I'm moving to Portland.
Yeah, right. I'd chew my own arms off in a month if I had to live in Portland. I am actually moving though.
"So what the hell does that have to do with me?," you're probably wondering. Well, my move affects you inasmuch as my myriad movular responsibilities will prohibit me from updating this blog until Monday, November 19th, at which point I will resume something like regular updates. And before you start in about how it only takes one day to move, please bear in mind that 1) I'm not one of those stupid minimalists; and 2) I'm doing this entirely by cargo bike, so between now and next Monday I have to make roughly 150 round trips between my current home and my new one. (Click here to see my cargo bike outfitted for a big move.)
"So where are you moving?," you probably aren't asking because you don't give a crap about my extra-blogular comings and goings, and rightly so. Well, to answer you anyway, we're staying in New York City but we're leaving Brooklyn, which has treated me very well for many years but which has also become an increasingly expensive place to live, especially if you don't want to share a bedroom with your seventeen children. Sure, I'm obviously ridiculously wealthy, but in Brooklyn all I can afford is a fabulously remodeled townhouse next-door to Martin Amis, whereas in my new part of town I can build a full-scale replica of Seattle's Space Needle from scratch, which is exactly what I did. Who wants to live on street level listening to all that drunken spondee at all hours when instead you can tower 600 feet above the serfs in God's Rectal Thermometer? Plus, my new locale will place me considerably closer to both paved and unpaved recreational bicycle cycling routes, and when it comes down to it isn't that what life is all about?
Best of all, you're all invited over for Thanksgiving dinner, and you can find directions here.
In any case, I'll refrain from burdening you with any further details regarding my change of venue at this time, though I will add that I will not be decorating my new home with Spinergy light fixtures, as seen via Twitter:
Here's the backstory:
People usually have a love-it-or-hate-it relationship with Spinergy Rev-X wheels, but when I saw a damaged specimen at a flea market, I figured I just had to buy it and think of something to do with it. Pages of design sketches later, the Xtralight ceiling lamp was conceived.
It's very misleading to refer to a Spinergy Rev-X as a "damaged specimen," since that implies there's such a thing as an intact one. Heavy, ugly, and failure-prone, the Rev-X was essentially pre-damaged from the moment it left the factory, and why you'd actually want to sleep under one is beyond me. Even more amazingly, this guy's wife sleeps under it too:
Worst of all, he left off the "epic" Spinergy pie plate:
Now it's liable to fall off the ceiling and sever his knee, like that urban myth about Michele Bartoli.
Speaking of danger, as cyclocross continues to explode in popularity like a Spinergy explodes in..well, like a Spinergy just explodes, it would appear that a Cat 4 cyclocross start is rapidly becoming the most dangerous place it's possible to find yourself on a bicycle, as evidenced by this video that was forwarded to me by a reader:
(Freds rushing where the agile fear to tread.)
Getting the holeshot is nice and all, but it's what you do with it that counts, and if you're not confident that you can hold out for the win then you owe it to yourself and your fellow riders to squander it spectacularly.
Meanwhile, as amateurs keep crashing, pros keep apologizing, and now Bradley Wiggins is sorry that he gave a photographer "the finger" after he got hit by a car:
“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their kind thoughts and messages over the last 48 hours, and of course all the staff at the Royal Preston Hospital who looked after me so well,” Wiggins is quoted as saying on Team Sky’s website. “I would also like to apologize for the gesture that I made when I arrived home yesterday afternoon. I was tired, in a lot of pain, and just wanted to get inside, but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I’m sorry for that."
As sponsors continue to withdraw from the sport I look forward to the day that European professional road racing will finally go the way of six-day races in Madison Square Garden, but in the meantime the least these riders could do is stop apologizing all the time. The doping apologies are disingenuous enough, but the idea that Wiggins--who spews "cunts" and "birds" like some sort of gynecological aviary--had a momentary lapse that he now regrets is just absurd. Moreover, his response was completely warranted. Really, he shouldn't apologize at all, but if he really feels the need to express regret over something he should apologize for some of his past haircuts:
("Helment hair" would be an improvement.)
Yes, as cyclists become increasingly disenchanted with the professionals the Freds of Tomorrow will cease to emulate them, and instead will dress like tennis players and golfers--or at least that's what Giro seems to think, judging by their "New Road" line of clothing:
Here's what Bradley Wiggins would look like if he were a cycling shoe:
Part of me wants to like the Giro New Road clothes for their understated functionality, and part of me wonders if this sort of attempt to sidestep Fredliness is in fact more Fredly than Fred-ness itself. Either way, everybody knows that cycling clothing disguised as regular clothing was perfected years ago by Primal Wear with their Ritz Tuxedo jersey:
Lastly, Transportation Alternatives have released this video to teach New Yorkers how to behave at intersections:
Which includes an admonition against texting and walking:
However, the truth is that it's actually good technique to walk around with your phone directly in your face, since if I'd been doing that I'd never have smashed my nose into that gate last week.
If you're not going to walk around in a helment, holding your smartphone in front of your face is the next best thing.
See you again on Monday, November 19th,
--Wildcat Rock Machine