Bottoms Up: Sloganeering and Engineering

I am not what people call a "morning person," by which I simply mean I am not a person in the morning. Rather, in terms of my mental faculties and disposition respectively, I'm a cross between an ottoman and a housecat that's just had a bath. For this reason, upon waking up I depend on three things in order to transition back to humanity, and they are: 1) a bowl of Froot Loops and root beer; 2) Joy Behar's irreverent commentary on "The View;" and 3) emails from readers containing pictures of wacky tattoos. I can't always count on the latter, but thankfully this morning I was lucky enough to receive this:

(All You Haters Scrutinize My Bicep)

This photo was actually sent to me by the wearer himself, and as you can imagine I spat Froot Loops and root beer all over my monochrome computer monitor (monochromatic blogging is totally "zen," like fixed-gear cycling) as soon as I laid eyes on it. It seems like only the summer of 2008 that photographer Tod "Sucka Pants" Seelie sent me a photograph of a lime green rim with the words "All You Haters Suck My Balls" on it, though actually it was the spring of 2008 (time sure does flew), and here is that rim in all its testilingus-demanding glory:

Like Proust's madeleine, this rim sent me on a flight of nostalgia. Back in early 2008 the fixed-gear "scene" was still open, and there still wasn't consensus as to which sex act the "haters" should be forced to perform. Proposals ranged from the relatively benign (handjobs and fingerbangings) to the profane (stuff involving fruit), with a few extremists even advocating for baroque forms of intimacy such as the so-called "rusty trombone." However, slogans such as "All You Haters Pleasure Me With Produce" just weren't catchy enough, so when the AYHSMB rim "dropped" it caught on immediately. The "SMB" part was just dirty enough to be offensive but not so dirty as to be criminal, and while it was obviously phallocentric this did not preclude women from using it ironically. In short, this wheel-stickering was "the rim job heard 'round the world."

Eventually, though, things changed. People experimented with other slogans. The "depth wars" began as companies like H Plus Son and Velocity competed to see who could provide people with the most sidewall surface area for their personal expression. The fixed-gear scene also began to close, and people who had been riding them for upwards of two whole years began to look down on those who foolishly attempted to enjoy the fashions and lifestyle they were espousing. The hated were now becoming the haters, and it was becoming increasingly unclear whose balls needed sucking and why. Once a rallying cry, AYHSMB began to sound a bit hollow, and eventually became the stuff of YouTube parodies:



And then, finally, this happened:

There are a number of ways to interpret this tattoo. On one hand it could represent a point on the phrase's shark-jumping arc that is just past its zenith, meaning there's nowhere to go from here but down. On the other hand, it could be a return to sincerity, since this person apparently believes so strongly in the message that he has placed it mere inches from his armpit. Either way, while he may be taking things a bit far, at least it's just some letters and not an illustration of actual ball-sucking. At worst, in five or ten years when people ask him about his tattoo, he can make up some alternate meaning and save face:

"Oh, that? I'm a member of both the American Youth Hostels and the Society for Mathematical Biology, and I just wanted to show my support for the great work they're doing. If you don't like it, you can give me a 'rusty trombone.'"

"I like the cut of your jib. You're hired!," the manager at Arby's will reply. All You Haters Serve My Burger.

Speaking of jobs and stuff I was pleased to receive, a writer named Gabriel Thompson just sent me a copy of his book, "Working in the Shadows: A year of Doing the Jobs [Most] Americans Won't Do:"

I had assumed that the book was about being a domestique for Lance Armstrong, but it turns out the author actually spent time working at a bunch of jobs that are, to put it impolitely, really crappy. In addition to cutting lettuce (yes, I know this is crappy because I once made a salad) and schlepping chicken guts, he also delivered food by bicycle in Manhattan. I haven't actually read the book yet, but I'm looking forward to it, partially because it looks very interesting but mostly because I'm quoted somewhere in it, which is why he sent me the book in the first place. Also, I understand Gabriel Thompson has a tattoo that says "Do Not Put Anything In My Flower Box," but he assures me this is merely a coincidence. If you're like me and you prefer reading about miserable jobs to actually doing them, feel free to order a copy, and perhaps we can convene some sort of BSNYC Book Club at a later date.


While I'm gloating over stuff people have given me, I'd also like to disclose that I recently received something from Ahrens Bicycles. If you're unfamiliar with Ahrens bikes, they have the enviable distinction of being found underneath Liz Hatch:

As it happens, Ahrens has pioneered a bold new form of integrated headset spacer/bottle opener technology. (This is the sort of stoner toy innovation we've come to expect from California, home of the "epic" burrito and the iPad.) While I've made light of the cycling world's obsession with beer and things that open bottles containing beer, the truth is that even I can be beguiled by the right top-popping contrivance. In fact, one of my prized possessions is my SSWC08 bottle opener, custom etched with my triple-digit finishing place:

That, however, has been retired to a safe deposit box along with my Metallica ticket stub autographed by Glenn Danzig, so when Ahrens offered to send me one of his "WiseCrackers" I gladly accepted. Sure, I realize that you don't need a dedicated bottle opener on your bike, and that you can easily use a popular brand of pedal instead. However, I don't always ride a bike with that popular brand of pedal on it, and even though I've pared my keychain down to the bare essentials I still welcome any opportunity to remove yet another item:

By relocating my bottle opener to my steer tube I can finally remove that pedal, meaning I'll only need to carry around the frame pump, the extra chainring, the 15mm wrench, and the cheese grater. Not only will this configuration be slightly more comfortable in my pocket, but it will also make it that much easier for me to find my single key:

Anyway, I'm pleased to announce that the WiseCracker finally arrived:

Here's a closer look:


I elected to install the WiseCracker aboard my Scattante "test-cycle," on which there was ample room:

By the way, I know what you're thinking: "Who would put a Thomson stem on a Scattante?" I realize it seems a bit indulgent, but rest assured that it is only there for the photo shoot and that I usually "palp" a custom threadless carrot that I "machined" myself with a butter knife. At any rate, after spending 12 hours reading the Park Tools website and posting questions on Bikeforums, I finally felt confident enough to attempt the installation, and here is the result:

In retrospect, I probably should have swapped it with the spacer beneath it, but I figure this way there's more wheel-to-opener clearance for extra-long bottles. Here it is from the front, hiding behind my excessively long cable housings:


From the cockpit, you don't even know it's there:

(Is it in yet?)

Yes, I am now the proud owner of bottle opener with a bike around it. While I haven't actually used it to open a bottle yet, I'm pleased to report that I have used it to hitch myself to moving cars and it's performed admirably. So if you see me parked I encourage you to use my Scattante to open the beverage of your choosing. (Nothing washes down a "meh-pic" New York City burrito like a Jarritos.) As for you haters, feel free to suck my test-cycle.

Posable Figures: Playing With Yourself

Not too long ago, I received an email with the subject line "famous pie plate." Naturally, I opened it immediately--even though there was another email right next to it notifying me that I had just won the Irish lottery. (Yes, I take pie plates that seriously.) The sender was a bicycle shop mechanic, and awhile back he removed a pie plate from a customer's Trek. That customer, he assured me, was actor Jake Gyllenhaal, seen here swaddled in Raphinery and "palping" the offending plat de pâté en croûte:

According to the mechanic, he had been treating the pie plate as a sort of talisman, but its "awesome power" was now becoming too much for him to handle. (This is hardly surprising when you consider the provenance of the thing, and the fact that it's a mere one degree of separation from Heath Ledger's reflector.) For this reason, the mechanic was offering the pie plate to me, and I accepted it faster than a Garmin physiologist accepts a job at Radio Shack. Well, I'm pleased to announce that it has finally arrived, and here it is in all its paired spoke-protecting glory:

My first few moments of Jake Gyllenhaal pie plate ownership consisted mostly of holding it to my chest and murmuring "I can finally die now" over and over to myself. However, this elation soon gave way to a gnawing sense of self-doubt. Why was I so happy? I pondered this question for awhile and eventually realized that this pie plate was a actually a physical manifestation of my own insecurity. Certainly, when I take pleasure in the fact that Jake Gyllenhall is riding a bicycle with a "dork disc," or a "nerd rotor," or a "Fred cog," or whatever you choose to call it, it's really because I long to feel superior to him. Furthermore, it is just this sort of insecurity that feeds the lurid world of tabloid journalism and celebrity gossip. Sure, we may snigger over pictures of Jake Gyllenhaal on his bicycle, or rumors that Lady Gaga is a hermaphrodite (false), or that Larry King is a hermaphrodite (true). In the short term it makes us feel better about ourselves, but in the long term it is this very impulse that may cost us our souls.

It was then that I realized Jake Gyllenhall's pie plate was actually a monkey's paw, and that the mechanic had in fact passed the curse on to me by grifting me with the old "pie plate flim-flam." I've already learned my lesson though, and as the Who famously sang, "I shan't be hoodwinked a second time." In fact, I've already been in touch with the Irish lottery people to arrange for collection of my winnings. Clearly my luck is beginning to change.

Still, even the most self-assured cyclist can't help being amused by the juxtaposition of Rapha clothing and a pie plate. The former represents stereotypical roadie fastidiousness, and the latter is the prototypical cycling fashion faux-pas. Of course, Rapha loves to play up this image, which is why they recently published their Rules of the Road--though I was especially baffled by rules 5 and 6:

Firstly, scarves are for magicians and aging rock stars, and should not be worn while cycling at all. Secondly, leaving a gap between your arm warmers and jersey is insouciant high style, since it implies you either pulled them down hastily in the heat of battle, or that they fell down due to the relentless pounding of the cobbles:

Of course, even Rapha will surely admit that blind adherence to such rules is ridiculous. Like the pie plate, these fashion codes speak to our need to distinguish ourselves from those who we deem to be "inauthentic" somehow, when in truth it is often the people who become indignant over things like improper sock height and Japanese components on Italian frames who are the least authentic. Style is probably the least interesting aspect of cycling, and sometimes listening to someone wax poetic about what is "PRO" or about "vintage" Campagnolo is like watching someone dry-hump a loaf of stale Italian bread.

Then again, it's hard not to judge others when you watch something like "Pedaling." Amazingly, the producers keep releasing new episodes, and as I watched the latest one (entitled "Baking @ Birdbath") I found myself pitying poor Meredith Miller, an accomplished professional racer who in this installment is forced to endure cycling insight from a restauranteur. Here he is explaining that, with regard to winter riding, "I kinda have the 40-degree rule," to which Miller replies, "Yeah...right:"

Certainly judging others by the weather conditions in which they prefer to ride is like judging them by their bar tape color, and you shouldn't ride in the cold if you don't enjoy it. Indeed, being able to approach cycling casually is perhaps the best way to enjoy it and an attitude many of us would do well to adopt. That said, it's hard not to wonder why casual, fair-weather cycling requires such exotic equipment:

After this, the restauranteur hands Meredith Miller over to someone even more bizarre--a man who makes his comestibles "in a low-energy manufacturing situation," by which I assume he means he bakes them while stoned:

Given his hemp cardigan, I braced myself when he told Miller that he was going inside to get his bike. Sure enough, he came out looking like there was a fire back in the 19th century and he was going to put it out:

Even the unflappable Meredith Miller can't keep a straight face.

Still, there's an important difference between the person with pro equipment who only rides when it's warm and the guy who gets baked and rides around with a mixing bowl on his head, and sometimes looking crazy can be more dignified than trying to look the part. If you're going to play pro cyclist but you don't like physical discomfort then you might as well glue a bunch of figurines to your dashboard and just drive around, as in this video which was forwarded to me by a reader:



Yes, why pose yourself when you can let the toys do it for you?
Just make sure that if you do get carried away playing with your toys and attempt to ride a bicycle yourself that you learn Japanese and read the "Street Bike Culture Start Book!!" from "Loop" magazine, which was photographed and forwarded to me by another reader:


The bike polo look promises to be hot in 2010:

Somebody better write up some rules, because I'm not sure if your designer sunglasses should be worn over or under your "collabo" cap.

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!

In all the discussion of "Empire," it is worth noting that there are other cyclists making films of themselves engaging in death-defying urban riding as well. Moreover, they are doing so on bicycles that coast and have front and rear suspension. Here is one such video entitled "my bad azz street/trail mtn bicycle i built (all carbon/ti):"

my bad azz street/trail mtn bicycle i built (all carbon/ti) @ Yahoo! Video

This video was forwarded to me by a reader who also happens to be a dentist but claims not to own a Serotta (yeah, right) and I was immediately riveted. First of all, unlike most fixed gear videos, this one is accurately titled. Nobody dies in "Death Pedal," "Empire" should be called "Gentrified," there's no Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce or even a B.J. Hunnicut in "MASH," and I don't even know what the hell a "Macaframa" is. On the other hand, "my bad azz street/trail mtn bicycle i built (all carbon/ti)" opens right up with a bad azz street/trail mtn bicycle he built that is all carbon/ti:

Then there are the tricks. You say you like wheelies? This guy's front end pops up more than ads on a porn site. He wheelies in the subway station, past the bus shelter, and even right into the camera:

(All You Haters Visually Inspect My Bottom Bracket Shell)

Best of all, the video is also interspersed with technical information regarding the bad azz street/trail mtn bicycle he built that is all carbon/ti. Here's a detail of the custom trigger that triggers something:

Other highlights include the twin Spinergys, the Fox shocks, and a compass on the stock and this thing which tells time.

But when it comes to sweet custom bicycles, you'd be hard-pressed to find a specimen more intriguing than this Concorde, forwarded to me by another reader:

This is a rolling retrospective of road bike gimmickry, and a rare case in which fixed-gear conversion might actually have saved a "vintage" frame. While the Mavic Mektronic group is the obvious highlight, you can't disregard the original Rolf Dietrich-era Rolf wheels. Dietrich ushered in the era of paired-spoke technology, thereby inspiring some of serial retrogrouch and uber-curmudgeon Jobst Brandt's most heartfelt pro-36 spoke MA2 treatises as well as consigning millions of squirrels to death by decapitation on Sunday group rides all over the United States. Sadly, your opportunity to own this bicycle has passed as the eBay auction has ended, but amazingly nobody bid on it so perhaps you will have a second chance:

Speaking of second chances, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz, which you're free to re-take as many times as you'd like. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll see the next must-have fixed-gear freestyle bicycle accessory.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and remember--if you must "wheelie," always use the appropriate bar.

--BSNYC/RTMS

1) "...a combination of shrugged shoulders, pursed lips and forced air resulting in a sound that’s akin to getting hit in the stomach with a basketball." This is apparently:

--"An unmistakably Belgian gesture"
--"What cyclocross feels like"

--"What a kangaroo attack feels like"

--"What a bad reaction to an 'epic' burrito feels like"

(Greg "Wednesday" LeMond)

2) Three-time Tour de France winner Greg LeMond will apparently not rest until he:

--Convinces Trek to re-introduce his brand
--Gets his arch-nemesis Lance Armstrong into court

--Receives financial backing for his proposed chain of fast food restaurants

--Wins a free Scattante

3) As if it needed more validation, Portand is now receiving:

--A second velodrome

--Its own stage race
--Its own cyclocross tire
--A separate airport terminal for passengers traveling with bicycles

4) This map indicates:

--Planned locations for a fixed-gear film shoot

--Checkpoints for an upcoming week-long alleycat stage race

--Sluggish Portlanders in dire need of coffee replenishment

--The residences of people Greg LeMond plans to sue

5) Watch out, Primal! Some company is producing series of jerseys featuring:

--Old covers from The New Yorker

--JD Salinger first edition dust jackets

--M.C. Escher prints

--Interesting facts about ham

6) Watch out, cycling! The hot new wheeled trend is:

--Tandem unicycling

--Inline surfing

--Urban mushing

--Skateboard polo

7) What was the make and model of the $11,000 bike recently stolen in Issaquah, WA?

--Pinarello Dogma
--Trek Madone

--Serotta MeiVici

--Bianchi Pista

***Possibly Unsafe For Work Saddle-Sniffing-Themed Bonus Question***

This is a commercial for:

--Giant bicycles

--Terry saddles
--Apple iPad
--Vulva

(via AHTBM)

Soft Options: Day-Tripping to Danger

Yesterday evening, I was riding an a leisurely pace along one of the city's new margarita-green bike lanes when I encountered a silver Range Rover idling squarely in my path. Rolling up next to it, I peered inside and saw that the driver was a woman in late middle age. She had the appearance of someone who is financially well-off, and she was deeply engrossed in a conversation on her cellphone.

In a city as busy and crowded as New York, it is inevitable that people occasionally commandeer a bit of space that technically does not belong to them. We all do it. If you have a stoop, someone's going to sit on it to tie his shoes. If the subway train is crowded, somebody is going to make physical contact with you. And yes, as even someone as staunchly against it as I am must accept, occasionally there's going to be a car in your bike lane. Simply put, sometimes you've got to cut people some slack.

As anybody who lives in a big city knows, there are times when space-commadeering is acceptable, and there are times when it is unacceptable. There are no hard and fast rules, but like porn, you know unacceptability when you see it. For example, in the subway scenario, a shoulder brush is sometimes unavoidable but a crotch-fondle is never warranted. Similarly, a car entering the bike lane to get around a garbage truck or to parallel park might be the equivalent of a shoulder brush. But sitting in an expensive car and having a cellphone conversation in the middle of a bike lane during the evening rush is just a full-on ball grab.

Still, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, and since she was sitting at an intersection I thought that maybe this was a new DOT pilot program inspired by the Copenhagen foot rest, only instead of little railings they were using luxury SUVs. So, after making sure there was nobody else in the car capable of beating me up (by which I mean pretty much anybody tougher than an inconsiderate dowager), I simply placed my hand right on the driver door window exactly where her face was and leaned there while waiting for the green.

It took a few moments, but she finally noticed me and rolled down the window, which forced me to move my hand to the door. She didn't say anything--she just put the phone on her shoulder and looked at me expectantly. Affecting my most genteel tone, I explained that she was parked right in the middle of the bike lane, and since she was engrossed in a conversation I figured she wouldn't mind if I availed myself of her vehicle to lean on until the light changed. As I spoke, she looked me up and down, taking inventory of my battered Scattante and my modest wardrobe. Then, in an amused manner that might also have been contemptuous if it wasn't so utterly dismissive, she just sort of shrugged as if to say "Whatever," closed the window, and resumed her conversation.

Like anybody, in weak moments I occasionally feel good about myself. This is a dangerous impulse, and in such moments it's important to keep in mind how lowly you really are. Being looked at like this woman looked at me is a great reminder, so for this reason I decided to take her picture. I figured it would be handy for staving off happiness in the same way you might use a photo of a puppy carcass to quell an erection. However, while my lean didn't spur her into action, the presence of a camera certainly did, and she quickly shielded her face as I took the shot:

The speed with which she blocked her visage indicated she was experienced with this kind of thing, and I wondered who she was. Perhaps I had caught some sort of power broker in the midst of planning a torrid liaison, and had I captured her face I might have used the photo for blackmail and been able to retire on the proceeds. As it is, I may never know. In retrospect, I sort of regret the encounter, since while the glass-touching may have been a shoulder brush perhaps the photo was a bit of a fondling below the waistline. Still, the starkness of the photo makes it look far more intense than it really was. In real time the whole thing was just the equivalent of a sarcastic passive-aggressive "Excuse me."

Speaking of aggression, yesterday I mentioned the imminent "Empire" fixed-gear video, and the reactions to this cinematic endeavor were predictably vehement. Regardless of whether you think that "Empire" is an exciting "grassroots" film that conveys the excitement of urban riding, or you think it's yet another irresponsible vanity project by one of cycling's many cliques, it certainly made some people angry and in that sense alone I believe it's valid. I also happen to believe that when something makes you angry you should think a little bit about why it makes you angry, since it's our capacity for rational thought that separates us from lower creatures such as cockles and man-eating kangaroos.

One thing that made people angry about the "Empire" teaser was its use of a song by the Cro-Mags, since it seemed as though the filmmakers were lazily appropriating the hardcore music of the 1980s in order to imbue their project with a sense of "street cred," or perhaps even declaring themselves the rightful heirs to New York City's street-savvy anti-establishment subculture--never mind that former Cro-Mags vocalist John Joseph is himself a cyclist and rabid triathlete who uses the city as his own personal jungle gym:

One wonders if Joseph (who is so tough he probably keeps "fixies" in his Saxo Bank jersey pocket and eats them instead of Clif Bars) endorsed this use, or if he did not whether he would be honored or find it audacious. It would seem as though the people Joseph was "calling out" in the song "World Peace" are the sort of people who are making "Empire," and that their using it is like scoring a beer commercial with a Minor Threat song, but for all I know Joseph may have indeed given the crew his blessing, perhaps in exchange for a dozen IRO frames to snack on between reps of street sign pull-ups.

In another sense though the song selection is appropriate, because it wasn't long before the Cro-Mags's audience grew to include day-trippers who merely had to walk through the streets, not live in them, and who could partake in acts of physical aggression in the (relatively) safe and controlled setting of places like the Ritz. Sure, you might get punched in the face, but after the show you knew you could go home. Similarly, the sort of riding you see in "Empire" is mostly optional risk-taking. In a time before email and Jan Gehl-designed bike lanes, more people became bike messengers and rode like maniacs as a matter of necessity and survival. Certainly, this is still true for a number of people, but for many others it's more of a "lifestyle choice." Running the light at 23rd and 6th during rush hour because your baby is hungry is one thing; doing it while being followed by a cinematographer on a Honda scooter (whether or not you work as a messenger) is something else.

This is not to say there's anything wrong with entertainment for entertainment's sake, or that partaking in it (either as an entertainer or as an audience member) should require some official license of authenticity. Still, sometimes it lacks integrity. When the rider runs the light in the "Empire" teaser, there's absolutely no reason for him to do it, yet whether you find it thrilling or idiotic you simply can't look away because you need to see if he will make it. It's one of the cheapest tricks in media, and it's the entire basis behind entertainers like David Blaine. Most people hate David Blaine, and the stunts he pulls are utterly pointless, but when a guy announces he's going to lock himself in a lucite refrigerator in the middle of Piccadilly Circus for three months, you simply need to know whether or not this moron is going to die. Sure, it's a foolproof attention-getter, but it also requires the entertainer to constantly out-moron himself in order to have a career. This is a bad economic model for creating entertainment; it's like living off your credit cards. The interest will eventually bury you.

Actually, if you really think about it, even the most conservative, practical cyclist takes the same risks as the "Empire" riders do, and has just as many "bragging rights." Really, in a way speeding up the riding is just as phony as speeding up the film, since the commuter in the day-glo vest with the helmet mirror and the hybrid bike covered in reflective tape is about as likely to get hit by a bus. The difference is that day-glo commuter doesn't expect anybody to think he's cool.

Maybe cycling needs more commuting videos to keep things in perspective, since the rest of us seem to be preoccupied with showing the world that we touch cars. This could be why people seem to be so captivated by David Byrne and his grueling midtown-to-SoHo loft-to-loft commute. David Byrne doesn't touch cars; he just talks about how evil the suburbs are. In a way though it's kind of the same thing. Whether you're a car-toucher, a light-runner, or a gallery-hopper, it's easy to design an urban cycling lifestyle for yourself when you have so many options.

Enhanced Performance: Oiling the Squeaky Wheel

Firstly, regarding The Great Meh BSNYC Free Scat Contest!, I'm pleased to announce that my "curatorial" responsibilities are officially over, for I have now chosen a winner, and communicated with that winner, and communicated with Performance, and given Performance the winner's email address, which means that they can now communicate with each other and I don't have be bothered by either of them ever again. Indeed, choosing the winner was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I've competed in the Singlespeed World Championships and been to Banff, Canada, so that's saying a lot. Generally, though, submissions fell into one of four categories:

Abject Misfortune

These were the stories that were so horrible I found myself frozen with indecision. While I had intended to give the bicycle to a theft victim, these tales also usually included elements such as serious accidents and even kangaroo attacks. I was afraid to choose from among these stories since, if any of them were false, I might deprive someone truly in need. Plus, even if they were all true, it seemed arbitrary to compensate one victim while alienating another, and I also doubted that something as minor as a free Scattante would make the slightest difference in their lives. So ultimately, I elected to disappoint them all.

Obvious Bike Junkies

Just like a real junkie always needs one more hit, a bike junkie always needs one more bicycle, and in either case anybody who's been in "the game" long enough can spot one several kilometers away. The typical bike junkie submission ran along these pathetic lines: "I live in Portland, Oregon. I currently have 7.5 bikes. (Still waiting on an eBay auction to end so I can finish my monstercross build.) Two weeks ago when leaving for work I noticed the tire on my winter commuter was flat. Running late, I borrowed my wife's cyclocross pit bike instead, which was subsequently stolen. I then gave my wife my winter commuter to replace it, so I now need a new one so I'm not forced to use my summer commuter instead. (It's an early 90s Richard Sachs road frame I relegated to commuting duty when I noticed slight wheel rub marks inside the chainstay.)" I excluded these immediately.

People Who Almost Nailed It But Then Inadvertently Insulted Me Somehow

Generally these people probably deserved a free Scattante but then they admitted that they didn't really care for my blog, or else revealed they would use the bicycle in an irresponsible manner of which they mistakenly thought I would approve. In the words of a famous television character, "No soup for you!"

People With Straightforward Stories Who I Liked And Who Really Deserved It

Having extirpated the above submissions, I was left with a relatively manageable number of people who could honestly use this bike, and whose bikes had been stolen despite their having taken every precaution against it. Of these, one tale particular appealed to me for its humor, simplicity, and apparent honesty. It came from a high school senior in Santa Fe, NM named Sergio Gonzales. Sergio has no car, and he had been getting around town on an old road bicycle he built up himself. He used his bicycle for errands, commuting, and recreation--until it was was stolen when a thief cut through the bike rack at school. I suspected I had found my Steven Koren, and so after much soul searching (by "soul searching" I mean watching TV) I decided to award him the bike.

Subsequently, I've gotten to know more about Sergio, and it turns out he wants to be a doctor. "Ultimately," he says, "I want work in rural areas, possibly on reservations or underdeveloped countries, as a family practitioner." This strikes me as an admirable goal, and I only hope this Scattante serves him well as a metaphorical gap bike as he goes on to attain the metaphorical Serotta of his dreams. Of course, it is possible that Sergio is actually a 39-year old bike junkie, and he's just tricked me out of a free bike, but at this point that's Performance's problem. I prefer to think that Sergio Gonzales will win a Nobel Prize one day, and when he delivers his acceptance speech he will dedicate it to me. Giving is the greatest gift of all--as long as you get something back.

In all sincerity, thanks very much to everybody who submitted, and I only wish I had more bikes to give. Unfortunately though, I don't, and you can and should blame Performance for that. Anyway, in the world of cycling there's always a contest going on somewhere, and instead of giving up hope you should just brush yourself off and enter another one. For example, I noticed recently on Twitter that Bicycling magazine is giving away a trip to Italy to participate in the Eddy Merckx Granfondo (a granfondo is like a regular fondo, only grander):

If you're serious about winning you shouldn't wait to enter, because I hear they've already received some compelling submissions. Here's one in pictogram form from someone who only identified himself as "MC:"

1)



2)

3)

4)



5)



6)



7)

If I'm reading that correctly, it means that someone who may or may not be Mario Cipollini uses olive oil to style his hair with a knife-shaped comb, wrestles scantily-clad ladies in it, and pours it all over his pasta, but does not use it for "male enhancement." It hardly bears repeating, but nobody knows oil like Cipo.

Also, speaking of stolen bikes, a reader recently alerted me to the fact that a "brakeless bike bandit" has stolen a famous fixed-gear in Seattle:


Brakeless Bike Bandit: A San Diego man vacationing in Seattle reported his bike was stolen at Harvard Av E E Roy S on January 23rd. This, of course, was no ordinary bike. The man's bike, according to the police report, was apromotional bike used in the filming of "Death Pedal," a movie about fixies. The police report says the bike is purple with the words Death Pedal written in yellow along the side of the frame. The report does not indicate whether the stolen bike had brakes.

This is a huge blow to the world of fixed-gear freestyling, and I'm sure the police are working around the clock to restore the "Death Pedal" bike to its owner, regardless of overtime costs. After all, it is absolutely essential to the "sport" (I love it when they call fixed-gear freestyle a sport--it's like when Urban Outfitters calls a Republic a bike) that the constant stream of fixed-gear videos continues uninterrupted, for if it stops even momentarily attention will wander elsewhere, never to return. Sure, the designer flannel set is still poring over videos of "Midwest Mayhem" like it's the Zapruder film, but eventually even they will start to notice how unimpressive it is, and all it takes is one BMX video to make them all defect. For this reason, the architects of the scene continue to labor increasingly over new videos, and as you may have seen on sites such as streetwear enthusiast and fixed-gear impresario Prolly's blog the long-awaited New York City contribution to the canon, "Empire," is supposedly about to "drop." Here's the latest trailer:

Even "aggressive" cycling in the city is really just, well, cycling in the city, and to me it's about as thrilling as watching somebody "aggressively" clean up a beverage spill with a roll of paper towels. As usual, the attitude of the film comes almost entirely from the soundtrack, and in this case it's the Cro-Mags, a band chosen to evoke the gritty New York of the 1980s. To me, though, the inclusion of the Cro-Mags only goes to underscore how non-gritty this whole business of riding around in the latest fashions is ("Look! He's not using a bike lane even though an ample one has been provided by the city! That's crazy!"), and I really think they should have gone with more appropriate music. More fitting soundtracks include:

The "epic" cinematic approach;

The appropriate "retro" approach;

and the thought-provoking "collabo" approach.

To me, all of these scores worked much better than the Cro-Mags, but they still weren't perfect. Finally, though, I found a score that was. It has everything: a fast tempo that matches the high cadence fixie-spinning; a nod to "alternative" popular culture; and, most importantly, wacky sound-effects that coax out the latent comedy inherent in the film.

Here it is: "Empire" as it was meant to be.

Now that's more enhancing than an olive oil injection. The video may require a shot of music, but the song stands quite erect by itself.

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.

Brazen Schemes: RTMS and Sympathy

If you've been following this blog for awhile, you know that I occasionally refer to myself as RTMS. Back in the spring of 2008 (a much simpler time when Lance Armstrong was still retired, the fixed-gear scene was still open, and the PistaDex soared into the high three figures), somebody accused me of "jumping the shark" for reasons I cannot recall, and so in true shark-jumping fashion I announced that I would change my name to an unpronounceable symbol, à la Prince or Rock Racing owner Michael Ball. The symbol I chose was actor Rip Torn's mug shot, taken after a drunk driving arrest:

I've always been entranced by Torn's expression in this photo. It is insouciant to the point of being beatific, and Torn maintains it despite the fact that his world is crumbling around him--he's like Buddha mingled with George W. Bush declaring victory on that aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf. To me, this attitude neatly sums up the human condition, and while this photo is ineffable I abbreviated my new moniker as "RTMS" for the purposes of shorthand. Subsequently, commenter Urchin created this graphic, and the name change was complete:

Naturally, then, many readers emailed me over the weekend to tell me that an armed Rip Torn had been arrested for breaking into a bank while intoxicated. While this would imply that he was trying to rob the bank, the police now believe he didn't realize it was a bank and thought it was his own home, which makes perfect sense to me--I often smash my own window with a revolver and then pass out on the floor after a night of heavy drinking, and if my home were more bank-like in appearance I'm sure I'd find myself in the nearest Chase branch every so often. I'd also like to take this opportunity to express the disgust I feel towards the media, for if they think that a famous actor drunkenly smashing his way into a bank while brandishing a loaded weapon is more interesting than something as monumentally important as the Grammys then they clearly have a lot of soul-searching to do.

Still, it's obvious that Torn needs help (or at least a new pair of glasses and a front door key), and I sincerely hope he gets it. In the meantime, let's remember Torn in happier times. Here he is in 1970, beating the crap out of Norman Mailer:



Forty years ago, attacking a respected author with a hammer could become the cornerstone of your career; now, simply passing out in a bank can land you in jail. It just goes to show how much we've regressed as a society. That said, celebrities and weapons don't tend to mix well. Consider New York Giants receiver Plaxico Burress, who accidentally shot himself in the leg, or Tour de France champion Alberto Contador, who recently fingerbanged himself in the ear:

("There was earwax everywhere!," says a terrified witness.)

Hopefully he recovers from his accidental earbanging in time for this year's Grand Boucle.

Speaking of competitive cycling, yesterday was the elite men's cyclocross world championship, and among the competitors was the Mongolian cyclocross team, under the tutelage of retired classics star and flax mogul Johan Museeuw. While they were not exactly in the medal hunt, to their credit they did manage to finish (albeit a few laps down), and even managed to beat the guy from Israel:

Granted, the Israeli national cyclocross program consists entirely of watching YouTube videos of Sven Nys, but beating them is still impressive. Also, top Mongolian finisher Bold-Erdene Boldbaatar would have placed much higher if an untimely mechanical hadn't forced him into the pits. Here's footage of his mechanic at work:



This unplanned stop threw Boldbaatar off his rhythm, and then a sloppy dismount later in the race ultimately consigned him to the back for the duration:



After that he kept getting lapped like the field was a giant tabby and he was a bowl full of skim milk. Still, it was a strong showing from a cyclocross backwater, and the Mongolian cyclocross team will undoubtedly come back strong next year. In the meantime, they plan to stay sharp in the off-season by playing polo with Museeuw's head.

Speaking of competition, sometime this week I will announce the winner of The Great Meh BSNYC Free Scat Contest!, but in the meantime I'd like to share a few entries from people who will definitely not be getting a free bike. One of them is from someone named Bob Gong, who submitted this because he just wanted to see his name in print:

1. I live in Granite Bay, CA, about 30mins north of Sacramento, CA.
2. I'm 46 years old.
3. I currently own 7 bikes (ok, maybe I do need an 8th one since the number 8 is good luck in Asian cultures, not that I'm superstitious or anything. Honest, cross my heart.....).
4. I've never had a bike stolen, but I'm willing to learn. Maybe this bike is the perfect opportunity... I've lived a very sheltered life or have just been stupor lucky.
5. I would use it to utilize 2 new bike storage hooks I just bought from the hardware store. The biek would be a replacement for my loser social life in that I've never been able to be a true hipster. This biek would give me the tools to be the most baddest, mo-fricky hipster in a 4-county radius, let alone restore my waning, self-confidence.

I'm happy to put your name in print (see above), but alas, your hooks shall remain Scatless.

Here's an excerpt from another submission:

4) How your bike got stolen- Actually, I don't need a new bike. Just thought I'd give this a go, as the only other contest I have won was a drawing at the Sean Kelly site- a heart-rate monitor book, that I never received. Bastard. I do not frequent Sean Kelly's site any longer

I was shocked to learn that the great Irish cyclist apparently lures people in with promises of free heart rate monitor books, which he then fails to deliver. I can assure you that whoever wins the Scattante will in fact receive the Scattante, though it will not be this poor heart-rate-monitor-bookless soul. Still, I do appreciate his "ratting out" Sean Kelly.

Then there were the submissions which were obviously made up, like this one from Canada:

1) Hamilton, Ontario, Canukistan Petrostate
2) Physically 43, mentally, eight
3) 4
4) It wasn’t stolen, it was blown up by a terrorist test rider/looky-loo with an explosive chamois.
5) This was my 2009 Pinarello Va Fungulo Speciale, with Super Record and Zipp 1080 Crabon wheels, the signature “James Huang” edition. This bike was never actually ridden, it resided on the back of my Audi TT Quattro, which I drove to my local Starbucks-disguised-as-a-local café, I would dismount the bike from my German motorcar, and walk it into the café with my cleats ruining the floor. I would then flip open my laptop and post angry messages to Bikeforums to those assholes buying Chinese-built bikes, when they should be buying Amurican-imported frames with Shimano parts. I’d also frequent the racing forum and talk for hours about wattage, elevations , junk miles, why cat 3 racers and the French suck, and just how awesome Lance is. The second important use of this bike was to hang it from a digital LCD scale and post pictures on Weightweenies forum, then engage in a posting tete-a-tete withCharles Manatanan about handlebar tape weights. Oh, Charles, we agreed to disagree, but the discussion was always 4.5/5 stars. The last important use of this bike was to take it to wind tunnels and test various parts off the bike for aero effect at 65 km/hr, the use those numbers to prove why Fabian Cancellara wins TT races, back on Weightweenies. I don’t know how much more typing I can do, as my emotions have overcome me and I feel my perfectly electrolyte-balanced tears (thanks to FRS Energy Drink) may cause an electrocution hazard on this keyboard. I would use the Scattante to post poignant questions all over the internet cycling forums about every single part, then progressively replace every single part with Chinese sound-alike parts off Ebay. I hope that one day I can once again ride around on the hood of my 4T handlebars with a nice set of Zepp 1080 crabon wheels and my aero helmet from Rouis Galneau, and once again connect with the internet fraternity, my Band of Brothers of junk milers…sniff…that godless Al Queada bastard even blew up my LCD scale, I have no way of knowing if I’m below the UCI weight limit of not. And they say people in Haiti have it tough. If I don’t win this, I’ll have to wait another three months for a bonus cheque to buy one (hundred and eighty).

Charles Ponzi-Skeeme III
VP, Bank of America.

I have a feeling a certain frequent commenter is behind that one. Incidentally, a disproportionately large number of the submissions I received came from people in Canada. I'm not sure why that is, though I suspect it may simply be that Canadians are accustomed to receiving free handouts.

But while our guileless neighbors to the north simply wait for people to give them stuff, we Americans are a far more scheming breed. This is because we live in a country which forces us to be conniving, and where simply receiving life-saving medical treatment can require us to weave a vast web of lies. Really, we need to use every weapon in our respective arsenals. If you're Rip Torn, that weapon might be a loaded gun; if you're this woman, it might be an adorable baby:

How did your bike get stolen? from Leah Archibald on Vimeo.

Honestly, who would not want to give this face whatever it wants? (The one on the left I mean.)

Still, it's not going to work on me. Not only is my heart as black as crabon, but the video also reveals the contestant's lavish, sun-drenched home. Clearly, this family lives in luxury and they are not people in need. Had she smeared both their faces with fake dirt and filmed the video in a Dumpster or an abandoned car then they would have had a much better chance. Still, I appreciate the video, and I'm sure they're already on their way to the LBS where she will attempt to use her child to get 15% off a 2009 Trek.

Unethical? Perhaps. But it's better than simply walking into the shop and taking a bike at gunpoint, which is what recently happened in Issaquah, WA:




Keep in mind though that things aren't always what they seem. The thief may actually have been Rip Torn, and he may have just thought he was walking into his own garage.