I Went To The Philly Expo And Here's A Story About It!

Philadelphia!

Yeah, I was there last Saturday.

Why?  For the Philadelphia Bike Expo!

The Philly Bike Expo is like something they might have in Portland, except it's actually in a real city located on the Planet Earth, so I never miss it.  In fact, I was so eager to get there this year that I flew into town, though I did botch the landing a little bit:

Like most bike shows, the best bikes are always the ones outside the exhibit hall, and this bulldozer-themed child-portaging machine was a real standout:

(Somebody's dad is awesome.)

I'm actually working on a medieval-themed child-portaging recumbent, though I need to dial it in because I keep losing the freaking kid:

(Somebody's dad sucks.)

Either I need to figure out how to make the trigger less sensitive so it doesn't keep going off when I put the kid in there, or else I just need to make it more accurate.

Once inside the Expo, I watched a typical bike pornographer at work:

Note how he takes a photo of one tube intersecting with another tube as his pants slowly tent:

Oh, the depravity.

Still, bike porn is really the only way you can get anywhere in this business, and so I took some titillating photos of a fat bike:

Though I immediately regretted it because if you look at a fat bike for more than three seconds your eye starts skipping over "normal" bikes and you only notice fat things:

(Look at that duct!)

Of course, "urban cycling" is always a staple at these things, and Bern was there giving out free head lice:

Another show staple is "retro-foppery," and Velo Orange was there with this tweedy mountain bike:

It may look rigid, but it's actually equipped with a suspension system called the Thoreau which remains locked out until the rider has been in the woods for two years, at which point it imparts a sense of transcendental introspection on the rider.

Speaking of introspection, one of my favorite things about bike shows is that you can tell exactly what everybody's thinking because they're bike dorks just like you.  Take this guy, for example:

It's pretty obvious he's fantasizing about how much craft beer he could fit on the front rack of that porteur:

Or, consider this guy:

He's admiring the shiny retro-inspired brakes as he dreams about not using them at stop signs:

Meanwhile, at the hat stand, a man lovingly fits a hat onto a woman's head:

As he pictures the most romantic moment ever to grace the silver screen:

If that pottery wheel scene doesn't make you cry then you're a monster.

Not everybody's happy, though.  For example, Craig Calfee looked a little bit nonplussed:

Sure, it could have been because some schmuck was pointing a smartphone camera at him, but I like to think he was picturing those fucking pandas and their insatiable appetite for bamboo:

In the bamboo framebuilding industry, the hated panda is commonly referred to as the "termite of the East."

I, however, am inscrutable, and nobody knew what I was thinking as I admired this all-terrain bicycling cycle:

I know though, and it's something I keep close to my heart:

But bike shows aren't just about bikes.  They're also about cheddar cheese--or at least this one was:

They had all my favorite kinds, too:

If you're wondering what makes a cube of cheddar gravel-specific, it's partly a function of the cube's diameter, but mostly it's the fact it's filled with tiny stones.

Oh, the cheese people also had used toothpicks:

Though I prefer to think of them as "pre-owned."

Maybe Warren Buffet can afford new, unused toothpicks, but the rest of us know they lose 98% of their value the moment they probe someone else's teeth, and we buy accordingly.

More fat bike porn:

And, its polar opposite, some baronial steer tube porn:

How hot is that when the exposed part steer tube is longer than the head tube itself?  (Answer: hot enough to melt a hunk of gravel-specific cheddar.)

Plus, they even had "solid bib shorts:"

I assume the "solid" part means they don't have a fly like those stupid ones from the other day:

I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention the Expo was produced by Bilenky, and here's a picture of someone taking a picture of their banner:

And here's some tandem porn:

Unfortunately I couldn't wander around the Expo while nibbling cheese all day, because I had to talk at people who would rather have been someplace else:

And if you're wondering how I maintain my poise and composure while speaking in public, my secret is that I focus on a mental image that gives me great comfort:

Or else I just picture everyone in bib shorts, which is pretty much the same thing.

During the presentation, I gave away what I thought was a large amount of free stuff, though nobody thanked me.  Also, one of the audience members unleashed a small boy upon me who pestered me for the duration of the hour, though I did make the best of the situation by making him hand out the prizes for me.

Then, after waking everybody up, I went back to the Expo in case anybody wanted a book signed:

I didn't sign any books, but I did sign three breasts, a goiter, and a cube of cheddar cheese.

Then I left the Expo, and on the way to THE CAR THAT I OWN I passed a table full of free drugs:

And it was only after consuming them that I looked up and realized I was standing in front of the Church of Scientology:

The next 24 hours were a blur, but let's just say Tom Cruise is a lot shorter in real life.

Shafted Again.

Cyclists.

Can we ever get a break?

Apparently not.

Just three weeks after Delia Ephron unleashed the stupid with her New York Times op-ed about how we shouldn't have bike share because the color blue doesn't look good in rom-coms, that same august periodical has published another opinion piece that is, on the surface, a work of bicycle advocacy.

However, probe deeper, and it is something far more insidious even than that Ephron crap.

Here it is:

Ostensibly this piece is about how drivers who kill cyclists don't get in trouble and how this needs to change.  All very good, right?  Who could argue with that?  (Well, besides the police, and the auto industry, and the auto insurance industry, and the oil industry, and the tabloids, and your local lawmakers, and...)  Well, the first warning sign is the stupid knuckle tattoo illustration evoking the evoking the darkest days of the insipid fixie trend circa 2007.  Then, the writer opens with this:

SAN FRANCISCO — EVERYBODY who knows me knows that I love cycling and that I’m also completely freaked out by it. I got into the sport for middle-aged reasons: fat; creaky knees; the delusional vanity of tight shorts. Registering for a triathlon, I took my first ride in decades. Wind in my hair, smile on my face, I decided instantly that I would bike everywhere like all those beautiful hipster kids on fixies. Within minutes, however, I watched an S.U.V. hit another cyclist, and then I got my own front wheel stuck in a streetcar track, sending me to the pavement.

Anybody who is "freaked out" by cycling--in San Francisco no less--should probably not be writing about it.  Being freaked out by cycling in San Francisco is like being freaked out by sushi in Japan, or by thongs in Rio de Janeiro.

Then he goes on:

You don’t have to be a lefty pinko cycling activist to find something weird about that. But try a Google search for “cyclist + accident” and you will find countless similar stories: on Nov. 2, for example, on the two-lane coastal highway near Santa Cruz, Calif., a northbound driver lost control and veered clear across southbound traffic, killing Joshua Alper, a 40-year-old librarian cycling in the southbound bike lane. As usual: no charges, no citation. Most online comments fall into two camps: cyclists outraged at inattentive drivers and wondering why cops don’t care; drivers furious at cyclists for clogging roads and flouting traffic laws.

Awful, of course.  His conclusion?

My own view is that everybody’s a little right and that we’re at a scary cultural crossroads on the whole car/bike thing.

"Everybody's a little right?"  You should be starting to get a little bit uncomfortable at this point.  Drivers are "a little right" to be "furious at cyclists for clogging roads?"  Do me a favor: tonight, at the peak of the evening rush, please head out to the BQE or the LIE or the 405 or your favorite local clogged automotive artery and find me the cyclists who are responsible for that particular clusterfuck.  In fact, find me any situation (outside of annual charity rides or actual protests such as Critical Mass, which are statistically insignificant) in which cyclists are delaying motorists by more than a handful of seconds.  Even the hated Sunday group rides that cause suburban motorists to lose their shit because a bunch of Freds are taking up the road really don't cause them any appreciable delay.  All it means is that a driver has to go 20mph instead of 30mph for a minute or two--but of course every second counts when you're headed to the shopping center for those bagels.

Meanwhile, all it takes is a fender-bender between two drivers to snarl traffic for hours.  Delays, police, ambulances, insurance claims--all because one asshole put a tiny dent in some other asshole's Hyundai.  Can you imagine if they closed 5th Avenue for half the day because a couple of pedestrians brushed shoulders and one of them spilled some Starbucks on his tie?  It's really no different.

Then he softens you up with a little more pro-bike stuff.  You forget that momentary bit of discomfort, but just when he lulls you into a state of smugness he hits you with this:

Nor does it help that many cyclists do ignore traffic laws. Every time I drive my car through San Francisco, I see cyclists running stop signs like immortal, entitled fools. So I understand the impulse to see cyclists as recreational risk takers who deserve their fate.

I am so sick of this crap where people can't say anything pro-bike in a mainstream publication without first beating the crap out of cyclists.  You "understand the impulse to see cyclists as recreational risk takers who deserve their fate?"  You just described watching an SUV run into a cyclist!  What kind of insensitive putz could possibly think anybody deserves that, or "understand" anybody who does?

Well, he doesn't.  Or not exactly.  He does seem to understand that the way things are is ridiculous, and that cyclists aren't usually at fault when they get hurt, and that traffic enforcement in this country is hopelessly skewed:

But studies performed in Arizona, Minnesota and Hawaii suggest that drivers are at fault in more than half of cycling fatalities. And there is something undeniably screwy about a justice system that makes it de facto legal to kill people, even when it is clearly your fault, as long you’re driving a car and the victim is on a bike and you’re not obviously drunk and don’t flee the scene. When two cars crash, everybody agrees that one of the two drivers may well be to blame; cops consider it their job to gather evidence toward that determination. But when a car hits a bike, it’s like there’s a collective cultural impulse to say, “Oh, well, accidents happen.” If your 13-year-old daughter bikes to school tomorrow inside a freshly painted bike lane, and a driver runs a stop sign and kills her and then says to the cop, “Gee, I so totally did not mean to do that,” that will most likely be good enough.

And yet, here's the conclusion he draws:

So here’s my proposal: Every time you get on a bike, from this moment forward, obey the letter of the law in every traffic exchange everywhere to help drivers (and police officers) view cyclists as predictable users of the road who deserve respect. 

You know what?  Fuck that.  The writer does make some good and sensible observations in this piece, but this little "proposal" obviates every single one of them.  It's impossible, and in fact downright stupid, to "obey the letter of the law" on your bicycle when you find yourself in a situation where the streets and the laws are designed specifically for cars, which describes most of the United States.  Moreover, it's gone way, way past the point where cyclists should need to prove to the very people who are fucking us (that's drivers and police officers) that we "deserve respect."  We deserve respect for being human, and it ends there.  Yet we're supposed to be good little boy scouts and girl scouts--even when it's more dangerous for us to do so--to prove we're deserving of not being killed?  That's just stupid and insulting.

This op-ed reads like a homophobe defending gay marriage, but saying that homosexuals should "act less faggy" in order to earn the respect of straight people.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, "Hey, why jump all over this guy?  His fundamental point is that the fact drivers are allowed to kill cyclists is wrong and that this needs to change."  Sorry, I don't care.  When you're in kindergarten and you make a fucked-up drawing of a person that looks like a Chlamydia bacterium you get praise for your effort.  However, at a certain point people begin to expect more of you.  That's why they made you "show your work" in math class.  Any asshole can guess or copy the right answer, but the important part is understanding why it's the right answer.  The guy who wrote this op-ed knows the right answer, but he doesn't understand why, and a grown-up writing in the New York Times does not deserve an "A" for "effort" when that effort is fifty percent bullshit.

And as far as obeying the law on your bicycle, here's my approach, and it's based on both respect and common sense:

--When I'm in little fantasy bubble realms like gentrified Brooklyn where there's an actual infrastructure designed to incorporate cars and bicycles and pedestrians, and where it actually makes sense to follow the law because the people who laid out the infrastructure actually realizes that cars and bikes are completely different, I'm more than happy to be a good little boy scout;

--When I'm in Midtown or some other place where I'm "sharing the road" (that's cute) and thousands of two-ton 350 horsepower motor vehicles are bearing down on me because they're driven by people whose only priority is getting to the Midtown Tunnel or the 59th Street bridge as quickly as possible, you can be damn well sure I'll do whatever the hell I need to do in order to get a head start on these homicidal mutherfuckers, and that includes running the light if I deem it safer to do so;

--When I'm in the city, I do not ride on the sidewalk.  However, if I'm in some suburban or exurban area on one of those heavy traffic routes with no shoulder that feeds into an Interstate, and there's a sidewalk, and nobody has actually walked on that sidewalk since 1963 because they're all in their cars speeding to the mall, and I feel like I need to use the sidewalk to cross that Interstate, you're goddamn right I'm going to do it no matter what the law says.  I'm going to "obey the letter of the law" in that situation to prove I "deserve respect?"  Fuck that.

In other words, I'll use bicycle infrastructure responsibly if you give it to me, but screw you if you think I'm going to pretend it's there when it's not.  And if you think I don't "deserve" the infrastructure I don't have, then you're in denial of both physics and common human decency.  The writer of this op-ed, like most Americans, has been brainwashed into believing that "drivers and cyclists share the same rights and responsibilities," as if these vehicles are even remotely the same.  Cars and bikes aren't even apples and oranges; they're 20-foot tall genetically-modified elephant/shark hybrids and oranges.  Sure, technically you can eat both of them, but the similarities end there.  But the reason people are willing to buy into the "drivers and cyclists share the same rights and responsibilities" bullshit is that it's all part of the American take on "equality," which is that it's perfectly fine to hold somebody down and fuck them, even if you've got 100 pounds on them, because technically they're free to fuck you back.  (But of course if they do actually manage to fuck you back, you charge them with rape.)

Anyway, tomorrow I'll return to less onerous matters, such as my trip to Philadelphia, and in the meantime if you need me I'll be at the store:

Motorists: earning your respect one collision at a time.

BSNYC Friday Stuff Things!

Pictogram for you!  Here we go:

(plus)

(plus)

(plus)

(equals)

Spreadable Fred Sled Malcom Edgar?

No, you schlemiel, it says Philadelphia Bike Expo!

Which is where I'll be tomorrow, Saturday November 9th, at high noon:

By the way, when I say "high noon," I only mean it in the Wild West sense.  I mean, sure, if you want to show up high that's your business, but please don't be Robs Fords high.

So I don't get it.  Does Fords want to kill this guy, or have sex with him, or both?  And if it's both, what order does he want to do it in?

All I know is that: a) The kids today need to stay off the crack; and b) Ford's heart is going to explode like a jelly donut with an M-80 in it.

Anyway, inasmuch as I will be in Philadelphia tomorrow and I have fabulous prizes to give away such as t-shirts:

(Just giving away shirts, not the full Rob Ford kit as shown above.)

And hats:

(Actually these hats, not the "partying with Rob Ford kit" as shown above.)

And Knog Blinder lights:

(If Robs Fords so much as glanced at a Knog Blinder his heart would explode like a jelly donut with an etc. etc. you get the point.)

I will not be administering a quiz on this blog today.

Instead, I will be doing the quiz LIVE! at the Bike Expo tomorrow, which will accomplish two things:

1) I can give away prizes to people who get the right answers;

and

B) It will allow me to pad the hour since otherwise I have absolutely nothing worthwhile to offer.

So take this extra day to study up, and as for the rest of you who are not lucky enough to be in Philadelphia tomorrow (or who are lucky enough not to be in Philadelphia tomorrow as the case may be), well, tough noogies for you.

(I have no context for this, other than noogie.)

Lastly, let's have a big round of applause for the United States of America, land of the free and home of the fucktarded:

It's worth noting that the local news is nearly as stupid as the person who made the sign, since the conclusion of the piece seems to be that cyclists and drivers need to respect each other, and not that the person who who did this is a stupid fucking idiot with a serious mental problem who could be a threat to public safety and should probably be sought out and given treatment.

Really, it's a cry for help--though of course if the person had come right out and asked for help I'm sure they would have spelled it "halp."

Anyway, that's it from me, see some of you tomorrow, see the rest of you on Monday, and may you bicyclest to the fullest this weekend.

I love you,


--Wildcat Rock Machine

An Open Letter To Astronomers Everywhere: The Onus Is On You To Show Us Uranus

I'm getting old.  You know how I know?  Two reasons:

1) I'm getting smarter.  Like, a lot smarter.  I think I know pretty much everything there is to know now.  In fact, I know I do.  It's a good feeling, being omniscient, I gotta tell you;

2) When I ride around the city all I think about is what used to be wherever I am.  It's kind of pathetic.  Basically, I'm wandering around in a sort of Proustian haze, which I guess is why old people are so annoying.  "Look at that beard oil shop, I remember when it was a deli that sold weed," I think to myself.  "Check out these tourists studying a touristy map of touristy Brooklyn at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, I remember when the only people you'd find standing around here were the Muslims selling bean pies:"

Of course, this is only compounded by my newfound omniscience, which allows me to see beyond time and space.  For example, as the tourists above scrutinized the map, I rolled up behind them, cleared my throat and announced, "I remember when there was no bridge here and all you'd find was Walt Whitman waiting for a ferry and quietly wanking."  It even gets so bad that sometimes I'll stop at a red light, look around, sigh, and say to myself, "I remember when all of this was Pangaea."

(Those were the days, because fuck bridges.)

Nostalgia continued to plague me into the evening yesterday when I ducked into Central Park.  There was a time when the park used to be empty after dark because everyone was afraid of the wilding and the wanking Walt Whitmans, but if you headed there on your bike on a crisp weekday evening you could join a massive group ride that would whip through the park at race pace, which was a pretty good way to unwind after a workday.  Pretty much every character in New York City who rode a bike fast would be there.  But then the local racing club killed it because the park threatened their private members-only races, and Freds got way into training indoors during the winter anyway because it was "more effective" for their private members-only races, and now it's long gone.

Still, is there anything better than riding in Central Park at night?

Well, yeah, sure, there are like a million things that are better.  Still, it's one of the finer New York City cycling experiences.  One moment you're in Midtown dodging and parrying the taxicabs, and the next you're on this serene loop, the leaves skittering along the pavement and the greatest city in the world twinkling at you from beyond the trees.

(Yes, you can see Cleveland through the trees in Central Park.)

Anyway, it was very pleasant, until I saw some dork wearing a teardrop helment and riding a time trial bike and I got all pissed off because he was such a dork.

Speaking of being pissed off, yesterday I was somewhat complimentary to the inventor of the Fred Stand:

But then someone left the following comment:

Anonymous said...

That stupid engineer stole the design from clickstand. They have been building them for years now. What great idea. They even have started making them in different colors. For a cyclist unable to organize his cockpit correctly. Did we really think he has the brains to have an original thought?

NOVEMBER 6, 2013 AT 6:24 PM

Sure enough, the collapsible kickstand has been done before:

And you can even use it with recumbents:

This led me to wonder if they actually sell recumbents without kickstands, because that seems about as smart as selling a motorcycle without a kickstand.

Anyway, even though the Fred Stand is slightly different (i.e. shorter), I'm tremendously disappointed in the so-called "inventor," especially since he seems to have earned well over a thousand dollars since I mentioned him yesterday, and it's pretty clear to me now that he doesn't deserve it and that money should be mine.

Mine.

In light of this, I'm now shifting my allegiance to another Kickstarter project called the "Roof Brain," and while this idea probably isn't original either the video sure as fuck is:

So basically, the Roof Brain is for people who ride their bikes while they're completely tripping balls and then proceed to drive home, where they forget to take their bikes off their roof racks.

Of course, there's also the requisite "social networking component," and this one allows you to share low clearance areas with other Roof Brain users:

I don't know, to me the best part about remembering to take your bike off the roof before driving into that parking structure is that you avoided some trap that will inevitably fell some other shmuck, and to me helping someone avoid it too completely undermines my sense of smug satisfaction.

If anything, I'd go around falsely labeling random areas as low clearance so people's Roof Brains start sounding unnecessarily.  In fact, if this Roof Brain thing takes off, I may tag the entire I-95 corridor before Gloucester next year.

Speaking of bike racing, here's the confirmation you didn't need that pro cycling is a complete clusterfuck:

“One day in 2007 the gendarmerie came to check our bus. We had drugs hidden in the bus, but our bus driver Piet hid the EPO in his underpants,” Rasmussen said.

Is Rasmussen sure Piet wasn't tricking him into a handjob?

"You want some EPO?  It's in my underpants.  Keep looking.  Keeeep looooking..."

Three to five minutes of rummaging, and there's your EPO.

Also, for those of you who remember Rasmussen's disastrous Tour de France time trial in 2005, he says it's because his mechanic was girl drink drunk:

Furthermore he blames the team’s mechanic for ruining his chances of finishing on the podium in 2005. Rasmussen claims the mechanic was drunk on champagne before the penultimate time trial stage. He lost over seven minutes to stage winner Lance Armstrong, slipping from third to seventh overall. 

And here's that time trial again:



The great thing about individual time trial crashes is that you can generally laugh at them, because not only do they rarely involve injury to the rider, but also the pointy hats.

By the way, after the champagne incident, Rasmussen tried to fist the mechanic:

“I saw our mechanic in a chair sleeping off his champagne hangover. I put my bike against the truck and walked his way. I was three metres from the guy with my fists ready when Erik Dekker pulled me away."

Oh, that Erik Dekker, always spoiling a fisting party.

Penultimately, I see via Jonathan Maus's Twitter that the Portland clown bike I mentioned last week has been located and "Sketch Dude" apprehended:



Portland Police spokesman Sgt. Pete Simpson said Cansler was picked up at a bus shelter near Southeast 122nd Avenue and Southeast Division Street after a passerby spotted him and called 911. 

He was charged with theft, possession of meth and probation violation.

The tall yellow bike was stolen from Olive Rootbeer and Dingo Dizmal on Oct. 24.

Reading that makes me so incredibly grateful that I don't live in Portland.

So what does Olive Rootbeer think?

“It’s not fair that he took my bike and there was no consequence for it. He needs to face the consequences for being, like, mean to a clown,” said Rootbeer.

Laugh if you will, but the penalty for being mean to a clown in the state of Oregon is death.

Death.

Hopefully they follow this report up with a story about why clowns in Portland look like they've been sleeping outdoors for two weeks.

And lastly, it appears
the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet TridorkBret appeared on Letterman last night:

I haven't watched Letterman in awhile.  When did it get so golf-clappy?

This Wednesday Has Been Drilled Out For Weight Savings, Ride At Your Own Risk.

Holy crap, the Philadelphia Bike Expo this weekend is going to be INCREDIBLE!!!

Firstly, check this out:

I fully intend to put the "semin" in "seminar.

Secondly, while I'm inseminaring everybody, I'm also going to be giving away an unprecedented amount of stuff.  (In fact, instead of a seminar I might just do a great big pub-style quiz.)  Check out this shipment of Knog Blinders that arrived this morning:

Obviously I'll sell almost all of them on eBay and pocket the proceeds, but I'm totally going to give away one set in Philly.

And, AND, while I was doing some seasonal closet reorganization (summer clothes in, winter sweaters out, move the Chrimma ornaments towards the front for easier access next month, how fucking punk rock is that?) I came across a bunch of t-shirts, which I'll give away along with some hats:

Don't worry, if you're not lucky enough to get a hat you can always buy one.  The shirts, however, are not for sale, nor will they ever be, so this could be your only chance to walk around promoting me with your chest.  Now, I should admit that the sizes are a bit limited, and apart from one "S" they're all "XL," but if you start hitting the cheese steaks now you may be able to fill one of those bad boys out by Saturday.

Or else just use it as a nightshirt.

Oh, I should also mention I hope you're not allergic to cat dander, because Countess Labia* has been all over this stuff.

*[Sung to the tune of "Countess Bathory" by Venom.]

Wow.  With all this stuff to schlep, I may have to drive to Philly in THE CAR THAT I OWN--and if I do you better get the hell outta my way, because my gas taxes pay for your shants and bike lanes, you freeloaders.

Speaking of me, did you know I still write for "Bicycling?"  Apparently so, and you can read it on the Internet:

Ah, "Bicycling"...come for the flat fixing instructions, stay for the bloviating.

In other news, everybody knows by now that Toronto mayors Robs Fords finally admitted to smoking the crack (crack cocaine as they're always careful to point out, since there's no law in Canada against freebasing donuts), "probably" in one of his "drunken stupors."   However, instead of focussing on that, I'd rather go back and watch the performance that put him on my radar in the first place:

What a disgusting human being.  It's like all the hatred and animosity that Canadians force down beneath their cloying politeness manifest itself in this one man.  He's like the "concentrated evil" in "Time Bandits."

Speaking of pains in the ass, a reader recently reminded me why I don't read Internet cycling forums:

Saddle sores in the butt-hole from Ergon saddle?

Anybody here experienced saddle-sores on the butt-hole from Ergon saddles? I just finished my first 25 hour solo mtb race this weekend, and experienced pain where I've never experienced it before. The Ergon saddle has been amazingly comfortable for the most part. However, I'm wondering if the saddle drops down two much for the sitt-bones, leaving the potential for things to rub in the center?

Okay, if you're getting saddle sores inside your asshole maybe these ridiculous ultra-endurance mountain bike races aren't for you.  Or, maybe they are for you, but you mistook an Ergon grip for an Ergon saddle.  This would certainly go a long way towards explaining your problem.

Anyway, recently I found myself browsing Kickstarter.  See, in addition to the lights Knog also sent be a bunch of narcotics they want me to move for them, so I'm going to need some way to launder the proceeds.  And after careful consideration, I think I'm going to put it all into this kickstand for Freds:


Even though the inventor couldn't be bothered to put on fresh bar tape for his pitch video:

Though perhaps it's a calculated decision meant to underscore the urgency of his need for funding.

Also, what's going on with his cables?  They're all over the place:

I'm supposed to trust this guy as an engineer?  His cockpit is a disaster!  It looks like a cable hairball.

But then I saw the Fred Stand, born of his desire for a reliable perch for his road bike:

Actually, maybe that's why his cables were so long.  He might have been using them to moor the bike to lampposts.

Anyway, even though I'd never actually use the Fred Stand (and I don't have a good reason, other than I wouldn't), I must say it's actually kinda nifty:

In fact, it could very well make the "disembodied hand" obsolete:

Though it seems to me he could have added an integrated mini pump or something, because why not?

And when you're done you just stick it under your saddle or in your pocket:

Anyway, it looks like the inventor of the Fred Stand has raised just under two grand so far, all of it from the Maestro:

Because, you know, conducting baton.

Lastly, much is made of the whole "cars vs. bikes" thing, but the real eternal struggle is the one between cyclists and joggers:

To the lady I yelled at who was jogging in the bike lane on Kane St - m4w (Cobble Hill)

I'll start by apologizing. It was childish and wrong of me to yell "nice bike, asshole!" at you as you were jogging in the bike lane on Kane Street a couple of days ago. I let my anger get the better of me, and I'm sincerely sorry for that. I hope I didn't scare you, or ruin your day.

Now having said that, can I ask a favor... would you stop running in the bike lane? Those lanes are there to help protect cyclists (and the kids they sometimes carry with them on their bikes) from having to ride out in traffic. They're not jogging paths. Runners don't belong there.

Of course, I think you probably know that; I bet you're familiar with pictograms, because I bet you were brought up in human society, so you were able to decipher the ones that are spray-painted in the bike lane at regular intervals. I bet you could tell they were bikes, and not joggers, and I bet you understood what that means in terms of who's supposed to be using that lane. And I know you weren't in the bike lane temporarily, to avoid a bit of sidewalk congestion. The sidewalks on Kane Street were completely clear, and you were out there for a good long time, long enough for me to catch up to you from Henry before passing you on the far side of Hicks (meanwhile, Kane Street itself was full of traffic, making your presence in the bike lane extra dangerous for both of us).

No, you were out there because you decided that the bike lane was your personal jogging path, that law and public policy and safety and common sense should kneel before your bizarre sense of entitlement. Well they shouldn't. That was a selfish, dangerous, and stupid thing you did. Please don't ever do it again.

Honestly, I don't think this is a big deal, but maybe that's because it's Wednesday.