Filial Fredness

Great news!

So how will this affect your bike's performance?  It won't.  In fact if you can tell the difference between 10-speed and 11-speed without looking down I'll give you $100.*

No, the reason this is great news is that a move past 11 means maybe people will finally stop making that Spinal Tap reference.

Or maybe not:

It’s the same as turning the amp dial up to ‘11’ https://t.co/j24sIfMNcR

— Michael Allen (@mike_w_allen) April 9, 2018

Goddamn it.

Is it a hilarious scene and an iconic moment in comedy?  Yes.  If I hear someone reference it again with regard to bicycle drivetrains will I chop my wooden bicycle into tiny bits with my Rivendell axe?  Also yes.

Come on, at the very least we can get a new reference and say that Campagnolo has gone to plaid:

Anyway, you'd think we've reached the limits of drivetrain hair-splitting (or cog-splitting) by now and that anything less than a high-performance road CVT with electronic shifting hardly even warrants a press release.

Speaking of Fredness, last week I undertook an incredible five-day run of pre-dawn rides in Central Park--and when I say pre-dawn I mean it, because the sun was only just peeking over the buildings by the time I was leaving the park each morning:

I haven't engaged in behavior this Fredly since the days when I had an actual job, and the reason I did so was that the schools were closed so it was my only time to go for a stretchy-clothes ride.  It worked out rather well too, because it left me with the day free to subject my son to culturally edifying activities such as visiting the Guggenheim:

And by noon I was already feasting on beer and Shake Shack:

As an aside, the art in the Guggenheim had little impact on my son, but the building itself provided much entertainment.  In particular, I seem to have acquired a fear of heights in my adulthood (that and a wheat allergy), and my staunch refusal to look down or indeed get anywhere near the edge of the walkway was the source of considerable amusement:

Then on the train ride home it became apparent from the large number of people wearing Yankees attire that there was a game that afternoon, and it occurred to me that a more traditional father-son activity would have been to attend said game, so hopefully he does not grow up to resent me for depriving him of a proper American childhood--or, worse, overcompensate in adulthood by driving around in a lifted F-150 with tinted windows and Yankees logos all over it:

With any luck it will all work out and he'll grow up into a well-adjusted adult, by which I mean an urbane snob with an attitude of smug condescension towards anything west of the Hudson.

As for my weeklong residency in Central Park, it culminated with a race in that same park on Saturday morning.  All was going well too--that is until I hit a pothole on the penultimate lap and flatted:

Fortunately I race with a full complement of tools, knowing full well that when you suck like I do saving a few grams just because it's a "race" is not even remotely worth it when it means you might have to walk back to the start in cleats in the event of a mechanical.  I congratulated myself for this as I replaced the tube, though I also upbraided myself for managing to hit a pothole after having ridden around and around that same park loop for five days straight.

Then I finished the week by watching the thrilling--and, as it turns out, also tragic--Paris-Roubaix on Sunday.  However, owing to more kids' activities that morning, all I actually saw was the early part of the race when nothing was happening, and then when I got back home and turned on the TV again Peter Sagan had already crossed the line and the rest of the riders were arriving in spurts. 

Even so, it was a rather satisfying week of family and Fredness that should serve me well as I prepare to depart for L'Eroica California later this week:

I'll keep you posted.


*This is a lie.  Under no circumstances will I ever give you $100.