Veloquence

As cyclists, there are many things we do or say that mark us as part of the bike culture. Obsession with body weight, leg shaving, and occasional hormone consumption are all things in which cyclists (and the transgendered) engage.

And like any hobby, sport, profession, subculture, lifestyle or obsession, cycling has its own set of words unique to itself. Knowing and understanding these words gives many of us that comfortable feeling of belonging to a larger whole.

Granted, I have a delicate ear, but some of these words have just never sat well with me. Here are a few bits of cycling jargon I could stand never to hear again.

Brifter

I’m a huge Sheldon Brown fan, but I hate this word. I don’t know if he coined it or simply propagated it, but in either case it makes me wince. It makes me think of SPD sandals, really long quill stems, and hairy legs. (Did I mention I’m a huge Sheldon Brown fan?) And at the same time it is dangerously close to another conjoined word I hate: “brunch.” I’d rather say STI, or Ergo, or even "integrated brake/shift lever." And it’s not like we even have to anymore. It’s 2007—I think we all know what a “lever” refers to on a bike. But I shouldn’t complain. “Brifter” is better than “shrake lever.”

Peloton

This word is used way too freely, especially by people who have just learned it. When you’re watching the Tour de France, or Liege-Bastogne-Liege, say “peloton.” When you’re talking about the local training series, just say “pack,” or “field,” or “group.” I've never heard of anybody being called “peloton fill.”

Failure Mode

This one is bandied about on rec.bicycles.tech quite often. I know there are a lot of cyclist engineers out there, but this is a dire, overblown expression that is far too severe for most bicycle parts. Generally someone will post something like, “What’s the failure mode for a latex inner tube?” Come on, tone it down a little. To me, “failure mode” evokes going down in flames. Say “failure mode” when you’re talking about the tiles on the Space Shuttle. When you’re talking about a bike part, just ask, “How does it usually break?”

Front/Rear Mech (UK only)

I am thankful I do not live in the UK, because I don’t think I could stand to hear these words used regularly. I love Britain and her people, but their cutesy little words sometimes irritate me for reasons I don’t quite understand. Call me a francophile, call me a squanderer of syllables, or call me a pedant, but what the hell is wrong with the word “derailleur?” (And forget about seatpin. A pin goes in a cushion—or if you say “seatpin” around me, in you.)

[blank]set*
(as in “wheelset,” “frameset,” “crankset,” etc.)

This is a tricky one because it’s so deeply engrained in cycling parlance—adding “set” to the end of everything. Even I use “[blank]set” regularly, despite the fact that as I’m saying or typing it I immediately regret it. I understand why it exists: for example, a “frameset” ideally distinguishes a frame and fork from just the frame. But now the expression is so common people really don’t even observe the distinction anymore. Hence it loses its meaning. And why do we need to say “wheelset” anyway? They’re just wheels! What would a “wheelset” include that wheels would not? Bags? Tires? OK, maybe skewers. But why don’t we just go all the way, and start saying “saddleset” (includes rails), “seatpostset” (includes clamp), “pedalset” (includes cleats), “tireset” (front and rear, maybe with tubes), and “bar tapeset” (cork and adhesive—now there’s a concept).

*(The one 100% acceptable and appropriate usage is, of course, headset!)

Bidon

If you’re an anglophone, it’s a bottle.