Innovation: Hands-Free Driving for Brain-Free Living

Firstly, here's some crazy shit that went down back in Eighteen Hundred Ninety And Six:

That's why I always carry an India rubber bulb syringe filled with condensed ammonia.

Secondly, here's some crazy shit that went down last week:

It's been about twenty-five years since I've ridden a skateboard, so I'm not sure what kind of grind this is.  It doesn't really match any of the grinds on Wikipedia, so maybe we need a new name for this one, in which case I'd suggest "Retarded Van Grind."  (I'm sure someone's going to get offended by my use of the "R" word, but if you've got a more fitting way to describe what this van did I'd love to hear it.)  Also, I always enjoy looking up the license plates in cases like these, and while the owner of the van still owes $115 for parking in a no-standing zone last month, I don't see any violation listed for parking on top of a protected bike lane:

It could just be that it hasn't been logged into the system yet--or, more likely, the authorities simply administered assistance and a congratulatory high five for the radical Retarded Van Grind and sent him on his way.

(And no, Retarded Van Grind was not a Classics rider from the 1960s--though if we was, obviously it would be pronounced "Van Greeend" with a guttural "G.")

Meanwhile, here's the endearing British equivalent of the Retarded Van Grind, as Tweeted at me by a Tweeterer:

What makes this charmingly British is that the car was a Jaguar and the driver backed away awkwardly, like an embarassed houseguest who's just knocked over a vase:

He had to reverse all the way back down again in a dramatic episode which lasted at least 20 minutes and led to ominous creaking noises from the structure.

Especially British is the description of the incident as "dramatic."  Here in Canada's filthy underpants, a motor-vehicular mishap only qualifies as dramatic if the death toll is in the double digits.  Single-digit death tolls (to say nothing of sleep-inducing incidents in which nobody dies, like this one) are well within the margins of what's considered acceptable collateral damage.  Also, we don't back away gingerly from our mistakes; instead, when things start going awry we just mash down even harder on the gas pedal--unless we have access to a firearm, of course, in which case we just shoot our way out.

Fortunately though, the days of motor vehicle mayhem are nearly at an end, since the cars can now drive themselves:

Happy wanking!  It's impossible to imagine any kind of scenario in which this kind of technology could possibly go wrong, especially when it's made by Lincoln.

Meanwhile, in bicycle product marketing news, I received a press release from Fizik (or f'i"z*k:, as their name is technically rendered), informing me that they're now in the cockpit business:

This is great news, because if you've been shopping for road bike handlebars recently you know there are only about four million bends and styles to choose from:

(Make it stop!!!)

By the way, in searching for random images of handlebars I came across this incredible cockpit:

If the Ergons won't come to Fred then Fred must hike to the summit of Mount Kludge.

Or something.

In any case, clearly Fizik saw a hole in the market, and then they decided to ignore it and sell handlebars instead--though theirs are apparently different because they're forged from the power of French mediocrity:

AG2R-LA MONDIALE will be testing the new cockpit system in the world’s most demanding races, supplying the type of feedback that has been the mainstay of the development of fi’zi:k’s exceptional products to date. 

And here's one of them playing with his cockpit:

(Did you know that, according to G**gle Translate, the French for "foffing off" is "foffing hors?")

He's going to be very happy to hear about that self-driving Lincoln.

Speaking of new products nobody needs, how about yet another folding bike to compete with the Bromptons and the Swifts and the roughly four billion models from Dahon and all the rest of them?  Well, naturally there's one on Kickstarter, though it has an impressive pedigree in that it's designed by the guy who invented Rollerblades:

If anybody's qualified to make you look like a circus clown, it's the guy who invented Rollerblades:

And while I'm not sure what's new or compelling about this design compared to all the other folding bikes out there, I suppose you could always buy two NexiBikes and strap them to your feet:

Actually, I suspect the NexiBike is a cunning ploy by the father of Rollerblades to seduce cyclists and lure them over to the perverse world of wearing shoes with wheels on them.  

Lastly, here's a very happy Canadian:

I think the camera angle is meant to simulate the view of the guy in the bike shop who sold her all that stuff.

Breaking News: Thinking About Thinking About Thinking About Something

Firstly, remember how someone got mad and decided to sell my book on eBay?  Well, the auction has finally ended, and the book has fetched the staggering sum of Fifty-Five Camp USA Fun Tickets (formerly "American dollars"):

This just goes to show that:

1) Some people will pay for anything;

and

2) Not liking me is actually a good investment.

Secondly, if you consider the exquisite design and seamless functionality of this website, you may be stunned to learn that I actually suck at technology.  For example, I have one of those smartphones, and I sometimes use it to read the New York Times.  However, no matter how many virtual toggle switches I toggle I cannot get the stupid "app" not to flash me little alerts when big news stories break.  For example, when Hillary Clinton's head was about to explode, my phone kept updating me on her condition.  Now, I wish Hillary Clinton nothing but the best, but I don't need updates popping up on my phone screen while I'm busy trying to take pictures of my genitals to send to people who say mean things about me on Twitter.  It really takes me out of the moment.

At the very least though, it seemed like when the New York Times would flash me a news update it would be about something really important, like Hillary Clinton's head is a ticking time bomb, or the House of Representatives has finally voted to procrastinate for a few more months--until Friday night, when my phone starts telling me this:

In Reversal, Armstrong Is Said to Weigh Admitting Drug Use

Is he admitting it?  No.  Is he saying he's thinking about admitting it?  No.  Someone else who won't say who they are is saying that Lance Armstrong is thinking about admitting he took drugs.

Lance Armstrong confessing is a big, juicy story.  Lance Armstrong "weighing" a confession is not a story, at least not that warrants a "breaking news" alert akin to the Secretary of State's head exploding.  It's more of a current events cock tease.  Does anybody in the world think he hasn't been weighing it?  I'm sure Hillary Clinton also weighed whether or not to bite her husband's penis off during the Monica Lewinsky scandal, and in fact she's probably still weighing it, but I never saw the New York Times publish a story about that--though obviously if she actually goes through with it that would warrant a banner headline.

It must be nice to be able to use the New York Times to build buzz for your upcoming book:

“Cycle of Lies will prove definitively that his [Armstrong] extraordinary career had nothing to do with the bike,” David Hirshey, HarperCollins’ executive editor, told the Post.

Yeah, right, nothing at all.  I'm looking forward to seeing how this book manages to prove that Lance Armstrong never rode a bicycle.

(So I guess what I'm really saying is, "How do you turn the fucking alerts off on the New York Times app?")

Speaking of how out of it I am, a reader forwarded me a review of a £25,000 (or US$3,000,000,000,000) bicycle, and I had no idea that the guy from "The Young Ones" was now a car reviewer and closet Fred:

But that's only because nobody from "The Young Ones" ever managed to catch on in America.  The closest any of them ever came was Rik, who was in that movie "Right Said Fred" or whatever with Phoebe Cates:

(That's Rik, not Phoebe Cates.)

I actually saw the Fred movie in the theater because I was the kind of teenager who really liked British TV shows (a huge dork, in other words), and as I recall it was basically just Rik running around looking like John Lydon.

Needless to say, it was not a hit with American audiences, though according to Wikipedia the Australians loved it:

Although it performed poorly at the US box office, it became Working Title's first financial hit and was (for a time) the most successful independent film ever released in Australia.

Because Australians will laugh at absolutely anything with wild red hair:

If you ever want to smuggle a bunch of drugs and guns into Australia, just flash one of these at customs:

You'll saunter right in as they're doubled over with incapacitating mirth.

Anyway, according to Sayle, aluminum is actually more compliant than The Crabon:

To ride, the Aston feels like many other high-end, carbon racing bikes, much stiffer than the alloy frame I own, transmitting every bump straight up your arms...

That's enough to get you killed over at "Bicycling."

By the way, 25,000lbs may seem like a lot to pay for a Fred sled, but just keep in mind that you get this enormous monochromatic display that looks like a universal remote from the late 1990s:

Yeah, that's way cleaner than an iPhone mount.

Of course, if you're a huge Fred a phenomenally expensive bicycle can be just the motivation you need to keep you riding through the winter--unless you live in Florida where they don't have winter, in which case I feel sorry for you (because you live in Florida, not because you don't have winter), or unless you live someplace where the winter is on the wrong side of the calendar, like Australia, in which case this:

(Gotcha!)

The three people in Australia who read this blog are laughing so hard they'll be calling in sick for the rest of the week.

But what if you live in someplace like Portland, where they have sort of a half-assed winter?  How do Portlanders stay motivated?  Well, as a reader informs me, they write poetry:

Yes, if this doesn't keep you riding than you might as well just take the bus:


January —
The darkest time of the year
the rainiest month
the post-holiday sluggishness —
a bike commuter’s biggest challenge
Festive Christmas light brightened my December commutes
now gone

Leaves, vanished from the trees
dissolved into lingering dark mush on the road

Bitter darkness surrounds me
Blindly, I bang into multiplying potholes

"Take the bus" is also good advice if you're unable to avoid potholes, like this person.

By the way, let's look at that forbidding January weather in Portland:

(How is this different than any other time of year in Portland?)

You call that winter?!?  The two people in Minnesota who read this blog are laughing like Australians who have been exposed to wild orange hair:

(I'd laugh but I might stab myself with a snotsicle and bleed to death.)

This guy doesn't even bother to wear clothes when it's above 40 degrees.

Still, I enjoyed the alliteration in the phrase "Blindly, I bang into multiplying potholes" almost as much as I enjoyed it in the title of this Craigslist post about a "beautiful, tawny beard:"

Beautiful Beard at Bedford L - w4m - 30 (Bedford to 1st Ave.)
Date: 2013-01-06, 12:36AM EST

I was really regretting taking the train instead of my bike, but your beautiful, tawny beard almost made it worth it. Please never shave. 


Yeah, but how did it smell?

BSYNCY Friday Fun Quiz!

Yesterday I mentioned that someone who was offended by one of my lame Twitter jokes has ironically kicked off a boycott against me by selling his copy of my first book.  (The one before Rick Rubin got a hold of me and totally ruined my sound.)  Well, at the time the bidding was at $.06, but as of this morning it's rocketed all the way up to $15.50:

I realize I haven't ever written anything worth more than like a quarter (an American quarter, not one of those Canadian ones that the soda machines always spit back out at you), and that once you factor in the shipping it's already up to more than the actual cover price of the book.  However, keep in mind that if you win it I'll not only devalue it further by signing it but I'll also write a poem and draw a picture in it.  Plus, you'll know that the money you're spending is going to a good cause, since this guy is pretty irritated with me for teasing the poor maligned NRA, and this way he can use the proceeds to buy some ammo and squeeze off a few rounds at the gun range, which hopefully will make him feel better.  And if he needs a target, I'd suggest the following:

(The rings are all wonky because it's artisanal.  Please feel free to download, print, and shoot at with your weapon of choice.)

By the way, please be assured I have no intention of sparking some sort of gun debate, and that I'm merely exercising my constitutional right to make jokes about the fact that someone doesn't like me.

Also yesterday, I mentioned my reluctance to renew my USA Cycling license, and a reader forwarded me the following article:

Basically, the article explores whether USA Cycling is indeed hindering the sort of grassroots amateur bike racing that is relevant to 99% of us regular schmucks, and it uses OBRA as an example of an organization that's flourishing without them:

Since breaking away from the federation in the late 1990s, OBRA has grown its membership to more than 5,000, and this year sanctioned more than 330 races. OBRA’s marquee event, the Portland-based Cross Crusade series, is the largest amateur cyclocross series in the world, averaging 1,100 racers at each of its eight events last season.

Pretty hard to argue with that, especially if you've been to a Cross Crusade race--though USA Cycling tries anyway:

"You need to step back and look at the importance of international heroes and role models. They add value and cache to the sport. We honestly believe that the overall benefit far outweighs any incremental increase in cost. Right now anyone in Oregon is outside the system with regard with those progressive opportunities that people tend to find value in.”

Wow.  He didn't just say "heroes and role models," did he?  Yeah, they've added "value and cache[t] to the sport" like a low-fiber diet adds volume to your stool.

Meanwhile, in news more relevant to everyday cyclists, a reader forwarded me this somewhat old yet still noteworthy article about cycling and vulvas:

Whether it's numb penises or aching vulvas, the media continues to be amazed that riding an ill-fitting bicycle can hurt your crotch.  Somehow most people manage to understand you need to wear shoes that are the right size or else your feet will hurt, but when it comes to bicycles we need laboratory research to tell us that riding the wrong bike will punish our pee-pees and woo-woos:

"The women took their personal bikes and saddles into the lab. The researchers mounted the bikes on a stationary machine, and had the riders position their seats and handlebars according to their preference. As the women pedaled, they reported whether they felt soreness, numbness or tingling as a result of sitting on the bike seat, and a device was used to measure sensation in the pelvic floor."

By the way, the device that measures sensation in the pelvic floor is actually Mario Cipollini's face:

(A perfectly calibrated vulvular pressure device.)

Anyway, the shocking revelation here is that if your crotch hurts you should raise your bars:

In cases where the women's' handlebars were positioned lower than the seat, more numbing and tingling were "observed" in their perineums (that all important area of the anatomy that women seldom think of unless pregnant and about to give birth, or if it is saddle sore). In fact, the study's authors conclude that handlebar heights lower than saddle heights "significantly impact" genital sensation in women.

Which is why I'm launching a new pub[l]ic awareness campaign:

And I'm pleased to report that at least one rider has already gotten the message:

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 you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll see the the guy from Barenaked Ladies work as a London bike messenger.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and listen to your vulva.


--Wildcat Rock Machine

(Photorealism.)

1) Bradley Wiggins was recently knighted.

--True
--False

2) David Millar wasn't knighted, but he was recently mistaken for David Byrne.

--True
--False

(Why is it all pointy?)

3) Which is not an optional donation when you renew your USA Cycling license?

--USA Cycling Development Foundation
--Edmund R. Burke Fund for Cycling Development
--John Stenner Collegiate Scholarship Fund
--The Tyler Farrar Pro Cyclist Hairstyle De-Eurofication Grant

("Don't let the ladies come between you and the belt.")

4) Is a belt drive faster than a chain drive?

--Yes
--No
--Maybe
--ZZZZZZzzzzzz...

("I totally would have cleaned that on my [insert wheel size here].")

5) Which is better: 650b or 29er?

--650b
--29er
--Belt drive
--ZZZZZZzzzzzz...

6) Why can't he just look at his phone?

--Because he's groggy from reading tedious Internet belt drive and wheel size analyses until 4:30am
--Because he's hung over and afraid to turn around and see who he took home from the bar last night
--Because his left hand is possessed and it won't let him turn his head
--Because he's an idiot

7) "I think when they get Orp in their hands they're going to be really _______." 

--Happy
--Excited
--Confused
--Grossed out and sticky

***Special Bike Porn-Themed Bonus Question***

[redacted]

(Remember naked roller fixie porn?)

Handmade bike show photography porn is out; __________ is in.

--Recumbent porn
--Unicycle porn
--Artisanal dropout porn
--Retrofit porn

Titles: Words On Top Of Other Words

Pretend for a moment that you don't know anything about racing bikes--or, if you already don't know anything about racing bikes, just keep not knowing anything about them.  Then, read this:

The girthy down tube is shaped like an inverted trapezoid and fits easily in your hand for run-ups.

Now, be honest: what was the first thing that popped into your mind?  Was it this?

Or was it a chubby gentleman running naked up a hill while holding his pee-pee?

Please bear in mind there are no right or wrong answers here.  It is merely a mental exercise.

Speaking of exercise, bike racing is ostensibly a form of exercise, though in practice it's more of a self-indulgent repetitive motion akin to masturbation.  Also, like masturbation, bike racing can can be a healthy escape, though when done to excess it just makes you walk around all hunched over and leaves you unable to form any sort of meaningful human relationship.

Anyway, like every other wanker, this is generally the time of year when I renew my USA Cycling license, and so I logged on to their website in order to do it--but I only got as far as this:

"Am I really going to spend $90 for a piece of plastic that tells me I can ride my bike?," I found myself thinking. (For those of you in Canada, keep in mind that's almost CAD$90!)

"And on top of that, am I actually going to make a donation?"

Let's take a closer look at those donation options.  First, there's this one:

USA Cycling Development Foundation: 
General donation to support Olympic and young athlete development programs
Donate $50 or more and receive an optional eight pack of USA Cycling note cards with images of your National Team athletes.

Now why would I want to help "develop" a young cycling athlete who might otherwise spend his or her time doing something much more useful, like going to school or learning a trade?  It's perfectly fine for responsible adults to fritter away their own time and money on their crabon dork machines, but there's no reason to encourage young people to do the same--that's like NORML starting a "Young Stoner Development Foundation" and giving kids weed money.  As for supporting Olympians, am I really supposed to pay for Tyler Farrar to travel to London and finish in 33rd place?  I mean maybe--maybe--I'd buy him a new haircut, but that's about it:

Then there's this one:

Edmund R. Burke Fund for Cycling Development: 
Travel and training grants to assist junior and U23 athletes.

More corrupting the kids by encouraging them to race!  Though I suppose blood transfusions don't pay for themselves.

Next, I thought I finally found a worthwhile cause, since it involved academics:

John Stenner Collegiate Scholarship Fund: 
Annual collegiate cyclist scholarship for the top student athletes. 

But then I realized something.  You know what's even more conducive to academic success?  Not spending 20 hours a week "training" to win criteriums!  Next:

USAC/IMBA Trail Tune-Up Grants: 
Awarded to clubs who improve trails used for racing.

Well, I'm already a member of IMBA, so there.

And finally:

U.S. Bicycling Hall of Fame:
Promotes and preserves the history of cycling within the United States.

Wait, we're promoting and preserving the history of American cycling?  I thought we were tearing it down and pretending it never happened!  Isn't that what the whole Lance Armstrong thing is about?  I'm so confused.

Obviously the only donations I'd be making were to my own alcohol fund, but the question remained: Should I renew my actual license?  After all, I'd only raced once last year, after something like 13 years of racing nearly every weekend, and the only changes I observed due to the hiatus were that I got a little fatter, a little slower, a lot hairier, I saved a lot of money, and I had a lot more fun riding my bike.  Plus, I don't live in Brooklyn anymore:

(Portlyn, New Oregon)

While Brooklyn is becoming an increasingly pleasant place to ride a bike for transportation (apart from the inept mimosa-addled brunching salmon who comprise most of the cycling public), it's not the greatest place for Fredly pursuits.  See how the Fat Ass of Queens sort of sits on its head?  The result is that you either have to ride all the way to the top of Manhattan and then over the George Washington Bridge to escape the sprawl, or else you have to venture east through the Fat Ass, then across New York City's tight waistband and through the equally fat belly roll that is Nassau County, and by the time you get to any kind of road you'd actually want to be on you've already been on the bike for like three hours and all hopes of having anything resembling a life are gone.

Given all this, racing around and around in circles in Prospect Park actually becomes an attractive alternative.

Now, however, I live about as far north as its possible to live in New York City while still remaining in it, which means the riding begins pretty much at my doorstep.  Therefore, there's little reason for me to pay good money to abjectly suck at riding my bike with a hundred other dorks when instead I can suck all by myself in sweet solitary dorkitude--apart from the fact that my presence gives something like 97% of the field someone to beat, of course, though it seems like I should be the one getting paid if all I'm doing is boosting other people's self-esteem.

I think I may have hit the wall with regard to professional cycling too, since the sport is now basically just the world's biggest athletic bummer:

Really, it's enough already.  Paul Kimmage is like the guy in the strip club who spends the whole time pointing out the fake breasts.  Whether its pro cyclists or strippers, everyone knows they're on drugs, they just want to ogle the freaks.

Also, can't Kimmage let Stanley Wiggins at least enjoy being a knight for awhile before pissing all over him?  By the way, Wiggins says he will use his knighthood in a "comedy way:"



In fact, he's already started:


Hilarious.

Meanwhile, admirers of the time traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork Bret:

Will be dismayed to learn that some startup has stolen his likeness, to which I was alerted by a reader.  Behold his illustrated mirror-image doppelgänger:

The company responsible is called "Starfish," and unless the site is a joke it appears they're about to launch the most pointless device of the 21st century:

Yes, it's a wristwatch that relays messages to you from your iPhone in case you're too stupid or lazy to just look at your iPhone:

What a dork.  Just wait until you put the coffee down, numbnuts.  Hopefully next they'll make a pair of glasses that will flash the message from the watch so he doesn't have to look down.

By the way, they forgot to add the panel where he looks at his watch and spills hot coffee all over his crotch.

Perhaps he should also consider this wooden bicycle, forwarded by another reader:

If you're wondering why the wheels look that way, it's because they "symbolize the legs of man:"

Do you really need to sybmolize the legs of man on a vehicle that is literally powered by the legs of man?  Given that people also apparently need watches for their phones now then I guess you do.

Lastly, a Tweeterer is boycotting me after I made a wisecrack about the NRA awhile back:

Which I only mention because he's getting rid of my book, so if you want one for almost nothing here's your chance:

Sure, you'd have to pay the shipping, but maybe he'd bundle it with some ammo.  And I'll happily sign it for the winner, though that will make it worth even less.