Now I wouldn't say Lou and I were best friends exactly, but we were once in the same dog obedience class, and that's the sort of experience that creates an enduring bond between people.
In any case, I find it tremendously inspiring that even one of the foremost architects of underground rock apparently spent his middle age the way so many of us regular schmucks do, i.e. riding around town on his wife's Jamis and getting hornswoggled into going to a dog obedience class.
You can only walk on the wild side for so long.
(And even if you do want to keep walking on the wild side you really can't, since the wild side is now the High Line, and the transsexual prostitutes have been replaced with an Apple store.)
Anyway, hopefully wherever he is now he's feeling just like Jesus's son and the goddamn dogs are doing what the fuck he wants them to for once.
Secondly, I am LOVING this whole autumn thing:
Whoever came up with the idea of inserting a brightly-colored and refreshingly cool spacer season between summer and winter (arguably the suckiest times for bicycle cycling) really knew what they were doing.
By the way, isn't that a pretty view? (Answer: Yes, it's delightful.) Well, what you don't see is that beyond those cliffs rides one of the highest concentrations of Freds and Tridorks in the western world, easily rivaling the crabon-and-Lycra shitshows of the San Francisco Bay Area or wherever else staggering numbers of bike dorks stalk the city's outskirts. I, however, have become increasingly cantankerous and Lou Reed-like as I get older, and so I prefer to avoid them whenever possible by staying on the opposite side of the river and hiding in the forest:
Here, your biggest problem is small groups of people on bouncy bikes who attach cameras to their helments and make videos of themselves riding over the same rock over and over again while bellowing "Woo-hoo!" like frat boys at a kegger. It's not really a big deal though, since they're so distracted by repeatedly falling over the same obstacle that you can just ride right by them.
Eventually though what happens is that you stop to sit down and nibble on some food while enjoying the solitude of the forest, and then off in the distance you hear the sounds of "Woo-hoos!" and breaking branches, which means they've finally tired of their rock and are in search of another, but even this isn't so bad, since they give you plenty of warning and it's easy to escape.
And in the worst case scenario, if they do manage to get close, all you have to do is scamper up a hill, because when they try to follow you what happens is they shift into their granny gears, start spinning frantically, and then just fall over sideways.
As you can see, I am well-versed in the ways of the suburban wilderness.
By the way, even though I ride with a primitive chain and not a state-of-the-art belt, my drivetrain did not get "clogged with dust:"
Wow, it's almost like chains are cheap, durable, and easy to maintain, whereas belt drives are expensive and fucking stupid.
Shockingly though, this bike (which was forwarded to me by a reader) does not have a belt drive:
Steve is a 45 year-old, upper class, male. He is also a prosumer. That means he values products of professional quality. He is an avid cyclist and a businessman: clean-cut, organized, and always on time. He enjoys riding a $4,000 bike on Thursday night rides and weekends, but what he could really use is a dedicated commuter bike.
Seriously? "Prosumer?" This is what we are calling Freds now? Okay, fine. If Fred needs to waste even more money than he already has in order to have a "dedicated commuter bike" he should just buy a Budnitz, right? Nope! Apparently that's not what being a "prosumer" is all about, and what Fred really needs is a trunk, like he has on his Mercedes:
I don't like where this is going.
So a little tracing, a little sawing, and a little wood glue:
And there you have it, a singlespeed Softride with a storage compartment in the front wheel:
Yeah, I don't see what could possibly go wrong with this setup:
Plus, the best part about it is that all you have to do is throw in your dirty clothes, some water, and a little detergent, and you've done your laundry on the way to work:
All this from the mind of David Hotard:
Yeah, that's right.
It's the first and last name in prosumerist Fred-tastic singlespeed aero washing machines--though I would upgrade it with a Climax Frok, as forwarded by another reader:
Nice froks, they look very prosumerist:
But, as the site itself asks, "Why Climax?" Well, here's why:
So basically, they look at your body, they give you a frok, and there's your Climax.
Makes sense to me.
Lastly, here's an encounter between a motorist and a cyclist that will chill you to the bone:
Hey, I know that sort of thing can be frustrating, but there's no need for obscenities.