Tongue and Groove: The Future of Bike Construction

There is right now, taking place over the sea, a bicycle racing called "The Touring of France." In this racing, the men winning the race at those moments will be Thomas Voecklers. He wears a Glorious Shirt of Yellow™, and his tongue goes like this:

(via Cycling Inquisition)

I admit I've never been much of a Thomas Voeckler fan in the past. The suitcase of courage; the tortured expressions; the failed breakaways... Really, a Thomas Voeckler ride was exactly like a Lifetime movie special: long, overly melodramatic, and you knew exactly how it would end.

Now, though, I find myself feeling differently. As I mentioned on the Bicycling website, Voeckler has proven himself to be a possible contender for the overall, and suddenly very much I want him to win. Voeckler becoming the first Frenchman since 1826 to win the Tour de France would be a turnaround of profound historical significance. Meanwhile, what do we get if Andy Schleck wins? We'll just see him do more of that that lemon-sucking face he does:

Even a Cadel Evans victory would just encourage more of his trademark "fierce kitten" behavior:

There's only one problem, which is Voeckler himself:

I don't want to lie to the public. Maybe it would be good to say I'm a possible winner of the Tour de France but I'm not interested in that. I don't want to say that I have a chance to win. The Tour has been designed with the last week to be decisive. I'll fight, that's for sure, but let's be honest: I have 0% of chances to win the Tour de France.

O% chance of winning?!? That must be his Frenchness talking. I mean, he's probably right, but clearly he needs to take the American approach by surrendering himself to delusions of grandeur and adopting a grossly swollen sense of self-importance out of all proportion to his natural ability. He could also probably use some American-style motivation:

That oughtta light a fire under his chamois.

Speaking of Andy Schleck, he was recently subject to the extreme indignity of walking through a restaurant while carrying a cup of his own pee-pee:

Then I had another one at the hotel, we hit the restaurant and had to walk through holding a cup of my own urine which I’m sure the people eating dinner really appreciated. Then I woke up and had another test in the morning.

If all that wasn't bad enough, the restaurant also charged Schleck a €150 "corking fee" for bringing his own beverage.

Meanwhile, as the professionals go about their business over in France, many of us do our best to emulate them--though some of us try harder than others. One way to do this is by riding the same bike they do, and a reader has forwarded me this video of somebody who sounds like he's masturbating while reviewing the $15,000 Specialized McFadden Verde:



Yes, that's right: the Specialized MacDonald's Penga costs $15,000. However, the reviewer says it's worth it. Actually, he says he'd pay more than that:

I’m a 44 yr-old, Cat 2 Masters Racer. I can drive a line, bridge a gap and finish mid pack. I looked down at the speedo while jumping between groups and I was going 31.5 mph with a slight sidewind and not at full effort. 15k? Really for that sensation and speed, I’d pay more.

Really, he'd pay more than $15,000 for this bike? Wow. Well, you know when I'll take a single word in this review seriously? When he actually does this and furnishes a receipt to prove it. I'd love to see a bike reviewer willing put his money where his bad metaphor hole is. In fact, I'll even take him at his word if he pays the $15,000 "base price." However, I'm pretty sure that he won't, because even he must realize that $15,000 is a great deal of money, and that in order to spend it on a bike like this you'd have to be completely insane.

Then again, on the Specialized MacPherson Vulva you can bridge gaps between bloated Specialized dealers on demo rides at will. Plus, you apparently don't even have to pedal it:

The ground effects are real. In the various groups I rode with, before punching out of them, I’d roll up on the wheel in front of me without pedaling.

Well, Mark Cavendish is riding one of these, and if the above were true then he'd fire his leadout man Mark Renshaw. HTC doesn't have a sponsor for next year, and I'm sure they could use the money.

None of this is to say I have any issue with Specialized spending a bunch of money to develop a bike that may offer their pro riders a slight advantage. I also have no problem with them trying to sell the bike to the general public since, hey, they might as well, right? I even believe that you might ride the Specialized Malcolm McLaren Venti Soy Latte and think, "Holy shit, this thing feels fast." Still, it's important to maintain some perspective, and if you want to spend $15,000 to experience what it's like being a pro bike racer, then spend $2,000 on a Scattante and the rest on a Toyota Corolla. Make sure the interior's in decent shape too, because you're going to be living in it.

By contrast, paying $6,000 to stick a walnut between your legs seems like a bargain, and according to another reader you can now do just that:


Really, who hasn't been stoned on the sofa and wondered, "Dude, what if the coffee table was a fixie?"

The build quality—custom made in American Black Walnut with aluminum and titanium metal parts—seems exquisite. So simple and beautiful. I'm sure Steve Jobs is ordering one right now.

Right. I'd wager that Steve Jobs is probably a little more concerned with his health right now than he is with riding around on his living room furniture like an idiot.

Of course, if you do opt for the walnut fixie over the Specialized McMuffin Henge, just make sure you don't spoil its minimalist woodgrain Jobsian lines with a plastic water bottle. Instead, you should probably just drink out of a coconut. And speaking of coconuts, yet another reader informs me that the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork Bret wholeheartedly endorses coconut water:

By the way, if you're wondering about Bret's odd riding position, he's just using the old "one-cheek" sitting technique. It relieves pressure from the perineum while simultaneously sparing you the indignity of a noseless saddle.

Anyway, nobody with any sense would buy a walnut bicycle, since everybody knows that the alternative frame material of choice is bamboo. Until now, if you wanted a sweet bamboo bike, you had to ride something that was lashed together like Tom Hanks's escape raft in "Castaway." Now, though, yet another reader tells me you can simply grow the bike into its final shape:


That's right, no more joining:

Mr Vittouris, 25, was originally planning to use processed bamboo fibre to make the vehicle. But harvesting, weaving and compressing the bamboo tends to be energy and labour intensive. ''I thought, why not just grow the vehicle into the shape that's required in the first place,'' he said. And that's what he did, literally growing the bamboo vehicle, called Ajiro, by molding bamboo onto a skeleton frame, a process called arborsculpture.

In other words, "arborsculpture" is to bamboo what "monocoque" is to crabon. This could spell trouble for today's artisanal bamboo bike fabricators:

While his bamboo vehicle would be quite expensive initially, eventually he hoped it could be mass-produced, or rather mass-grown. ''It may be possible to plant a field of vehicles.''

Watch out, Craig Calfee, you're about to be replaced by a trellis.

In Denial: Living the Dream

(Irony.)

For what seems like thousands of years now, New York City has been a frigid perdition of white. Buffeted by a barrage of blizzards and ticket blitzes (as opposed to ticket blintzes, which are delicious) cycling life here has been as miserable as it has been alliterative. In fact, it's been so miserable that for the last few weeks I've had one of those new Mission Workshop designer hobo's bindles propped up next to my front door, and I have been waiting for that final straw that will send my bindle, my €20,000 fixie, and me permanently decamping for the secure paradise on Earth that is Beaverton, OR.

But then, a meh-racle! Suddenly, the snows did cease, and the temperatures did rise, and now the forecast now looks like this:

Sure, Monday the 21st looks kind of crappy, but as you can see things improve once again the following day:

This has transformed my bindle of despair into a man-purse of joy. In fact, like an overzealous groundhog or a hapless Cat 4 who misreads the lap cards and celebrates victory with five more to go, and even though we'll almost certainly get "Hot Karled" again by more foul weather soon, for my own mental health I've decided that it's already spring and Lob damn it I'm behaving accordingly:



Some people may need loud guitar noise produced by people with beards to get excited, but I find it's Lou Rawls who really makes me want to tear winter a new ****. Really "feeling" the multimedia presentation of that video, too:

That pussy's like, "Fuck winter."

Of course, now that it's spring and the streets are largely free of snowdrifts and members of the citizenry huddled in the slit bellies of stray pitbulls in a desperate attempt to stay warm, that means I can once again ride a bicycle with skinny tires. Therefore, I decided to treat myself to a brand-new road bike complete with all the features and buzzwords of today--that means things like crabon, and BB30, and ceramics. So I did what the pros do when they need new bikes, which is visit Craigslist. "Spare no expense and gimme the best you got!," I told my indifferent desk lamp since there was nobody else to talk to. Finally, I found what I was looking for:


It had everything:

One thing confused me though: When exactly did road bike cockpits get all gigantic? And why are the bars so high? Is this what Rivendells will look like in the year 2160 when Grant Petersen a cyborg?

This would not do. What's the point of all that delightful ceramic and crabon gewgawgery if you're going to ride it sitting bolt-upright with your arms stretched out in front of you like you're some Fred-tastic puppeteer or an old-timey sleepwalker?


Anyway, I asked my desk lamp if I should still buy it and I interpreted its complete lack of any response as an emphatic "No," and so I ultimately decided to stick with my own bike. Instead, I'd spend the money I saved on an "epic," like the Rapha ones I'd seen on the Internet--you know, the kind of ride that's so long and intense you've got to stop once in awhile and stare pensively at your "bidon," like this:

On group rides everywhere roadies speak in hushed tones about a rider so transcendently Fredly that he can will Cytomax from the bottle to his lips simply by staring at the nozzle through his precision optics. This is that Fred:

Next, I set about choosing a destination for my "epic," and I ultimately decided on Baffin Island, mostly because it has a mountain on it called Mount Odin, and really, what could be more "epic" than climbing Mount Odin?

(With a compact crank this climb should not pose much difficulty.)

Also, Iqaluit is widely known as the Portland of Nunavut, and I figured it would be a good place to stop and take pictures of myself insouciantly "enjoying" an espresso in a café in the gentrified part of town:

Unfortunately, though, two things forced me to abandon my plans. Firstly, it turns out that, even though companies like Best Made Co. and Base Camp X will sell you designer axes and $1,300 fire pits, they will not as of yet sell you an artisanal seal club. (I had no intention of actually clubbing any seals, but I figured if I was going to "make the scene" in Iqaluit I should at least look the part.)

Secondly, I consulted a popular search engine for cycling directions to Baffin Island and the thing came up bubkes:

So there goes that.

Speaking of Best Made Co., you'll no doubt be excited to learn that they are hiring! There's only one problem, though, which is that they won't pay you:

Nevertheless, despite the lack of compensation, apparently their employees never want to leave:

Our internships are un-paid but are flexible and stimulating, so much so that we often find most of our interns never want to leave.

I guess if you're a liberal arts graduate with an ample trust fund then dealing with tedious matters like depositing paychecks and filing an income tax return are really little more than inconveniences anyway. (Not to mention more work for daddy's accountants.) Incidentally, you'll note in the above photo that Taylor the Unpaid Intern is making a rope ladder:

I'm sure you can climb that with total confidence, though I wonder if it will be offered for sale or if Taylor will keep it and use it to climb down from the roof of her parents' Hamptons home this summer after sneaking an American Spirit.

Also, speaking of abandoning "epic" cycling plans, Lance Armstrong has announced that he is retiring:

Honestly, this announcement seems entirely gratuitous--it's like Larry King announcing that he's old. I thought everybody already knew Armstrong was retiring after the Tour Down Under, and the only logical explanation I can come up with that he didn't like getting upstaged by Hosni Mubarak. In any case, now that he's re-re-retired, maybe he can spend more time puttering around in the garage, like in this video sent to me by my associate at rubbery light concern Knog:



Lastly, a reader in San Francisco has sent me this photo of a bicycle u-locked to a garbage can:

I think that's how messengers announce they're retiring.

Beasts of Burden: Long Bikes and Shiny Riders

In the year 2019, when we're all living in condos on the Moon and watching holographic three-dimensional television shows that you can smell, we will occasionally gather at soirées during which we will nibble on space canapés, sip intergalactic wine, and reflect fondly on the scorched and barren Earth we've all left behind. In particular, we will probably reminisce about the year 2010, which will go down in history for three reasons: it was the year that wacky tablet computer came out; it was the year that wacky Walmart "fixed-speed" bike came out; and it was the year that the Four Recumbent Riders of the Fixed-Gear Apocalypse descended from the heavens and laid waste to our home planet. Lo, their fragrant beards were made of stars and like unto the Milky Way, their helmet mirrors bore witness to the fate of humanity, and their hairy legs and SPD sandals did cause the ground to tremble when they did stop for granola and a "pee-pee break" in the midst of their ravagings.

Of course, none of this has happened yet, but the Dachshund of Time is already cowering in fear, as you can see in this Fixedgeargallery entry which was forwarded to me by a couple of readers:

Look deep into those terrified eyes and witness the horror of the End of Days:

Or maybe that's not the horror of the End of Days; maybe its just an intense canine craving for some Jerky Treats.

In any case, pending this whole apocalyptic mishigas (or meh-shigas) I have been living every day like it's my last, by which I mean I have been siting around watching TV and drinking heavily in order to quell a vague underlying sense of doom. I've also been assembling bicycles, and on the very same day I wrestled with the Mongoose Cachet and its unfortunate nuts which had been stripped more thoroughly than a bikini waxer depilates an exotic dancer's genitals, I also put together that Surly Big Dummy I mentioned last week. Here it is, all putted together and carrying a red thing:

(Can't wait to lose the lame Xtracycle and dork-railleurs and turn this baby into a fixed-gear!)

I should note that, while it took more time to assemble the Big Dummy, it was also a lot easier. This is because the stuff that was already on there was put there properly (including the pie plate, which I removed and burned), and the stuff that wasn't fit neatly together with the stuff that was. Even performing a bris on the uncut steer tube was easier than un-binding the Mongoose's dastardly headset. Anyway, here it is from the rear, seductively displaying its red thing like a "presenting" baboon:

I realize this is a diminutive load that a garden Bushwick variety undernourished "hipster" could probably transport in his capacious designer messenger bag, but in my defense I was merely getting a feel for the beast and taking it for a "shakedown ride." Rest assured I'm quite aware of the unwieldy payloads that smug Big Dummy owners (as well as owners of other load-bearing bikes) manage to haul. I even visited the webular site of the "Surly Big Dummy Society" and looked at the gallery. Just some of the crap these people are way too proud of themselves for carrying includes ladders:

Lawnmowers:

And other bikes:

Unfortunately, I don't own a ladder or a lawnmower, and while the carrying other bikes thing is intriguing it's also worth noting that putting a derailleur on your mountain bike is a good deal cheaper than purchasing a Big Dummy so you don't have to frantically spin your undergeared singlespeed to the trailhead. Then again, some people actually buy cars just to transport their singlespeeds to the trailhead, so I suppose all of this is relative, and I can certainly see how a multi-bike outing could be fun. In any case, in addition to the red thing I also carried some cheese:


At this point, the question isn't whether this bike is useful (it is) or difficult to ride (it isn't); it's how neatly a New York City apartment-dweller can integrate a nearly seven-foot-long bicycle into his or her life. As hard as we may be trying, this isn't Portland, and many of us live a good portion of our lives above street level. Furthermore, we don't always have the luxury of leaving our bicycles at street level, since that's where most of the crime takes place. I'll keep you posted, and if all else fails I can always unfurl the nylon flaps, form a crude lean-to, and live in the park:

Or, I could simply exchange it for another cargo bike with a shorter wheelbase:

At the End of Days, the Dachshund of Time shall meet the wise and all-knowing Pug of Perspicacity.

Speaking of large bicycles and preparing for the Apocalypse, a reader recently spotted this "Mad Max"-inspired chopper bicycle in Berlin, Germany:

I'm guessing the gentleman on the right is the new owner; having just purchased the bike at the German Walmart, he's now perusing the owner's manual. Or, another way to get ready for the Apocalypse is to pretend that the chain drive never even happened in the first place. Yet another reader emailed me this photo, which is what the world of cycling would look like today if the "p-far" had remained the dominant bicycle design:

Apparently, in his universe cycling bypassed the chain drive and went straight to DayGlo. He's even using clipless pedals--though they couldn't be very good, since they didn't cost $630:

I was alerted to this stunningly expensive pedal by a friend (no, the other friend--I have a grand total of two), and while $630 may seem like a lot of money to spend on a pedal, keep in mind that it also comes with one-time use cleat-mounting screws and a grease gun:

It also has a weight limit of 185lbs, which is yet another example of the Universal Rich Roadie Equipment Paradox: "If you can afford it, you are also too heavy to use it." As a corollary to that, if you lust after ridiculous equipment like this, you also wear white cycling shoes:

The above is a still from a Sidi commercial, in which Alberto Contador has substituted his trademark "fingerbang" with a "shoebang." You can see this commercial on the Sidi website, but I don't recommend you do that since it's buried and not directly linkable; furthermore, like all Italian websites the Sidi one is riddled with animation and bad music, and if you're at work it will cause you even more embarrassment than a porn site pop-up. However, also on the site is a commercial of which a number of readers have informed me, and one which I had not seen--until now. Yes, it's Filippo Pozzato naked, and he displays his unfinished back tattoo:

His "abs:"


And even his nipple:


He also uses a pair of Sidis to censor his genitals:

While you might think that Pozzato has been slathered in some sort of cooking oil, the fact is that he has actually had himself permanently clearcoated. By the way, the only thing roadies love more than white Sidi shoes is obsessing over cosmetic flaws in their equipment, waking up in night sweats, and penning desperate epistles to Lennard Zinn:

In fact, late last night I found myself doing the same thing:

Dear Lennard,

I have a Filippo Pozzato who has performed well since 2000. Now he has a small chip in his clearcoat, helped along no doubt when my helper monkey took a fancy to him. What's the best way to repair any damage?

--BSNYC

No response from Zinn yet, though I read on a forum somewhere that he's rebuildable and that I can use parts from my old Mario Cipollini to repair him.

Spoils of Victory: Jousting with Legitimacy

While I'm not ready to make a formal announcement, I may have a winner for The Great Meh BSNYC Free Scat Contest!, and should be able to confirm this in the next day or so. Obviously, when you're giving away a prize as substantial as a Scattante, you can't just hand it over--you have to draft a lengthy press release, subject the bicycle to rigorous fatigue testing, and file reams of paperwork with the IRS. In the meantime though, as an amateur contest "curator," I've taken an increased interest in how the "pros" do it, so I was interested to learn that Ridley is giving away a bike to the person who comes up with the best way of colors:

As you may know, I dabble in bicycle design, so naturally I shifted into the big ring and sprinted over to the Ridley Colour-O-Matic 2000(TM) to create my dream crabon fribé (pronounced "CRAY-bon free-BAY") technicolor crotch chariot. I chose a Noah something-or-other, which defaulted to a lovely lavender design evocative of a tube of Propolis & Myrrh Tom's of Maine toothpaste:


My first instinct was to smear the thing with color like toddler with a full suite of fingerpaints and a case of ADD, but then I realized that in doing so I'd be competing with thousands of other people doing the same thing. See, watching the professional peloton may be like looking at a sponge painting while on peyote, but this is because professional riders are promoting companies, and while the riders compete with each other the companies are competing for your attention. However, amateur road bicycle enthusiasts forget that professionals look this way because they have to, not because they want to, and among the non-recessed cleat set garishness has become the norm. So, cunningly, I decided that I would set myself apart with a simple design consisting mostly of a single tone. If Coldplay could find success by being monotonous, why couldn't I? Here's what I came up with:

I was quite proud of myself, and my new bicyle almost looked like something I wouldn't be embarrassed to ride. However, while you'd think that no color combination could be more straightforward than uniform black, the Colour-O-Matic 2000(TM) instead warned me that "This colour combination can cause technical problems," and then froze up completely like a malfunctioning STI lever. Consequently, it was back to the drawing board for me, and interestingly the Ridley site had absolutely no problem processing this ghastly metallic-green-to-blue fade:

I guess subtlety and road cycling go together like Shimano freehubs and Campagnolo cassettes.

Speaking of things that lack subtlety, cyclists don't get more outrageous than tall bikers, or freak bikers, or "outlaw bicycle gangs," or whatever you call people who ride two children's bikes welded together while wearing soiled denim vests. These are the people behind "Bike Kill," a proud tribe who once spraypainted "Bike Culture Not For Sale" on a Brooklyn clothing store and who are not afraid to sport facial tattoos while using up their "anytime minutes." As I mentioned awhile back, despite their ostensible aversion to "selling out," one tall bike enthusiast was developing a tall bike jousting game for the iPhone (cost: $2.99), and as of last week it's officially available for download. Here's a gripping behind-the-scenes video of the making of the game:



This is the biggest thing to hit freak bikedom since Amazing Larry appeared in that Jared Leto video:

I've never been tempted to weld my Scattante to my Ironic Orange Julius Bike, and I'm certainly not pining for some lost era of freak bike integrity, but I must say there is something sad about seeing these people appear in celebutarded videos and exchange their denim vests for motion sensor suits so readily. As any time trialist or cyclocross racer will tell you, once you've donned a full body suit you've officially crossed the rubicon of bike dorkitude. Furthermore, a "subculture" loses all "street cred" the moment it is distilled into an "app." You can exist in the margins of society, or you can exist on the iPhone, but you simply cannot exist in both places at the same time. In the "street cred" hierarchy, the whole tall bike thing has fallen beneath bike polo and fixed-gear freestyling and currently hovers somewhere between tweed rides and 24-hour mountain bike racing. Now that tall bike jousting has become the stagediving of the cycling world, I would advise all freak bikers dedicated to the "outlaw" lifestyle to abandon tall bikes and instead take their shoddy fabrication skills and poor hygiene off the streets and into the water where "society" will have a harder time of stealing it. A subculture based entirely on battling each other in small water crafts would be much more difficult to render in "app" form. Of course, the true measure of an outlaw is remaining committed to your lifestyle even when it ceases to be obscure, but you have to admit, "Canoe Kill" sounds even more outrageous than "Bike Kill."

Meanwhile, as tall bike jousting becomes increasingly legitimate, the winners will certainly start demanding lavish prizes. One possibility is a trophy made from a Trek Madone, which one reader informs me you can now purchase on eBay:

I look forward to an age when the top professional tall bike jousters conduct lengthy interviews in trophy rooms full of plaques like this. Also, for the person who is as enthusiastic about home improvement as he or she is about cycling, the Madone headtube plaque makes a great grout float. Laterally stiff yet vertically compliant, it provides precise handling that transmits grout to the space between the tiles where you need it most. Here's another one that actually comes with the fork:

Just think of the possibilities:

I'm not sure where the seller is getting all these Madones. I'm guessing either they're raiding the Dumpsters over at The Great Trek Bicycle Making Company, or simply dentists' "gap bikes" which they sell for pennies on the dollar as soon as their new Serottas come in.

Sometimes, though, a head tube glued to a piece of wood simply isn't enough, and you want an entire bike. That's when you turn to Craigslist. Here's an "extreamly light" that will "turn haeds as you breeze past the peleton:"


MASI Team Issue 3V Record 10 - $1500 (Greenport)
Date: 2010-01-30, 11:56AM EST
Reply to: [deleted]

Masi Team 3V made with Reynolds 731 tubing with a Reynolds Carbon Fiber Fork 60 cm c/t.. 2005 Campagnolo Record 10 Shifters, Record Rear Derailleur, Record Front Derailleur, Record Wheelset with Record Cassette 13x26, Record Crankset 175mm, Record Brakeset, Chrous Headset and bottom bracket. Deda Handle Bars 44 and Deda Stem 120mm. Thompson seat post and Selle Flite Saddle. Very Low Mileage and extreamly light make this the bike to turn haeds as you breeze past the peleton 631 477 [deleted]

This bike is so vintage that the seller has lapsed into Middle English.