The Indignity of Commuting by Bicycle: Hail Fellow Well Wet

Once again, a vast quantity of The Great Lobster's Dandruff has fallen down upon New York City like divine crustacean retribution for our evil ways. I have no doubt at this point that the snow will fall for 40 days and 40 nights until the city is cleansed, and I wonder if any of us will be spared. Presumably somewhere there is a righteous man or woman, and as I type this the Lobster is commanding him or her to build an ark-bike. It will have massive frame clearance and provisions for a Rohloff hub, and its tires will be hundreds of cubits in width and its rims thousands of cubits in diameter. Then, its fabricator will ride it to Austin, and it will win Best Divinely-Inspired Snow Bike at the NAHBS.

I, however, was without snow bike as I ventured into The Big City yesterday during the early hours of this latest weather event. Like a young Joe Buck, I set out brimming with naive ambition, but by that evening the storm would become my "Ratso" Rizzo and make a sorry and broken whore out of me. I should have known, too, since already the smallest and feeblest creatures had to be carried:

On the feebleness spectrum, I rank somewhere between a small dog and a grown man, so I should have known I was in for trouble. Still, I am a busy person, having recently welcomed my 17th child into the family (all my children, male or female, are named Ninja, and this one is no exception), and so I must take my opportunities for "epic" cycling adventures as they come. And while I may be naive, I was nonetheless prepared, and even had the foresight to bring along a pair of Rivendell "Splats:"

(That amorphous olive drab foot apron is a Rivendell Splat.)

According to Rivendell, Splats have a "function-to-fashion ratio of 99.9:1," and as you can see from the above photo they're definitely about as fashionable as, well, a piece of clothing designed by Grant Petersen. They did, however, do their job as promised and I was glad to have them--though I didn't complete the whole Rivendell look by pairing them with a gigantic poncho:

By the way, it doesn't actually appear to be raining in that photo, so judging from the tent he's pitching in that thing I can only assume he's using the poncho for its more lascivious secondary purpose and engaging in some "covert ops."

Speaking of covert ops, even though the streets were slushy and the weather was miserable, I knew that the Great Anti-Bicycle Crackdown of Death would continue unabated:

Sure, in New York City a little snow is enough to stop ambulances in their tracks, but neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays the NYPD from reminding all those smug cyclists that this ain't Portland, and that if they want to flout traffic laws they'd better earn that right by leasing a Lincoln Navigator. In any case, I wasn't about to tempt fate by breaking any laws, since with 17 Ninjas to feed a $275 ticket could easily break me. That's almost ten pairs of Splats, or not quite half an Outlier Storm King Parka! So with the bike lanes snowed in I simply took my place at the back of the line, sucked down that minivan exhaust, and took it:

Of course, swan-diving into Manhattan from the great diving board that is the Long Island land mass requires crossing The Big Skanky, and so the big question on any foul-weather commute is, "Will the bridges be passable?" Fortunately, the one I chose was, and it also bore the tracks that were indesputable evidence that other idiots had also crossed it by bicycle before me:

However, the bridge was not salted, which made the going a bit treacherous:

As far as I can tell, New York City is now taking a two-pronged approach to bicycle unfriendliness. The passive-aggressive part is stuff like not salting the bridges to ensure that they freeze up like snot in a recumbent rider's beard, and the aggressive-aggressive part is handing out tickets to cyclists who do things like failing to signal before reaching into their pants to adjust their "pants yabbies." Then again, most of the streets weren't salted by that point either, so it's also likely that, like most cyclists, I'm a raging solipsist.

There were not many cyclists in Manhattan, though various delivery people were plying their trade, including celebrity messenger Austin Horse, better known as that guy who raced a Mercedes:

(That's one "epic" backpack.)

I would have stopped him and asked him to autograph my Splats, but he went right through that light like a hipster through a trust fund, whereas I'm just one traffic ticket away from having to move back onto the tuber farm with my parents.

In addition to being vigilant with regard to police and red lights, I am of course also eternally on the lookout for carcakes, and I'm pleased to report I spotted the elusive "mullet" formation, also known as the "Canadian neck curtain:"

I'm not sure under what circumstances you'd clear off your car yet take pains to make sure the rear windshield remained covered, but the vehicle does have an Illinois license plate so perhaps someone from the Land of Lincoln could explain it to me. Perhaps it's for privacy, so that a passenger in the back seat can do what you might otherwise do beneath a voluminous poncho.

Speaking of snow formations, my bottom bracket collected so much slush that, for just a fleeting moment, I could pretend that it was actually "beefy:"

It's days like this when I realize that I really should be riding a "proper" city bike, like one of those $5,000 Rapha/Beloved "collabos:"

Because when it comes to bicycle commuting, it's not the months of snow; it's what's rusting away beneath it that really counts.

I wonder if Rivendell makes giant Splats to cover up your $5,000 commuter bike. I'm not sure, but I was essentially doing the same thing with my feet, since underneath mine I was wearing a pair of $900 jeweled satin SPD-compatible Manolo Blahniks:

I should mention I was also wearing those Outlier pants that my erstwhile ironic intern, Spencer, reviewed along with that Walmart Mongoose Cachet. Sadly, Spencer has disappeared and I'm assuming he either went to college or else fell victim to the Cachet's faulty front brake, but wherever he is I hope he's warm and dry on his bike that costs less than his pants.

Up until now, the going had been relatively easy, but it was on my return trip that the storm would unleash its fury upon me in the form of those little bullets from the sky called "hail:"

Look at the size of that one:

Really, who's to say that's not actually a tiny meteor?


Here's the sound the tiny meteors made as they struck my precious little New York City-mandated bicycle bell:

Okay, they didn't really do that, but here's what they did feel like as they stung my face:

Fortunately, though, the hail was short-lived, but overnight the snow continued to fall, and as of today the city is snowed in and we're all going to be forced to eat each other in order to survive.

Speaking of survival and riding in winter, I recently found myself watching this informative video:

Winter Biking Primer from Streetfilms on Vimeo.

It's chock full of handy cold weather tips, as well as footage of serial killer Charles Manson wearing mittens and seriously hating life:


Though it's set in Chicago, New York City cyclists would be well advised to don attire like this:

Just carry a jackhammer along with you, and if the police try to stop you just pretend you're doing roadwork.

I was also, quite frankly, horrified by this person:

"I sold my car two years ago," she explained, though judging from her disguise I guess she hasn't gotten over the shame.

"I feel great," she added. "I couldn't believe how much I was sweating in 20 degree weather"--though if you dress that heavily you'll be sweating on the surface of Neptune:


Meanwhile, in Boston, a reader informs me you can buy a genuine fixed-gear bandana for only $50:

Bandana for seatpost from fixed gear - $50 (Mass Ave. Berklee, Symphon)

Date: 2011-01-26, 2:30PM EST

Reply to: [deleted]

I recently sold my 2008 Fuji Track bike though the buyer refused to take my seatpost bandana. I told him that it will give him street cred but he refused, telling me I might need it to wipe my bohemian tears. What he didn't know is that I actually have several other dirty bandanas so I really don't need this one. His loss is your gain!

This bandana is from a real fixed gear track bike - ridden by an authentic hipster with rad side-swept bangs. It is an essential piece of riding gear for those who are looking to impress the skinniest girl on the block. Keep your seatpost warm all winter with this filthy rag! All offers considered.

My seatpost was pretty cold yesterday, now that I think about it.