New Contest Announcement: Get Your Hands On a Cockie!

When I wake up in the morning (or, more accurately, the early afternoon), the first thing I do (unless I have to pee really badly) is kneel down on my groovy shag prayer rug and give thanks to the Almighty Lobster On High for all the blessings He (or She, I have no idea how to determine the sex of a lobster) has bestowed upon me.  These blessings can change from day to day and week to week, and this week the biggest, juiciest, most succulent blessing I've received so far is that I'm not going to Interbike:

(There's no "God."  That's a lobster, you silly goose!)

Actually, I'm thankful every year that I'm not going to Interbike, chiefly because it's in Las Vegas and there's no place I want to visit less than Las Vegas (with the possible exception of a Park Slope Food Coop meeting.)  This year I'm doubly thankful though, because not only will I not have to go to Las Vegas, but I also won't have to look at a bunch of road bikes with disc brakes:

(Blech.)

It's not even that I'm against the idea of road bikes with disc brakes, since disc brakes obviously work pretty well on all sorts of bicycles, motorcycles, cars, and so forth.  (Unlike other gimmicks companies attempt to foist on cyclists, such as belt drives, which are pretty much only used on big farty Harley-Davidsons.)  Nor am I skeptical that Freds will eventually embrace road bikes with disc brakes, since paying someone else to bleed their brakes before the big century ride is exactly the sort of outsourcing that gets Freds excited.  Rather, it's the next few years of incessant marketing and constant refinements and expensive new "standards" that get cast aside immediately that I'm not sure I'll be able to stand.

The fact is, disc brakes on road bikes is inevitable, since if there's one thing that Freds hate it's knowing how to work on any part of their bicycle.  Instead, they prefer to have a rolling inscrutable mystery between their legs that they take in to the bike shop at regular prescribed service intervals, like a leased BMW.  The bicycle industry has served them well, too.  Thanks to integrated seatposts, they can no longer raise or lower their own saddles.  (And even when they could they couldn't do it without paying for a professional bicycle fitting first.)  Thanks to crabon wheels the tubular tire has made a resurgence, which is something no Fred knows how to glue.  Thanks to electronic shifting they need a qualified technician to plug their derailleurs into a diagnostic tool like they do when their BMWs display a "check engine" light.  The weak link is of course the brakes, which even the most inept Fred can still figure out how to adjust, but with the advent of disc brakes the only form of maintenance a typical Fred will be able to perform on his road bike is refilling his water bottle.

Speaking of gimmickry, you'll recall that last week I announced a contest to give away a Biomega Boston folding bicycle cycle, brought to you by the publishers of a book called "100 Best Bikes:"

If there's not a Trek Y-Foil in that book then they've got a serious false advertising lawsuit on their hands:

(The Trek Y-Foil is universally regarded as the greatest bicycle ever made.)

Anyway, one of the requirements was that all the contestants had to be victims of bike theft, and in reading the entries I've learned that if you want to keep your bicycle you should adhere to the following rules:

--Don't lock your bike to a scaffolding;
--Don't use a cable lock;
--Don't lend your bike to a friend;
--Don't play racquetball.

I honestly can't recall how playing racquetball led to someone's bike getting stolen, but it did, and ultimately it doesn't matter since you probably shouldn't be playing racquetball anyway unless you're a stockbroker from the 1980s like in the movie "Wall Street."

In any case, after receiving hundreds of worthy submissions I found the idea of choosing a single winner rather daunting.  Nevertheless, I grit my teeth, took a deep breath, played an Oliver Stonian game of racquetball with an acolyte that sort of served as a metaphor for our relationship and what was going on in the film, and decided that I would award the Biomega Boston folding replacement horse to Anna in Marblehead:

Hey Wildcat,

I'm Anna, and I live in Marblehead- just outside of Boston, Massachusetts.  I am currently the mother of three children under the age of 5, which is a lovely job even though my kids stubbornly refuse to match my 401k contributions.  (That makes my 401k worth three dollars instead of the six that it could be)  My favorite tv show is Parks and Recreation.  All of the characters are smug and Rob Lowe acts like a Fred.

I used to make my way around Boston on my bicycle and that's where it was stolen.  The bike racks are sadly lacking around here which is particularly vexing because I'm crabby and don't want to lock my bike seven blocks away from my destination.  The other options are to take your bike inside with you or hand it directly to the guy that rides around on his three-wheeler shouting at pedestrians all day.  I'm pretty sure he's the head of a bike thief cartel; his bellows a signal to his minions.  Anyway, the first time I attempted to take my bike inside on a quick errand, I took it upstairs with me in one of the building's giant gold elevators.  It seemed to be common practice there and everything was fine until a few more passengers attempted to board the elevator on the eighth floor.  The subsequent events are a bit fuzzy to me even now, but in my effort to make more room I somehow managed to allow my bike to tip over onto an uptight young man in a bankers tie with an excessively slim-cut oxford shirt.  Obviously I'm a moron but his response seemed disproportionate to the crime and I was left with emotional scars that would prevent me from ever taking my bike inside again.  So it would later get stolen off a bike rack seven blocks away.

It was locked but I suppose the three-wheeling bike thief can foil even the stoutest u-lock.  Also, it wasn't that stout.  I learned that I need a folding bike because I think I'll be less likely to drop it on someone.  I have been reluctant to even consider buying one because I didn't fancy looking like a circus bear on a tiny bike but the biomega one doesn't look absurd so that's nice.

If I was given a free folding bike?  Well I'd be beside myself actually.  I haven't been able to replace my old one yet and not having a bike sucks.  Won't the world be a better place with one less awkward non-folding-bicycle-in-an-elevator schlepper?  (Because I surely won't be locking my theoretical new bike outdoors anymore, even if it is "theft proof," and that means more indoor bike transport shenanigans.)  Slim-cut Oxford Shirt would be happy to hear that I'll no longer be a menace in the gilded elevators of his office building and then we'll all sleep better at night.

Thanks for your consideration, Wildcat.
~Anna

Why Anna from Marblehead?  Here's why:

--She followed all the submission rules;
--She's from Tyler Hamilton's hometown but she's not him;
--She says she's "currently" the mother of three children under the age of five, which implies maybe she's contemplating leaving them if she doesn't get a free bike, and I won't have that on my conscience;
--The bike is called a Biomega Boston, and she rides in Boston, so obviously this bike is made for her;
--She was victimized in an elevator by a member of the 1%;
--She knows that it's the small things that make the world a better place, not the pretentious stuff like "helping people," "giving," or "curing diseases;"
--She's agreed to cease worshipping false idols and become a devout Lobsterite.

Actually, she hasn't agreed to the conversion yet, but I imagine she will when she receives a visit in Marblehead from someone known only as "The Proselytizer:"

When The Proselytizer puts on her Disposable Bib of Justice and gets to work with her Lobster Tools of Righteousness the heathen generally renounce their faiths in no time at all.

So congratulations to Anna, and many thanks to all who entered.  I'd give you all free bicycles, but unfortunately I can't, thanks to those greedy bastards on Wall Street.

Speaking of Tyler Hamilton, he wrote a book about taking drugs in order to ride bikes better, and everybody's favorite professional cyclist Jens Voigt recently had this to say on the subject:

When asked about recent revelations and admissions of doping, Voigt said, “Some people have been more open about their pasts, some haven’t, and I wouldn’t put them all in the same box.”

“Obviously there have been some crazy times in cycling and it’s all coming out now. I’m a big fan of truth and justice but sometimes you’ve got to say this is so long ago and we’ll never find out everything, we should somehow find a moment and a way of saying lets draw a line and concentrate on making the sport better now.”

It's funny how nobody ever accuses him of being part of an "omerta" just because he's lovably cartoony and he sounds like a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Brüno.

As for me, sometimes I feel as though the only beauty that remains in cycling is that of a majestic cockpit.  That's why back in 2010, before cockpits were even cool, I totally had a cockpit contest, and this was the overall winner:


Well, as I mentioned last week, in the interest of giving away more free stuff and of reveling in cockpit porn, I've decided to "curate" another cockpit photo competition.  To be honest, I never thought I'd have another cockpit contest for the simple reason it's hard to imagine anything topping the one above, but at the same time there have been tremendous advantages in the field of cockpit technology in the past two years so it's possible that we could be on the cusp of a whole new generation of cockpit greateness.  In fact, one reader was so excited about the new cockpit contest that he submitted a photo of his own:

It's worth noting that recumbents are the only bicycles on which the drivetrain is arguably part of the cockpit, and in any case those bar-end shifters are clearly flipping dignity "the bird."

Anyway, here's how the Second Bi-Annual Cock-Off is going to work.  First, take a picture of a compelling bicycle cockpit.  (See the last contest for style guidelines.)  Then, email that photo to bikesnobnyc (at) yahoo (dot) com with the following subject line:

COME ON WILDCAT LIGHT MY COCKPIT!

The winner or winners will then receive exciting state-of-the-art and potentially seizure-inducing rechargeable bicycle lights from Knog, just in time for the fall riding season:

By the way, these are not to be confused with "Exposure Lights:"

Which were forwarded to me by a reader since their site features a "helment" compatibility chart:

I'm not sure if the Knogs are helment-compatible, but I will test them and let you know.  At any rate, that's the contest.  Happy cockpit-hunting!

Lastly, from another reader comes this article from a Canadian newspaper (yes there really is such a thing) which says that in the future we'll all be David Byrne:

Sadly, though, your lack of car ownership isn't going to impress anybody anymore:

Similar trends are in place in Canada, Australia, Europe and Japan. The Japanese call it “demotorization.” Cars used to be status symbols. Now, they’re becoming unaffordable burdens.

This seems like good news for people who like to ride bikes and walk without dying, though the writer does draw some strange conclusions:

I have a theory that the model city of the future is not Toronto, Austin or London. It is central Bologna or Venice, where the car is either non-existent or scarce. There is a reason tourists flock to tiny Venice by the millions: It is to be in a city where streets are for people, not cars, where you can talk without being overwhelmed by the din of engines, and where you can buy life’s essentials within a 10-minute walk.

I'm pretty sure the reason tourists flock to Venice is to gawk at the guys in the stripey shirts who row the funny boats, but other than that it sounds lovely.

Rhinestoned: Bedazzled and Confused

Good morning!  Welcome into my home.  Please, have a seat.  So good of you to join me.  Don't mind that stain on the couch, it looks like it's wet and it also smells funny but it's totally dry.  Just sit right on it, you won't stick to it.  Watch TV, help yourself to some Cheetos®, add a few more stains to the couch, whatever.  I'll be over here typing words into my computer, but my helper monkey, Vito, will fetch you whatever you need, even if it's illegal.  He only asks that you spend a few moments delousing him in return.  There are few things more relaxing than delousing a monkey while watching daytime television, I strongly recommend you try it.

Owing to what has been something of a busy morning for me (meaning I actually had to put on pants and leave the house for a short period of time, which is a frightening proposition when you're an aspiring shut-in) the words you're reading may be somewhat disjointed and slipshod, like a homemade bamboo bicycle frame or an NYPD investigation of a driver-on-cyclist collision. Rest assured however that I will not be skimping on the inspirational stories, and a reader who was fortunate enough to meet the Lone Wolf informs me that as of late he has been "bedazzling his bike with 9,000 gems:"

He also deigned to pose for a portrait with the reader's friend, and it's shocking how much cooler the Lone Wolf's White Lotus of Truth is than than that MUSH Cannoli "collabo" fixie or whatever it is:

The reader even managed to gain some rare insight into the Lone Wolf's creative process:

Also, food for thought, I asked Lone Wolf if he sits in silence as he bedazzles or if he listens to some sort of music. Totally no shock, but he says he does it in silence.

I usually listen to classic Madonna while self-administering mani-pedis with lackluster results, and  clearly I would be well-advised to follow the Lone Wolf's example and work in an atmosphere that was more conducive to quiet contemplation.  I may try it when I move on to bedazzling the crotches of all my bib shorts.  (The insides of the crotches, of course.)

Meanwhile, in Portland, another reader tells me that educators are finally challenging the white hegemony inherent in the peanut butter and jelly sandwich:

Evidently, the problem is that too many children feel alienated by this Western imperialist luncheon food:

“What about Somali or Hispanic students, who might not eat sandwiches?” says Gutierrez, principal at Harvey Scott K-8 School, a diverse school of 500 students in Northeast Portland’s Cully neighborhood.

“Another way would be to say: ‘Americans eat peanut butter and jelly, do you have anything like that?’ Let them tell you. Maybe they eat torta. Or pita.”

Yes, one culture's white bread is another culture's "white privilege:"

Through intensive staff trainings, frequent staff meetings, classroom observations and other initiatives, the premise is that if educators can understand their own “white privilege,” then they can change their teaching practices to boost minority students’ performance.

It's a good thing the people of Portland have the courage to expose these elitist schoolteachers for the one-percenters that they are, and when the revolution comes I hope that they're the first ones with their backs against the wall and their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths because they've been gorging themselves on haute cuisine like PB&J sandwiches.  If I was a painter I'd render the Lone Wolf as a pan-cultural deity with many arms, dispensing tortas and pitas and falafels and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to all the children of the world as he smiles beatifically with the bedazzled disc wheel of his Lotus creating a halo effect behind his head.  But I'm not an artist, so instead here's a picture of a naked lady on a recumbent bicycle:

Of course, by censoring a naked woman on a recumbent we attempt to mute her seductive power, but we do so in vain.  Similarly, yet another reader tells me there are people out there who think you can keep things from getting stolen by putting tape on them, which is similarly futile:

Make your bike ugly. Well, not too ugly, you still want to to love your bike! For example though, this author's bike seat has a hole in it that's covered up with a piece of electrical tape. This seat has no value whatsoever to a criminal because it's damaged. Why not put a piece of tape on your bike seat and deter criminals from ever taking it?

People seem to think you can "un-dazzle" a bike or component to the point where nobody will want it, but go ahead and put a piece of tape on your fancy-schmancy Brooks and see what happens.  I suppose that depending on a thief's unique set of cultural references he may not steal a saddle with a piece of black tape on it because he thinks its a symbol of mourning and he fears divine retribution, but for the most part your typical workaday peanut butter and jelly sandwich-eating stealer of bicycles is not going to give a shit.

Speaking of stolen bikes, submissions continue to pour in for the Free Bio-Whatever Cable-For-A-Downtube Bike Contest (which ends at 12:01am on Friday, which is colloquially known as "tonight"), and here's someone who very well could find himself astride one of these things in the coming days:

I am Al Dimond, I live in Seattle, I write software, my favorite TV show is HBO's telling of George R. R. Martin's "realpolitik fantasy epic" Game of Butts.

My bike was stolen while it was locked at a bike rack with a "high theft area" sign at it. Um, overnight. I didn't intend to leave it there overnight, but when I went to pick it up in the evening I found that someone had tried and failed to cut the cable lock, and so instead had cut my brake cables. I had a party to get to and didn't want to be burdened with a brakeless freewheel bike in hilly Seattle, so I left it there. Went to pick it up the next morning and, naturally, it was gone.

My stolen bike was exactly like the one you're giving away except a few years older, with Puma branding, and glow-in-the-dark paint. I got it from a guy I met at a party who won it in a raffle at his office. He worked for an advertising agency and it had been used in a promotional photo shoot by Dr. Dre. Anyway, I'm pretty sure you can ride it with the downtube cable removed. I didn't test that extensively, but I rode it up and down an alley with the cable disconnected and the bike didn't fold up directly into my groin or anything like that. So I guess I need a folding bike so I can actually fold it up and take it places with me this time.

It's not like I should win this contest or something, but you should know that this bike

(LOL, fatfingered tab + spacebar). ... but you should know that this bike's built-in cable lock apparently doesn't deter theft in any meaningful way. This supposed anti-theft system won some kind of design prize a few years ago, so it's no surprise it's useless, right?

First of all, he watches TV, and even though I don't watch his favorite show I like that he likes it.  (In this contest, passion counts for a lot, especially when it involves TV.)  I also like that he locked his bike up to a rack with a "high theft area" sign on it (meaning he's not that smart) yet he also refused to ride a bike with cut brake cables (meaning he's not that stupid).  Basically, he hits the intellectual "sweet spot" between surviving and flourishing, and as someone who occupies that same portion of the brainial spectrum I feel a certain affinity for him.  Most endearingly, he's already owned the same bike, thought it was stupid, and doesn't really want another one--which makes me want to give him one anyway.  It's the sort of cosmic joke in which I'd take great pleasure in participating.

Here's another promising contestant:

1.  Who am I?

I'm Kurt Morris.  I live just outside of Philadelphia and I grew up in Pittsburgh and travel there frequently.  I work, all day long, with big and important powerful lawyers - I'm not a lawyer.  I do their administrative work.  I'm comfortable enough to admit that my favorite TV show is, and always has been, The Golden Girls.

2.  How was my bike stolen?  What did I learn?

My brand new bike (Scattante - purchased in May) was stolen out of my shed while I was sleeping earlier this summer.  I have many suspects in my head - neighbors, hoodlums, Bea Arthur.  Deep down, in the bottom of my heart, I can't help but hold myself accountable.  My friends laughed at me - but I totally should have continued co-sleeping until the end of the summer.  I'm not justifying my actions but I decided to park the bicycle in the shed, rather than in my bed next to me, because I do value the independence and personal freedom that my new bike gains by being parked in its own space.  That should count for something, dammit.  

That's all bullshit - I don't actually sleep with my bike.  I parked my bike in my shed and didn't lock it to anything because I assumed that it was safe.  Stupid stupid stupid!  Anyway - my main take aways were - that it can happen to me; That my bike can be stolen right out from under my nose; And that I hate people who steal bikes... like.. a lot.

3.  Why do I need a folding bike?

Honestly - who NEEDS a folding bike?  Anyone?  I don't... really.  Should I admit that?  Anyway - I'm just trying to be honest.  I have, however, come up with several justifications as to why I FEEL like I need a folding bike.  They are:

*  It will fit in my bed with me much easier than my old bike (or a dead horse...)
*  I commute to center city everyday on my bike (used to - hope to again).  On days when it rains or snows, with a folding bike, I can more easily bike to the train station and fold it up to take public transportation into work.  It is a bit of a pet peeve of mine that I can't take my bike on the trains or subways or other public transport during rush hour, if needed (more on that in a second).  My office is a bit away from the train station in Philly so I would then bike to my office from the station.  I'd much rather do this than drive into work or drive to the train station.  I won't leave my bike at the train station all day - even locked up.  

*  Rather than drive, I frequently take the MegaBus to Pittsburgh from Philadelphia to visit friends and family.  I'd really like to take my bike on the hills and trails rather than borrow one when I get there (or drive in order to take my own bike).  One of my major complaints is that MegaBus will not accommodate bicycles on their buses.

  
A folding bike will allow me to bike to the bus stop in Philly, board the bus (with my folding bike collapsed), bus to Pittsburgh, and then bike to my destinations once I get there.  MegaBus doesn't specify if I would be permitted to take a FOLDING bike on the bus - but if they don't, that would become part of my answer to question #4.

4.  How would I make the world a better place with my fancy new folding bike?  

Simply put, (in addition to changing the MegaBus policy) the world would see my joy in riding my new folding bicycle and every time I was asked about it, I would shamelessly promote your books and blog.  (That can't hurt, right?)

Thank you for your consideration.  Regardless of the decision, I honestly love reading your work (both books and blog).  Thank you!   

As a fellow Scattante owner I empathize with the fact that his was stolen, but at the same time I resent him because he owns a shed, which clearly means he's a one-percenter.  (I bet he eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches too).  Nevertheless, he does have a clear need for a folding bike, since he does ride the bus (the "MegaBus," to be precise), and he also grew up in Pittsburgh and continues to visit there, which is good for sympathy points.

Anyway, between these two contestants and the one I've mentioned yesterday, I've now read a grand total of three (3) submissions which means I've only got about 197 to go.

Lastly, still yet another reader informs me that even in 2012 the art of fixie customization is sill flourishing, and here's a particularly stunning exaple:

Not only that, but you can own it for a mere $500:

Everybody knows that cyclocross bikes are the new fixie bikes, but this bicycle is uniquely designed to make sure that its owner stays loyal to fixiedom forever.  This is because, should the rider ever be tempted to flirt with cyclocross by "portaging" the bicycle, the strategically-placed decorative chainrings will sever his arm at the shoulder in short order.

It's a touch lesson, but the fixie gods demand loyalty.

Naked Truth: What's Everybody Got Against Pants All of a Sudden?

In today's fast-paced world of instant gratification, it's all too easy to make hasty decisions. There's already an RU86 "morning after" smart phone app, and I imagine it won't be long before we're electing our Presidents in the same way we "like" or "dislike" things on The Facing Book. This is why it's more important than ever to bring back the art of good old-fashioned artisanal decision "curation" like we used to use "Back in the Day:"

(Dachshund of Time, aka the Wiener Dog of Human History)

See, "Back in the Day" you didn't just push a button to make a decision. Instead, you withdrew from society for a prolonged period of meditation and reflection. For example, let's say you had to decide on which spurious cure to take for your consumption, or which brand of pennyfarthing bicycle to purchase. Well, you took a leave of absence from your vocation, you left your family in the care of a neighbor or relative, you put on your decision-making hair shirt, and you retreated into your local Deciding Cave for anywhere from a few weeks to a decade. Then you'd reemerge. Of course, by the time you came back that bloodletting or high-wheeler was probably obsolete, but that's precisely why the old-timey method of decision-making was so effective. Just think of all the leechings and faceplants people were spared because they took the time to think things through.

Well, yesterday I announced the finalists in the "There Will Be Action Wipes" contest, and in so doing I presented you with a decision as important as any you're likely to face in your lifetime. Therefore, to turn around and ask you to pick a winner a mere 24 hours later would be to do a disservice to you, the contestants, and indeed our entire society. Instead, I am granting you an additional day to reflect, and to aid in this I am presenting you with a visual aid:

As I mentioned when I launched the contest two years ago or whenever it was, what we're doing is creating a simplified international symbol for cycling akin to the little men's room guy. So, what I've done is created five mock-ups, one for each finalist, which depict the symbol as you'd be likely to encounter it out in the real world. Here they are:

1)

2)

3)

4)

5)

I'm sure you'll agree that this puts an entirely new spin on each the finalists. In particular, #4 has phallic implications even on its own, so when placed on a minimalist porta-potty it could easily lead a traveler to believe the structure is actually some sort of public "glory hole." You should take this into account when choosing your favorite, though whether it counts as a positive or a negative depends entirely on how you feel about glory holes.

Context, as they say, is everything.

Speaking of the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork, a reader informs me that, astoundingly, "Bicycling" magazine (who have now compiled all of my Giro d'Italia blog posts in one handy link, Lob help you) is continuing to use him in their promotional materials:

I don't know if their use of this image means "Bicycling" are totally in touch or completely out of touch, but either way it's indisputable at this point that the TTTSWRFFTPTD is nothing less than a cycling icon.

Also, I got to use him for one of my Giro blogs.

Anyway, until we have a new international symbol to guide us, in many cities across America and elsewhere cycling remains a daunting process of blindly inserting ourselves into the metaphorical glory hole of fate and hoping that the world isn't in a biting mood. Yesterday I did just that as I left my little bucolic backwater and bicycle cycled into The Big City. On the way there, I passed this "vintage" BMW with two tickets and a party flyer on it:

Even though I know he drives a Jaguar, my first thought was that the car belonged to that idiot John Cassidy from The New Yorker. Not only does he have a confirmed fondness for old cars and street parking, but he's also just the sort of person who'd get so hung over after some douchey dinner that he'd forget to move his car for two successive street cleanings. I guess we'll know for sure when he publishes a screed about the evils of alternate side parking and how it interferes with his drinking regimen.

I also saw a woman portaging two (2) actual human children in a "bake feets:"

I'm still a novice at this point when it comes to child-portaging, so I'm not sure if there's an equivalent of "Cat 6" racing among the sorts of smug people who engage in it. If so, I'm assuming it doesn't work like regular Cat 6 racing and that it's not as simple as just beating other child-portagers to the tops of climbs. Instead, I imagine there's got to be some sort of a handicapping system that would take into account variables such as:

--The age of the child;

--The number of children being portaged;

--The rider's "Smugness Quotient;"

--The child's embarrassment factor.

That last one seems especially important. A baby or toddler on a bicycle generally looks either happy or asleep, whereas some of these kids I see being portaged in "bake feets" lately are almost in puberty and wear looks of profound and intense embarrassment. You have to figure it's pretty rough to show up at school in mommy's "bake feets" when some of your friends are already arriving on their own "fixies." In any case, I imagine a child portager on a $3,000 "bake feets" carrying two children with a combined age of 26, both of whom are hiding behind their "Harry Potter" novels in shame, has won any child-portaging race before it's even begun.

Anyway, I wasn't portaging a child at the time, so needless to say I totally dominated the woman on the "bake feets." However, no sooner had I begun my descent than I was confronted with a mob of bike rental tourists:

I don't recall seeing this many rental bike tourists on the Manhattan Bridge in years past, but in any case now that the weather is fair they are present in alarming numbers. Inevitably at least one of these riders does something exceedingly stupid and almost crashes me, and this time it was the guy who turned to watch a passing subway train like he was on safari and it was some sort of exotic animal. As he admired the seductive beauty of the D train, he turned right into the guardrail and lost control of his bicycle, though to his credit he was able to correct himself before actually falling off it. Still, if he's so taken with subway trains and bridge views than maybe he should just ride the actual train. I'm sure it's a lot cheaper than renting one of those crappy bikes.

Thanking the Lob above for allowing me to ford the "Big Skanky" without striking a hapless bicycle tourist, I arrived in Manhattan, only to be passed by the rider in the red helmet, who implored me to attend the World Naked Bike Ride on June 11th:

This, to me, is the worst thing about the "bike culture"--their assumption that, just because I'm using a bicycle, I'd also be interested in doing something as ridiculous as riding it naked. If I were using a weed whacker, would some other amateur landscaper tell me I should try edging my lawn without my pants? If I had been buying an avocado in the supermarket, would that woman in front of me have tried to get me to jump naked into a giant bowl of guacamole? Unlikely. Then why tell me I should ride my bike naked? Plus, even if I were actually into riding my bike naked, is it even possible I wouldn't already know about the World Naked Bike Ride? Isn't that like telling someone who's wearing a football jersey, "Hey, you should really check out the Superbowl!" Most distressing, who's so excited about the World Naked Bike Ride that they're riding around telling complete strangers about it?

Well, that guy apparently.

Anyway, at the next light he did that thing fixed-gear riders do where they start weaving like half a block before they get to the intersection and take up two whole lanes of traffic in order to perform the simple act of slowing down. I then found myself contemplating whether it would be too un-PC to start calling such people "skid-tards." Maybe so, but watching these riders bring their bikes to a halt is like watching an old dog who circles a section of floor 47 times before finally lying down.

Then I passed by some sidewalk art:

Naked cycling tip: when taking a break, avoid sitting pantsless on unfinished wooden furniture. Also, be sure to use a pie plate so your, uh, "derailleur" doesn't get stuck in your spokes:

This photo comes via Chris from Electra Bikes who spotted these aftermarket pie plates in a bike shop in Germany, and I'm sure it will please naked cyclists everywhere to know that they're available in both small and large sizes.

10 Items or Less: The Avocado of Death

In today's modern world of today, there are innumerable evils facing our modern society. Nukelear meltdowns, international financiers who grope hotel staff, and a dependence on foreign desserts are just a few of these insidious threats to our very existence. However, when it comes to negative influences, there is one that looms larger than all others:

Minimalism.

Sure, you might think that a movement consisting bunch of rich, iPad-wielding couch surfers with a penchant for borrowing stuff would be relatively benign. Think again--unless you're a minimalist, of course. Minimalists only think once, if at all. They like to keep their heads as empty as their apartments.

The truth is, minimalism is a philosophy of denial, and in this sense it's the Creationism of lifestyles. Creationists deny the mountains of tangible evolutionary evidence we walk on, dig in, and burn in our gas tanks every day in favor of a story they prefer to believe. Similarly, minimalists deny the principles of simple mathematics in favor of a subjective form of accounting that would amaze even a Goldman Sachs executive.

Consider that "15 things" guy:

He arrived at his number by arbitrarily omitting stuff (like his toiletry kit), as well as by bundling other stuff together (like his electronics and various chargers) and counting them as one thing. It's that last form of fictional counting--bundling stuff together--that's the most insidious. For example, bundling a bunch of subprime mortgages together and selling them was what caused the financial crisis. Even worse, bundling items together is wreaking havoc at our supermarket checkout counters, as I learned this past weekend:

The above was the scene I encountered in a Brooklyn supermarket at the so-called "10 items or less" register. As you can see, there are ten items of fruit on the conveyor belt alone--and that's not counting what the cashier has already bagged!

At first I puzzled over how someone could commit a civil violation so egregious, but then I realized that this twisted minimalist counting style is now trickling down to the rest of society, and that the woman purchasing all this stuff has probably deluded herself into thinking that all those avocados are one item. (In fairness to her, the juice wasn't hers--it belonged to the gentleman with the giant fanny pack waiting behind her.)

A mortgage crisis is one thing, but glutted supermarket checkout lines are something else altogether, and the consequences of the latter are potentially far worse. Not only does it cause delay, but allowing people to purchase multiple avocados via express lane while simultaneously inconveniencing purchasers of other items could lead to an "avocado bubble" that could burst with tragic consequences--and I don't want to be around when the guacamole hits the fan.

In any case, I've never shied away from social protest, and you can be sure I did my part by sighing impatiently in a barely audible fashion.

Speaking of counting stuff, Transportation Nation is attempting to quantify the New York City bicycle crackdown, and to this end they're creating a bike ticket map to show which neighborhoods in have been most cracked down-upon. Here's how the map looks so far:

(Each red mark represents an extremely indignant white person.)

As you can see, ticketing seems to be heaviest in parts of the city inhabited by the sorts of whiny people whose biggest problem in life is having to wait behind other people buying too many avocados in supermarkets. Non-coincidentally, these are also exactly the sorts of people who send out press releases to local news websites when they get tickets for running red lights on their Dutch bikes, and who ultimately report this information to crowdsourcing projects run by smug transportation websites. The result of this project is what may be the most obvious map ever created, though I am admittedly intrigued by the outliers, such as this one:

I can only assume this represents a roadie on his way to or from the evening races at Floyd Bennett Field (the big beige blob in the middle of the image), and I must say that surviving the wild ride down Flatbush Avenue only to get a ticket just as you've reached the safety of the Gateway National Recreation Area is like winning the World Rib Eating Championship and then choking to death on a maraschino cherry as you enjoy a celebratory cocktail.

Meanwhile, drivers are constantly finding bold new ways to obstruct bike lanes. For awhile, it looked like the protected ones were posing a bit of a challenge, but I'm pleased to report that one motor vehicle owner has finally cracked the problem of how to block them by simply placing his car diagonally across the controversial Prospect Park West bike lane:

I'm not sure what they were actually doing, but they are taking rope out of the trunk so it's possible that they were tying the car back together. The blanket would also indicate they needed to do some work on the underside of the vehicle:

Perhaps by parking the car partially on the curb they afforded themselves easier access:

As for why they wouldn't simply work on the car in the empty parking space right next to them, my best guess is that the green surface offers better contrast for finding those pesky nuts and bolts that are so easy to lose while performing repairs.

Really, the only thing I'm sure of is there's not a cop in New York City who would even think of giving them a ticket, and I also wouldn't be surprised if the so-called "Neighbors for Better Bike Lanes" emerged from their brownstones and served them lunch.

Finally, as I mentioned last week, I am now resolved to bring the "There Will Be Action Wipes" contest to a conclusion:

To this end, I have chosen five finalists, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it was by far the hardest thing I've ever done. (Harder even than having to wait multiple minutes behind a woman buying too many avocados.) The most difficult part was having to exclude the submissions that were brilliant yet not in keeping with the goal of the contest, which was to create an international symbol for cycling. Therefore, as much as I loved this one:


And this one:

(Erik K)

And this one:

They were a bit too detailed for simple signage. (Sure, the submission above is a sign, but it doesn't work for, say, an airport terminal, or a dedicated cyclist restroom were such a thing to come into existence.) The same thing goes for this one:


I also was forced to exclude symbols that were signworthy but did not include the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork:


Or that took excessive liberties with his bicycle:
Again, I can't say emphatically enough that it pained me deeply to exclude all the submissions above, as well as many other exquisite renderings I also received. So, finally, I've narrowed the submissions down to these five (5) finalists, in no particular order:

I have my favorite, but I'm not saying which. In the coming days I'll most likely put these to a vote, but in the meantime I invite you to reflect upon them and consider which you'd most like to represent you in a municipal setting.