Ball Sports: 'Roid Rage and Road Rage

Before anything else, I was saddened yesterday to learn of the passing of Jobst Brandt:

Back in the late 20th century, while still deeply in thrall to Fred-dom, I used to read the "rec.bicycles.tech" group, where Brandt used to tell everybody what was what.  Like any Fred I was highly susceptible to the newest and latest gew-gaws, to the extent that I emptied my savings account to purchase the very first iteration of the Ksyrium.  (It was an illness, I realize that now.)  Even so, Brandt's authoritative and at times irascible posts resonated with me, and I began to realize and embrace the fact that I had retrogrouch tendencies.

The Kysriums didn't last long.  One day I was Just Riding Along in Manhattan when a hormone-addled teen ran out into the street and kicked my rear wheel for no apparent reason.  I didn't break stride, but the wheel went wildly out of true, and it was never the same after that--nor was my faith in bicycle marketing.

Whereas Sheldon Brown's Internet presence was that of the benevolent sage, Brandt was the admonishing parent, and his passing is a loss to cycling, because all of us who ride bikes need people to tell us when we're being fucking idiots.  I won't pretend to be anything close to a proficient wheel builder, but thanks to what I learned over the years from reading his posts I've cobbled together some cheap wheels that have far outperformed those stupid Ksyriums, and I've also kept other wheels going by swapping the rim and saving the spokes.  I've even got a Mavic MA2 still in service, which I consider a nod to him.

Sure I've still got a gimmicky wheelset or two, because when you're a bike blogger in the 21st century it's unavoidable that these things will come into your possession.  I'm also still pretty Fredly, which means I remain liable to be seduced by new bike stuff.  Still, Brandt's attitude informs my underlying attitude about bike stuff, which is that above all it should be serviceable, sensible, and sound.  There's a lot of junk food out there in the cycling marketplace, and while most of us partake in it from time to time, it's important to see it for what it is.

Moving on, evidently baseball player and doper (doesn't one imply the other?) Barry Bonds is sponsoring a cycling team:

I know very little about Barry Bonds because I don't care about baseball.  I wouldn't say I hate baseball exactly, but it is one of those things I don't think about it until something reminds me of it, and then I think to myself, "Yeah, that should just go away."   When people ask me "Yankees or Mets?" I struggle to figure out which team I give fewer fucks about, but I suppose if I had to choose a team to root for I'd go with the Mets, only because there's a strong correlation between driving like a fucking dickbag and having a Yankees logo on your car or person.

Anyway, apparently Bonds has become a born-again Fred (which is the worst kind of Fred really), right down to the Rapha jersey:

And funding a cycling team is laughably cheap when you've got professional baseball money:

According to public documents and records provided by Twenty16, Bonds has donated $104,800 to the team -- roughly half of that through the Bonds Family Foundation -- and raised $96,500 from friends and associates, including Will Chang and Trina Dean, members of the San Francisco Giants' ownership group. Cranmer's management company, Tam Cycling Inc., has 501(c)(3) status, and the team's entire 2015 budget is projected to be under half a million dollars.

However, naturally Bonds's association with doping makes some people uncomfortable:

"There's part of me that feels he can contribute," says veteran pro rider Robin Farina, CEO and co-founder of the Women's Cycling Association advocacy group. "On the other hand, it paints the wrong picture. We're trying to keep an image of clean sport. The sport does need people of his stature and stardom, but we don't need a mixed message for young athletes." Farina says her view is personal and not a WCA position.

Many people bemoan the fact that women's cycling receives so little support, and of course I agree.  (Perhaps this is a calculated move on Bonds's behalf, since it's easier to deflect criticism by pointing out just how badly these particular athletes need money.)  At the same time, it's hard for me to get too worked up over gender inequality in professional cycling, only because pro cycling as it exists is inherently unethical, and therefore it's unreasonable to expect anything good from it.  It's sort of like fundamentalist religious groups: if these people are batshit crazy enough to encase themselves in plastic bags on airplanes, then how can you possibly expect these nutjobs to have anything approaching the common sense it requires to treat women as equals?

So anyway, here comes Barry Bonds with his money and his Rapha jersey and his crabon Specialized or Pinarello or whatever it is to save the "little girls:"

Those benefactors now include Bonds, who said he has no desire to throw millions at the problem but felt compelled to help. "I saw these little girls... and forgive me if I say 'little girls,' they're all so tiny to me -- how much passion they had for something they love to do, for nothing," he says.

Eeew, creepy.  Sure, not as creepy as Mario Cipollini sponsoring a women's cycling team, but creepy nonetheless.

In other news, a guy in Portland pitched a u-lock at a car from his lofty perch above a tall bike:

My first thought upon seeing the photo was that in Portland hood ornament horseshoes has become the new bike polo, but apparently the driver (or the driver's mother) and the tall biker got into some sort of altercation, and then the u-locks started to fly.

As for the second cyclist with the mismatched socks, as it turns out he merely happened upon the situation as it was unfolding, and he was kind enough to email me an account of what he witnessed.  Here it is, from the point of his arrival:

At this point, the gold BMW was exceedingly close behind us, blaring its horn. As I looked behind me, the lock was thrown (if I had to guess where it connected, I'd say license plate). As the tallbiker pulled a u-turn to retrieve his lock, he effectively cut me off, and I stopped. At this point, the car swerved onto the sidewalk and both passengers exited. I asked the driver (daughter) what was going on as the passenger (mom) charged the tallbike (it appeared to me as though she was ready to knock him off of the bike). The tall biker defensively extended his foot as he passed, neither party seemed to suffer any damage (though mom's phone dropped), and the tallbiker continued on his way. At this point, mom's attention turns to me, and the first thing she asks is if "this is what [I] represent". I tried to explain that I was just riding around my neighborhood, but it became clear that I was being yelled at by an extremely angry person, who was predictably less-than-reasonable. I left after mom started accusing me of being complicit, taking my photo, and denying all culpability- though she made sure to mention that she occasionally rides to work, lives between two greenways, and has friends in the "cycling community." As mother is yelling at me, daughter has retreated to the car, visibly and extremely upset.

Only in Portland does a motorist in the throes of road rage point out that she rides to work, lives near two greenways, and has friends in the "cycling community."

Here they just glower at you from beneath the flat brims of their Yankees caps, point their Jeep Grand Cherokee Limiteds at you, and gun it.

Finally, here's a Kickstarter for a light that looks like balls:


The inventor was very persistent about sending me a pair, but I refused for a number of reasons, not least of which is that when you have kids your bike lights become their toys and I don't need mine showing up at at school with an illuminated scrotum.

Also, I'd never use it in a billion years.

I'll give them one thing though, which is that it takes a rather large pair to ask over $11,000 for what is essentially a novelty item.

Maybe Barry Bonds will fund it.  They could even offer a miniature set as an homage to his steroid use.

It may be Wednesday, but I'm so fast it's already Thursday.

After a hard day of "working" there's nothing like a twilight Citi Bike ride to soothe the nerves--or at least to shift your irritation from one set of nerves to another, since attempting to dodge taxis on a 50lb three-speed leaves you with little energy left to dwell on the day's indignities:

New York City is forever changing, and over the past couple of decades we've seen the downtown precincts of Manhattan transformed from a haven for free-thinking weirdos to a place frequented by the sorts of people who go "Whooo!" when they're excited.  Furthermore, yesterday was the 5th of May, otherwise known as Cinco de Mayo, which meant the sorts of people who go "Whooo!" when they're excited were "Whooo!"-ing their faces off thanks to an abundance of margarita drink specials.

As the bicycle becomes a more visible thread in the fabric of life in New York City it increasingly represents the city's agents of change.  For example, ten years or so ago we witnessed the sudden proliferation of what were then called "hipsters," who annoyed the fuck out of everybody on their fixed-gear bicycles.  Since then, time has mitigated the phenomenon.  Some of these people moved away, others learned how to ride bicycles properly and assimilated, while still others matured into full-on yuppies and traded their fixies for Subarus.  Now you've been priced out, the word "hipster" has become obsolete, and the fixie has become wholly unremarkable--just another aesthetic choice for the casual bike shopper, a decision no more profound than deciding between the lace-up sneakers and the slip-ons.

Yesterday evening, however, I had something of a revelation when I realized New York City cycling has a new scourge, and it is the "bro on a bike."

(The "bro" what almost sideswiped me last week.)

Indeed, after about the fifth or sixth "duder" in a polo shirt nearly salmoned into me, I realized that the "Whooo!"-ers are now taking to bicycles.  On one hand this is a positive development, since it indicates that riding bicycles for transportation in New York City has now gone entirely mainstream--so much so that fraternity types with entry level jobs at investment banks are now doing it.  On the other hand, when some Ultimate Frisbee is making a bee line towards me like I'm a keg at a frat party it makes me miss the days when legions of Napoleon Dynamites on Bianchi Pistas and yard sale 10-speeds imported from the far exurbs was the worst the city had to offer.

Alas, I suppose it's just the natural order of things.  First the city got hipster-fied, then it got bro-ified, and I guess in about five years the city will be totally taken over by billionaires and I'll be dodging Russian oligarchs salmoning on jewel-encrusted Cipollinis:



Actually, I'm thinking like a poor person.  They won't be on jewel-encrusted Cipollini bicycles.  They'll probably be riding bedazzled clones of Mario Cipollini himself.

("You want ride-a da Cipo?")

Speaking of the winds of change, don't you want to slice through them like a hot Cipollini through butter?  If so, you'll need to get yourself a full set of "Spoke Fins:"

Spoke Fins Reduce Bicycle Wheel Drag, Even in Crosswinds

Spoke Fins cut bicycle spoke drag by more than 50%, even in crosswinds.  Streamlined Spoke Fins swivel like a wind vane in response to variable crosswinds, which constantly change orientation as the wheel rotates.  Your help is needed to purchase a 12-cavity injection mold required to economically produce our innovative bicycle Spoke Fins.

Spoke Fins: Convert round spokes into bladed spokes

• Cut Spoke Drag more than 50%
• Effective in both Headwinds and Crosswinds
• Reduce Pedaling Effort in All Winds
• Enhance Stability in Crosswinds
• Colorful Fashion Accessory for the Kids' Bicycle

Yes, why spend $20,000 on a Malcom McLaren Venge-Schmenge:

(Venge-Schmenge: The bicycle of choice for the Salmoning Oligarchs of Tomorrow)

When you can transform your $500 Bikesdirect.com special into a wind-cheating Fred rocket with just a handful of plastic?

Just listen to this testimonial!

"After 100 miles in two days of testing, the fins are very effective.  They are much faster above 15 mph, specially when facing headwinds, and remarkably stable in crosswinds.  The bike feels different, and is now faster than my own bike.  While cycling 16 mph in a moderate crosswind, I was able to pedal hands-free, where I could not have before.  I will not be riding again without them."

See that?  They are much faster above 15 mph.  See, without spoke fins, at 15 mph your bike will only travel at 12, 13, maybe 14 mph.  However, with the spoke fins, once you exceed 15 mph your bike will go as fast as 16 mph!

(As far as the part about pedaling hands-free, there might just be something wrong with his other bike.)

By the way, these are the same people who invented the Null Winds fairings:

Which, as you may recall, also bent the laws of physics:

"...it is my conclusion that when riding into a headwind with the addition of the Null Winds Technology Upper Wheel Fairings, any bicycle will be noticeably faster at any speed!"

In other words, at 21 mph, a bicycle equipped with Null Winds fairings will be faster than an un-faired bike traveling 21mph.  

Jason Shutz may be a Cat 2 at bike racing, but as far as science goes he's a Cat 8 at best.

Still, as a hardcore bike share user you can believe I'll take any advantage I can get, so you can expect to find me kneeling at a Citi Bike kiosk and attaching these to the spokes of my prospective azure blue bank-branded steed.  (Pro tip: attach Spoke Fins before un-docking the bike, you don't want to incur costly overtime fees.)

Lastly, while we're on the subject of the relentless pursuit of speed, a reader has sent me this video in which a Fred (who pronounces "Vuelta" as "View-letta") removes a pawl from his freehub in order to make his bike go faster:

I'm not sure this will have much effect on your speed, but it sure seems like a great way to squash your "pants yabbies" on your top tube.

Then again, if he takes it down to one pawl and adds some Spoke Fins he could very well leapfrog Fred "Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!" speed and go straight to plaid:

Bike Expo Episode II: Attack of the Freds

(Via the Twitter.)

When last we met, I was sitting on a commuter train with this:

By the following morning, however, I had traded the Brompton for this:

Sorry, I meant this:

As you recall, I'd planned an early morning sub-epic road ride for this past Saturday, to be followed by a mid-morning café rendezvous, after which we'd meander on down to the Bike Expo.

With regard to the sub-epic, when I arrived at the super-secret meeting place at the super-secret appointed time I was pleased to find an assortment of hale cyclists, and after the dispensation of free hats I gave the order and we proceeded to cut a swath through the varied terrain and assorted real estate north of the city.  I'm sorry to report that we did lose at least one rider to some loose gravel, presumably because he was not riding a CPSC-approved gravel bike, but I did see him later at the Expo and apart from some road rash it was clear he'd emerged from his ordeal ready to ride another day.  Overall, everybody who finished the ride seemed to enjoy it, or if they didn't enjoy it then they pretended to for my benefit.  In any case I enjoyed it, and isn't that what's most important?

Yes.  Yes it is.

Therefore, given the relative success of that ride (by which I mean I enjoyed it, the rest of you are incidental), I feel semi-confident in confirming that a BSNYC Gran Fondon't will indeed take place on Sunday, May 17th.

As for what the Gran Fodon't will entail, expect to ride a bicycle on different types of surfaces for a few hours and to finish up in a place where they sell beer for consumption.

If doing those things in that order interests you then stay tuned for more instructions, either via this blog or else by skywriter airplane:

From there, the sub-epic morning ride dissolved into the second ride from the café to the Expo--which, given the more leisurely pace, attracted more disparate riders such as this one:

That's a Ross in case you're wondering:

Did you know that Ross used to be headquartered in Rockaway Beach and they made their bikes in Allentown, PA?

I didn't either until fairly recently.

Anyway, I felt a kinship with the above rider for two reasons: 1) I remember Ross bikes just like that one from when I was a child; and 2) If you think about it, riding a bike like that isn't much different from riding a Brompton--except instead of folding his bike before boarding a train he merely secrets it in his voluminous pant leg.

Oh, there was also a fat bike on the ride, and it probably won't surprise you to learn the guy on the child's bike made ample use of the fat bike's porcine slipstream:

(Cyclists: working together regardless of pant size or wheel size.)

Eat it, Portland.

After making our way down Manhattan's spine we arrived at the Expo, which was considerably more crowded than it had been the day before.  Here's what the valet bike parking line looked like at one point:

Are you freaking kidding me?!?

There was absolutely no way I was going to wait.  Not only was I due at the Walz table at that very moment, but long lines are against my religion as a solipsist, because waiting on them offends my fervent belief that only I exist.

"I mean, if it's only me, then who the hell are all these other assholes?," I wonder to myself as I wait to board an airplane or purchase a burrito from Chipotle, at which point my entire faith crumbles.

So, like any good solipsist, I abandoned my fellow riders to their fates on the valet line and headed straight for the entrance, where for the second day in a row I explained that I was an exhibitor and that I needed to take my bike in with me.

The woman at the door flashed me the universal expression for "I know you're full of shit but I'm too goddamn tired of dealing with you fucking bike dorks all day to argue," and then she waved me through.

Hey, what was I supposed to do, park it here?

Fancy-schmancy bicycle parking structures seem like a great idea until they become receptacles for rusty, long-abandoned children's bikes whose former owners have probably graduated medical school by now.

Anyway, pushing a bicycle through a crowded exhibition hall is about as much fun as you'd imagine, and in fact I bet it's pretty much exactly what "riding" the Five Boro Bike Tour feels like these days.

Upon reaching the Walz table I didn't even have time to change, and so I sat there stewing in my chamois the whole time.  Then afterwards I hit the beer tent, and finally I went "full woosie" and took the train home again because I was tired and hungry:

The end.

See you at the Gran Fondon't.

Speaking of spirited cycling, Freds love to obsess over freehub engagement, and so some enterprising Australians are attempting to Kickstart a "zero lag" rear hub:



Appropriately enough, the introductory video "locks up" at this very moment:

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "There's already such a thing as a 'zero lag' hub.  It's called a 'fixie.'"

Yeah, good one.  Well, you know who's not laughing?  Australian cycling great Robbie McEwen, that's who:

He may not smile at any point in the video, but he does hold a wimpy, laggy freehub and wiggle it suggestively with his disembodied hand:

While doing so, McEwen explains that this sloppy piece of hardware has a whopping four (4) millimeters of lag!

Four millimeters may not sound like a lot, but keep in mind that it can be the difference between winning a race and still winning it anyway, only four meaningless millimeters later.

Nevertheless, McEwen is so disgusted by freehub lag that I kept expecting him to compare the one in his hands to the genitals of an aging prostitute or something equally cringeworthy.  Fortunately he doesn't go that far, though he does grab this bicycle and proceed to demean and degrade it:

"That lag!  You don't want a whole lot of nothing, you want PEAWAH*!"

*"Peawah" is Australian for "power."

After which he demonstrates the zero lag hub:

"When my foot's at twelve o'clock, I feel like I'm already generating PEAWAH!"

It was at this point I began praying to myself (I'm a solipsist, remember?) for a Mario Cipollini cameo:

("Twelve o'clock?  Meednight?!?  Dats also when-a da Cipo like-a to lay-a down da powah!  We make-a da threesome, eh Robbie?")

Alas, he never came.**

**I mean the cameo never came.  Cipollini always comes.  Always.

Ultimately, as far as McEwen is concerned, the "zero lag" hub is going to revolutionize cycling:

"Teams talk about going for marginal gains, finding every improvement in performance, nutrition, training, racing.  Well, this isn't just a marginal gain right here with the Zero Hero.  This is going to revolutionize cycling as far as drivetrains go."

Oh save it you old doper.

Still, the inventors have graphs to prove it:

Not to mention a catchy yet mis-italicized slogan which the inventor delivers like a threat:

(I think you meant to italicize "much.")

Hey, sometimes a little play is good.  My wide tolerances are the only reason I don't fall apart completely.

Bike Expo Part I: I Expo'd Myself!

I am pleased to announce I survived Bike Expo New York.  For a normal person this would be no big deal.  However, I am a solitary creature, so attending a bike expo for two (2) whole days is nothing short of a social maelstrom.

It all started on Friday, when I contemplated a seductively blue sky and considered how I would get down to the Expo.  See, the show was way down on the end of Manhattan's wingtip, whereas I live all the way up in Manhattan's fedora.  That's a distance of roughly 20 miles.

Inasmuch as I'm a semi-professional bike blogger it seemed exceedingly lame to take the subway to the show, yet as a full-time lazy person who was saving up all his energy to CRUSH IT!!! on the sub-epic ride the next morning I simply didn't feel like riding the whole way.  Fortunately, I am currently testing out a Brompton, so I figured I'd do the whole genteel multi-modal thing and ride to the Metro North.

Lest you think this makes me some kind of a "woosie," keep in mind that riding to the nearest Metro North station to my home involves summiting the highest natural point in the Bronx and indeed the second-highest peak in all of New York City, a town famous for its mountains:

(Ascending the Cima Coppi.  Can you believe there's no snow up here?)

Let's also remember I was riding a bike with only two (2) speeds.  Fortunately, as the 183rd-fastest singlespeeder IN THE WORLD according to my SSWC '08 keychain, I crested the ridge without too much difficulty and then hit the screaming descent to the river:

(Note porta-potty for those about to soil themselves in fear.)

Please note I refrained from taking any photos past this point, because while the Brompton is a joy to ride it is still a folding bike, which means the front end is more susceptible to rider input than a "normal" bike--which in turn means if you're riding down a hill one-handed at 20+ mph and you hit a bump you'll leave a big red streak with your face all the way down to the bottom.

However, the Brompton will go down just fine as long as you keep both hands on the bars and look out for giant holes (oh my god that sounded filthy), and because I did both I arrived at the station unscathed:

Even though I wasn't wearing a helme(n)t, for the simple reason that wearing a helment on a folding bike is pathetic.

You're goddamn right it's about looks.

Sartorially speaking, wearing a helment while riding a folding bike is like wearing safety goggles to light a menorah.

As I waited for the train I gazed upriver and basked in the idyll of a beautiful spring day:

In fact it was so idyllic that these picturesque waterfowl paddled by:

Not all swans mate for life, but it is true that they're the only Anatidae who enter into prenuptial agreements.

From there I rode the Metro North to Grand Central, and from Grand Central I headed down to the Expo.  I had time to spare, and so I wasn't even remotely stressed when I got stuck behind a Citi Bike redistribution flotilla:

Now that looks like hard work.

Upon my arrival at the Expo I folded the Brompton (I've gotten the fold completely down, though I'm not quite at competition level) and walked right past the bike valet parking, but--IRONY!--they wouldn't let me in with it:

Yep, that's right, they wouldn't let me take a folding bike into a bike show.

So I simply lied and explained that I was an exhibitor and the bike was part of my display, and in we went.

Apparently to own a Brompton you've got to be a good liar, which is why you should never trust a Bromptoneer--to wit:

(Roberto Heras: doper and Brompton enthusiast.)

Anyway, I knew I was in the right place because where else in Manhattan are you going to find Freds on Stilts?

Since I was early, I took a little time to browse the Expo.  My first stop was the photo booth, where I undercut the professionals by taking my own souvenir photos and offering to text them to people for half price:

See that?  It's like they're right there!

Next, I checked out this Taiwanese folding bike display:

As I did so, the Brompton harrumphed indignantly, like a gentleman in a bowler hat who's just been served a sandwich with a mouse tail sticking out of it.

There was also a poorly-attended flat repair class:

A pair of preternaturally oscillating aero bars:

People rubbing other people with sticks:

And apparatus for portaging children on bicycles:

I own two children and I own a singlespeed On-One bicycle, but never in a million years would I consider combining those two things, because there's no way I'd get that over a hill without falling over.

Then I walked by the packet pickup area for the Five Boro Bike Tour:

If you're unfamiliar with the Five Boro Bike Tour, it's the reason your non-cycling coworker thinks a bicycle race is 30,000 people wearing pinnies and riding slowly on hybrids.

Since it was still early on Friday the Expo was not yet crowded, so not only was it an ideal time to pick up your Bike Tour packet, but it was also a perfect opportunity to have the beer garden to yourself:

I could have easily parked myself there for a few hours, but instead I presented myself at the Walz booth, where I was touched to find they had made a sign for me and everything:

Gamely, I assumed the position:

Over the next two days I was honored to receive various visitors at my table.  For example, a representative of Chia Squeeze stopped by and presented me with some samples of their wares:

I have no idea if chia is one of those water-intensive crops that is helping drain California dry even though nobody even really wants to eat it.  However, I did ask her if it was chia like the pet.  I then observed, "I bet everyone makes that reference, right?"  She assured me they did not, and that's when I realized that people who know what a Chia Pet is are old.

I was also pleased to meet Yvonne Bambrick, author of the Urban Cycling Survival Guide:

If you're keen on both riding bikes in cities and surviving then you'd be stupid not to check it out.

I even got to meet Leroy's dog's owner, who gave me this moving card:

I appreciated the gesture, and the card will go well with the turd he left in the back seat.

Some other old friends stopped by as well, but by that point I think I may have been suffering from exhibition hall-induced delirium:

And so I unfurled the Brompton and headed back towards Grand Central, a journey which took me past the Manhattan-side landing of the Williamsburg Bridge bike path, where the Channel 11 News Team was hanging around and trolling for cyclists:

Specifically, they wanted to know if anyone was planning to ride the Five Boro Bike Tour.  Had they gotten an affirmative response from anyone I assume they would have proceeded to stick a microphone in the cyclist's face and ask stupid questions:

("Will you stop at red lights?  Do you wear a helment?")

Naturally I ignored him, then the light changed, and I was halfway down the block when I realized I should have answered yes and explained that my name was Lawrence Orbach and I was totally going to destroy the ride again this year.

I really blew it there, that's for sure.

Then it was the usual assortment of bike lane obstructions, like this douchebag from Jersey who was hunting and pecking at his smartphone:

As well as the NYPD, who go nuclear when it comes to bike lane blockage:

See that?

I assume they were hanging out there because of protest activity in nearby Union Square, and I didn't dare get any closer to take a picture because you never know when the police are feeling "arresty."

I'm sorry to say some of my fellow cyclists also behaved in a vexing manner, and I was very nearly sideswiped on at least two occasions by this overzealous "bro:"

Notice the schmutz on my jacket:

In case you're wondering what it is, there's a 50/50 chance it's either seasonal allergy mucus or baby puke.

Finally, I made it to Grand Central, where I cowered with the rest of the "foldies:"

As you can see, we're an iconoclastic breed, but those of us who ride Bromptons do tend to keep shod:

And yes, your eyes aren't playing tricks on you.  My shoes certainly do match the bike.

Thanks to everyone who stopped by the Expo, and if you want to know what happened on Saturday's rides stay tuned for "Bike Expo II: The Search for Fred."