I Got Your Wednesday Right Here.

Further to my post yesterday on Old Man Brooks's site, an astute reader noticed my stuck chain link:

Yikes.  Between that and the too-short rear derailleur housing it's a wonder the bike shifts at all.

Another commenter had this to say:

Old-timer said...

Let’s see…NYC in February: bone-chilling, freezing temperatures. Glacial, monstrous snow accumuclation. Frigid, overcast sky. Frosty, biting wind.

Why?

(Dispatch from Planet California.)

FEBRUARY 17, 2015 AT 3:08 PM

Hey, yeah, California!  Thanks, I never thought of that.  I guess I'll just pick up and move across the country because life is just that easy!

Well, sure, I suppose life can be that easy if you're the sort of free-spirited person who does stuff like moving to other places "just because."  I, however, have never been one of those people, which is why I don't live in California.  See, your surroundings are a reflection of your inner nature, and my inner nature is cold and irritable.  I live where I do because of some bad karma I must have accumulated.

Also, I worry that California might be too pleasant for me.  I'd probably be better off somewhere the lousy weather would keep my happiness in check, and where I could hire myself out as a freelance flat repair technician:

Kerbi's not slated to launch until March, but the idea is simple. Folks with mechanical skills can sign up to be repair providers and users who have a problem can then send out an alert for their nearest puncture fixing expert to come to the rescue.

Kerbi sees couriers as potential repair providers as they're out on the streets, highly and quickly mobile, and have to be good at fixing punctures to stay in business.

Here's a video to show how it works:


Locating Kerbi Agents from Kerbi on Vimeo.

I was a little confused by the video, what with its fast cuts and sassy millennials, but let me see if I've got it.  So Nü-Fred is riding around on his fixie:

With the locked arms and look of concentration bordering on panic which is typical of the breed:

When his face collapses into a pudding of dismay:

Why?  Because he's not wearing expensive cycling-specific jeans and he's been parading his ass crack all over town!

Just kidding.

No, he's got a flat:

Now nothing strikes terror in the heart of a Nü-Fred quite like a puncture, which is why this passing cyclist regards him with a disconcerting look of predatory bemusement:

Spotting her victim, she hunches over her bag like a witch over a cauldron, and then she withdraws what at first glance appears to be a mini-pump but upon closer inspection is clearly some kind of blowgun or tranquilizer dart:

From this we can infer that she means to stun and incapacitate him and then drag him back to her lair for some nefarious purpose.

Meanwhile, blissfully oblivious to the peril he's in, Nü-Fred whips out his smartphone and launches the Kerbi app:

Which immediately pinpoints the exact location of every courier in the area:

How this works is a closely-guarded professional secret, and Kerbi will only say that their proprietary messenger algorithm is somehow able to pick up the unique combination of self-importance, body odor, and THC emitted by couriers.

Anyway, Uma the Courier receives a notification that there is a helpless Nü-Fred in the immediate vicinity:

(Nice Lucas Brunelle hat.)

Who is also willing to pay a whopping £11 (or US$125) for the privilege of not getting his hands or sweater dirty:

Frank also gets the call, but he's too busy admiring his spoke cards:

As for Alex, he's still trying to figure out what's in the vegan chili his roommate made last night:

"Is that a black bean or a rat turd?," he wonders.  Either way, the call goes unheeded:

So Uma accepts the job:

And high-tails it over there with £ signs in her eyes:

Meanwhile, Nü-Fred stands there, a monument to uselessness, even more so than the utterly obsolete phone booth behind him:

Then he grows impatient and starts tapping at his smartphone, oblivious to the fact that Uma is dismounting ninja-like behind him even as he does so:

And within moments she's working deftly at his wheel like it's a soiled baby and she wants it to shut up:

As for the first cyclist, she's disgusted:

Then, the pumping starts:

And for some reason this absolutely devastates her:

Her spirit crushed, she turns her palms heavenward and begins to sob.

As for Nü-Fred, he's just like, "Duh, you're amazing, how did you do that?!?"

Then they shake hands, Uma tells him to get a clue, and they both go their separate ways:

The end.

PS: Don't feel too bad for that first cyclist, because she'll soon find out true love was waiting for her all along.

It's always in the last place you look.