Cycling Tip for Visitors to New York City: Don't.

I don't like to flaunt my wealth, but around the time I made my first million (Vietnamese Dong, obviously, which is just shy of US$50), I started collecting art.  Consequently, the halls of my manse are adorned with many priceless paintings.  There's George Hincapie's disembodied head:

Mario Cipollini with his sunglasses stuck to his oily forehead:

And now, thanks to Klaus of Cycling Inquisition, this portrait of Sir Stanley Wiggins reading about himself in the newspaper while a butler pours tea into his crotch:

I won it at the Sobethy's auction house for the princely sum of nine (9) bucks--and they even threw in this portrait of Team Sky massacring a bunch of enemy Freds:

Note the exquisite details, such as one of the Sky riders bludgeoning somebody to death with a saddle and seatpost:

It now takes pride of place over my mantle, right next to my original Ted Striker:

Every so often I like to sit on a folding beach chair in my living room, sip wine product, contemplate my art collection, and reflect on how grateful I am for having finally "made it."

Yes, I'm a classic Horatio Sans success story, having hoisted myself sideways by my ratcheting Sidi shoestraps.  Only in America, the country that's almost as good as Portugal:

Sure, I'd be making less money in Portugal, but by the looks of things that would be more than offset by all the electricity and HIV/AIDS savings.

The other way I like to revel in my own success is by going for a ride on my fine artisanal handmade mountain bicycle that only has one gear:

As the years go by I have less and less patience for sharing the roads with morons (other morons, that is, for I too am a moron), so more and more I seek refuge in the forest--or, at the very least, the woods behind the mall.  Sure, there's the occasional doofus riding around with a handlebar-mounted sound system, and yes there are occasionally groups of "bros" in Red Bull jerseys making videos of themselves riding over the same small rock over and over again, but at least there aren't any cars on the trails.  And while I still have to contend with my own ineptitude, it's extremely unlikely that I'll get "doored" by an investment banker who throws his business card and then leaves the scene:

After hitting the cyclist, the man who doored him, Wagner, emerged from the back of the Lincoln Towncar (that belonged to BPTG Car Service) and quickly pulled him to his feet. Wagner then threw a business card to his driver and took off running towards 54th and Fifth Avenue, even as witnesses yelled at him to come back. “It's just a cut, he's fine,” the staffer told us Wagner said, before adding, “The driver knows me, I ride with him all the time.”

Harry Wagner, a worthless human being who deserves to be ear-fucked to death by a raccoon (sorry, I don't seem to be able to shake this fantasy today), is also a typical New Yorker from whom even Vietnamese Dong millionaires like myself are not safe.  Yes, there are eight million stories in the naked city, and not a single one of them justifies our selection as the number one "bike-friendly city" in America--speaking of which, I was just checking out the relevant "Bicycling" article again, and for the first time I noticed the "must-do" ride that accompanies the story:

Must-Do Ride

Head out from the Brooklyn Bridge to Rockaway Beach in Queens on the Flatbush Avenue Bike Path, and continue north to Oceanside. 

From time to time people email me asking where they should ride during their visit to New York City, and my answer is usually "don't bother."  Don't get me wrong, there are some solid B-minus rides outside the city.  Also, riding a bike is a great way to get around town--if you actually live here and have a job and other shit you need to do.  

However, if you're just visiting for a short time, why not do some of the stuff that makes New York City great instead of the one thing at which we're mediocre at best?  Go to a museum.  See a play.  Take the 7 train to Flushing and eat Chinese food.  Visiting New York City for three days and asking "Where should I ride?" is like going to Vegas and asking, "Which is the best Shakespearean theater company?," or like going to the diner and debating between the veal and the Shrimp Provençale.  

It's a diner, for fuck's sake.  Get a goddamn burger.

However, if you simply must ride your bike-and I cannot stress this enough--DO NOT do the "Bicycling" magazine "Must-Do" ride:

Firstly, there's no bike lane on Flatbush Avenue, so I don't know where they're getting that from, and if you've never been to New York City riding a bike for the length of Flatbush Avenue will turn your hair white and cause it to fall out--assuming you survive.  So unless you enjoy being buzzed by illegal livery vans plastered with ads for DNA paternity testing while unlicensed drivers U-turn their Nissan Altimas right into you, I'd skip it.  

Secondly...Oceanside?  Hey, if you like landfills and shopping centers go for it, but otherwise you're making a big mistake.  If I were a tourist and rode my bicycle 30 miles just to wind up in Oceanside I'd be pretty fucking pissed.

Thirdly, I've never done an official count, but I'd estimate that there are roughly 400 billion traffic lights between the Brooklyn Bridge and Oceanside.

[I should also point out that this ride takes you right through pretty much exactly where I grew up, so it's a great choice if you'd like a historical bicycle tour of my life, but I can assure you that you do not want a historical bicycle tour of my life, which is why I can confidently tell you not to do this ride.  However, if after all this you do want a historical tour of my life, I'm happy to lead you on one for the low, low price of 10,000,000 Vietnamese Dong.]

Now there is a modified version of this ride that I would fully endorse (assuming it's a beautiful day), which is taking the Bedford Avenue bike lane through Brooklyn, heading over the Marine Parkway Bridge to Rockaway just like on the above map, and then turning around and going back again.

Or, if you'd like another suggestion, feel free to email me and I'll tell you to save your airline bike fee and spend it on booze instead.

You're welcome.

For Whom the Clock Cuckoos

I deserve credit for all manner of selfless contributions to society and popular culture, not least of which is my role as a sort of self-appointed "Kickstarter scout."  For the most part, this is a thankless job which involves sifting through a host of inventions ranging from ill-conceived to bewildering to downright useless.  Nevertheless, I do it anyway, for I am convinced that it is the Coleridgean slimy sea that is Kickstarter from which humanity's next great technological advancement will slither.

This is not that advancement.

However, I am compelled to bring it to your attention anyway.  Behold, the Monowalker!



Which, if nothing else, has an absolutely fantastic spokesman:

"My name is [?].  I'm living in the Black Forest mountains.  You know, that's a place where the cuckoos clock in the sounds of Germany."

Cuckoo indeed.

He continues:

"I'm a tour guide, and I'm hiking and climbing and biking since [?] years in these mountains and the Swiss Alps and around the world."

And, his eyes and deranged smile tell us, every single one of his tour groups disappears into the forest, never to be seen or heard from again:

Yes, [?] has a happy life, leading people into his beloved Black Forest mountains and then murdering them.  But there's just one problem:

"Since years I am carrying my gear and my backpack, always too heavy, never enough space for all my stuff."

By "stuff" he means "bodies," as well as the wooden rake he uses as a murder weapon:

By the way, the hands on the face of that cuckoo clock?

Human teeth.

But now, [?]'s problems are finally over:

"I've found someone who solve all my problems and carry all those 'things' for me."

Naturally I just assumed he meant a mute "assistant" named Hans who wears lederhosen and a ball gag, but he's actually referring to an idea:

That idea?  The "Corpse Caddy!"

Or, as they've wisely rebranded it so as not to arouse the suspicions of Interpol, the "Monowalker:"

The Monowalker is basically an off-road handtruck, and I'm not sure if this grim procession is heading into the woods to play a game of all-terrain golf, or to dig a mass grave:

Either way, check out how it clears that log:

It also attaches to the oxen--sorry, "hikers"--by means of this special belt:

Presumably the belt also locks to prevent escape, because as any serial killer or mobster will tell you, the most efficient way to dispose of the bodies is to make your victims carry all the tools themselves and then dig their own graves:

(That's not a hike, that's a fucking death march.)

Also, it has a disc brake you control with a bar-end shifter:

Which, if nothing else, gives me a fantastic idea for a practical joke to play on triathletes:

("I go to shift and then next thing I know, 'Fwap!'  Right on my face.")

Though generally they don't need much help in the crashing department.

I know what you're wondering.  Serial killers love fine dining, so you want to know if the Monowalker turns into a table.  Why, of course it does, Dr. Lecter!

Note the disembodied cucumber:

It also transforms into a bike trailer, which I gotta say is pretty nifty:

Not to mention perfect for staying one step ahead of the authorities:

Now all they'll find is a bunch of victims with telltale pitchfork wounds to the throat and a cuckoo clock fashioned out of a human skull, while you travel to the next city and establish a new identity.

Of course, if you prefer your Kickstarter inventions to be less morbid and more ambiguously phallic, then you'll doubtless be intrigued by the "S-Bar:"



All I can tell you is that it goes between your legs:

Oh, and the inventor wants eighty-five thousand of your Australian dollars:

That's even creepier than the "Corpse Caddy."

Lastly, in the tradition of concluding posts with tall bike videos (which I established yesterday and will almost certainly end after today), meet "one of Asheville's most recognizable celebrities:"

Facts about Asheville:

--Its most recognizable celebrity is a bicycling nun;
--It has a "comedy bus tour;"
--Both of these things are apparently newsworthy.

Watch your back, Portland!

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!

First of all, Monday is the Columbus Day:

This means I won't be posting on Monday in observance thereof (by which I mean the schools are closed so I'll be busy parenting), but I will return on Tuesday, October 14th with regular updates.

If you've got a problem with that then you're racist against Eye-talians.

Secondly, I'm pleased to announce I've chosen the winner of the Strava-Free Weekend Essay Contest, and here it is:

When I saw Bike Snob’s challenge to have a Strava-free weekend⎯and considered whether it was possible for me to do this⎯I began sweating, shaking violently, and vomited at my desk at work. When my coworker Fred saw this, he asked me what was wrong, so I told him. Being a cyclist and Strava user himself, Fred also vomited (but Fred is a total poser⎯he rides a hybrid and doesn’t even pay the $60/year fee to be a premium Strava member!).  Once I realized I was exhibiting classic addiction/withdrawal symptoms, I realized I had to try.

So this morning, on a beautiful fall Saturday in NYC, I rode up to Flushing Meadows Park. Since I wasn’t distracted by dominating my personal bests while hunched head down over my aerobars, I noticed many things about cycling in my city that I had never seen before. Firstly, there are all sorts of people! Other human beings that normally would have been mere annoying blurs in my peripheral vision or obstacles to be nimbly navigated. As I continued into the park, I also noticed other cyclists! These people were making casual laps around the lake, seemingly unconcerned with their KOM times or Suffer Scores, and they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves regardless! My greatest discovery of the day had to be the Kissena Velodrome. A Velodrome, I learned, is sort of like the loops in Central and Prospect Park⎯but without all of the obnoxious pedestrians. My urge to do a few laps was defeated when I noticed a children’s event going on. Now I’m not saying that my initial gut impulse to scream “GET OUT OF MY WAY!” at them wasn’t there entirely, however it was squelched by…well, just how darn cute they were! On their little miniature track bikes, wearing tiny little jerseys! I started shaking when I wondered if any of them were using Strava to record their laps⎯but I was able to take a deep breath and compose myself. Maybe there is hope for the future, after all.

So thank you, Bike Snob, for challenging me to address my addiction to data collection and the cycling equivalent of being a chronic masturbator. Who knows? Maybe even Fred and me will go for a nice, leisurely ride together soon (but probably not).

I realize this exceeds the 200 word limit I had set, but I was willing to overlook this because the essay contains both humor and catharsis.  Also, he thanks me at the end, and would it kill any of you people to thank me once in awhile?

I mean really.  Jesus.

Anyway, congratulations to the winner, whose name I'm not mentioning at the moment because I have no idea if he wants it associated with this blog.  (I know I sure as hell wouldn't.) Andrew Yackira, who says it's an "honor" to be mentioned on this blog, so go figure!

And now, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz.  As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer.  If you're right that's just fantastic, and if you're wrong you'll see recumbent porn.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and see you on Tuesday.  That's TUESDAY, not Monday.  Got it?


--Wildcat Rock Machine

1) Fill In The Blank: "Zoobomb" is out; ________ is in:

--"Menageriebomb"
--"Moobomb"
--"Shoebomb"
--"Jewbomb"

2) What is Thatcher Wine?

--A wine
--A town
--A bike
--A Fred

3) The proper term for a Bamboo Fred is:

--A Panda
--A Gilligan
--A Thurston Howell III
--A Bambimbo

4) What is Veloloop?

--An attachment to your bicycle that triggers traffic signal sensors
--A keyless, Möbius-powered bike lock that works on confusion
--Dutch for "Circuit" (e.g., "Veloloop Het Niewsblad")
--Steampunk power meter for pennyfarthings

5) "Da Brim" is the first integrated helment visor system designed specifically for Quakers.

--True
--False


[Via Klaus of Cycling Inquisition]

6) Who is this?

--"The Bicycling Vigilante"
--"The Avenging Fred"
--"Captain Cat 6"
--"Doctor DayGlo"

(Or a fourth if you're Cipo.)

7) Cycling can cause you to grow a third testicle.

--True
--False

***Special Golden Age Of Cycling Shorts-Themed Bonus Video***

Bikes: So Insidious Even Portland's Giving Up On Them

So I was flipping through the old Tweeter when I saw this:

@bikesnobnyc Not to be too impatient or anything, but WHO WON THE DAMN 200 WORD ESSAY CONTEST?? I'VE BEEN SITTING BY THE MAILBOX FOR WEEKS!
— The Private Cyclist (@PrivateCyclist) October 9, 2014

Oops!  You know that feeling when you forget to collect your laundry from the dry cleaner?  That's the deep shame I'm now experiencing.  Just give me a few days to find my ticket and I can assure you I will declare a winner in the next few days.

Between my pending L'Eroica report and this I am officially sitting on a backlog, which means that as a blogger I'm now flirting with a demotion from semi-professional to amateur.

Speaking of demotions, remember how Portland used to be the Bike Capital of America?  Well, they've tumbled from grace so spectacularly that they've given up on bikes altogether and are now trying to be the...uh, the themselves of walking:

Portland’s annual three-week festival of fun on foot, inspired by PedalPalooza, has its first big burst of action this Saturday.

Walktober is run by advocacy group Oregon Walks. Like PedalPalooza, anyone can create an event online; the most interesting will survive.

Wait a minute.  A series of theme walks in October?  Come on, Portland.  Every city in America already has that.  It's called "Trick-or-Treating," and you'd know that if any of you had TVs:

Then again, most Americans experience a sense of shame when they continue to engage in these sorts of activities well into their 30s.  This is not the case in Portland, hence a bikeless "Zoobomb" called "Shoebomb:"

Put on your full-face helmet, pack a snack, and get on the MAX. We're going to bomb the west hills...on foot! Tighten those laces and hold on tight as we walk briskly around hairpin turns and sashay vigorously down perilous slopes. 

Oy.

Poor Portland.  I can only assume that the producers of "Portlandia" sucked all the life out of the city and this desiccated shell is all that's left.

It's only a matter of time before Vanilla moves into the shoe business--oh, wait, they already have:

Yeah, I know they've been selling these boots for like six years but I'm sitting on a backlog, remember?

I've also got like two thousand fixies on Fixedgeargallery still to pick apart.  Check out Bamboo Fred, for example:

(Actually, a "Bamboo Fred" is technically called a "Gilligan.")

Fixegeargallery...still going, still ridiculous.

Speaking of ridiculous, did you know that bicycles are a greater threat to American society than mass shootings?  Well, it's true, at least according to this "article:"

(Wow, typing the word "article" really stuck in my knuckles here.)

For example, the CDC bicycle-related injury report for 2010 shows that almost twice as many people died on bicycles in that one year than were killed in "mass shootings" during the 14 years studied by the FBI. Thus, while there were 418 deaths in "mass shootings" from 2000 to 2013, there were 800 deaths by bicycle in 2010 alone.

Moreover, there "were an estimated 515,000 emergency department visits" due to bicycle accidents.

Yep, there you go.  Iron-clad logic American style.  Seems pretty clear to me that if every American had a gun instead of a bike all our psychotic violence problems would be solved.  We really need to ban bikes already--and ladders, counters, roofs, and mountains while we're at it:

And CDC death statistics for 2010 show there were 26,009 deaths from "falling" for that year alone. That's right--26,009 deaths in one year from falls from ladders, counters, roofs, mountains, etc. 

After all, you know what they say:

In fact, I say we go one better and ban gravity altogether.  That should solve that pesky "falling" problem.  Then we can all float around in "Zero-G" happily shooting at one another like the movie "Moonraker:"

("When moonrakes are outlawed only lunar gardeners will have rakes.")

Oh, while I'm on the subject of outlaws, here's a thing:



Yeah, I'd just run the fucking light, but that's just me.  See, there's a question Fredly philosophers have pondered for ages, and it is as follows:

"If a Fred runs a light in the city and there's nobody around to see it, did it really happen?"

And here is the answer to that question:

"No.  No it didn't."

But now there's a new option for this moral quandary, which is futzing around in the middle of the street looking for a sensor:

So there you are late at night, rolling back and forth and lifting your rear wheel up like a dog looking for the ideal spot to take a dump, when a drunk driver comes along and closes the circuit on your mortal coil, turning you into another statistic and further bolstering the case against gun control.

Oh, the indignity of being a cyclist in America.  That's why the media snaps to attention the very moment WHEN BICYCLES ATTACK!!!



If only Hilary Abramson (a journalist, as it happens, which is why you should never run into a journalist with your bicycle) had been carrying a firearm at the time then she could have shot the bicyclist and all of this might have been averted.

Lastly, remember New York State Senator Diane "Find A Fucking Bike Lane And Get In It" Savino?  Well, the best course of action when you're a politician beset by bad publicity is to deploy a smokescreen--ideally a heady one made of intoxicating marijuana smoke:

 Hey, Savino: Find a fucking bong and stick your face in it.