact.) Consequently, any message emblazoned on a keychain would remain unseen. In any case, besides sharing your feelings about rain and your gear ratio, you can also broadcast the following:

Apparently in France, fixed-gear riders like to have sex with cars, which is something they share in common with American tourists:

Yes, the "myth" of the "ugly American" is not a myth at all; we really do travel to Europe and hump police cars.

Just keep in mind that if you do buy one of these keychains and you want people to actually read the message on it, you should make sure it does not get lost among the vibrant print of your pants, the enormous logo on the waistband of your underpants, and the inviting shape and positioning of your posterior:

Actually, given the fact that fixed-gear riders almost always expose their underpants while riding, this company probably would have been better off selling customized elastic waistbands. That way, "hipsters" could coordinate their underwear with their gear ratios, which would not only be clever, but would also provide for ready-made excuses at alleycats. ("I'd ride faster, but my bigger gear is in the wash.") As it is, the model is wearing a pair of "Insane" underpants. I had never heard of Insane underpants, though I found their website using a popular search engine and they are active in cycling sponsorship:

("All You Haters Supplement My Income")

By the way, I'm not sure "Insane" is a great name for a brand of underpants. I can understand trying to be playfully seductive, but implying that what's going on in the wearer's crotchal region is downright "Insane" just seems off-putting. If you go home with someone whose genitals are "insane" you can probably expect to find dreadlocked pubic hair, an inordinate amount of piercings, and at least one STD. Getting to "third base" with someone who has an insane genitalway could be like sticking your hand into a sweatsock full of broken glass. These underpants are a warning, not an invitation. Then again, that may be some people's idea of "Physical Culture:"

I was disappointed to see that the Times omitted Insane from the test, though I guess it's possible Insane don't do seamless. (They probably do crotchless, but the Times would doubtless shy away from that kind of testing.) I was also disappointed to find that, in the recent bicycling pants gear test (forwarded to me by a reader), there was not one pair that featured a pink zebra print:


Yes, more and more companies are making bicycle-specific casual pants, and here is the "origin story" of this hot retail segment:

UNTIL recently, any pants could be considered biking pants: all you had to do was roll up the cuffs or wrap some Velcro bands around your calves. But for people who commute by bicycle, those were not ideal solutions. Spending too long on a bike in regular trousers can wear out the seat of the pants. The rear pockets may rip from too many miles carrying a U-lock and the cuffs may get scarred with grease or shredded from encounters with the chain.

I have nothing against bicycle pants, though I do worry that their proliferation indicates that the lines of defense are retreating from the bike to the body. Why is the fact a U-lock can rip your pockets a reason to buy a new wardrobe? Why not just keep the lock in your bag or carry it on your bike? If you're having a problem with greasy and shredded cuffs, why not install a chainguard of some kind? If your pants are getting filthy from road spray, why not just use fenders? If the seat of your pants is wearing out, why use a saddle with a worn leather cover, or with rivets, or with embroidery?

Of course, the answer to all of these things is obvious--"vintage" racing saddles are cool, and U-lock brackets, chainguards, and fenders are not. It's much cooler apparently to migrate everything to your body by using special clothes and various holsters so people think you've come to read the meter until they notice the little logos which show that your work clothes have an extra zero on the price tag. The other thing to consider is that you only need to purchase one set of commuter accessories for your bike, but even the most dedicated schlub (and I consider myself a dedicated schlub) can't wear the same pants every single day. It's much more cost-effective to set up one commuting-specific bike than it is to purchase a week's worth of new commuting-specific clothing.

That said, as a schlub, I don't "curate" my cycling wardrobe; instead, I "throw it together," and as such I'm probably not qualified to comment on bicycling pants. If they work well and you like the way they look, by all means throw a pair of bicycling pants over your seamless and/or crotchless Insane underwear. You might find yourself so exuberantly comfortable that you totally slay a backwards wheelie, as you can see in this new video which has sent the entire fixed-gear freestyle world into a collective flat-brimmed tizzy:

Joel Weston from MACAFRAMA on Vimeo.

Apparently this is some kind of breakthrough, but to me something boring is no more interesting when it's performed in reverse. I know this to be true because I tried. As a test, I actually listened to that 30 Seconds to Mars song backwards, but it still sucked--though I did discover subliminal messages that alternately implored me to conform and to add the movie "Prefontaine" to my Netflix queue.

If the fixed-gear freestyle community is wondering what to name this trick, I would suggest calling it the "Hem," which, like this wheelie, is simply "Meh" backwards.

Epic-curious: Riding Long and Hard

As I posted yesterday, this past weekend I took the winner of the Fat Cyclist contest on a typical New York area road ride. However, while it was both typical and enjoyable, it was by no means "epic." Frankly, as a mediocre cyclist in all respects I don't possess the necessary passion, fortitude, and effortless style to lead an "epic" road ride. For that matter, I don't possess the proper clothing either. Sure, I once thought I had all these things, but then I read about the Rapha Continental:

Here is how Rapha define an "epic" ride:

No formula exists for epic. It happens when the right conditions are present and it cannot be manufactured. Mental, physical and emotional stress are all components as is suffering, which in the case of cycling, usually means extended periods of self-inflicted pain. Exposure, distance, duration, elevation, great camaraderie, road surfaces, waning sanity, exhaustion, rapidly fading sunlight, weather, empty pockets and broken chains. And competition both healthy and not so healthy are all likely a part of any epic ride. Epic is essentially the result of a series of intense experiences and hard riding.

I like easy-to-follow formulas, so I was disappointed to learn that I cannot employ one to have an "epic." Even though "mental, physical and emotional stress" are important components, as is "self-inflicted pain," these things alone cannot make your ride "epic." I know this because I recently thought really hard about the dire state of the economy while reminiscing about childhood traumas and administering a "purple nurple" to myself during a ride in Prospect Park, and while highly unpleasant, the ride was far from "epic."

Further proof of my intrinsic lack of "epicness" is my experience at the Runcible Spoon. When Rapha visits the Runcible Spoon on an "epic," everything is all sepia and "epicy:"


When I go, it looks like this and I get served a hairy muffin:


But does this mean I lack soul and "epictude," or do I simply lack epic photography skills? Is there really such a thing as a serendipitous state of cycling perfection--a narcotic cocktail of pleasure and pain called an "epic?" Or is there simply a calculated state of visual cycling perfection--an opiate haze of seductive images and words called "epic roadie marketing?" Is it possible to experience this blissful state by riding with the Rapha Continental team-that-is-not-a-team who shave their legs in cold mountain streams and who poke at their deadened muscles with pins to elicit the last few spasms and twitches that will get them over that final, nearly insurmountable 19% climb at mile 135? Or do they just want me to buy some shorts?

I don't know, but whether it's reality or illusion or some combination thereof there are few other cycling companies that could get away with it--although I'd love to see them try. One such company who might want to consider taking a shot at marketing the "epic" is Primal Wear, makers of novelty cycling apparel such as the "Crankkin' Stein" jersey:


Primal Wear are often criticized for their outrageous, tasteless, and arguably hideous graphics. However, I think they should be applauded for having the courage to produce a jersey like this one that empowers Jewish cyclists. I'm not sure what the "Crankkin' Stein" jersey says on the back, but I'm guessing it's something like "Crankkin' Stein Cranks, but Never on Shabbos."

In my ongoing efforts to jump the shark, Primal Wear represents to me the great white. Sure, I may have a column in Bicycling, but that's just hopping over a baby nurse shark on a Razr scooter compared to my actual goal, which is designing Primal Wear jerseys. To that end, I've been working on some concepts, which I'm pleased to share with you here in rudimentary sketch form:



Primal wear have demonstrated a fondness for sexually suggestive double entendre in the past, so I'm hoping this "Derailleur?!? Damn near killed her!!!" design (complete with long-cage Sora rear derailleur) appeals to them as well. Obviously it needs some heavy airbrushing, but you get the idea.


If that's too subtle for them, maybe they'll go for this "I've Got a Compact Crank" design. Because it's not the size of your chainrings; it's how you spin them.


But Primal isn't only about bad puns. It's also about references to popular culture. That's why I think this homage to Charlie Sheen's epic hair in the 1989 baseball comedy "Major League" will be a home run.

But as Rapha has proven, it's not just about showing the clothes; it's also about showing what you can do in the clothes. (And I don't mean relieving yourself in them during a triathlon.) This is why Primal also need to market their version of the "epic" by putting together a group of riders who embody the Primal spirit. This group would be called the "Primal Continental" and they would participate in charity rides across North America. Of course, they'll also need bikes. Rapha Continental has tapped the country's most respected framebuilders to construct for them some of the most pretentious bikes ever made:


Likewise, Primal Continental would have access to the finest bicycles that Performance has to offer:

Plastic, stamped steel, and aluminum play indifferently, ride sufficiently, and look acceptable together. This bike would also look great in front of the Runcible Spoon--as photographed by me, not by Rapha--during a hairy muffin stop on a Primal "epic." Actually, I wonder if Primal would be interested in making "hairy muffin" jerseys. That would be epic.

In the meantime, though, I still can't help but feel inadequately "epic" most of the time. Not only do I have a hard time getting the rarefied blend of leather, carbon, camaraderie, and self-inflicted pain just right, but I also don't have that much time. Sadly, the best I can do most days is try to make my commute "epic." Fortunately, I often succeed--as long as your definition of an "epic" commute includes the words "infuriating" and "miserable." If an epic road ride involves steep climbs, gravel roads, road rash, mechanical mishaps and inclement weather, then an epic commute includes something like this:



Not only is this car disgorging an oblivious passenger on a cell phone right in the middle of the bike lane:


But it turns out the door was also hiding an oncoming bike-salmoning "Beautiful Godzilla."

Even more irritating than the Rapidly-Appearing Bike Salmon (RABS) are the Rollerbladers, whom I've been encountering in the bike lane with increasing frequency:


I wonder if it's possible to do an "epic" Rollerblade ride:

It seems more "meh-pic" to me.