Things are Looking Up: It's a Comfort Thing

This past Friday, I mentioned so-called "Cat 6" racing, in which Nü-Freds and other "bike culture" aspirants race other cyclists over the area bridges on their way to or from work for what I can only imagine they believe to be "bragging rights." Of course, in many cases, their "opponents" are completely unaware that they are even being engaged in a race, which makes any subsequent bragging on the part of the victor about as logical as a would-be Lothario boasting about his sexual conquest of an inanimate object such as a fur-lined mitten or a bowl of room temperature Jell-O. Still, despite its inherent dorkiness, I imagine that "Cat 6" racing (the dessert-sodomizing of the cycling world) will continue indefinitely, and it would not surprise me if local coaches are already offering specialized commuter race training programs in anticipation of the inevitable increase in popularity the "sport" is about to enjoy.

Even I have unwittingly raced in the "Cat 6" field (and I'm not referring to my recent Prospect Park incident, which was beyond "Cat 6" and can only be classified as "Cat Douche"). After riding over the Manhattan Bridge one evening, a winded Nü-Fred type rolled up next to me and complimented me on my strong ride. Evidently, he had been trying to beat me over the bridge and failed, and so in a rather sportsmanlike and gentlemanly fashion was conceding defeat. This was highly puzzling to me since I had no idea he was even there in the first place, and it also made me wonder how many of the cyclists who pass me on a regular basis during my commuting and errand-running are actually congratulating themselves as they do so. ("I totally schooled that schlubby guy on the Big Dummy with the box of fair trade coffee.") It all goes to show that each one of us dwells in his or her own completely subjective reality (though objectively speaking, some of these "realities" are much dorkier than others).

Even worse than being unwittingly mixed up in a bike race is being unwittingly mixed up in an electric motorcycle race--especially when that electric motorcycle collides with you, as in this article which was forwarded to me by a reader:

I don't know anything about the "around-the-world race for zero-emission vehicles" in which the motorcycle was embroiled, but I can only imagine it's some incredibly smug version of "The Cannonball Run." Also, riders of highly flatulent motorcycles such as Harley Davidsons with de-baffled exhausts have long defended their "Look at me! During the week I'm a lawyer, but today I'm an outlaw!" behavior with the claim that "loud pipes save lives." The implication here is that their flatulence alerts other road users to their presence and serves as a safety measure, even though if you've ever been overtaken by such a machine you know it doesn't so much "alert" you as it does confuse and disorient you by pounding on your brain from all directions until you finally see some guy on a $30,000 motorcycle who looks and sounds like he's sitting on a rolling toilet. Still, I guess the ear-splitting rumble emitted by a middle-aged professional who still hasn't outgrown his childish desire to show everybody that he knows how to use the potty is better than "silent creep," in which you're suddenly overtaken by some stealthily smug person you couldn't hear at all:

Car makers are only just beginning to come to terms with what is known as ‘‘silent creep’’, or the ability of electric vehicles to move almost silently at low speeds.

Yes, as the streets fill with electric cars and motorcycles and "e-bikes" and hopped-up Segways that can reach speeds of over 200mph we can all expect their drivers to constantly startle us like "the sidler" in that "Seinfeld" episode. That's why I'm a strong advocate for laws requiring electric vehicles to emit a minimum level of noise, and given the high smugness quotient of their drivers I think an appropriate sound would be the droning intonations of their hero Al Gore:

When you hear that soporific monotone behind you it's best to simply pull over and let them pass, since they're generally too busy congratulating themselves to drive carefully. Of course, this could have the unwanted side-effect of causing other road users to fall asleep at the wheel.

Maybe they should just fit all electric vehicles with a loudspeaker that plays the sound of a V-twin motorcycle with straight pipes.

Meanwhile, speaking of wacky contraptions, the New York Times recently took a hard-hitting look at the horizontal world of recumbent cycling:

Recumbent riders were no doubt floored to see themselves covered by the Times--or at least they would have been if they weren't all lying on the floor already. In the world of fixed-gears, riders say "It's a Zen thing" and speak of a state of perfect brakeless awareness. Recumbent riders, on the other hand, don't talk about Zen. They talk about "The Comfort." "You have to accept the comfort," they intone as they lower you into the machine. Then, just as you begin to ease into it, biomechanical tentacles emerge and lash you to the vehicle as mechanical arms suture a beard onto your face and drill a helmet mirror directly into your skull. Having been subsumed by "The Comfort," you then roam the roads in a prone position forevermore. Just as the Flying Dutchman can never make port, the Lying Down Cyclist can never again dwell among uprights.

So why do it? So you can stare straight up in the air as you ride:

I could see the appeal on a long ride. My hands were no longer holding up my torso but instead were gripping a set of low handlebars. My head, now in a position more like that of driving a car, was free to take in the fall foliage unfurling above us from a vantage point I’ve rarely noticed.

Like this:

Ah yes, I remember my first "epic" recumbent ride all the way to Florida and the fascinating "vantage point" of the foliage it afforded me. We started up north:

I rode during the day:


And I rode at night:


All the while, I enjoyed that "vantage point" I had been missing on an upright bike, never looking down until I reached my destination:

In fact, I didn't look down even after I reached my destination, since my neck was now permanently craned like Lemmy Kilmister's. Really, that was my only complaint--apart from the time my "vantage point" caused me to accidentally ride into the Lincoln Tunnel because I couldn't see where I was going:

I can assure you there was no "silent creep" in there--in fact I never heard so many car horns at one time in my life since I pretty much brought traffic to a halt. I'm looking forward to reading the "Lincoln Tunnel Prone Dork Clog Slog" article in the New York Post as soon as I get back from the chiropractor.

But while the view overhead may be a key component of the recumbent experience, fixed-gear cycling is all about looking at yourself. Consider this video, which proves fixed-gear preening is the new fixed-gear freestyle:

PERSEVERANCE from NAYP on Vimeo.

I wasn't sure why this was called "Perseverance," since the only things the protagonist was persevering in were riding slowly and being a total hipster. But then I realized the video was Brazilian, so I ran the title through a popular online translator:

It made a lot more sense after that.

Meanwhile, even though the fixed-gear phenomenon has long gone global, regional news broadcasts still follow the "fixie" reporting template, complete with awkward explanation of how a fixed-gear drivetrain works. For example, in this recent segment from Los Angeles, the newscaster explains that "Fixed gear bikes are kind of like a unicycle:"

I suppose fixed-gears are kind of like a unicycle--apart from the two wheels, and the diamond frame, and the chain drive, and the handlebars... Actually, come to think of it, fixed-gears and unicycles have almost nothing in common, except for the fact that you'll often find clowns on top of them. And speaking of clowns, it's worth noting that the shop in the news report is the same one in that tall bike video that has been making the rounds recently:

LA Brakeless is now LA Windowless.

Lastly, the maker of the "Fuss Vom Gas" video has alerted me to his latest project, which chronicles the exploits of the "Rad Rowdies" bike club:

Apparently, "The Rad Rowdies are a Viennese bike gang -- drinking and riding is their mission." (Though it's clear from the video that they also take time out for the application of new knuckle tattoos.) I'm not sure how smart this mission is--it seems about as wise as "The Rad Rowdies are a Viennese urologist gang -- drinking and performing vasectomies on each other is their mission." I wonder if somewhere in the world some "bike culture" renegade will actually come out and say something like, "You know, maybe getting really drunk and riding our bikes around the city isn't a great idea." Probably not. This is the "bike culture" after all--anything goes as long as you wear a helmet.