Win-Win: Hoarses for Coarses

As I mentioned on Tuesday, I'll be riding a bicycle in Pennsylvania this weekend, and while outwardly I'm laughing it off I secretly plan to WIN.  That's why I'll be dosing myself to the man-gills with EPO-Equine, the all-natural EPO stimulator for horses:

Not only is it legal, but I don't even have to inject it.  Instead I just top-dress my feed with it, whatever that means.  According to the website there are also no side-effects--though there are side-effects to the beat pulp and alfalfa diet I'll also be switching to over the next few days, and those side-effects primarily involve flatulence.  Therefore, if you'll be participating in the ride, I'd advise you to stay off my wheel--which is generally a good idea anyway, since my wheel generally indicates the rearmost point of any cycling event.

Incidentally, the day before the Bicycling Fall Classic is the "VeloFest" at the Velodrome:

Which I won't be attending since my religion forbids me from spending more than 24 hours in the state of Pennsylvania.  (It's sad that I need a religion to force me to do something that's basically just good common sense, but I've never been very good at making the thinking for myself.)

And if you're wondering which bike I'll be riding, I'll be going with my racing bakfiets:

 

 Or, if it's raining, my Surly Big Dummy with pontoons and motor assist:

 

 Now that's a smugness flotilla.

Speaking of competition and religion, did you watch that presidential debate?  Me neither.  That's because I already know who I'm voting for:

(This guy.)

We Lobsterites always field a presidential candidate, who is chosen by the almighty Lob himself via his messenger to Earth, the Angel of Choice.  This process is a necessity, since until this country finally ratifies a Constitutional amendment allowing lobsters to hold office we are forced to make do with human nominees.  The photo above is of the anointed nominee celebrating with the Angel of Choice, and I bid you vote for this man lest your heathen civilization be cast to the bottom of the sea along with the lobster traps.

Anyway, I understand one of the guys in last night's debate is a "Mor-man" (which is like a male mermaid), and as it happens a reader has forwarded me a dedicated Mor-man bike, with actual Mor-man-specific features:

Liahona Mission Disc Mountain Bike (Cool Back Story) - $150 (Burlington)
Date: 2012-10-01, 2:14PM EDT]

The Liahona Mission is a 21-speed mountain bike, well equipped with mechanical disc brakes, a lightweight aluminum frame (21 inch size), Shimano components, and an intriguing back story. The name Liahona, of course, is a Book of Mormon reference. Why a bike with a name that references the Book of Mormon? The story (according to a missionary source) goes like this:

"We have a gentleman from Taiwan who was a convert to the church, and he wanted to be more helpful to missionaries," says [Michael] Spence, a lifelong Mormon who rode a 10-speed Schwinn on his mission 30 years ago, "and he said, 'You know, these bikes are really bad.' " So Spence and the grateful convert created the Liahona Mission Bike, a 21speed mountain bike sold exclusively to Mormon missionaries, also known as elders. Spence assembles the bicycles himself-the frames come from Taiwan, the Shimano parts from Japan. . . Named after a compass in the Book of Mormon, the Liahona's design is based in part on recommendations from elders. Its most Mormon-specific feature is a plastic sprocket guard to keep trouser cuffs oil-free."

It's sort of like FUBU for mormons, a bicycle marketed only to Mormon Missionaries. I am no missionary, but after researching it a bit, I realized what an interesting bike I had. It just had a tune-up, including a full drivetrain overhaul. It is now dialed and ready for your next mission, this neat mountain bike with a cool back story will get you there. You could even ride it over to the polls on November 2nd and tell the Romney supporters all about it. You know, this bike is so reliable you can ride to the polls again in four years when Mitt tries again. Now I am asking $150, but am open to reasonable offers. Please don't hesitate to email me and put "Mission" in the header, or text me at (Five Zero Eight) 801-[deleted]. Thanks!

SOLD!

tags: mountain, bike, bicycle, front suspension, fork, shock, freeride, xc, cross country, all mountain, trail, singletrack, all terrain, hardtail, disc, mormon, Romney, interesting

I had no idea the need for clean pant cuffs was specific to the Mor-man, and I wonder if they're intrigued by belt drives, as featured on bikes like The Budnitz.  By the way, if you were intrigued by The Budnitz and its modest $5,600 price tag, yet you found it too be just a little bit too "titanium-y," then perhaps you'd be intrigued by this similarly swoopy bent beech wood thing, forwarded to me by numerous readers:

This "beautiful bike" is, as the headline says, indeed made from bent beech wood.  It is also completely stupid.  Consider this passage:

One of the nicest aspects of the design is just how much of the bike is made from wood—even the saddle is hand-crafted from a lump of beech.  To keep things simple it doesn't come with brakes, just a pair of carbon fiber wheels and a single-speed drive train.

I assume it lacks brakes since they couldn't figure out how to make them from wood, though it seems fairly easy to me to fabricate a set of V-brakes out of rubber bands and chopsticks.  As for the wooden seat, I'd hardly call that good design, though fortunately you can always use a bathmat to keep the splinters out of your ass:

(Seen by a reader in Washington, DC.)

Bath.  Mat.  Duct.  Tape.  Good design and good spondee.

Best of all, this wooden piece of crap costs $70,000, which is the equivalent of 12.5 Budnitzes.  (Or "Budnii," which is technically the plural of Budnitz.)

Of course, if you prefer something more practical, you can always opt for this bike, also forwarded by a reader:

It features "collision avoidance" via "haptic feedback," and as well as smartphone braking:

First, there’s collision avoidance that offers haptic feedback when you’re about to slam into something. The bike also works with your smartphone for built-in mapping and “drive by wire” control of your brakes and transmission. The creators hope to offer ubiquitous computing built-in for “data sensing, real-time intelligent tracking systems, dynamic routing, and social integration.”

I don't know what "haptic feedback" is, but I wonder if it's as effective as "looking out for shit."  Also, half the time my "smartphone" won't even send out a Tweet when I want it to, so I'm not sure I want it in charge of my brakes.  Then again, I do hope they make this, if only to hear people say things like, "My smartphone dropped my braking and I flew right over the guardrail.  Good thing I was wearing my helment."  In any case, I urge you to vote Lobster this year, so we can finally form a cycling equivalent of the Food and Drug Administration that bans electronics geeks and design douches from any projects that are remotely bicycle-related.

This amendment would also ban smug cycling infographics.

Lastly, rest assured I'll get around to judging the Second Biennial Cock-Off just as soon as I can extract myself from beguiling submissions such as this one:

As the entrant points out, this one is unique in that the quill stem is actually longer than the handlebars are wide.  Also, I would point out that looks like one of those distance measuring wheels:

(The world's first Spingergy.)

Could be a dedicated surveying bike.

Wednesday Comes But 52 Times A Year

Emails!  Yeah, I get them.  This is a cutting-edge blogging operation I'm running here.  I fire up the AOL, my modem makes a crazy screeching sound, and in pour the electronical missives.  Every day it still seems like a miracle to me, as though God Himself is making pee-pee right into my computer.  Then I forget that there is no god, only Lob, and I flagellate myself for my impudence.

Anyway, here's a subject line that topped an email I recently received:

The Budnitz got angry and Hulkified?

And here's the picture that came along with it:

Yes, that what happen when Budnitz get angry.  In fact, it looks like The Budnitz has burst out of its fenders like the Hulk bursts out of his shirts--that is, if the Budnitz had had any fenders in the first place, which it didn't.  Either that, or it could just be The Budnitz on HGH.  Regardless, having expunged the The Budnitz and its infernal ticking from my life, I feel a sense of relief, like when you extract a deeply-lodged booger, the kind that feels as though it's rooted somewhere on your frontal cortex.

Also via "God's pee stream" comes this short video via a reader with the improbable and likely fictitious name of "Paul Bowen:"


Jauregui from Jacky Durand on Vimeo.

Mon dieu!  (Or lack thereof.)  I had to watch that about four times before I could finally see the sleight-of-bike, and it puts yesterday's failed triathlon transition into stark perspective.

Speaking of perspective, a number of people have informed me that some baseball guy has had a boneheaded bicycle crash and managed to fall down the only hill in Manhattan south of 110th Street:

Fortunately, in lieu of using his brain, he had encased it in a piece of styrofoam:

“I shouldn’t have been reading a text while I was riding,” he said. “That’s the wrong thing to do. But at least I was wearing my helmet.”

"I shouldn't have been pleasuring myself while driving," said the man who drove through a sidewalk café as he reached climax.  "That's the wrong thing to do.  But at least I was wearing my seatbelt."  Evidently wearing a helment has finally become a license to completely fuck up everything you do on a bike.  I wonder if we'd see better bike-handling if helments were banned from triathlon.

Moving on, recently I was browsing Twitter (if email is God's pee stream then Twitter is His post-urinary drip) where I saw that the Giro d'Italia was having a little caption contest:

The New Yorker reader in me wants to go with "I now pronounce you husband and husband, you may kiss the Cav," but the perennial child in me keeps shouting "I'm gonna fingerbang you like a stage win."

You can probably guess which one won.

Meanwhile, in Portland, an anti-fascist group is organizing a boycott against a local bike co-op:

Because they claim the founder is a racist, and in particular that he hosted a talk given by a "white separatist:"

The 2009 dust-up revolved around Calvert's hosting of a controversial white separatist Valdas Anelauskas at a local bookstore. Calvert ultimately apologized for hosting Anelauskas and distanced himself from the Lithuanian-born activists extreme views about race and other topics. The issue died out, but it has now come roaring back. RCA points to a recent picnic organized by Calvert that included a guest the group calls, "an individual deeply connected to antisemitic, white nationalist, and militant anti-choice organizing."

I was quite ready to dismiss this as typical Portland hysteria, like maybe they overheard Calvert trying to do a Katt Williams routine for his co-workers and took it out of context.  So I went to the organization's site to learn more:

Anti-racists first raised the issue of Calvert’s antisemitic organizing in 2009, after Calvert and his cohorts in the Portland 9/11 Truth Alliance hosted a speech by Valdas Anelauskas, a racist organizer who proclaims that evidence for the Holocaust is “shaky.” Citybikes mishandled its response during 2009, making excuses for Calvert and declaring that no problem existed after Calvert issued a bogus apology, even though Calvert’s organizing against Jewish people continued unabated. In September of this year, anti-racists again drew attention to Calvert’s antisemitic organizing. In particular, we noted that Calvert twice gained venues for Fritz Springmeier, an antisemitic author convicted of bank robbery charges alongside a white supremacist accomplice. (Springmeier’s 1997 robbery plot also involved detonating a bomb at an adult video store as a diversion.) Footage of the Citybikes President giving an extreme antisemitic speech was also pointed to at this time, and Rose City Antifascists provided an extensive chronology of organizing by Calvert and his Portland 9/11 Truth Alliance organization. 

And then I looked up this Valdas Anelauskas guy, and wouldn't you know it, he does actually sound like a boner-fried racist and Jew-hater.  For example, here's his take on the history of the Holocaust, which he says is "shaky:"

Holocaust critics persecuted

In his rather hysterical June 20 letter, Bob Bussel decries any questioning of Holocaust history as a “profound act of intellectual fraud and moral bankruptcy,” a “loathsome and repugnant monstrosity.” 

British writer George Orwell said that “who controls the past, controls the future,” and our perception of past events alsoshapes the way we look at the world around us today. The Zionists understand this, and know that the story of the Holocaust is crucial to their power. 

This is why such harsh measures are being exacted against those who ask too many questions. The Holocaust history seems so shaky that governments have to actually imprison people who openly question it. 

Today, it’s becoming more like the new state religion and, as in the Inquisition, people are being locked up again for questioning even the smallest detail of dogma — no matter what the evidence, no matter what the conflicting testimony or history. Anyone who breaches this faith will be deemed a “Holocaust denier,” and punished accordingly. 

Therefore, as I see it, the “standard” version of the Holocaust history simply cannot be trusted as long as they’re jailing or otherwise punishing those who question it. To make jail sentences be your response to critics is exactly the same as getting up on a rooftop and shouting as loud as you can for all to hear: “I am lying!” Is anyone supposed to believe someone who, in effect, proclaims in this way that he’s lying? 

VALDAS ANELAUSKAS - July 5, 2008

Pretty creepy.  Oddly though, Portlanders, who would probably boycott a café for serving milk from a cow that wasn't milked orally, seem mostly to be shrugging this one off--at least that's the way it seems in the comments on the BikePortand article.  Alas, this is the one time their batshit hypersensitivity might actually be warranted, but instead they're just arguing about the correct definition of "fascist."  Not that the shop should be driven out of business or anything, and I'm sure everybody there is wonderful (with the possible exception of the guy who organizes racist talks in his spare time) but Portlanders could at least write some more of their trademark outraged BikePortland commentary, or maybe organize a "The Day the Clown Cried" theme ride:

(Oy.)

That seems appropriately tone-deaf for Portland.

Moving on to technical news, an enterprising person has launched a Kickstarter campaign for a bicycle crank shaped like a chicken leg:

The quest to reinvent the bicycle crank is nearly as popular and quixotic as the quest to reinvent the bicycle wheel, and in this case the green pie is supposed to show you why the Z-Torque is better:

In other words, it compensates for the fact that you're riding a department store mountain bike.  Still not convinced?  Here's a race between a bike with a regular crank and one with a Z-Torque crank:

This proves conclusively that the Z-Torque produces the same effect of selecting a different gear.

Or, if you've got lots of money to invest but you're more the "patron of the arts" type, why not fund a documentary about LSD?

Here's the pitch:

THE PITCH

The story of Dr. Albert Hofmann is an interesting one -- an unassuming Swiss botanist, who very purposefully created LSD, then very accidentally spilled it on his hands, and evidently wound up being the first to learn of it's psychoactive effects. BICYCLE DAY is a fictionalized retelling of Dr. Hofmann's story and famous LSD-induced bicycle ride, combining live action sequences with digital and hand drawn animations from animators all over the country. It's a home-grown, nation-spanning, locally-produced, mind-bending, eye-opening, trippy-good time of a film and we want each and every one of you to be a part of it with us.

Or you could just watch this:


Turn on, tune in, be nonplussed.

Lastly, by way of turning my attention back to the Biennial Whatever-It's-Called-Cockpit Contest (sponsored by Knog, Australia's largest and most powerful mega-corporation), I'd like to share one I spotted recently:

Which is clearly evil:

Or good, since I guess it's not upside down.  I'm a little hazy on my adolescent satanic imagery.

Then, there's this collagen bar tape, submitted by a reader::

As well as this submission, which is isn't really a cockpit at all:

(Uh, wrong end.)

And finally this one, which I frankly found very refreshing:

Garmin, schmarmin.

A Way With Words: The Art of Nonsense

Do you live in or near Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, North America, Earth, the Universe?  Do you like cheese for breakfast?  Do you cry uncontrollably on escalators?  Well, if you answered either "yes," "no," or "maybe" to any of those questions, then come on down to the following places at the following times, because things will happen:

By the way, you may have noticed in the fine print that my visit is apparently sponsored by Petro-Canada, purveyors of fine fossil fuels to the fine living fossils who inhabit America's coonskin cap.  I'd attempt to make an excuse and blame McMaster University for this, and say that it's their event, and blahblahblah, but the fact is I don't feel the need to bother.  This is because I have no integrity and am therefore more than happy to accept sponsorship from any person, company, or entity in a position to offer it.  That's what happens when you have seventeen children and a $2.5 million Brooklyn brownstone to support.  (I live on Spondee Court in the fashionable neighborhood of Clitoral Hill, around the corner from Martin Amis.)  And if it makes you feel better, you can rest assured I'll be wearing this t-shirt as I stuff my face with Tim Hortons donuts on the Petro-Canada private jet that will be flying me up to Hamilton:

So can anyone tell me what the deal is with the tar sands?  Are they cool?  Is there any good riding there?  Which tire tread hooks up best with bitumen?

Moving on, last week there was this thing called "The Interbike" in the Las Vegas section of Nevadee, and the only interesting bit of news to come out of it is that, as I learned from a reader, mountain biking guy Brian Lopes picked a Twitter feud with Mario Cipollini:

To which Cipollini replied with his characteristic aplomb:

I'd say Cipollini won that one hands (and, presumably, face) down.

Speaking of Mario Cipollini, his film career is flourishing, for not only has he taken over as the star of the lucrative James Bond franchise, but he's also the star of this incredible promotional video for the 2013 UCI Road World Championships, which will be held in Tuscany:



A reader alerted me to this bravura performance, which opens with Cipo smelling the heady aroma of the Tuscan countryside, or himself--or, most likely, a mélange of the two:

But while Cipollini's acting alone makes this well worth watching, it's the narration that makes it a truly sublime cinematic experience, and if you're a lover of language as I am you'll savor the douche-chills as words words like this wash over you:

Life, which in Tuscany, is the art of feeling.  An eternal and inexhaustible vision of one's being, causing a confusion of time and identity.

And here's Cipo experiencing that confusion of time and identity:

Either that or he's urinating in his chamois, it's tough to be certain.

And while you may think that last line made sense, there's not a person alive who could milk a drop of sense out of this one:

Gymnastics of perception, to be shared through touch.  Physicality, with respect for memories crossed on the road of knowledge.

Apart from Cipo, of course, who rides the road of knowledge with a goofy grin on his face:

And who somehow manages to make even the mundane act of braking seem obscene:

(Cipollini feathers the controls lightly with two fingers.)

Throughout the film, Cipollini is in perfect synch with the narration.  For example, when the narrator says:

Knowing and hearing.

Cipo makes it clear that he both knows, and hears:

Actually, I thought he was having a "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah" moment and imagining a bluebird on his shoulder as well:

Though any bird foolish enough to get close enough to that hair would end up looking like this:

(Brought to you by Petro-Canada)

Oh, here's something you might not have known about Tuscany:

Tuscan nature is a generous gift of words.  Rewarding the need, rebellious and inborn, to know.  A medal for the desire to share and multiply scenarios.

What does that even mean?  Perhaps this will clarify:

Talking horizons.  Whispering hills.  Inspiring and irresistible urge to pedal on and move the word.

Or perhaps not.  Really, it sounds like something Petrarch might have written after accidentally ingesting some hallucinogenic funghi.  By the way, I didn't know Petrarch had climbed Mont Ventoux until I looked him up on the Wicking Pedia:

Fucking doper.

Anyway, the only part of the video that made even the slightest bit of sense was this:

Though the moral of the story is apparently this:

I guess this video is supposed to get you excited about who will be riding, feeling, and smelling their way into a rainbow jersey in 2013, but it mostly just made me want to take a scalding hot shower.

You know who else is a doper?  Mitt Romney's campaign strategist, Stuart Stevens:

(Via the reader who submitted the Sicilian Cockpit.)

Who some years back took a bunch of drugs to ride in Paris-Brest-Paris, and who would still be on HGH today if it "weren't so expensive:"

For me, it would be a quality-of-life question, not a performance issue. If the HGH weren't so expensive, I'd probably continue with it, at least until I had a good reason not to, like some new evidence that it makes you grow extra ears. (The side effects of HGH are reportedly mild—one is fluid retention.) If nothing else, it helped my eyesight, and I had more energy. Lately, I've been reading studies about how endurance athletes suffer from low testosterone, which leads to early signs of osteoporosis, so I'm going to continue to monitor my levels and, if they drop too far, consider boosting them with the cream.

From this I guess we can infer that he's back on the HGH, since presumably he can afford it now, and large quantities of drugs would go a long way towards explaining Clint Eastwood talking to that empty chair.

Of course, all the HGH in the world isn't going to do you any good if you don't also have a set of hormonal dropouts (via yet another reader):

1960's shogun special
It's a thread less 1". It has a modified steere tube and has been shimmed 1 1/8 cannondale stem. The frame is clear coated (raw metal, rust)/ brown with select tubes in a seafoam. Campy headset. Fits 700c. Hormonal dropouts. Aluminum seat post. And downtube cable stop. Bike does not include bb cups!

And if you're wondering what "hormonal dropouts" look like, here's your answer:

I was excited to learn that apparently one of my own bikes has hormonal dropouts, which would explain why the adjustment screw is in a permanent state of arousal:

That explosion of light on the quick release lever qualifies this photograph as ART, and to order a print of this image for only $74.99 just click here.

And lastly, on the subject of art, here is yet another inspiring submission to the Second Biennial Cock-Off, sponsored by Knog:

Says the contestant:

Taken from this angle because he is naked (WNBR, 2012, Portland, hello), and blue, but the key elements of this impressive array are visible.  The item on top stage right of the cockpit may be a deer whistle.  

He was handing out the shell necklaces from around his neck to all the ladies, telling them they had, via his bestowing, "been lei'ed."  He was my very special friend for about 10 minutes, until he got distracted.  I believe he goes by "Ragnar."

Now I need another shower.

Premium Lounge: Can't Try, Don't Want To

The 47% strikes again!  Yes, a reader informs me that some non-taxpaying layabout (probably an illegal from Canada) has stolen a small portion of a crappy bicycle owned by a hard-working semi-wealthy American:

***To the asshole who stole my rear tire (Fuji Odessa MTB Bike)*** - $80 (Penn Quarter Navy Memorial)
Date: 2012-09-20, 9:12AM EDT

This is just a message to the person who decided to take off the back tire from my Fuji Mountain bike parked between the Navy Memorial. It is so pathetic that you had to steal something I paid for so that you could make 20 bucks in order to buy drugs and a few items off the dollar menu. Luckily I make a comfortable 6 figure salary and can easily afford a new one. What makes me laugh is that you are probably receiving benefits from the government which is helping keep shit like you alive. While you were removing my tire over the weekend I was relaxing on the beach in East Hampton, enjoying fresh caught oysters and clams. See we rich people get to enjoy these pleasures in life because we worked hard in college to get good high paying jobs. I have owned that bike for about 10 years and it had sentimental value to me. I purchased it off craigslist from a nice family in Vienna during grad school when I did not have a lot of money. I took it to the Shenandoah mountains and I used it to get groceries. Rather than replacing the parts that you stole I would rather get rid of it as it would be a constant reminder of how bad people in the world exist. Luckily I will be moving to Boulder Colorado where these types of things don't happen. Anyways have a great day mother fucker. I hope you die a tragic tragic death.

To others who are reading this. The bike is in great condition otherwise. Shifters work well, brakes work well. It is a light bike and the frame is in great condition. I would have otherwise kept this bike for the rest of my life. If you would like to purchase it still just remember that you will have to replace the back wheel/cogs.

This is a grave injustice indeed, and the victim deserves a reply:

***To the asshole whose rear "tire" was stolen***

This is just a message to the person to let you know that a tire is the rubber thing filled with air that goes around the round metal spokey thingy, and not the metal spokey thingy itself.  I suppose it's possible that someone removed the rear wheel from your stupid Fuji, dismounted the tire, and then reinstalled the wheel for you, but it's highly unlikely--and if he did then he must have needed the tire so badly that it's almost forgivable.  Either way, calling a wheel a tire reveals you to be clueless, like going into a nice restaurant and ordering "vinegar-ette" instead of vinaigrette, which you probably do as well.  By the way, a six-figure salary is nothing these days, and I don't know how you could possibly consider any salary under a million dollars to be "comfortable."  While you may boast about slurping down oysters in East Hampton I can assure you that to me and my fellow billionaire friends it's about as impressive as scarfing a cardboard box full of Nathan's fried clams on the Coney Island boardwalk.  My friends and I prefer our seafood endangered, like when we eat whale sushi on the deck of my yacht off the coast of Martha's Vineyard with the corpses of John-John Kennedy and Carolyn Bessette. (We keep them in the wine fridge.)  Also totally "LOL"-ing over the "sentimental value" thing.  Real rich people don't have sentiments.  Why don't you get a proper douchebag's bike, like a Budnitz?

Love,

Willard Mitt Romney

PS: I've been to that grocery store in the Shenandoah mountains and it sucks.

That man really knows how to connect with the people.

By the way, if the oyster-slurper doesn't want to spring for a Budnitz he could always get himself a used Cannondale, as forwarded by another reader:

Cannondale - $899 (New Springville)
Date: 2012-09-18, 9:08AM EDT

3 years old, well kept Cannondale Aluminum crafting and CAAD10 DNA lightest-in-class frame. Maverick wheel set, includes clip tow paddles.


Maverick wheels and the clip tow paddles?  That's what I call a non-brainer!  I'd peel the trigger on this one immediately.  All that's missing is the healment and you're all set!

Meanwhile, the Second Biennial Cock-Off contest (sponsored by Knog, the Crocs of blinky lights) is heating up like fleas on a burning cat.  You may recall that yesterday I mentioned this entry and then speculated as to whether or not it actually qualifies as a cockpit:

Well, I've since consulted the dictionary, and after spending 20 minues looking up all the dirty words and giggling (this one's still my favorite) I then got around to reading the definition of "cockpit " which is as follows:

Clearly, the above entry conforms to at least two (2) of the above, since:

1) It is indeed "a space or compartment" in a "small vehicle" from which it is "steered, piloted, or driven;"

and

2) You could totally hold a cockfight in there.

Therefore, by the authority vested in me by my magical Mormon underpants and my studded leather yarmulke, I hereby declare the yellow laundry basket cockpit to be eligible for a Cockie.  May it please the Almighty Lobster On High, et cetera, yadayada, blabbityblabbity, and so forth.

(I should also mention at this point that if the contest comes down to a tie then I will determine the winner by means of a cockfight.)

And needless to say, this cockpit is also fully valid:

Here the owner uses tape and cardboard to stunning effect, and while it's difficult to make out the details I'm fairly certain the bicycle is equipped with at least two pairs of handlebars and two pairs of brake levers:

As for the electronic device embedded in the console, I'm not sure what that is, but I suspect it might be a scientific calculator.

Then there's "A Cockwork Orange:"

Here's the backstory:

The photo was taken yesterday, in Auckland, New Zealand.

Down here, we don't have a bicycle cycling culture providing the necessary creative backdrop for truly transcendent cockpit artistry.

But what we lack in imagination and technical wizardry we make up for with practical, single minded focus.

Perhaps this submission could be considered in a safety-themed competition subcategory.

Sadly, I was unable to capture a picture of the rider, who was dressed head-to-toe orange, including orange spray painted shoes.

Subcategory?  No, I'd go so far as to say this is potential best in show material, which is warranted on the wiring alone

Not to mention the sheer candlepower:

Just imagine a New Zealander in spraypainted clown shoes coming at you like some crazed Ronald McDonald, his cockpit blindingly aglow with sheer cockpitular brilliance.

Too ostentations?  Well then perhaps you'd prefer something more subtle, like this entry from Matt of Bikehacks:

GoPro, SchmoPro.  The true auteur prefers a full-sized camera with a tiny bike attached.

Speaking of cameras, still another reader tells me that former Digital Photography Enthusiast cover model the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork Bret has landed a sweet new spokesmodel gig:

It's no surprise to learn that WD-40 are spending big bucks for the best in the business, since recently they've been courting the cycling market aggressively and are even sponsoring everybody's new favorite pastime, cyclocross (the Jens Voigt of cycling disciplines):

You've probably heard the Chris Rock routine about Robitussin.  Well, traditionally WD-40 has been the Robitussin of bike lubes in that it's something clueless people just spray all over everything until the bike gets quiet.  Now though it seems they're trying to go more "upmarket" with the product, though everybody knows you're only supposed to use bike-specific boutique lubes that cost more per volume than designer fragrances even though they're really just motor oil mixed with kerosene.

In any case, it's only a matter of time before the Vice Grip people get in on the act, since locking pliers are the preferred (and indeed only) tool in the inept mechanic's arsenal:

Incidentally, I came across the above picture just before I opened the Cock-Off submission from the Bikehacks guy, which is the sort of coincidence that is clear proof of the existence of God and that endless bloody wars should be forever fought in His name.

Amen.

Anyway, I look forward the day when cyclocross gets to the point where pit mechanics will just spray the crap out of the bikes with WD-40 and then work them over ham-handedly with the Vice Grips.

Lastly, from still yet another reader comes this article which confirms something everybody already knew:

Which is that people in Portland "don't want to try:"


"I'm pretty content being able to support myself on a minimum-wage job," said Deanna Horton, 22, who graduated in May from Lewis & Clark college in Portland and is now working the front desk at a science museum. Horton doesn't have a driver's license, but she said the only time she's ever felt she needed one was when she moved across town.

A transplant from Syosset, N.Y., on Long Island, Horton said she'd love to have a more challenging and fulfilling job — but not enough to give up on a city that supports things like a neighborhood tool library, which gives residents free access to a wide variety of tools for carpentry, home improvement and gardening.

"I feel like my job prospects in other places would be really good," she said, looking over the top of her Apple computer at the popular Stumptown Coffee. "But I don't want to try."


It's good to see that people are now just simply "dropping out" without wasting a bunch of energy on the "turning on" and "tuning in" parts.