It's a Zen Thing: What's the Sound of No Brakes Stopping?

As I mentioned on a popular "social network" recently, I will be visiting a number of cities in support of my forthcoming book (which finally "descends" in May). Furthermore, Chronicle, the publishers of this book, have created a "webular site" where you can go to find out where these visits will take place as well as contact Chronicle and bug them for stuff. It's worth noting that, after years of "curating" my own blog, this marks the first time I have been associated with a website that looks in any way professional:
Don't let the veneer of legitimacy mislead you, though; I still have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Really, it's all a pretense for taking a low-budget whirlwind tour of America's "Hipster Belt," and here are the places I'll be visiting:

(I wanted to go to Portland, ME, but Chronicle insisted on Portland, OR.)

As for what will actually take place at these "appearances," I'm not quite sure, though I do assure you I will not simply sit there and read out loud from the book like real authors do, since that's about as interesting as watching a chef read aloud from his recipes. At at least one of these events (the Bike New York one on May 2nd), I will be more than happy to top off your tires for you. Also, I realize I'm missing a bunch of important and vibrant cultural hubs (you may have noticed there's no Intercourse, PA or Banff, Canada) but please don't blame me for the omission. If anything, blame your local ordinances which restrict the keeping of monkeys as pets, because I don't go anywhere without my helper monkey, Vito. (Cleveland calls it a "health code;" I call it government-sanctioned discrimination.)

Speaking of Vito, you may have noticed that "hipster cyst" magnates Knog (who take the "Euro" approach to web design by blasting loud music on their site, so beware) are actually sponsoring my book tour. I'm sincerely grateful to them for helping to make this possible, though most of their support is going towards Vito's lavish tour rider:
Success has clearly gone to his simian cranium. In any case, I want to thank Chronicle and Knog for the organization and support, and I'm very much looking forward to getting the hell out of New York for awhile. I hope to meet at least some of you along the way, and I'll endeavor to make the whole experience as enjoyable for everybody as possible (short of providing anything illegal).

Moving on, you may recall that not too long ago I created a submission for The New Yorker's Cartoon Caption Contest, of which I was rather proud:

Well, I just received the new issue, and I was so enraged by how lame the winning submission was that I almost threw the magazine to the floor and left the bathroom altogether:
Oh, how droll, Lynn.

Eventually, though, I got a handle on my rage (thank goodness for towel racks) and decided instead to channel it towards coming up with a new submission. Here's the latest cartoon:

Once again, I had to do a little additional artwork (this time in the form of a suggestive protuberance in the walrus's crotchal region) but I honestly think I nailed it:
Sure, there's a gratuitous highbrow literary reference, but it's mostly funny because the walrus is using a book to secret his erection. Also, it's relatable. Really, who hasn't been caught in a state of arousal while reading a classic?

Anyway, pending my June foray into America's urban playgrounds, I'm still stuck here in New York City, where this spring there seems to be more (and more varied kinds of) cyclists than ever before. This is a good thing. However, with this proliferation comes "accidents," and this is obviously a bad thing. Yesterday in particular was a bad day for cyclists (and pedestrians) in New York, as you can see from this Transportation Alternatives press release:

While I generally prefer to inhabit a fantasy world in which walruses "pop boners" while reading Melville, the fact is that it's important once in awhile to reflect on tragedy. Most of us have experienced misfortune on our bicycles (as well as off of our bicycles), and I have nothing but sympathy for the victims. However, I also disagree that "The only way out of this chaos is through safer streets and safer drivers sharing the roads." Yes, we need both of these things, but we also need safer cyclists riding their bikes--and by "safer cyclists" I don't mean people wearing helmets. In the absence of smart riding, wearing a helmet makes you about as safe as wearing a knitted beverage coaster or a pointy party hat makes you "right." It's not the hat that matters; it's what you do under it that's important, and it may amaze some people to learn that you can even be "safe" (or even "right") without wearing anything on your head at all. Furthermore, while we undoubtedly need safer drivers, we also cannot drive people's cars for them, and so the most important thing by far is to operate the vehicle over which we do have complete control as expertly as possible.

This is not to imply in any way that any of these victims were at fault. However, from what I do see on a daily basis, there are a lot of riders who seem to want to completely outsource responsibility for their own well-being to the world at large. For example, yesterday, just as I was about to turn onto the Williamsburg Bridge, I heard shouting and a "scraping" sound. Seconds later, a rider on a brakeless fixed-gear appeared, his flat tire half off the rim. Here he is as the does the "Brakeless Fixie-Fail Portage of Shame:"

Now, I don't know if he flatted while attempting to stop, or he flatted first and had to perform an emergency stop as a result, but judging from the shouting and the scraping he was not in control of his bicycle. People can debate how effectively you can stop a brakeless fixed-gear bicycle all they want, but the truth is that having your ability to slow your bike depend almost entirely on the integrity of your rear tire is ridiculous. Tires go flat all the time, and without warning. Riding your bike without being prepared for a flat (not to mention a clueless pedestrian or driver entering your path) is like going to a whorehouse without a condom. This guy could have been wearing three helmets and it wouldn't have helped him stop any quicker (just like wearing three helmets to a whorehouse won't protect him from getting syphilis).

Incidentally, you may also have noticed the rider on the tall bike:

The fact that a tall bike incidentally entered my field of vision while I watched all of this has nothing to do with safety; rather, it simply underscores just how "flambullient" spring cycling in New York City has become. At this point, it's barely even noteworthy to see a brakeless flat-tire panic stop, a tall bike, a "Beautiful Godzilla," and a commuter on a comically tiny folding bike all at the same time. Words like "circus" and "carnival-like atmosphere" are bandied about very liberally these days, but when it comes to the Williamsburg Bridge in springtime they barely approximate the absurdity. Really, "psychedelic clusterfuck" is the only phrase that comes close. (Actually, I'm pretty sure the guy on the tall bike plays bass in "Psychedelic Clusterfuck.")

Speaking of "Beautiful Godzillas," they were also evident yesterday in abundance. Here's one with a Marc Jacobs bag (Marc Jacobs bags are to "Beautiful Godzillas" what Chrome bags are to "fakengers") who did not pause from her cellphone conversation for even a moment:

And here's a variant of the "Beautiful Godzilla:"

As you can see, she has somehow enlisted a gentleman to shuttle her about on his bicycle while she engages in a cellphone conversation. And engage she did--I was behind them for quite awhile, during which time the conversation showed no signs of slowing:

I always just assumed that "Beautiful Godzillas" abandoned bicycles as soon as they found men with German convertibles, but I suppose there are some who instead latch on to another cyclist in mid-flight, like mating dragonflies. That could be why this guy in the yellow Porsche Boxter, despite being total "Beautiful Godzilla" bait, is all alone:

There was once a time in New York City that a man driving a convertible Porsche along Avenue A and blasting jazz flute at top volume (as he most certainly was) would be lucky to survive. That time is long gone. I guess this is what they mean by "livable streets."

By the way, it is convertible weather in many parts of the country, but that does not mean that some crabon fiber bicycle owners are finished fretting about the cold:

What is it about crabon that turns people into feverish, hand-wringing worrywarts? If they're not worrying about the heat melting it, then they're worried about the cold cracking it. I suppose this was understandable back in the '90s, when the material was relatively new to cycling and people on "rec.bicycles.tech" used to prophesy that all those newfangled carbon forks would all spontaneously combust (in reality only some of them did), but I would think that 15 years on people would have gained a little perspective. Somehow, though, crabon still manages to elicit from people the sort of materialism-based pain and suffering that Buddhists warn people about--for as the Buddha himself said, "Mo' money, mo' problems." It makes you wonder why they buy it in the first place.

Perhaps one day someone will harness the awesome fear-inducing properties of crabon to make people ride more cautiously. Until then, I guess they'll just keep strapping on helmets, riding without brakes, and hoping for the best.