Instant Icons: Design Run A-Meh

In yesterday's post, I said with regard to "concept bikes" that "I'm not sure why designers feel as though they must constantly molest the cycling world with their idiotic and useless bike designs, since there are few machines in this world which require less improvement." Well, I'm now beginning to understand. A reader recently forwarded me a video about "industrial designers" and "urban mobility," and it explains a great deal about why designers are constantly reinventing bicycles as giant kitchen appliances.

As the video opens, the narrator explains that "As the concept of urban mobility gains momentum, bike manufacturers are harnessing the world's best industrial designers to reinvent locomotion on two wheels." We then see a woman in sweatpants walking a mountain bike, which serves to underscore this point:


The narrator then goes on to explain how "bike culture has evolved into a philosophical lifestyle where style and substance have converged," after which we see one of those color-coordinated fixed-gears that will soon come to symbolize the dubious fashions of "the Aughts" in the same way that acid wash came to symbolize the 1980s or leprous bubos came to represent the Middle Ages:

(When style and substance collide, substance vaporizes and dissapears on impact.)

We are then introduced to Jamie Anley, the creative director of something called JAM, which a popular search engine reveals is "a creativity and ideas consultancy for brands" that specializes in "the art of branding." Just as you can determine people's military rank by the bars on their shoulders, you can tell how important design people are by how many buttons they leave open or by how much chest they're showing:

According to Anley, "Designers in the creative community find inspiration in different industries and surprising places and they love to discover using their own transfer and their own imagination"--or, as a person with less chest showing might put it, they're rip-off artists.

In fact, Anley is such an accomplished "branding artist" that he actually manages to rebrand the act of ripping stuff off as "creative promiscuity." "Creative promiscuity," he explains, "is innate in all of us and only recently have people gone, 'It's OK to make a really beautiful bike.'"

This stunned me. Awhile back, I received a book called "The Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles," which contained photographs of "beautiful" bicycles, some of which were really old. Apparently, though, all of those photos were fakes, since as Anley says the idea of making an attractive bike is an entirely new concept. By the way, if you're wondering what makes a bike "beautiful," it's colors--lots and lots of pretty colors:

(Color did not exist in cycling until 2007.)

Next, we meet the people at a company called Biomega, who the narrator assures us coined the phrase, "Furniture as locomotion"--which I've never, ever heard before, and which makes as much sense as the phrase, "Refrigeration as heating." Here they are assembling a bike:


Here's the founder, whose highly-buttoned shirt calls into question his credibility as a designer:


Skibsted believes that bicycles "need to be expressions of who we are. In order to counter the design instruments of the car they need to be very iconic." It seems to me that it takes a long time for something to become iconic, and when you set out to create an icon you wind up with something that's less iconic than it is contrived. Zippos are iconic, but I'd guess that the company founder (I believe his name was Aristotle Zippopotamus) probably just wanted to make a lighter that worked well. I also suspect that if you really want to create an icon you're better off just building something durable and relatively inexpensive. Also, your bike doesn't need to be "iconic" to be an "expression of who you are." Take my bike, for example. The scratches say I lock it to poles a lot, and the mozzarella and crusty sauce on the top tube says I love pizza. What more do you need to know?

Then again, some people aspire to be more than just careless pizza-scarfers. They want to be "elegant." Says Skibsted, "If it's not elegant then it shouldn't exist." I wonder if Skibsted would refuse a life-saving injection on the grounds that the needle was insufficiently elegant, or the doctor was poorly dressed. I also wonder if when he says "elegant" he really means "blocky."

(According to Skibsted's own rule, this stem should not exist.)

From Europe, the video then moves on to Asia, where we meet Michael Young of Giant, the designer behind "the iconic Cityspeed." A shot of Young's sketches reveals just how seriously he approached the project and how exacting his requirements were--not only do they call for a "beautiful fitting" and a "comfy-yet-cool seat (saddle)," but they also specify that the seatpost should be "steal-proof" and the handlebars "various:"

If Young's sketches don't convince you he knows how to design a bicycle, then surely his plunging neckline will:


"They wanted me to exploit the facilities in the factory," explains Young, "So things like this crossbar, although a lot of bike fanatics might go, 'Ooh, that looks a bit intimidating,' is actually not in the slightest:"


I admit I'm a "bike fanatic," and I also admit the "crossbar" does intimidate me somewhat, but only because it's pointed on the top and it looks like it could really hurt my "pants yabbies." Also, the groove looks like it would collect pizza sauce, though that could be good for dipping mozzarella sticks. But while Young insists the oddly-shaped "crossbar" does not intimidate, he fails do point out what it does do or why it's shaped that way. I guess it's just iconic, like the fork:

"It's extremely complex to do these things," Young says. Why?

I much prefer the Niner guy. Their fork also has a profile like that, but he didn't finger it gently and talk vaguely about how "complex" it is. He just said it was awesome, and then he beat the crap out of it with a hammer:



But Young isn't worried about hammers. His designs are shaped the way they are for a different reason. "By investing in these sort of qualities you protect the bike from imitation." In other words, you're paying more for a bicycle that is needlessly complicated so that some other "creatively promiscuous" designer doesn't copy it.

So in the end it seems the reason we're subjected to so many ridiculous bikes is that everybody's hoping they'll be the one to design an actual icon. But it takes an icon to make an icon, and if you want to ride an icon you'd be much better off straddling a Cipollini:

Mario Cipollini is the kind of cycling icon you can really get behind:


Unless he gets behind you first.

Grand Designs: Hangin' it Out There

As most of you surely know, today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. For many Americans, this means a day off from work or school, and consequently time spent away from the computer monitor. However, for people who reside outside of the United States, or for people who reside in the United States and are employed by racists, it is unfortunately a Monday like any other. This means that you may have commuted to work today, and you may even have used a bicycle to do so.

One of the best things about bicycle commuting is that it can mitigate the displeasure of having to go to work. It's the rare and fortunate person who looks forward to his or her workday, so if you're not one of them you can at least sandwich the misery between two slices of pleasure by riding your bike there. Actually enjoying your commute can infuse an otherwise dreary day with some joy. Riding buses and trains isn't especially enjoyable, which is why we cling to devices like iPods, which serve as little bits of driftwood in a sea of misery. On a bicycle, though, the act of traveling in itself is enjoyable, so you can leave the iPod in your bag--at least until you find yourself in a situation which does not warrant your full attention, such as your job or math class.

Still, some people do love to "curate" their soundscapes at all times and to exist in a constant state of musical accompaniment. For them, there is absolutely no situation in which they can tolerate the absence of music. Like the child who eschews any beverage bereft of sugary additives, the person with an aural sweet tooth cannot imbibe the sounds of the everyday (please forgive the mixed metaphors) without the tincture of a soundtrack. Yes, even a short bicycle ride requires a score, as you can see from this New York Times slideshow which was forwarded to me by a reader recently:

If you've ever seen someone using a device like this you know how unsettling it can be. While enjoying music on external speakers alone in public non-festival settings is in itself relatively benign, it can also indicate a lack of self-awareness that, if allowed to continue unchecked, can eventually drive you to do things like have conversations with your groceries while you're shopping or deliver lengthy sermons on street corners. One day you're just the guy who rides the bike path every weekend listening to Peter Cetera on his handlebar-mounted sound system, and the next you're preaching downtown about the Second Coming of the Lobster God. Certainly there are situations such as concerts or parties in which part of the pleasure of hearing the music is that you're enjoying it with other like-minded individuals. There is also the mostly male impulse to sort of "hump the world" with your musical taste, which is why some people derive pleasure from owning incredibly loud automotive sound systems. However, the handlebar-mounted speaker is neither. It's really just a strange, furtive form of public enjoyment somewhat akin to fondling yourself in public.

This is not to say that anyone with a handlebar-mounted speaker system is a serial public masturbator, nor is it to say that using one is not safer than completely drowning out your senses with a pair of headphones while you're riding. I just mean that it can be a dangerous gateway drug into the strange world of needing strangers to see you enjoying yourself--not in the "I need everybody to see how cool I am" way that "hipsters" do it, but in the "I need the one person sitting next to me on the bus to know I have a Star Wars action figure down my pants" way that, well, some other people do it.

Of course, there are some people who can straddle the worlds of convention and insanity with aplomb, and who dwell in the land of bliss and disregard for social convention that lies between them with dignity. These people are the "lone wolves." There are also the people who are neither conventional, nor insane, nor "lone wolves," but are simply "dorks." Really, all cyclists are "dorks" in the same way that all dogs are mammals or all Catholics are Christians, but every sect has its extremists. The Jews have people who wear stockings and fur hats, and we have people who use these things, also forwarded by a reader:

Furtive enjoyment can be creepy, but exuberant enjoyment is just dorky. Even more dangerous though is the "stealth dork." "Stealth dorkitude" occurs when the exuberance masquerades as ingenuity, and it's most apparent in those stupid concept bikes you'll constantly see posted on various design blogs:


I'm not sure why designers feel as though they must constantly molest the cycling world with their idiotic and useless bike designs, since there are few machines in this world which require less improvement. Apparently, "design" is the art of taking functional objects you know nothing about and completely screwing them up. Most of these bicycles are the equivalent of trying to reinvent the drinking glass. Here's my own new design:
It's called the "kinetic drinking glass," and once it's full you keep swinging your arm around Pete Townshend-style so the liquid stays in there via centrifugal force. I'm still working out how to fill it, but I'm confident I'll come up with something eventually. It will probably involve a carefully-timed pour on the downstroke.

Actually, yet another reader was kind enough to forward me a link to a site containing many of these idiotic concept bikes all assembled in one place--though a few of them are actually practical, such as this one:

No bike stable is complete without a dedicated goat-walking bike, and no actual stable is complete without a goat.

But not all zany designs come from designers outside of the bicycle industry--some of them come from the industry itself. You've probably seen those shorts from SMP by now, of which I was reminded recently by the proprietor of Cycling Inquisition and for which SMP made a delightful cartoon:

You can finally satisfy your physiological needs without the stress caused by undressing. The central channel of the Smp4bike saddle range allowed us to develop an innovative pair of shorts with a zip in the lower part. The zip neither rubs on the saddle nor constricts your private parts: you only realize it’s there in the moment of need ....

In other words, they're split-crotch shorts for women:

As well as for men:

I'm not sure why a man would need to remove his entire jersey and lower his bibs simply to urinate--unless I'm misreading the cartoon and he's not really urinating at all. He does have some suggestive "motion squiggles" around his shoulders, and he is in the woods with a woman. And when two people find themselves in the woods wearing cycling clothing specifically designed to provide easy access to the genitals, it doesn't take an industrial designer to illustrate what happens next:


Hopefully there's appropriate music playing on the handlebar speakers.

BSNYC Quiz Day Fun Fry!

Yesterday, as I traveled through Brooklyn on my way to Manhattan, I noticed a double-parked Mini Cooper bearing a large decal on the door that said "NYC*scout." Since I don't always pay as much attention to municipal matters as I should, I suspected "NYC*scout" was either some film location scouting company that scours Brooklyn for new, never-before-seen brownstones, or else some new Zipcar competitor. (A Zipcar packed with Whole Foods groceries is the gentrified Brooklyn equivalent of a truck with a dead deer strapped to it.) However, when I consulted a popular search engine, I learned that "NYC*scout" is actually the "Street Conditions Observation Unit" of the Mayor's Office of Operations:

Their job is "driving every New York City street every month of the year," and reporting "visually-identifiable street conditions into a hand-held device that wirelessly transmits the data to the Mayor's Office." Here's a chart that shows how the whole thing works:

Given our current fiscal crisis, I was shocked to discover that the city is paying 15 people to scour the city in Mini Coopers looking for stuff that needs to be fixed when they could simply pay a single person to do it on his bicycle. That person, of course, would be me, since riding around the city and looking for things to complain about is nothing less than my dream job. So uniquely suited am I to this position that I even already possess a "hand-held device that wirelessly transmits the data to the Mayor's Office"--or, as I prefer to call it, a cellphone. I wonder how much the city pays for a fleet of cars that look like they should be part of the Michael Graves collection at Target and for 15 special "hand-held devices" that they could have purchased for next to nothing pre-paid at Rite Aid when they could have just hired a whiny blogger who already has a bicycle and a cellphone and who only requires a modest salary and a daily lunch allowance at Blimpie. Plus, you notice a lot when riding a bicycle that you'd otherwise miss when driving a car. Using a car to check on the street conditions is like giving yourself a breast exam while wearing an oven mitt.

Hopefully one day my dream will come true, but in the meantime it gives me pleasure to present you with a quiz. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll see someone with one of those defective levitating crabon wheels.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and enjoy the weekend.

--BSNYC/RTMS

1) These cheek piercings are evidence that police may have used torture on the so-called "Milwaukee Polo 11."

--True
--False

2) This photograph, forwarded by a reader, depicts a mythical creature known as:

--The Jackalope

--The Texas Kangaroo

--The Dachshund of Time

--The Prairie Cockle

3) This bicycle, spotted by a reader in California, would make a good dedicated jackalope-hunting bike.

--True

--False

4) Home-baked is the latest thing in:

--Muffins
--Bread
--Energy bars
--Fixies

5) What is this?

--Fixed-gear freestyle body armor

--A foldable bicycle helmet

--A bike polo chest protector

--A new type of protective canine activewear

6) In the future, cyclists will travel:

--Beneath the streets through subterranean tunnels

--Underwater through giant tubes

--Through the air on tiny wires

--Faster than the speed of smell

7) Cinelli is for sale on Craigslist.

--True
--False

8) The next episode of "Pedaling" will be called:

--"Sweet & Savory"

--"From the Exotic to the Familiar"

--"Down Home Downtown"

--"Soft & Douchey"

The Indignity of Winter: Sights Repulsive and Glorious

One of the most rewarding aspects of maintaining a humorous (or ostensibly humorous) cycling blog is that even people who know me in "real life" think of me when they see disgusting bicycle-related things. Not only that, but they also take the time to photograph those things for me. So you can imagine how much pleasure I felt when one of the first items I saw upon checking my email this morning was this saddle, which is covered in what appears to be tuna:

("Bella Gella?" Or "Bella Tuna?")

As rewarding as it is to know that you're the first thing someone thinks of when they see a bike seat covered with masticated tuna, this was very nearly enough to cause me to relapse into the illness with which I began the week. Speaking of that illness, I am feeling much better now, but please don't tell that to the people who continue to send me inspirational "get well" cards. In addition to Erik K's heartfelt sentiment, I've now received this one from the proprietor of the "Old Ten Speed Gallery:"
As you can see, I have rendered the image "safe or work" via the addition of a pair of giant cockles. If you would like to see the original either because you don't work, or you work at home, or your workplace is amenable to the perusal of images of naked people testing the structural integrity of their bike racks, it is here. (Just kidding. Actually, it's here.) By the way, if you're expecting any lewd puns about cockles, or clams, or even tuna on saddles, I'm sorry to tell you you're reading the wrong blog and you're simply not going to find them here. (You will, however, be able to find them on my new website, "wethothilariousbikesexpuns.org," just as soon as that $1.6 million in venture capital comes through.)

In any case, having recovered to the point where traveling by bicycle is now possible again, I was "palping" my Scattante (that is not a pun) to the WHHBSP loft space this morning to see how our new office space is coming along when I found myself longing for warm breezes--as are many other cyclists, according to this post on the New York Times "Spokes" blog, which also mentioned road salt:

In any discussion of cycling in winter, it is inevitable that the subject of "component-eating road salt" will come up. Yes, winter and road salt go together like cockles and clams, or like saddles and tuna, and whether the publication is the New York Times, or Bicycling, or VeloNews, you will eventually find some mention of how it is essential to clean your bike constantly during the winter lest road salt dissolve it like a glass of tap water dissolves a tablet of Alka-Seltzer, or like the Tour de France dissolves Cadel Evans's resolve.

Frankly, I think this fear of road salt is excessive--especially when it comes to commuter bikes. Sure, you might want to protect your dentist bike from the worst conditions, but if you're worried about road salt damage to your commuter bike then your commuter bike isn't crappy enough. Also, perhaps we use some kind of "woosie" road salt here in New York City, but I consider cleaning my commuter bike during the winter a craven act of capitulation, and when I finally do give it its annual rinse sometime in the spring the bike is still there and it looks pretty much the way it did the last time I saw it back in late November--which is admittedly crappy, but really no crappier for having been packed in salt like a baccalau. I mean, I know the stuff is bad, but I don't think it's as dangerous as they say--especially if you have bike that is strong like Russian bear:


Still, it would be nice not to have to think about cold or road salt at all, and the post went on to recommend a trip to Morocco:

To me, "the rub" with regard to a trip to Morocco is not so much the $300 it could cost to fly with my bike as it is the cost of the entire rest of the trip. If you really want to go to Morocco and the only thing stopping you is the $300 bike fee then just leave the bike at home and figure something out when you get there. Then again, I just checked the Morocco Craigslist, and unfortunately there are no bicycles for sale there at the moment.

Before reading this post I had absolutely no intention of visiting Morocco, but by now I was irritated that I couldn't go, and thanks to the Times my trip home from the WHHBSP will only feel that much colder. Not only that, but as if to rub salt in my components, the post also offered a sorry "plan B," which was to head to the "Hipster vs. Hasidim" bike lane debate in Williamsburg on January 25th:

I'm glad to see that things have moved past threats of naked bike rides and into the realm of discourse, though Pete's Candy Store is a "hipster" stronghold and not exactly neutral territory. It's sort of like the Olympic water polo team challenging the "Milwaukee 11" to a match in a swimming pool. Still, I suppose it's a good sign, though I will be nowhere near it, for fear that David Byrne or some other member of the "cultural elite" might drop in and use the controversy as an opportunity to expound on all that is wrong with the world. Anyway, it's quite a choice the Times is presenting: Go to Morocco, or stay here and argue with the Jews.

In any case, while I may seem cavalier about road salt damage and the state of our bike lanes, that doesn't mean I'm not making provisions--at least for the former. In the unlikely event that my bicycle does fall apart I have already picked out a possible replacement in the form of this "Cicco" (which I assume is pronounced "Chico"):




New Cicco 54 cm frame fork and Ultegra grouppo (Battery Park)
Date: 2010-01-13, 7:13PM EST
Reply to: [deleted]

Brand new Never used or build up 2002 Cicco Allumino fame and fork with an Shimano Ultegra 9 speed grouppo full set

Frame is Aluminum with carbon set stay and fork 54 cm
Cicco Challenger Allumino

Crank Set 39-53 (172.5 mm)
9 speed chain
Cassette (12-23)
Brake Shifters (STI)
Break Calipers
Front Derailleur
Rear Derailleur
Head Set
Bottom Bracket (Italian Threaded)
Front hub and Read (36 holes)
All new in box

I'm in lower Manhattan
Dont make me put this on eBay

Make your best offer

As much as I've always longed to own a genuine Chico, I suspect flim-flammery as the bicycle pictured is clearly a Ciöcc--which looks like it should be pronounced "Crotch" but which the cycling cognoscenti know is actually pronounced "Cockle." Falling victim to such a scam would be almost as regrettable as the theft of a Softride:

black SOFTRIDE bike stolen (East Village)
Date: 2010-01-13, 8:56PM EST
Reply to: [deleted]

my beloved black Softride tri-bike was stolen from my building's basement on 1/12/10.(yes it was locked)
It has Mavic 650c wheels, aero-bars on bullhorn, Planet Bike computer, black cranks, black pedals (toe cages), a single FSA chainring, dura-ace rear derailleur, Selle saddle, Fizik bag, etc., etc.

Look for the Pinhead locks on the hubs and the fact that in order to remove it the thief (s) would have had to snip some front spokes, but they won't have the key to remove the wheel. It also has an attachment on the rear wheel where I clipped my dog's wagon to it to ride with her over the W'burg bridge to work.

Now we're sunk!

PLEASE help me recover this adored bicycle. Any info, any questions, please let me know!

Most regrettable of all, though, is that the theft of this bicycle means I may never get to see somebody using a Softride to tow a dog in a wagon across the Williamsburg Bridge. I implore you if you know anything at all to help reunite this person with his bicycle so that he may tow again. A more glorious sight I cannot imagine.

"I'm Your Mama," Quoth Necessity to Invention

Since yesterday's post, I must admit that I have been troubled by the plight of the Milwaukee bicycle poloists who were zip-tied like so many hydraulic brake cables and forced to spend a grueling 11 hours in jail (or, if you're old-timey, the "jernt") for simply plying their "sport" in a city parking garage. Tossing and turning, I spent a sleepless night as I imagined them malletless and scared, forced for a stretch of time slightly longer than a typical workday to share living quarters with drug dealers, prostitutes, and other criminals it's cool and fun to interact with until that interaction is no longer voluntary. Indeed, so gripping is the tale of their imprisonment that it has spread beyond the "bike culture" and even been covered by Fox News:



Still, as troubled as I am, I still can't get past the issue at the heart of this whole controversy, which is neatly summed up by the reporter thusly: "The team plays polo on bikes and needs a large, flat surface to play during the wintertime."

Do they really? Why can't the bike polo simply yield to the seasons like so many other recreational pursuits? I enjoy offroad riding and would like to be able to do it whenever I feel like it, but if weather conditions simply don't allow it that doesn't mean I'm justified in "slaying" a ride through a neighbor's yard or the nursery and gardening department at Home Depot.

The fact is that this arrest could be a good thing for the Milwaukee poloists in that it may serve as the impetus to find a legal indoor practice venue--or, failing that, encourage them to engage in other activities during the "off season" or when conditions are not favorable to bike polo. This is precisely how cyclocross was invented--bike racers needed a way to train in winter, and eventually a new sport was born. Varying your activities seasonally can not only make you a more complete athlete but can also be fun.

I should stress that I mean no disrespect to the poloists--I just don't want to see them fall victim to the same fate as the modern roadie. The roadie, too, refuses to adapt his behavior to the seasons. Rather than engaging in other types of cycling during the winter months, he instead either suffers out in the wind on a road bike when he could be enjoying himself in the woods on a mountain bike, or else sequesters himself inside where he obsesses over meaningless things like wattage or derailleur pulley drag:

This is called "cabin fever." One day you're compulsively spinning derailleur pulleys, and the next you're talking to a volleyball and roasting and eating your housepets.

Speaking of "cabin fever," even the most flexible and open-minded cyclist can fall victim to it when either severe weather or ill health conspires against riding, and while you might manage to avoid twiddling your derailleur or eating Fluffy you might still find yourself watching cycling-themed videos like "Pedaling: NYC." (You may recall the premier episode, a cockle-fueld romp entitled "Pizza Fixation.") Perhaps slightly cabin-addled myself, I recently noticed that the second episode had been released, and it's called "Roadies and Wafels."

I should say right off that "Roadies and Wafels" does not approach "Pizza Fixation" in terms of sheer outlandishness, so you shouldn't expect much. Instead of focusing on a group of urban dandies with little or no apparent cycling experience, this episode abandons the "fixie crew" and follows a pair of bike racers, and instead of opening with a Whole Foods shopping spree it begins with an only mildly silly gratuitous bike-fitting:

Riding a Specialized bicycle that has not been properly fitted to you by a trained dealer with the aid of a computer can lead to diminished pedaling efficiency, serious groin injury, and death.

Once fitted to their props, they hit some gratuitous pavé:

Please note that these are professional riders on a closed course. Attempting to ride on cobblestones without a properly-fitted Zertz-equipped Specialized bicycle can result in shattered teeth, serious groin injury, and death.

They then proceed to ride around the city, though unlike the "fixie crew" these racers exchange little dialogue apart from this diplomatic exchange:

"Do they still do the bike races in Central Park every Sunday morning?"

"I think so, yeah."

Though guarded due to the presence of the camera, any New York City bike racer knows what they really mean:

"Do those CRCA investment banker dorks still run the park?"

"Sadly, yes."

Then, there's the first taste of excitement when the filmmakers debut a new, never-before-seen verb:


After which the racers arrive at the waffle--or "wafel"--truck:

The wafelmeister, though affable, is not especially noteworthy, though he does have an exuberant waffle-proffering accomplice:


Then there's a waffle-making lesson:

And then that's pretty much it. As I said, it's a bit disappointing after the exploits of the "fixie crew," though there is a hint of promise during the credits when we catch a glimpse of this guy:

The heavy beard/heavy fleece/bare leg combo speaks of tremendous eating prowess, and I look forward to seeing what food item--and how much of it--he will consume. (He's also got a rear rack and pannier in the unlikely event that there are any leftovers.) Hopefully, this will tide me over until Episode 4, which (according to the episode guide) will see the triumphant return of the "fixie crew" after their near-fatal bout with cockle-borne food poisoning:

In the meantime, I gotta get out more.

Street Cred's Not Dead: Rebellion and Cycling

Further to yesterday's post, I'm pleased to report that as of this morning my condition has improved significantly. While I still feel as wobbly as a Nü-Fred on his first IRO, I can at least meet the minimal physical requirements of blogging, and I attribute this to the tremendous outpouring of support I was fortunate enough to receive. Indeed, my so-called "in-box" was deluged with e-mailed well-wishings numbering in the mid-single digits. I even received a virtual get well card from Erik K that was so salacious it took me two Opinionated Cyclists and a Larry King just to render it safe for public consumption:

Even this repulsive censorshipway is scarcely sufficient to obscure its tremendous healing power.

As far as the nature of my illness, as everybody knows the very best thing to do when sick is to diagnose yourself via the Internet, so that's exactly what I did. After much searching I came to the conclusion that I had been bitten by the dreaded beaked sea snake of South Asia. Even though I had not been swimming in any waters, much less those surrounding the coastal islands of India in which the beaked sea snake is most commonly found, I also knew that Internet forums are very rarely wrong, and that beaked sea snake venom is incredibly toxic. Since I probably had even fewer days left on this Earth than I had well-wishings in my "in-box", I summoned my family from the tuber farm and they were gracious enough to take a break from fighting the powerful vegan food lobby (an evil cadre of botanists is now claiming that the potato plant is carnivorous) in order to keep a vigil around my sick bed. As the sun set, they rubbed me with peeled russets in order to keep my fever down, and in a hoarse and feeble voice I bequeathed my worldly possessions to them. (Paw got my Scattante, sis got my Rapha silk scarf, and so forth.) Eventually, though, my fever broke and the sun rose, and realizing I might indeed pull through I reclaimed all my possessions and sent them home amidst a hail of recriminations.

As for the cause of my illness, while I have not ruled out the bite of the beaked sea snake, I'd be remiss if I didn't consider other possibilities too. Perhaps I acquired it during a weekend of frigid offroad riding:

(Now that I think about it, I was bitten by a Yeti at one point, though that happens pretty much every time I go to New Jersey.)

Also, I did travel by subway recently, and one never knows what sorts of germs other passengers are carrying. For example, I could have caught a rare European metalhead-borne illness;

Also, some months ago a reader forwarded me this photo of a "hipster" traveling on the subway with a pot of chili (presumably it was too unwieldy to transport by fixed-gear):

It could be that I had eaten in a restaurant that had served me food that had been transported by subway and consequently infected by European metalheads.

I also thought back to the last time I had traveled by airplane, and recalled that I had sat next to somebody wearing both a face mask and what appeared to be a non-Rapha silk scarf:

While I had assumed that this was to protect her against rare European metalhead-borne illnesses, I now realize that it could have been she who was the carrier, and that the inferior quality of her off-brand silk schmatta had allowed her to pass it on to me.

Or, it could have something to do with the woman wearing a clown nose and a middle-aged mullet (or "MAM") who I encountered on a different leg of that very same trip:

Though the trip took place some time ago, I could be suffering from late-onset coulrophobia.

In any case, my woes pale clown-like in comparison to those of Milwaukee's bike polo players, who a reader informs me were forced to spend a harrowing night in jail for trespassing:


Here is one player's mugshotway:

("In just" is "Unjust 2.0.")

And here is an excerpt from the gripping first-person account:

A black crystler rolled up 3 deep with undercover sheriffs. The sheriffs sprung out of the car instantly “every one come here and against the wall!” They count us out 11. Cop says “I thought there were 12″ Lodi had snuck out 5 mins before the bust. They tell us all that we are under arrest and will be receiving trespassing tickets $263 each. We tryed to talk our way out of it and that edabout 30 seconds. One by one we give our info and receive a ticket. We are then explained by one of the officers that we are being detained and no is under arrest his exact words are “if you are asked by a cop or employer have you ever been arrested say no.” We all got zipped tied it was explained to us that we will be going downtown to be processed and released and that it shouldn’t take too long “it’s just like a speeding ticket” they kept insuring us, except when you get a speeding ticket you don’t go to jail right?

While this treatment does seem a bit harsh, it also seems to have come after multiple warnings, and the fact is that while playing ball where you're not supposed to isn't that big a deal, it's a little different when all the participants are all adults. When the neighborhood kids accidentally send a baseball through a window that's just boys being boys; but when the "neighborhood kids" are legal adults with full beards and have already been scolded repeatedly it's reasonable to expect a bit more accountability from them. Then again, it is 2010, and the fact is that your 20s are now your "teens 2.0" and you're not expected to act like an actual "adult" until you're in your late 30s. At the same time, our country's infrastructure has yet to catch up, and so there's a dire lack of play space for the new generation of grown-up children. This means that they're either forced to steal places to play from actual children, or else commandeer them from actual adults, and until our cities and towns provide them with grown-up playgrounds there will only be more incidents like this one. And of course, because this particular instance of playing ball where you're not supposed to involved bicycles, there's an added layer of self-righteousness--the poloists have now been dubbed the "Milwaukee Polo 11" and will be receiving a fundraiser, presumably to defray their mallet replacement costs.

This is not to say that I am not concerned. Indeed, coming shortly after Milwaukee's famous "fancy riding" ban this trend is somewhat disturbing. Still, at least bike polo has now received the same essential infusion of "street cred" that fixed-gear freestyling got from the "fancy riding" legislation. In fact, polo may have bunny-hopped over fixed-gear freestyling altogether, since another reader informs me that the completely a-street-credulous Wall Street Journal believes it could be a "ray of fiscal hope" in the San Francisco Bay Area:

Fiscal hope is just not street-credible.

So whither true "street cred" in cycling? Perhaps we must look unto Rock Racing, who have been denied a Professional Continental license by the UCI:


Perhaps the UCI didn't like the Rock Racing "Anarchy Bib Short:"

Yes, their rocks are not dead, even after hours in the saddle.