Barnstorming: Separating the Freds from the Boys

Happy Columbus Day!  On this very day in history, four score and 1492 years ago, Christopher Columbus launched a successful "Kicking Starter" campaign to find the Pacific Northwest Passage to Portland, OR.  Along the way he met various indigenous peoples, took their land and resources from them at blunderbusspoint, and infected them with smallpox by way of compensation.  Some people still get the day off from work or school on Columbus Day, even though the holiday is increasingly considered to be "politically incorrect."  I, however, am "working"--not because I think the holiday is politically incorrect, but rather because I totally forgot about it until midway through my fourth cup of coffee this morning, by which point I was far too jittery to go back to bed.

In any case, while I'm up, UP, UP!!!, I might as well share with you my experiences at yesterday's Bicycling Fall Classic, which was front page sporting news in this morning's The Morning Call, the Lehigh Valley's newspaper of record:

On a Sunday morning that portended (but, happily, never really delivered) rain, I rolled out with Ted King of Liquigas-Cannondale and a diverse assortment of jovial Freds for the 90-mile "Gran Fondo" route.  On my wrist was a timing chip that would measure my ascents on various uphill sections of the course, and I would have discreetly fastened it to Ted King's bike if I hadn't arrived at the starting line about four seconds before the start of the ride.  I certainly had little interest in learning my own time, as I'm an abysmal climber and all-around poor cyclist, and the Power Meter In My Mind tells me everything I need to know:

Apart from the above image, which pulses meditatively in my inner eye at all times, I ride with an uncluttered cockpit and completely data-free.  This is because I feel about numbers the same way Frank Costanza does about tinsel.  I also generally don't take photographs while engaged in the act of purely recreational bicycle cycling, because unlike many of my fellow Freds I actually ride bikes for fun, and I find that taking pictures takes me "out of the moment."  (Plus, I'm not very good at the biking, so there's a better-than-average chance that I'll fall down and take a bunch of my Fellow freds with me, causing them to like me even less than they already do.) 

Having partooken in one of those Rapha Gentlemen's Thingies in this very hilly region two years ago I knew the day would be difficult for me.  Sure, that ride was like 30% longer, but there's at least 30% more of me now then there was two years ago, plus underneath all that extra me I'm a good 20% weaker and have done 99% less racing.  There are also a lot of hills, and I don't go up hills very well in any condition, though I do go down them a lot faster now due to my enhanced corpulence.  I suppose this makes up for the decreased fitness somewhat, but I'd need someone like Allen Lim to tell me exactly how much, and unfortunately there's no way I could listen to someone like Allen Lim talk for more than 20 seconds without falling asleep.

Still, I'm pleased to report that I did stay with the Ted King group though the first timed climb, though I'm not sure my time was recorded since you're supposed to roll over some timing trigger thingy which is marked by DayGlo cones.  However, as an urban cyclist I just assumed the cones indicated some kind of road hazard and so I steered well clear of them.  Afterwards, things settled down for a bit, and I was doing okay, but then the pace went from "conversational" to "chatty" and I began to find myself in distress.  Then the Ted King group attacked me by failing to match my vicious deceleration, and I was all alone by the midpoint of the ride, where I stopped briefly to take on fuel (actual gasoline, it's an old Eastern Bloc trick, I hear Vino still drinks it), and also took this picture:

I'm sure the pagoda standing nobly in the etherial mist has some kind of story, but I was more interested in the porta-potty:

I'm something of a porta-potty business name enthusiast, and my favorite are the ones that are puns ("Johnny-On-The-Spot" and "Call-A-Head" are local enterprises that spring immediately to mind).  This one was pretty good too though, and it was at that moment I resolved to start a porta-potty rental business that offers porta-potties shaped like pagodas for a more contemplative voiding experience:

I'm still working on the name, but it would probably be something like "Pa-GO-da" or "Bootydharma."  

Oh, also, there was a view from where the pagoda was:

I viewed it, I photographed it, and I continued on--mostly alone.  Then I started to sense a softness in my rear tire, though I did not stop to inspect it, for I have often stopped to inspect a softening tire only to find that it is in fact fully inflated and I feel like I'm riding on pudding because I'm getting tired and I suck.  So I kept going, and then another group caught me, and I rode with them for awhile, but the tire kept getting undeniably softer, and then the rim started to bottom out occasionally.  Eventually it reached the point where descending on it was getting hazardous, and as determined as I was to wheelsuck off this group for as long as possible, I finally faced the fact that I would have to stop and fix it:

Naturally the object that had penetrated my tire was a tiny little piece of wire that barely protruded through the casing and must have been worrying at the tube for many miles.  It was also nearly impossible to remove without tweezers.  As I struggled with it I could hear the sound of gunshots from what turned out to be a nearby rifle range, and when I looked around all I saw was this:

And this:

At one point a man in a pickup truck stopped to ask me if I needed any help.  I briefly considered asking him if he had any tweezers, but then it occurred to me that asking a guy in a hunting hat for tweezers while dressed in form-fitting Lycra might not be a good idea in rural Pennsylvania.  Finally, I succeeded in extracting the stupid shitty little piece of metal from the tire with the tip of my roof rack key, and on I went:

After that I spent the last hour and a half of the ride riding in a leisurely fashion (my "leisurely" is most people's "lethargic") and enjoying the scenery, which really is beautiful, though by the end of the ride I was pretty tired and decided that if I saw another quaint farm or lovely stone house I was going to puke.  There were also lots of horses and buggies being driven by Amish or Mennonites or whatever they are. (I like to think of them as Hassidim with better equestrian skills.)  Finally, I reached the velodrome, turned in my timing chip, and helped myself to food and beer.  I also barely managed to restrain myself from pilfering from the garbage, which contained at least $150 in tires:

An enterprising cyclist could probably keep a bicycle rolling for free indefinitely just picking through the trash at Gran Fondos.  (Fredganism is the new Freeganism, and so forth.)

Penultimately, it's been a little over a year since I took delivery of my Ritte Von Finkelstein drop bar-style bicycle, and I only grow more pleased with it as time goes on:

Though I totally would have won the ride if I had been on an all-crabon bicycle with electronical shifting.

Lastly, I have a strict policy about not including photos of myself on this blog, though policies were meant to be disregarded occasionally, and this inspirational message as rendered by "BKJimmy" happens one of those occasions:

I may suck at life, and at riding bicycles, but I very much enjoyed the ride, and I thank the good people at Bicycling for inviting me.  It's a great route and it's very well organized, and I recommend it highly, especially if you're way into climbing and barns.  Best of all, you'll get to use all those elementary skills you've read about in Bicycling over the years, including: how to prepare for that big ride; how to fix a flat; and, most importantly, how to overtake a horse and buggy.

Happy Columbus Day,


--Wildcat Rock Machine

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!

In the comments to yesterday's post, a reader included a link to this article in "Outside" magazine, the periodical that attempts to engage your sense of adventure while you're waiting for the dentist:

(Hey, look, it's Russel Brand in a kilt!)

We've seen people fund their adventure vacations via Kickstarter, and we've also seen artisanal Portland grifters, and this story combines the two in the most tremendously entertaining way.  Basically, Russel (a Portlander, as if it weren't obvious from the photo) raised a bunch of money to undertake an "epic" adventure on his "fatbike," and then he just sort of disappeared, like a boyfriend who gradually stops returning your calls instead of having the decency to break up with you:

Due to logistical challenges, he launched his expedition many weeks after his target departure. He made it up to a small town in north central British Columbia, roughly 830 miles from Bellingham. He holed up there for at least a couple of weeks, apparently trying to arrange for food and gear deliveries, but then turned back south sometime in mid-August, it appears. I do not have exact dates or specific details of his trip because Badenoch has never provided them to me, or to his 212 Kickstarter backers.

In fact, his Kickstarter backers have not heard from him since May 3.

Shocking.

Even more shocking is that the writer of the "Outside" article thinks this is noteworthy.  Expecting a Kickstarter campaigner to follow through is about as smart as lending a junkie your laptop--though in fairness to Mr. Brand, his expedition was fraught with problems:

According to his Twitter feed, on which he had been very active throughout the spring and summer and on which he told backers to watch for updates, he apparently hit the road in late May. The tweets that followed gave some snippets into the reality of expedition cycling: torrents of rain, stretches of hunger and fatigue, etc. But then in early June, if you go back and look, there are some real signs of stress, related not so much to the cycling but to his efforts to arrange shipments of wheat-free food, and arranging for money transfers. All along, he never gave specifics about where he was, nor did he post photos—but a few tweets linked to a mapping service that showed him to be in central B.C.

Back in the 15th century, Queen Isabella funded Christopher Columbus, whose bold expedition forever changed the course of human history.  Six centuries later, idiots are funding Portlanders to ride around on bikes with giant tires and eat shit without wheat in it in the vague hope that they one day might get to watch a documentary film about it.

Indeed, Russel Brand's aversion to wheat seems to have provided him with his greatest excuse:

"Yes, I met Andrew at the Pink Mountain Motor Inn," Figureida told me. "I had biked up from Death Valley and attempted to climb McKinley and when I met him I was headed south again. He was stuck there, waiting for supplies—camera and other gear that is really expensive and he didn’t want to go further without it. He was in the café, using Wi-Fi. He was eating what he could afford, but I guess he has a really restrictive diet. At night he was sneaking into empty cabins to sleep. He had been there for one or two weeks."

Sure, maybe he had a severe wheat allergy, but both Lewis and Clark were lactose intolerant and you never heard them complaining about it.

Still, the writer remains indignant:

It’s one thing to fail to quickly respond to a reporter. It’s another that Badenoch has not communicated his status to the 212 micro-investors who ponied up a collective $10,437 to support the fossil-fuel-free expedition. Even if he is planning a do-over next spring, doesn’t he owe his backers an explanation? According to Kickstarter, 41 backers paid $50 or more, 28 paid $100 or more and six of them exceeded $250. In return they’re expecting to receive incentives ranging from a film that Badenoch said he would be shooting from the trail, to a membership in "Hyperlithic," some kind of nature-based training and wellness system, tied to Hyperlithic.com, a site that Badenoch owns but hasn’t launched.

So does Russel Brand owe his backers an explanation?  No, he owes you nothing!  The evangelist you donated to does not owe you a miracle.  The panhandler you gave to does not owe you a postcard telling you how your $.75 got him back on his feet again and now he has a house in White Plains and a good job as a teller in a bank all thanks to you.  And the Kickstarter grifter using you to fund his adventure vacation doesn't owe you the completion of his adventure vacation.  "Micro-investor" here is just a euphemism for "sucker."  You have, as they say on the streets, been "had."

He took them pretty good too:

Aside from Kickstarter money, Badenoch also attracted gear and food sponsorships, including Alpacka Raft, a gear shop called Nature Shop, and 9ZERO7, an Anchorage-based fatbike manufacturer that provided Badenoch with his trip steed. Badenoch tends to dutifully praise 9ZERO7 and his other sponsors on Twitter.

He even got a side gig collecting millipedes:

Badenoch was also recruited by Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation to search for diatoms and millipedes while he was on his trip, and to collect samples of them on behalf of a couple different research scientists. 

Really, it's the multitasking that's the most impressive part of the scam.  "Sure, I'll pick up some millipedes for you."  It's like telling 50 separate high school kids you'll go buy beer and pot and fireworks and switchblades for them and just never coming back.  To be honest though I kind of feel bad for the Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation people, and I can't help thinking of ta otally sincere person with a completely ironic beard demurely asking, "Uh, find any millipedes yet?"

Still, all the backers deserved what they got.  I mean, who gives a guy like this ten grand?!?

Just read his "philosophy."  It pretty much tells you he's going to rip you off!

Meta-Philosophy: To my mind, it is impossible to achieve maximum wellbeing within the world of alarm clocks, architecture, and subjugation to emergent institutions. I don’t think this is merely a coincidence or vague yearning, but a very real facet of human nature. This insight and inspiration is drawn from the archaeological and anthropological record of our hunter-gatherer ancestors. The life prescribed by sociocultural institutions will not provide the freedom it promises. In other other words, Go outside and play! And… maybe you should just keep doing that over and over… or even better…. just start playing and never stop.

If that doesn't scream "I'm going to take your money and fuck off" then you've never worked a day in your life.

Also, the FAQ makes it abundantly clear that he's a gigantic douche.

Why?

I reject the pervasive prodding of industrial age civilization, and its prescriptions. Homo economicus is a nefarious myth. Celebrate Homo ludens (ludens = play).

What's Latin for "douchebag?"

And now, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz.  As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer.  If you're right you'll swell with pride, and if you're wrong you'll see mountain biking in Ontario.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and watch out for grifters.



--Wildcat Rock Machine

1) This portrait of Mario Cipollini hangs in:

--The ladies' room at Café Domestique in Dundas, Ontario

--The Vatican 

--The Museum of Modern Art

--Peta Todd's powder room

2) How much for the stupid wood thing?

--$700
--$7,000
--$70,000
--Nine bucks (including 20oz container of termite spray)

"I'm basically saying, 'You're going to spend $5,600 on a bike and potentially that frame's going to last you forever'," he said. "Or you can spend less than that on something that's going to be creaky after a while and it's going to get rundown or it's going to chip – the whole replacement mentality."--Old Man Budnitz

3) What was the most noticeable ride characteristic of The Budnitz?

--It creaked
--It was too awesome
--It wasn't expensive enough
--It lasted forever (potentially)

4) Triathletes use clipless pedals because they're more efficient.

--True
--False






5) Fill in the blank: "Smugness ________"

--Explosion
--Inversion
--Burrito
--Flotilla

6) Fill in the blank: "But at least I was wearing my ______."

--Helmet
--Helment
--Astonishing steampunk monocle
--Magic underpants

(But they do draw the line at PB&J.)

7) Judging from blog comments, Portlanders are surprisingly cool with white separatism and Holocaust denial.

--True
--False

***Special Safety-Themed Bonus Question***

Fill in the blank: "But at least I was wearing my _____________."

--Helmet
--Helment
--Healmundt
--Helment with crash sensor that's connected to my smartphone which alerts family and loved ones to my location in the event of an accident or impact, and that presumably works in conjunction with the video camera I always use while riding, because you can never be too careful.

Win-Win: Hoarses for Coarses

As I mentioned on Tuesday, I'll be riding a bicycle in Pennsylvania this weekend, and while outwardly I'm laughing it off I secretly plan to WIN.  That's why I'll be dosing myself to the man-gills with EPO-Equine, the all-natural EPO stimulator for horses:

Not only is it legal, but I don't even have to inject it.  Instead I just top-dress my feed with it, whatever that means.  According to the website there are also no side-effects--though there are side-effects to the beat pulp and alfalfa diet I'll also be switching to over the next few days, and those side-effects primarily involve flatulence.  Therefore, if you'll be participating in the ride, I'd advise you to stay off my wheel--which is generally a good idea anyway, since my wheel generally indicates the rearmost point of any cycling event.

Incidentally, the day before the Bicycling Fall Classic is the "VeloFest" at the Velodrome:

Which I won't be attending since my religion forbids me from spending more than 24 hours in the state of Pennsylvania.  (It's sad that I need a religion to force me to do something that's basically just good common sense, but I've never been very good at making the thinking for myself.)

And if you're wondering which bike I'll be riding, I'll be going with my racing bakfiets:

 

 Or, if it's raining, my Surly Big Dummy with pontoons and motor assist:

 

 Now that's a smugness flotilla.

Speaking of competition and religion, did you watch that presidential debate?  Me neither.  That's because I already know who I'm voting for:

(This guy.)

We Lobsterites always field a presidential candidate, who is chosen by the almighty Lob himself via his messenger to Earth, the Angel of Choice.  This process is a necessity, since until this country finally ratifies a Constitutional amendment allowing lobsters to hold office we are forced to make do with human nominees.  The photo above is of the anointed nominee celebrating with the Angel of Choice, and I bid you vote for this man lest your heathen civilization be cast to the bottom of the sea along with the lobster traps.

Anyway, I understand one of the guys in last night's debate is a "Mor-man" (which is like a male mermaid), and as it happens a reader has forwarded me a dedicated Mor-man bike, with actual Mor-man-specific features:

Liahona Mission Disc Mountain Bike (Cool Back Story) - $150 (Burlington)
Date: 2012-10-01, 2:14PM EDT]

The Liahona Mission is a 21-speed mountain bike, well equipped with mechanical disc brakes, a lightweight aluminum frame (21 inch size), Shimano components, and an intriguing back story. The name Liahona, of course, is a Book of Mormon reference. Why a bike with a name that references the Book of Mormon? The story (according to a missionary source) goes like this:

"We have a gentleman from Taiwan who was a convert to the church, and he wanted to be more helpful to missionaries," says [Michael] Spence, a lifelong Mormon who rode a 10-speed Schwinn on his mission 30 years ago, "and he said, 'You know, these bikes are really bad.' " So Spence and the grateful convert created the Liahona Mission Bike, a 21speed mountain bike sold exclusively to Mormon missionaries, also known as elders. Spence assembles the bicycles himself-the frames come from Taiwan, the Shimano parts from Japan. . . Named after a compass in the Book of Mormon, the Liahona's design is based in part on recommendations from elders. Its most Mormon-specific feature is a plastic sprocket guard to keep trouser cuffs oil-free."

It's sort of like FUBU for mormons, a bicycle marketed only to Mormon Missionaries. I am no missionary, but after researching it a bit, I realized what an interesting bike I had. It just had a tune-up, including a full drivetrain overhaul. It is now dialed and ready for your next mission, this neat mountain bike with a cool back story will get you there. You could even ride it over to the polls on November 2nd and tell the Romney supporters all about it. You know, this bike is so reliable you can ride to the polls again in four years when Mitt tries again. Now I am asking $150, but am open to reasonable offers. Please don't hesitate to email me and put "Mission" in the header, or text me at (Five Zero Eight) 801-[deleted]. Thanks!

SOLD!

tags: mountain, bike, bicycle, front suspension, fork, shock, freeride, xc, cross country, all mountain, trail, singletrack, all terrain, hardtail, disc, mormon, Romney, interesting

I had no idea the need for clean pant cuffs was specific to the Mor-man, and I wonder if they're intrigued by belt drives, as featured on bikes like The Budnitz.  By the way, if you were intrigued by The Budnitz and its modest $5,600 price tag, yet you found it too be just a little bit too "titanium-y," then perhaps you'd be intrigued by this similarly swoopy bent beech wood thing, forwarded to me by numerous readers:

This "beautiful bike" is, as the headline says, indeed made from bent beech wood.  It is also completely stupid.  Consider this passage:

One of the nicest aspects of the design is just how much of the bike is made from wood—even the saddle is hand-crafted from a lump of beech.  To keep things simple it doesn't come with brakes, just a pair of carbon fiber wheels and a single-speed drive train.

I assume it lacks brakes since they couldn't figure out how to make them from wood, though it seems fairly easy to me to fabricate a set of V-brakes out of rubber bands and chopsticks.  As for the wooden seat, I'd hardly call that good design, though fortunately you can always use a bathmat to keep the splinters out of your ass:

(Seen by a reader in Washington, DC.)

Bath.  Mat.  Duct.  Tape.  Good design and good spondee.

Best of all, this wooden piece of crap costs $70,000, which is the equivalent of 12.5 Budnitzes.  (Or "Budnii," which is technically the plural of Budnitz.)

Of course, if you prefer something more practical, you can always opt for this bike, also forwarded by a reader:

It features "collision avoidance" via "haptic feedback," and as well as smartphone braking:

First, there’s collision avoidance that offers haptic feedback when you’re about to slam into something. The bike also works with your smartphone for built-in mapping and “drive by wire” control of your brakes and transmission. The creators hope to offer ubiquitous computing built-in for “data sensing, real-time intelligent tracking systems, dynamic routing, and social integration.”

I don't know what "haptic feedback" is, but I wonder if it's as effective as "looking out for shit."  Also, half the time my "smartphone" won't even send out a Tweet when I want it to, so I'm not sure I want it in charge of my brakes.  Then again, I do hope they make this, if only to hear people say things like, "My smartphone dropped my braking and I flew right over the guardrail.  Good thing I was wearing my helment."  In any case, I urge you to vote Lobster this year, so we can finally form a cycling equivalent of the Food and Drug Administration that bans electronics geeks and design douches from any projects that are remotely bicycle-related.

This amendment would also ban smug cycling infographics.

Lastly, rest assured I'll get around to judging the Second Biennial Cock-Off just as soon as I can extract myself from beguiling submissions such as this one:

As the entrant points out, this one is unique in that the quill stem is actually longer than the handlebars are wide.  Also, I would point out that looks like one of those distance measuring wheels:

(The world's first Spingergy.)

Could be a dedicated surveying bike.

Wednesday Comes But 52 Times A Year

Emails!  Yeah, I get them.  This is a cutting-edge blogging operation I'm running here.  I fire up the AOL, my modem makes a crazy screeching sound, and in pour the electronical missives.  Every day it still seems like a miracle to me, as though God Himself is making pee-pee right into my computer.  Then I forget that there is no god, only Lob, and I flagellate myself for my impudence.

Anyway, here's a subject line that topped an email I recently received:

The Budnitz got angry and Hulkified?

And here's the picture that came along with it:

Yes, that what happen when Budnitz get angry.  In fact, it looks like The Budnitz has burst out of its fenders like the Hulk bursts out of his shirts--that is, if the Budnitz had had any fenders in the first place, which it didn't.  Either that, or it could just be The Budnitz on HGH.  Regardless, having expunged the The Budnitz and its infernal ticking from my life, I feel a sense of relief, like when you extract a deeply-lodged booger, the kind that feels as though it's rooted somewhere on your frontal cortex.

Also via "God's pee stream" comes this short video via a reader with the improbable and likely fictitious name of "Paul Bowen:"


Jauregui from Jacky Durand on Vimeo.

Mon dieu!  (Or lack thereof.)  I had to watch that about four times before I could finally see the sleight-of-bike, and it puts yesterday's failed triathlon transition into stark perspective.

Speaking of perspective, a number of people have informed me that some baseball guy has had a boneheaded bicycle crash and managed to fall down the only hill in Manhattan south of 110th Street:

Fortunately, in lieu of using his brain, he had encased it in a piece of styrofoam:

“I shouldn’t have been reading a text while I was riding,” he said. “That’s the wrong thing to do. But at least I was wearing my helmet.”

"I shouldn't have been pleasuring myself while driving," said the man who drove through a sidewalk café as he reached climax.  "That's the wrong thing to do.  But at least I was wearing my seatbelt."  Evidently wearing a helment has finally become a license to completely fuck up everything you do on a bike.  I wonder if we'd see better bike-handling if helments were banned from triathlon.

Moving on, recently I was browsing Twitter (if email is God's pee stream then Twitter is His post-urinary drip) where I saw that the Giro d'Italia was having a little caption contest:

The New Yorker reader in me wants to go with "I now pronounce you husband and husband, you may kiss the Cav," but the perennial child in me keeps shouting "I'm gonna fingerbang you like a stage win."

You can probably guess which one won.

Meanwhile, in Portland, an anti-fascist group is organizing a boycott against a local bike co-op:

Because they claim the founder is a racist, and in particular that he hosted a talk given by a "white separatist:"

The 2009 dust-up revolved around Calvert's hosting of a controversial white separatist Valdas Anelauskas at a local bookstore. Calvert ultimately apologized for hosting Anelauskas and distanced himself from the Lithuanian-born activists extreme views about race and other topics. The issue died out, but it has now come roaring back. RCA points to a recent picnic organized by Calvert that included a guest the group calls, "an individual deeply connected to antisemitic, white nationalist, and militant anti-choice organizing."

I was quite ready to dismiss this as typical Portland hysteria, like maybe they overheard Calvert trying to do a Katt Williams routine for his co-workers and took it out of context.  So I went to the organization's site to learn more:

Anti-racists first raised the issue of Calvert’s antisemitic organizing in 2009, after Calvert and his cohorts in the Portland 9/11 Truth Alliance hosted a speech by Valdas Anelauskas, a racist organizer who proclaims that evidence for the Holocaust is “shaky.” Citybikes mishandled its response during 2009, making excuses for Calvert and declaring that no problem existed after Calvert issued a bogus apology, even though Calvert’s organizing against Jewish people continued unabated. In September of this year, anti-racists again drew attention to Calvert’s antisemitic organizing. In particular, we noted that Calvert twice gained venues for Fritz Springmeier, an antisemitic author convicted of bank robbery charges alongside a white supremacist accomplice. (Springmeier’s 1997 robbery plot also involved detonating a bomb at an adult video store as a diversion.) Footage of the Citybikes President giving an extreme antisemitic speech was also pointed to at this time, and Rose City Antifascists provided an extensive chronology of organizing by Calvert and his Portland 9/11 Truth Alliance organization. 

And then I looked up this Valdas Anelauskas guy, and wouldn't you know it, he does actually sound like a boner-fried racist and Jew-hater.  For example, here's his take on the history of the Holocaust, which he says is "shaky:"

Holocaust critics persecuted

In his rather hysterical June 20 letter, Bob Bussel decries any questioning of Holocaust history as a “profound act of intellectual fraud and moral bankruptcy,” a “loathsome and repugnant monstrosity.” 

British writer George Orwell said that “who controls the past, controls the future,” and our perception of past events alsoshapes the way we look at the world around us today. The Zionists understand this, and know that the story of the Holocaust is crucial to their power. 

This is why such harsh measures are being exacted against those who ask too many questions. The Holocaust history seems so shaky that governments have to actually imprison people who openly question it. 

Today, it’s becoming more like the new state religion and, as in the Inquisition, people are being locked up again for questioning even the smallest detail of dogma — no matter what the evidence, no matter what the conflicting testimony or history. Anyone who breaches this faith will be deemed a “Holocaust denier,” and punished accordingly. 

Therefore, as I see it, the “standard” version of the Holocaust history simply cannot be trusted as long as they’re jailing or otherwise punishing those who question it. To make jail sentences be your response to critics is exactly the same as getting up on a rooftop and shouting as loud as you can for all to hear: “I am lying!” Is anyone supposed to believe someone who, in effect, proclaims in this way that he’s lying? 

VALDAS ANELAUSKAS - July 5, 2008

Pretty creepy.  Oddly though, Portlanders, who would probably boycott a café for serving milk from a cow that wasn't milked orally, seem mostly to be shrugging this one off--at least that's the way it seems in the comments on the BikePortand article.  Alas, this is the one time their batshit hypersensitivity might actually be warranted, but instead they're just arguing about the correct definition of "fascist."  Not that the shop should be driven out of business or anything, and I'm sure everybody there is wonderful (with the possible exception of the guy who organizes racist talks in his spare time) but Portlanders could at least write some more of their trademark outraged BikePortland commentary, or maybe organize a "The Day the Clown Cried" theme ride:

(Oy.)

That seems appropriately tone-deaf for Portland.

Moving on to technical news, an enterprising person has launched a Kickstarter campaign for a bicycle crank shaped like a chicken leg:

The quest to reinvent the bicycle crank is nearly as popular and quixotic as the quest to reinvent the bicycle wheel, and in this case the green pie is supposed to show you why the Z-Torque is better:

In other words, it compensates for the fact that you're riding a department store mountain bike.  Still not convinced?  Here's a race between a bike with a regular crank and one with a Z-Torque crank:

This proves conclusively that the Z-Torque produces the same effect of selecting a different gear.

Or, if you've got lots of money to invest but you're more the "patron of the arts" type, why not fund a documentary about LSD?

Here's the pitch:

THE PITCH

The story of Dr. Albert Hofmann is an interesting one -- an unassuming Swiss botanist, who very purposefully created LSD, then very accidentally spilled it on his hands, and evidently wound up being the first to learn of it's psychoactive effects. BICYCLE DAY is a fictionalized retelling of Dr. Hofmann's story and famous LSD-induced bicycle ride, combining live action sequences with digital and hand drawn animations from animators all over the country. It's a home-grown, nation-spanning, locally-produced, mind-bending, eye-opening, trippy-good time of a film and we want each and every one of you to be a part of it with us.

Or you could just watch this:


Turn on, tune in, be nonplussed.

Lastly, by way of turning my attention back to the Biennial Whatever-It's-Called-Cockpit Contest (sponsored by Knog, Australia's largest and most powerful mega-corporation), I'd like to share one I spotted recently:

Which is clearly evil:

Or good, since I guess it's not upside down.  I'm a little hazy on my adolescent satanic imagery.

Then, there's this collagen bar tape, submitted by a reader::

As well as this submission, which is isn't really a cockpit at all:

(Uh, wrong end.)

And finally this one, which I frankly found very refreshing:

Garmin, schmarmin.

It's For My Cat: Absence Makes the Fred Go Fondo

So, like, what are you going this this weekend?  Really?  Shooting at pigeons out your window with a slingshot you made from office supplies?  OK, gross, but whatever.  Well, if you want to know what I'm doing (which you don't, but I'm going to tell you anyway because there's nothing between me and the Internet except a Commodore 64 and my total inability to self-edit) I'll be unleashing my inner Fred at the Bicycling Fall Classic, presented by Sp[mumblemumblemumble]:

Ordinarily at this time of year I'd already be deep into sucking at the cyclocrossing.  However, this year I've been especially busy and so I haven't gotten around to it yet.  "How busy are you?," you're not asking at this point.  Well, I'm this busy:

(Willem Dafoe as Jesus indicating how busy I am by holding his hands apart as far as they'll go.  Any implication of martyrdom on my part is purely unintentional.)

Or, if you prefer, I'm this busy.

Either way, the simple fact is that all those episodes of "Homeland" and "Boardwalk Empire" are not going to watch themselves.

Given all these demands on my time, I recently made the stunning discovery that instead of spending like five hours in a car to suck badly in a race for 45 minutes, I can instead just hop on a bike outside my front door, ride wherever I want for as long as I want, and lose to nobody but myself.  Therefore, I have yet to hoist a cyclocross bike onto my shoulder this season, though that may change in the coming months, or it may not, and I'm pleased to say that I've finally reached the point in my life where I just don't care anymore.

So why then am I traveling all the way to Pennsylvania (eeew!) to take part in a giant Fred ride?  Well, not only am I eager to find out why the Lehigh Valley is known as "Pennsylvania's vulvanus," but as a Bicycling columnist I'm also getting $100 (pro-rated) per mile ridden.  That means, given my current physical state, I should be returning to New York with about $246 in my pocket, which is isn't exactly chump change.  (It's more like "douche change.")

In any case, I am in all sincerity looking forward to it, and if you too would like to ride the undulations of "Pennsylvania's vulvanus" and allow me to sit resolutely on your wheel for the duration of the ride, you should register from the Bicycling Fall Classic today.

Of course, I believe this ride is technically a "Gran Fondo," and as far as I know there's not going to be any drug testing, which means I'm free to dope like that guy who got busted in New York.  Fortunately, I've found a website where I can score some EPO, and they even offer overnight shipping:

Unfortunately though, there's one small problem:

Which is that it appears to be for cats and dogs:

What is Epogen?
Epogen is a prescription medication used to treat anemia associated with chronic kidney disease and kidney failure.

Who is it for?
Epogen is for dogs and cats.

Then again, I'm sure it doesn't really make a difference and they just have to say that to cover themselves.  I mean, I eat cat food all the time and there's nothing wrong with me, apart from the fact that I feel sick all the time.  I've also added a half-bath to my apartment by putting a litter box in the closet, thereby increasing the value of my apartment by about $20K.  (And it's not just for show, either.  I actually use it.)  Therefore I'm sure a little pet EPO won't hurt me, just so long as I consult with a veterinarian:

Always follow the dosage instructions provided by your veterinarian. If you have difficulty giving the medication, contact your veterinarian. This medication should only be given to the pet for which it was prescribed.

"Uh, yeah, how much Epogen would my cat, Noodles, need for a 90-mile bike ride?  He's 5'10" and weighs about 180lbs."  Yes, I realize that's a little heavy, but that's what happens when you stop racing and watch TV all day while gorging yourself on cat food.

Speaking of cheating, no less a personage than "CommieCanuk" recently informed me that the editor of a journal about cheating in sports was in fact cheating at writing a journal about cheating in sports:

Ah yes, plagiarism: the heterogeneous blood doping of academia:

I tried using plagiarism detection software to determine whether publishers’ articles I was examining contained plagiarism, but it didn’t work. The best programs had already indexed the articles I was checking, so they came back as 100% positive because they were already in the database.

Evidently the plagiarism test seems about as unreliable as the EPO test.

In other news, a reader tells me that the mayor of Reykjavík has publicly apologized for "depicting cyclists negatively:"

Evidently he plays a character who's both a cyclist and a jerk, and the people of Reykjavík won't stand for it:


Reykjavík mayor Jón Gnarr has apologised for potentially depicting cyclists negatively in his role as one of the main characters of the Icelandic situation comedy Næturvaktin (Night Shift).

Jón's character on the show, gas station manager Georg Bjarnfreðarson, is a self-aggrandizing intellectual wannabe with a penchant for putting his foot in his mouth and being generally clueless about how to talk with people. He also rode a bicycle.

Here's the shocking footage:





Between the hyper-sensitivity, the mayor who's also a sitcom character, and the bleak attempt at humor, life in Reykjavík comes across very much like "Portlandia" if it was directed by Ingmar Bergman.  I think the guy in the blue jacket should also apologize for looking like the offspring of Jack Black and Björk.  Then maybe I'll finally be able to watch "Næturvaktin" again without crying.

By the way, remember the cockpit contest?

(Cock.)

(Pit.)

(Contest.)

Well, I've been too busy to "curate" it properly lately:

("Busy.")

Plus, I have a Fondo to train for.  But I assure you I'll get around to concluding it eventually.  Then, maybe after that I'll have a "Best Triathlete Crash" contest, and this one that was forwarded to me by another reader would be a formidable contender:

In fact, it's part of a series, which you can view here.  I apologize in advance for the "spoiler," but here's where he winds up:

In addition to illustrating the triathlete's unique ability to crash himself or herself without the slightest intervention from any outside forces, it also shows the triathlete's ineptitude when it comes to taking evasive action--note that the rider behind has unclipped both feet in response to the incident and his legs merely hang there useless like sausages in the window of a charcuterie:

The inevitable result is the "crotchal endo," which occurs when the rider straddles the top tube and places both feet on the ground while slowing as the rear of the bicycle lifts up due to the frontal weight distribution.  It's a maneuver unique to triathletes, and if you've ever seen it you know it evokes some dorky animal presenting itself to a mate.

It's only a matter of time before triathletes finally adopt the recumbent trike.