Signs of Victory: What it Takes to Win

(I assume I'm interpreting that correctly.)

I am not much of a sports fan. Generally speaking, I only pay attention to sports that I enjoy doing, which means the only ones I follow are professional cycling and pumpkin tossing. As far as the latter goes, the discipline reached its pinnacle in 1998 when the Aludium Q36 Pumpkin Modulator hurled a pumpkin over 4,400 feet, and sadly it's been a sport on the wane ever since. Professional cycling, on the other hand, only gets more exciting every year. First, Louis "Birdie" Munger became the first person to win the Tour de France on a pennyfarthing in 1887. (His time was six years, two months, 25 days, three hours, and four minutes--seconds had not yet been invented.) Then, Eddy Merckx won the World Championships in 1967 on a "safety bicycle," the first time such a contraption had been used in competition. Shortly thereafter, at the 1990 Giro d'Italia, Mario Cipollini became the first-ever rider to contract and (thanks to a hastily-administered penicillin shot) recover from a sexually transmitted disease in the course of a single Grand Tour stage. And today, cycling fans in the United States rejoiced over the news that sprinter Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish will once again compete in the Tour of California:

As cycling fans already know, the Tour of California used to take place in February, but organizers have moved it to May in order to draw a deeper field by attracting riders frightened of contracting the STDs for which the Giro d'Italia is now famous. It's always exciting to see a rider of Cavendish's caliber pay a visit to US soil, though barring that I suppose his coming to California is the next best thing. (At least it's not Canada.) Of course, Cavendish's fearsome sprint is only a small part of his appeal, and the most exciting thing about him is that he's perhaps the greatest victory-saluter the sport has ever produced. Just a few of the salutes he's invented include:

"The Optician"

"Is there something on my glasses or am I really this awesome?"

"The UPS Man"

"Hi, ladies. Care to sign for this package?"

"The Phone Sex"

"I'm gently thumbing my nipple. What are you doing?"

Word has it that Cavendish is hard at work designing a series of California-themed victory salutes which we will unleash along with his sprint at this year's race. These may or may not include: juggling six oranges he's been secreting in his chamois; carefully weighing the pros and cons of marijuana law reform; and the preparing and subsequent consumption of an actual "epic burrito."

While "purists" may balk, as a cycling fan I'm a firm believer that the victory salute is an essential component of racing, so much so that I think points should be on offer. For example, if two riders are within a few points of each other in the Tour de France "green jersey" competition (not to be confused with the NORML-sponsored "green jersey" at this year's Tour of California, which will go to the last rider to sign in every morning), then I think victory salutes should be taken into account. If Mark Cavendish and Thor Hushovd are running neck-and-neck on the final stage, and Hushovd wins on the Champs-Élysées, yet on the prior stage Cavendish has managed to produce one of his trademark bizarre psycho-sexual salutes, then he overall should still go to him.

But there's more to pro cycling than victory salutes; there's also compelling names, and my most favoritest name has long been Dmitri Fofonov, because his last name sounds sort of like "foffing off," which in turn sounds like a euphemism for "tossing your pumpkin." Fortunately, a reader informs me that Fofonov is now back in the peloton after a drug suspension and has joined Astana:

Yes, foffing off can be rejuvenating--provided it's done in moderation. Incidentally, Astana is also home to the anti-Cavendish, Alberto Contador, whose "fingerbang" victory salutes are as repetitive as Cavendish's are imaginative.

(Contador receives emergency mid-race treament.)

(Fortunately, it's not his fingerbanging arm.)

Hopefully, Contador does not incur some sort of repetitive stress injury this year from all that fingerbanging, though I suppose that's something you're more likely to get from too much Fofonov.

Speaking of road racing, awhile back I mentioned the Reynolds RZR something-or-other crabon fribé "wheelset," which costs $6,000. So proud are Reynolds of these things that they purchased the URL "theworldslightestwheel.com" to flog them, presumably because "theworldsdouchiestwheel.com" was taken at the time. Anyway, it seems as though James Huang has gotten his hands on a pair, and shockingly at no point does he refer to them as "hoops:"

When you pay $6,000 for bicycle wheels, you get the same thing you get when you pay $600, or even when you pay $150, which is a couple of round things that roll and atop which you will still suck at bike racing if you already sucked at bike racing. However, you do get to say you have the "world's lightest wheel," and you also gain access to the exciting world of "Swirl Lip Generator(TM)" technology:

I wanted to learn more about the "Swirl Lip Generator" and if it was indeed something I wanted, but all I could find was this tube of lip gloss from Victoria's Secret:

At five tubes for $20, I was easily able to afford enough "Swirl Lip" technology to smear all over every "wheelset" I own. Furthermore, I still had $5,980 left, which I proceeded to spend on women's underpants. Admittedly, though, I didn't have "N.A.C.A." spokes. N.A.C.A. stands for "National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics"--which was dissolved in 1958:

The name, however, lives on as a name for a sort of air foil, which as far as I can tell means that Reynolds have made bold new use of cutting-edge 1958 airplane technology. So presumably, for $6,000 you will have a wheelset so light, so swirly, and so aerodynamic that it will transform your bicycle into a swirling, gravity-defying, cash-sucking vortex. If a diamond is the product of the extreme heat and pressure that exists below the surface of the Earth, then these wheels are the direct result of the intense desperation emitted by amateur racers all over North America.

Whither uber-curmudgeon and serial retrogrouch Jobst Brandt, a man so formidable that his stare alone produces over a million Diminutive Frenchman Units (DFUs) and can crush a Reynolds RZR like a pair of skinny jeans crushes a pair of "pants yabbies?" Well, a number of readers inform me that he recently granted an interview to the website "Cozy Beehive," and here is an excerpt:

It's refreshing to read something like this, especially just after reading about a pair of $6,000 Fred-rollers. If Brandt were truly market-savvy, he'd "drop" a $6,000 crabon fiber edition of his book complete with N.A.C.A. cover. My guess is it would be a huge bestseller.

Meanwhile, in the world of "outlaw urban" cycling, it seems that the humble alleycat is dead and the new trend is simply piggybacking onto other sports. A reader recently forwarded me this video of the "Wolfpack Hustle" holding a race on the course of the Los Angeles Marathon (and there's also a race report here):

WOLFPACK HUSTLE: LA MARATHON CRASH RACE from Warren Kommers on Vimeo.

Said one rider in the video, "This is the only opportunity all year to ride our bikes unobstructed. No traffic, no lights." As far as I know, there are both sanctioned road races as well as velodromes in southern California, though I suppose it was implicit in his statement that you should also be able to do so while carrying designer messenger-inspired luggage. Anyway, if this whole "hipster" athletic parasitism thing continues to take off, expect to see match sprints at your local bowling alley soon.