BSNYC Friday Frumunda Quiz!

As many people are aware, this weekend the North American Handmade Bicycle Show is taking place in Richmond, Virginia. Since Richmond is a mere 350-ish miles (or about 476,500 kilometers, or roughly 1.5 "epic" Rapha rides) from New York City, a number of people have asked me if I will be attending. Sadly, I will not. While I would have enjoyed loading up the Wagon Queen Family Truckster, hitting the New Jersey Turnpike, and straddling two lanes at a leisurely 37mph while the icy wind tousles my hair through my missing windshield and my Ironic Orange Julius Bike hangs out the tailgate, it turns out I have to be elsewhere in the country for something more important. (At least to me.) So while I will not be going to the NAHBS, I will be traveling (weather and Lobster permitting), and as such I will also not be posting on Monday, March 1st but will return on Tuesday, March 2nd with regular updates.

In any case, as much as I would like to stand around a convention center with a bunch of white people who wear cycling caps even when they're not riding and who get a little too excited about beer, I'm also fine with missing it. This is the fifth NAHBS and I think we all know the routine by now. First, photos will start pouring in to the various cycling websites and blogs, with extreme close-ups of tubes meeting other tubes over which you're supposed to get really excited. Then cycling writers and bloggers will attempt to identify some "trend" or "theme" running though the show. Will it be utilitarian bikes? Cyclocross bikes? Cargo bikes? 650b fixed-gear recumbents? Lugged brake levers with bottle openers on them? Then the fixed-gear bloggers will attempt to write knowledgeably about bikes they photographed because they liked the paint scheme or the builder used a piece of vintage Campy or a wine cork as a bar plug. By next Friday, the sight of beautifully made $6,000 city bikes is going to make you want to puke, and by Interbike roughly half the bikes at the NAHBS will turn up in Felt's "Fixie" series, only without the functionality.

Given my absence on Monday, you will have an extra day to complete the quiz with which I am pleased to now present you. As always, study the item, think (that's the thing you do in our head that hurts sometimes), and click on your answer. If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll be forced to attend bicycle safety camp.

Thanks very much as always for reading, as well as for forwarding many of the items in this quiz. Enjoy the weekend, ride safe, and if you're off to NAHBS enjoy all the chin-stroking and try to remember that "fillet brazing" is not a type of cajun cooking.

--BSNYC/RTMS

(Petrified wood: laterally stiff and vertically stiffer)

1) Wood is crabon fribé 2.0:

--True
--False

2) In Portland:

--The "fixies" are tiny
--The riders are enormous
--Both are proportionately oversized
--Both are proportionately miniscule

("Seize this, honkus.")

3) What is the complete message on this rim?

--"Seize The Day"

--"Seize Matters"

--"Seize My Bearings"

--"All You Haters Seize My Balls"

4) Pursuit-to-non-pursuit conversion is freewheel-to-fixed conversion 2.0:

--True
--False





5) Why is this bike wearing a sweater?

--Because it is cold

--Because it is stylish

--Because its owner probably couldn't get one on the cat

--All of the above

6) Why is this bike not wearing a sweater?

--Because it is warm

--Because it is hairy

--Because its owner probably has a dog

--All of the above

("Hipster Wife Hunting" pin-up girl)

7) Which of the following is not an actual reason given by a "Hipster Wife Hunting" pin-up girl (not the one pictured above) for why she would make an ideal hipster wife?

--"Can skid a fixie"

--"Can work the disheveled chic"

--"Like public transportation"

--"Make my own hummus"

***Special Slightly-Risqué-Religious-Lobster-Iconography Themed Bonus Question***

Lobster deities love:

--Cross-dressing
--Hot-tubbin' with naked ladies
--Ménage à quatre
--Cats in sweaters

Rumblings of Change: The Future's So Loud, I Gotta Wear Earplugs

(Sistine Crustacean by Erik K)

The Internet is a wonderful thing. As a member of the highly-coveted 18-64 age demographic (you can sell me anything from gaming consoles to erectile dysfunction medication) I can remember a time before every home and office had access to the Internet--or even a computer. Back then, when I was somewhere between 1 and 47 years old, we couldn't just forward each other videos of heavyset men who look like Tad Doyle riding around in thongs. Instead, we had to re-enact them in person at work or in the schoolyard through an elaborate series of pantomimes, or else recreate the video by obtaining a pad of Post-it notes (this was new technology at the time--Post-it notes were SMS messages 1.0) and turning it into a rudimentary flip-book.

However, the Internet also has its drawbacks. For example, there's the increasing problem of identity theft. Even worse, if your identity gets stolen or you don't even have one in the first place it's way too easy to download one. See, "back in the day," you couldn't just see an identity on the Internet, gauge its popularity and "cool factor," and then decide to adopt it, all within a matter of minutes. Instead, you maybe saw or heard about something that seemed interesting (perhaps in a friend's Post-it note flip-book or while traveling into town to see the village blacksmith for new horseshoes) and then spent weeks or months obtaining more information and the necessary equipment before you even got to try it out. (Sure, people copied other people back then too, but you at least had to get near those people in person in order to copy them. And sometimes they smelled bad.) Plus, unlike now, there were no guarantees about how the world at large would react to your new "steez." Your new identity might get you laid (although "back in the day" people said "getteth you lain"), or you might be severely beaten (or, in the language of the times, "catch a beatdown"). I remember "hitting up" the blacksmith many years ago wearing my brand-new George Frideric Handel World Tour 1733 poet shirt and the bastard called me a "poseur," stuck a hot poker in my eye, and hobbled my Mongolian cyclocross bike, Ol' Dynamite. Sadly, those days are gone--nowadays I could have at least deflected the blow with my iPhone.

As for cycling, it looked a lot different in the pre-Internet days:

Road Bike

Mountain Bike

Track Bike

Power Meter

Pro Cyclist

"Fred"

"Collabo"

Yes, back then, you didn't "drop" a "collabo." The "collabo" dropped you.

But perhaps the worst thing of all about the Internet is the proliferation of documentary films. It used to be that people would wait until after something happened to make a documentary about it. In fact, once in awhile filmmakers would even wait until the subject or person had disappeared altogether. (I know it's hard to believe, but it's true.) At the very least, they'd usually wait until the subject they wanted to document had had some significant cultural impact. Like, you probably could have gotten away with making a documentary about the Vietnam "Collabo" while it was still happening, since it was what people back then used to call a Big Fucking Deal.

Things are different now though. Take for example the upcoming documentary "Made in Queens," about some young people who attach giant speakers to their bikes:

You may have read about this in the New York Times awhile back, but in any case here's the description:

Last summer in a rented garage on the outskirts of Queens, NY something incredible was happening. A group of imaginative tinkerers from Trinidad were working late into the nights creating something nobody had ever seen before: enormous stereo systems jury rigged onto ordinary bmx bikes. Traveling together, each behind the handlebars of his or her own massive homemade creation, they treat the neighborhood to an outrageous impromptu music and dance party on wheels. Directed by Randall Stevens, Made In Queens is a film celebrating America's first stereobike crew.

Is this "something incredible," really? I mean, clearly these kids have some ingenuity, and using ingenuity to have fun is in many ways what youth is all about. So too is figuring out novel ways to enjoy really loud music. But it seems to me like a lot more has to happen before young people enjoying loud music warrants a documentary. Probably the most famous instance in modern times of young people enjoying loud music was the Woodstock Festival, and that just barely qualified for a documentary due to the various artists who played, the number of people who attended, and the historical context in which it took place. Even then, "Woodstock" the film is only slightly a documentary and it's only separated from concert films like the unintentionally hilarious "The Song Remains the Same" by the width of a hippie's pubic hair. (In fact, given the hairy hippie bathing scenes "Woodstock" is mostly a "nature documentary.") Nothing against these kids in Queens, but until half a million of them gather somewhere together in a massive self-indulgent show of dissatisfaction with the status quo while their poorer peers are being conscripted and getting their heads blown off then they're just really into sound systems.

Again, this is not a criticism of the kids, who are just doing what they do; it's a criticism of the director, who is using what they do to sell himself. Here's what the film's marketing materials have to say:

In other words, since these people have no intention to design and package themselves for public consumption, he's going to go ahead and do it for them. There may be "nothing calculated or self-conscious about who they are," but the director is another story, which is why he's good at making commercials and music videos:

I have nothing against commercials or directors of commercials either, but when they start using people's lifestyles as the basis for films that seem like pretentious commercials designed to sell the director it starts making me a little uncomfortable. ("I'm going to portray your recreation as a cultural phenomenon in order to show the world how insightful I am and maybe get hired to do something big.") The truth is, your lifestyle is only as safe from plundering as the rights to it are difficult to obtain, and I'm guessing in this case it was pretty easy.

Then again, maybe I've got it all wrong. I haven't seen the whole thing after all. Maybe it's transcendent, and people with giant speakers on their bikes are going to change our culture forever. Or else they're all going to open stereo shops in 15 years and get rich installing expensive aftermarket audio equipment in the next generation's SUVs. I guess until we can popular search engine the future we'll have to wait to find out.

Going by the Book: Signs from Above

(Forms are already beginning to trickle in.)

Throughout history, humanity has sought to impart meaning on life and to create codes for living. Over the centuries, these codes have been assembled into various books which serve as guides and moral templates. Such books include the Bible, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, and Bob Vila's extensive canon of works on home improvement and remodeling.

I too live my life strictly according to "the book." More accurately, I adhere religiously to two books. These are my generic Bicycle Owner's Manual:

And Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book:


The Bicycle Owner's Manual is the book I turn to when I have doubts, questions, or moral quandaries related to bicycles, bicycle maintenance, the act of cycling, or bicycle ownership. As you can see from the image of the cover above, sometimes you don't even need to open the book to receive guidance. "Turn Front Forks to Face Forwards" is the sort of advice that will take you far as a cyclist. It's also something a surprising number of people do not know how to do, as evidenced by this photo which was sent to me by a reader in London:

Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book, on the other hand, is the book that addresses the more abstract spiritual quandaries in which one can find oneself. It can also help one harness the power of the supernatural and the otherworldly. For example, even before doing my morning Jazzercise and eating my bowl of Franken Berry, I always make sure to check my Daily Numerology Vibrations:

I also make sure to interpret my dreams:

Stanley is not always politically correct, nor is he an accurate speller:

However, the truth is that great mystics can be coarse people. Remember, both Jesus and Bob Vila are simple carpenters (Jesus still carpents in Heaven where he drives around in a beat-up van with "God and Son" painted on the side), and I'm sure when they smack their thumbs with a hammer they both curse accordingly. Remember too that Yoda's poor grammar less powerful his wisdom did not make. So when I have a dream that I'm brunching on omelettes with a bunch of Dutch "podium dudes," I know that I must do all I can to salvage a friendship that is in distress. That's why this morning I called some close personal friends and apologized for sneaking a bunch of greasy bike components into their dishwasher when they had me over for dinner recently. While the machine was not repairable, fortunately our friendship was. Thanks, Stanley. Best $3 I ever spent.

And so it was that, beset by precipitation, I headed into the wilds of Brooklyn yesterday on a twofold mission. I won't bother you with details concerning the first fold of this mission, but the second fold involved wetting my pants:

I will address the pants-wetting in some future post, but in the meantime it's the journey and not the destination with which I am concerned. As it happens, my damp voyage took me along Bedford Avenue, that hotbed of controversy which is currently the Gaza Strip of the "Hipster vs. Hasidim" religious wars. Unwisely, I had undertaken my trip just as the local yeshivas were letting out, and so I got to witness a child drop-off in action:

(All You Buses Protect My Jews)

The way it works is that the bus comes to a sudden diagonal stop in the middle of the block, bringing all vehicular traffic to a halt. Thus protected, the child then emerges on the leeward side of the bus where she is collected by a doting mother in a schmata.

Obviously, whether you're driving a car or "palping" an Ironic Orange Julius Bike, this is somewhat irritating. Unsure of how to comport myself, I consulted my Bicycle Owner's Manual, but the only remotely relevant bit of advice was this:

"Watch out for the other guy-ridedefenal very."

I'm assuming that "guy-ridedefenal" is Yiddish, but lacking fluency in that tongue I was unable to watch out for one. It did specify that I should watch out for the other guy-ridedefenal, though, so I imagined that a first guy-ridedefenal would attempt to distract me while a second stole my bicycle. This, however, did not transpire, and I didn't even bother to consult Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book because no eggs or "faggetts" were involved.

Ultimately, I chose my default mode, which is "watch and contemplate." While the Hasidim are inconsiderate sometimes, it's obvious that their lack of consideration is motivated by a strong protective instinct. Probably the unwisest way to deal with fiercely protective people or animals is to intimidate them, which is essentially what the "hipsters" who intended to ride naked through their neighborhood were planning to do. In a way it all comes down to what you think New York City should be. Traditionally, it's been a place where each neighborhood has a strong character with its own behavioral code that is not necessarily scrutable to or convenient for the sojourner, and where he or she might be expected to behave deferentially or at least respectfully while visiting. (Such respect was really the imperfect yet functional mortar that held the city together.) Increasingly, though, New York is becoming a place that is expected to conform to some higher ideal of what the current post-gentrification wave of "urban planners" believe a "livable city" should be. As a cyclist, I appreciate the latter, but as a person who likes to "watch and contemplate," I appreciate the former. If you expect smooth and unfettered passage some New York neighborhoods can be a real pain in the ass, but you may end up missing them when they're gone.

In any case, it was really only a few moments before the bus moved and I was able to resume my journey. While the Hasidim may have their shtetl, the "hipsters" or "gentrifiers" or whatever you want to call them have theirs too, and it is expanding into areas where once those who advocated for "livable cities" (in the literal "I don't want to get murdered sense," not the "We need more bike racks in front of the Apple store" sense) once feared to tread. With a few moments to kill, I nipped into a "vintage" clothing store in order to get out of the rain:

This, it would seem, is where "hipsters" happen:

I didn't buy anything because I have no real desire to look like Louis Winthorpe III post-arrest:

And once the musty smell became overpowering I went off and took care of the completely legitimate and perfectly legal business that had brought me to this neighborhood in the first place.

On the way back, I noticed with dismay that the new bike lanes which had made a previously death-defying traffic circle pleasantly rideable have now been taken over by the NYPD and are serving as truck and bus parking:

This is actually a pre-automotive superhighway of sorts, since the brown lanes are dedicated to horses and the green lanes are dedicated to bikes:


Even when there aren't police buses in the bike lane though you will often find plenty of manure. It seems the horses like to leave their brown in our green:


As you can see, this particular pile also contains a compact disc, and a closer inspection reveals that it is some sort of Torah study guide:

I'm not sure how this got there. Did someone intentionally discard it, or are New York City's horses now being fed on rabbinical CDs? Either way, I didn't need to consult Stanley's Solid Gold Dream Book to know that this was a sign: In one neighborhood you may be king, but in another you're just manure. Also, sometimes not winding up in crap is a simple matter of paying attention to where you're going.

Gender Issues: Sealing Victory With A Kiss

As we saw yesterday, professional road racing can be blatantly sexual. However, at the same time it is often very conservative. For example, when the sloping top tube road bike made its first appearance under the Giant-sponsored ONCE team back in 1876 or whenever it was, the UCI moved to ban the design. The Great Trek Bicycle Making Company's naturally-occuring Y-Foil evoked similar ire and was successfully banned, which is why you only see them now under weird people with half-shorts and helmet mirrors. Also, even though it's 2010 and homosexuality is gaining widespread cultural acceptance, post-race podium action is strictly heterosexual--though a number of readers inform me that might change at this year's Giro d'Italia:

Like most post-college European backpacking trips, this year's Giro will begin in Amsterdam, and in the spirit of tolerance for which that city is famous at least some people would like to see a pair of "podium dudes" plant a big juicy "Mwah!" on the face of the winner. However, the television broadcaster of the event disagrees:

Personally, I'm in favor of the "podium dude" thing. Who cares what the riders want? The truth is that human sexuality is a strange and confusing grab-bag of preferences and proclivities, and podium ceremonies should evolve to reflect that. One stage it should be two women, and the next it should be two men--and it needn't stop there. How about mixed-gender podium teams? How about using people of indeterminate gender or the intersexed? Maybe once in awhile the podium people could use hot wax instead of kisses, or even ignore the winner altogether and just make out with each other. Plus, the fact that many of the race participants don't want to be kissed by men would actually mean a ratings bonanza for van der Meulen. Who wouldn't tune in to see Fabian Cancellara squirming uncomfortably as he is kissed by a pair of pantsless cowboys or a strange asexual person in a flesh-colored bodysuit à la late 1990s Marilyn Manson? Anyway, according to the guy who came up with this idea, one in ten riders is gay, so they're already being forced to get kissed by someone they don't want to get kissed by:

Really, in the spirit of fairness, I think either every rider should be kissed by podium people whose genders are chosen at random, or else every rider should submit his or her preferences to the UCI who should see to it that they get kissed accordingly:

As I pondered this important issue, it occurred to me that I had no idea whether "podium dudes" already exist in European women's racing, or if they do what they look like. Do they dress like Chippendales? Curious yet frightened of what I might find, I checked out photographs from the Giro d'Italia Femminile, and while I did see men on the podium I wasn't sure what purpose they served nor could I find definitive evidence of a "podium dude" actually kissing a racer. For example, were these guys "podium dudes?"

The guy on the left looks a little bit like he could be an Italian porno actor, but I tend to doubt that the guy on the right was chosen for his physical attributes. Here's another slightly less ambiguous picture:

Given the flirtatious champagne play and the pink Giro-colored polo shirts it's entirely possible that these guys are "podium dudes." Actually, judging from their attire it looks like the race organizers may have flown over a bunch of cabana boys from Atlantic Beach. In any case, if people aren't going to be more open-minded, it seems as though they should get just get rid of the whole kissing thing altogether and replace podium girls with an enraged Bernard Hinault:

When sex gets too controversial then just replace it with violence. Hey, it works for American TV.

In the meantime, if you're looking for fame and fortune and can't get work kissing professional bike racers in public due to your genitalway, you can always find fame on your "fixie," for a reader was kind enough to forward me the following "casting call:"

CASTING FIXED-GEAR CYCLIST FOR PSA
PAY IS $750

Paul Mitchell and Patron Spirits are putting together a PSA with Maneater Productions showcasing various charities and non-profit organizations.

We are looking for a cyclist who owns a FIXED GEAR BIKE and can ride it well. If you want to be in a PSA and show off your moves, please contact us ASAP.

Pay is $250 for the day and $750 buyout in perpetuity for the life of the PSA.

If you do not know what a fixed gear bike is:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fixed-gear_bike

TO SUBMIT:
Be sure to mention you heard about this from Jeff Gund at INFOLIST.com, and email ALL the information requested below ASAP to:
asst@dreambigcasting.net
Be sure to include:
1. Your name (first and last)
2. Contact Phone Number
3. Current photo (jpg format please)
4. If available, a video or LINK to a video showing yourself riding.
5. Be sure to mention you heard about this from Jeff Gund at INFOLIST.com!

I can only imagine what kind of PSA a hair care company, a tequila maker, and a company named "Maneater" are preparing to "drop," but it sounds like it has the makings for a great Giro d'Italia-in-Amsterdam post-stage afterparty. Also, I particularly like the fact that they are looking for someone who "owns a fixed gear bike and can ride it well," yet they still provide a link to the Wikipedia fixed-gear entry just in case. It's obvious that the casting agent knows nothing about fixed-gear "culture," especially since he's offering a "$750 buyout in perpetuity." Everybody knows that the going rate for "selling out in perpetuity" among fixed-gear riders is a pair of Velocity Chukkers and maybe a dorky t-shirt of some kind, and I think the people in that Jared Leto video did it for like half a tuna sandwich apiece. A shrewd negotiator would have started with free Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Hair and Body Moisturizer® for life and then worked his way up. Seriously, we're talking about people who are now actually using acrylic handlebars!

(These things, via another reader.)

Oh well, it's their money.

Wild Kingdom: The Primal Nature of Cycling

If you're reading this right now, I'm willing to bet you're a human being. (If you're licking this blog instead of reading it, you're probably a cat or dog or other common house pet.) Assuming I'm right and you're not a hyper-intelligent terrier, you should go ahead and give yourself a hearty congratulations for being a member of the human race. Our accomplishments are many, and the length of the Dachshund of Time is riddled with the swollen ticks of our accomplishments. Just a few awesome things humankind has "dropped" over the centuries include:

'Da Wheel:




'Da Catapult:




'Da Cotton Gin:

(I don't know what one is but in social studies I learned Eli Whitney invented it.)

Shrimp Cocktail:



And, of course, culturally insensitive ice dancing:



As amazing and indispensable as all these things are though (especially the ice dancing, arguably the pinnacle of human achievement), it's important that we maintain some perspective. Sure, we're amazing, but we can't ice skate around acting like we're Lobster's gift to the planet Earth. We may be able to launch our shrimp cocktails for miles thanks to our mighty catapults, but underneath our aboriginal bodysuits we're simply animals like any other. Who are we to say we're better or more important than the proud puma, the crafty lemur, or the wily phosphorescent jellyfish? What if animal husbandry only seems like our idea, but in reality it is the animals who are husbanding us, and one day our cows and chickens will seize our cotton gins and turn them against us?

The truth is our skyscrapers and bridges are only so many beehives and beaver dams. If you need proof of this, look no further than the world of cycling. To ride through the park on an unseasonably warm day is to visit a zoo in which the various cycling breeds display themselves in uncomfortable proximity to each other. Roadies whizz by like gazelles; frustrated mountain bikers hunch over their riser bars like pensive gorillas as their knobbies thrum away on the pavement; and that group of guys who don't ride and hang out by the benches all day with their Colnagos and Mercatone Uno jerseys preen like peacocks, their unworn Vittorias as yellow as the day they bought them back in 1998.

Consider also the world of professional cycling. What is more naturalistic than a bike race, in which a group of riders compete in sperm-like fashion to be the first to reach the ovum of victory? The most potent of these riders is the one who can continue to perform day after day, and remain fertile after the three-week courtship ritual that is a Grand Tour. Such riders often choose to adorn themselves or their equipment with symbols of their potency, as is the case with Alberto Contador's new saddle, which many readers have alerted me to over the past couple of days:

(Image via PezCycling News)

"There aren't many guys who can pull off a saddle like this," reads the caption, though the manner in which the victories are bursting forth from the tip of the fingerbang like male issue is more evocative of "pulling out" than of "pulling off." This saddle is a bold message to the rest of the peloton. It says, "I am the dominant male, and if you refuse to acknowledge this I will assert my dominance by administering a palmarès 'facial'. Furthermore, my wins and my seed are so abundant that I can squander them in a demonstrative fashion." At the same time, the placement of the tip of the finger in the taintal vicinity provides Contador with additional impetus. And if all that were not enough, his name is also rendered in an approximation of the Prada logo:

But as intimidating and luridly suggestive as this saddle is, it could also indicate a rider on the defensive. If you read Cycling Inquisition or various Internet forums you may have seen Contador wearing this very puzzling t-shirt:

"Help me!," reads the t-shirt. "My girlfriend wishes a menage a trois. ...She, my ass and me. But I don't want to climb on the bed!" Now this is not the shirt of a champion. Again, the meaning of the message is ambiguous, but the most likely explanation is that Contador's girlfriend wants to do something to his ass and he's reluctant to comply. However, a true champion would not cry out for help in this situation. Rather, he would assert total control. "I'll determine who fingerbangs whom and in which orifice!," his shirt should have said. You wouldn't catch Mario Cipollini in a shirt like that. Assuming you actually manage to find him wearing anything at all, it would probably be a message more along these lines:

(Cipo to fan: "Can't say I didn't warn you.")

The best boasts are the ones that also absolve the boaster of any responsibility. (Though I don't think Cipo actually has a choice--he may have to wear that as a condition of his parole.)

Speaking of suggestive messages and fearlessness, some people might be afraid to read an email like this:

However, as a highly occasionally paid cycling blogger I am not one to shirk responsibility. The email was indeed from the so-called "Bike Fag," and it contained a link to the following eBay auction:


And yes, the the seller does claim the frame is made from Reynolds "butt tubing:"
As it happens, I recently read an article in "Rouleur" about Reynolds, but nowhere did it say they made "butt tubing" or really any kind of medical equipment. Still, if you're the winner, you might want to treat the frame with something a bit stronger than frame-saver just in case.

Wondering if any other bicycles were made from "butt tubing," I consulted a popular search engine, which led me directly to a Thai website. I know what you're thinking, but believe it or not the site was entirely bike-related and confirmed the existence of bicycles that were not only made from "butt tubing:"

But also equipped with something called "Boipace:"

At this point you may be tempted to chide me for making gratuitous references to sex acts and the human anatomy, but I maintain that disregarding such things is to deny our true animal nature. Is not such denial at the heart of pretension? Do we not laugh at the "Fixie Crew" because of the absurdity of attempting to make the simple act of grazing seem more meaningful than it actually is? And what is more animalistic than killing another animal and using its hide to adorn your "fixie," as in this Craigslist ad forwarded to me by a reader?

Fixed gear bicycle - black - $300 (Montreal West)
Date: 2010-02-19, 2:34PM EST
Reply to: [deleted]

Hey! Here is a refurbished bicycle with a peugeot frame (54cm from crank to seat post), and a peugeot center pull front brake. The grips are hand sewn elk hide leather. Seat is an old ADGA leather saddle from another peugeot, probably from 1973-1974 The crankset is shimano, and the rear hub and sprocket are new by iso. The 1/8" yellow chain is new. Gear ratio is 46/18 for a nice versatile ride, easy skids and tall hills. Alexrims DA16 wheelset. Tires in good condition. Bike hasn't been ridden since repainted, and has been fully cleaned and oiled. Included is a handmade stubby wood fender that I made, but you don't necessarily have to have if you want it removed. Same goes for the front brake, if you rather go brakeless.


I guess elk hide is Cork 2.0.