The Laborious Day Weekend is now behind us, and so too are the languid days of summer. Here in New York City, those leisurely afternoons spent sipping Piña Coladas and lying in hammocks while being sprinkled with the refreshing discharge from a nearby open fire hydrant as a quasi-sane homeless man plays Jimmy Buffett songs on a kazoo for nickels are already just a memory. Instead, all across the region schoolbooks are being stuffed into backpacks, important documents and tuna fish sandwiches are being placed into briefcases, and housepets are receiving detailed instructions for the daycare of small children. The summer houses have been boarded up along with our hearts, and so shall they remain until the first crowbars of next spring. Sure it's still warm and sunny, but that's only because the summer doesn't know it's dead yet.

Personally, I couldn't be happier about all of this. (Well, I suppose I could be happier, but it would require the judicious application of chemicals.) Just as culling the weaker animals breeds a hardier herd, and pruning eventually yields a fuller bush (both in terms of landscaping and personal grooming), so too does the thinning effect the colder months have on the numbers of cyclists ultimately benefit us all. Indeed, it is during the dog days (or, if you prefer, dachshund days) of summer that cycling absurdity reaches its apotheosis, and were it not for the coming autumn the entire display would no doubt collapse on itself like a human pyramid of drunken clowns.
Of course, where there are clowns there are clown bikes, and I recently encountered the most circus-like fixed-gear conversion I've seen since the "golden age" of the artform (which arguably occurred in 2007, when no bicycle with horizontal dropouts was safe from fixifiation):

This particular conversion was a brakeless "vintage" Specialized Hardrock, and its tentative pilot was flying it at roughly nine miles per hour. I snapped the above photo moments before he reduced his speed to five miles per hour so he could use his iPhone (which had a shattered screen) while riding, and you'll note that Andy Samberg's Nonplussed Doppelgänger is also taking in the scene as I pass:

Andy Samberg's Nonplussed Doppelgänger is distinguishable from the real Andy Samberg by his heavily pleated pants, as well as by his briefcase, which contains important documents and a tuna fish sandwich.
In any case, I passed the rider as he dragged his finger across his spiderwebbed touchscreen, but we were eventually reunited at a red light, where I managed to capture the bicycle in profile:

Though outwardly callous and sarcastic, underneath it all I to try to practice compassion, and so I looked deep within myself in an attempt to understand what might compel someone to "curate" a bicycle like this. Unfortunately, looking within myself is usually about as rewarding as rummaging underneath the cushions of my sofa, in that doing so usually yields little more than a handful of loose change and (if I'm really lucky) a few candy corns of indeterminate age. I suppose he could be making a misguided attempt to fit in with the "cool people" of Williamsburg, though his wardrobe has much more in common with Andy Samberg's Nonplussed Doppelgänger than with the denizens of Bedford Avenue. Really, the only thing I could conclude for sure was that this was the ugliest conversion since the Spanish Inquisition.
So vexing was this bicycle to me that I continued to ponder it for many blocks. Why render a Specialized Hardrock brakeless and then pick your way gingerly through some of the heaviest traffic in the United States? It seems about as logical as converting your work boots to flip-flops and then venturing out into a blizzard. Soon though I was interrupted by my musings when I encountered a woman standing in the middle of the bike lane with three dachshunds:

(Wiener dog-wielding bike lane loiterer.)
I apologize for the poor quality (even by the meager standards of this blog) of this photo, but I can assure that she not only made no attempt to move out of my way but also smiled at me as I passed. I briefly considered explaining that I had just taken her photo not because I thought her dogs were cute, but because I thought she was an idiot and planned to humiliate her on the Internet, but ultimately decided not to bother. I also briefly considered executing a cyclocross dismount and simply hopping over the dachshund barrier, but I was riding an Electra Ticino and wasn't confident in my ability to "portage" it correctly. Coincidentally, just at this moment I looked across the street and spotted a drive-side "portage" in progress:


Note the fanny pack, which is so formidably large as to require an auxiliary shoulder strap:

I realize that some people would say that this is not in fact a fanny pack, and indeed the "what actually constitutes a fanny pack" argument is as heated and controversial as the abortion debate. When it comes to the former, I'm a staunch conservative, and I believe that any bag worn entirely below an imaginary line drawn across the midsection of the back and featuring a waist strap should be considered a fanny pack. I realize this is the personal accessory equivalent of insisting that life begins at conception, but I believe what I believe.
Another thing I believe is that people should not walk in the bike lane, especially when the entire sidewalk is clear:

While some people might find the sight of a shapely young woman sashaying down the street beguiling, I only find it irritating, for superficial beauty cannot mask the ugliness beneath. Also, I'm confused by her shoes:

Just as I couldn't understand the Hardrock conversion, I could not understand why she whould choose to walk in the bike lane when there was a perfectly good sidewalk just a foot away (though perhaps the fact that both the Hardrock and the pedi-salmon featured a purple and orange "colorway" might be of some significance.) The only explanation I could possibly come up with was that she was trying to offer me a "frogurt" hand-up:

On closer inspection, though, the cup was empty, so I guess she was expecting a roving busboy to throw it away for her.
This pedi-salmon's behavior (note the traditional bike salmon over his shoulder) was also mysterious to me:
Judging from his outfit, he must have been in search of his golf ball:

I'm sure one day these two pedi-salmon will meet, and together they'll walk arm-in-arm in mutual self-importance down the bike lane of life:
Speaking of self-importance, as most people know by now, unsettling man-child Jared Leto bought himself a "tarck" bike recently at a New York City bicycle-themed boutique, and he seems to have begun salmoning on it almost immediately:

Either that, or he's in the process of shooting his next movie, "Time Traveler from the Planet Douche."
At nearly 40 years old, one might think that Leto would feel a bit self-conscious looking like a teenager trying to master elephant trunk skids while his friend records him on a Flip camera. At the very least, he should be engaging in more age-appropriate forms of bike-dorkery. Consider George Clooney, who a reader informs me was recently riding a mountain bike in basketball attire:

That kind of dorkery is timeless.

(Catching up on emails.)
Firstly, in the spirit of all that is "epic," I am pleased to announce that I will fuse next week's Labor Day weekend with the coming workweek, thereby creating an "epic"-length holiday weekend for myself that will begin, well, now. Rest assured that I plan to use this "epic" weekend productively by spending time with family, sending hundreds of Dominos pizzas to the offices of Transportation Alternatives, and washing my fleet of 1,000 bicycles. (Insert your suggestive "polishing my Big Dummy" pun of choice here.) All of this is a complicated way of saying that I will not be here next week, but that I will return on Tuesday, September 7th with regular updates.

In the meantime, even though I will be on end-of-summer vacation, during my absence I will still be providing wisecracks and shallow insights concerning the Vuelta a España for the Universal Sports web presence, and I will notify you by means of my Twitter account when these are posted. Also, as a special service to my readers, I will be writing these posts in English, so Spanish proficiency is not a prerequisite for enjoyment.
Moving on, you may recall that on Tuesday I mentioned a film project called "To Live and Ride in LA," which features people riding through busy intersections on fixed-gear bicycles. Well, a reader informs me that manufacturer of heavy, un-truable, and not particularly aerodynamic wheels Aerospoke is actually the film's official "wheel sponsor:"

(Above photo was likely borrowed from "Tarck Bikes with Douchebags.")
This seems like an extremely poor business decision for Aerospoke, if only because encouraging their customer base to ride brakeless through intersections seems like an excellent way of eliminating it. While Aerospoke may have been taken by surprise back in 2007 when their wheels became popular fashion accessories, my guess is that they've now become accustomed to success, and success breeds complacency. I'm sure they now think the lavish parties and frothy Jacuzzis and endless bottles of Boone's Farm Flavored Apple Wine Product will never end. In fact, judging from the above photo, they've even been able to convince "fixie" riders to use two Aerospokes (Aerospii?) instead of the traditional one, which probably doubled their sales overnight. But I'm here to warn them that they're only a few traffic disasters away from returning to the dark days of the late 1990s when they were selling their wheels though the Nashbar catalog at deep, deep discounts, like a desperate drug addict standing on the corner and trying to sell his own pants.
Meanwhile, speaking of wheel trends, people also continue to emblazon their Deep Vs with messages, and here's one I recently saw in Williamsburg:

According to a popular online translator, the German portion of the message means "Life is Hard." (The English portion is self-explanatory.) However, it's hard to imagine what sort of difficulties the typical "fixie" owner in Williamsburg could possibly face. Cracked iPhone screen? Stolen Brooks? Roommate eating his cereal again? Still, despite my skepticism I nevertheless try to be compassionate, and I hope that in the end he manages to overcome his adversity and find true happiness. (In other words, I hope his parents start sending more money and he's not forced to move to Portland.)
And now, I'm pleased to present you with an end-of-summer 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 Time Attack Racer, for an ardent cyclist.
Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and be sure to wring those last few drops of sweat from the rest of the summer. I'll look forward to seeing you again on September 7th.
--BSNYC/RTMS







1) "Ticino" is pronounced:

--"Ti-CHEE-no"
--"Ti-SEE-no"
--"Ti-KEE-no"
--געפֿילטע פֿיש




2) Alejandro Valverde says he has learned to live without:
--Racing--Performance-enhancing drugs--Saturated fats--Invisible barbells





3) Team RadioShack's leader for the Vuelta will be:

--Levi Leipheimer
--Andreas Klöden
--Jani Brajkovic
--Nobody, because they were not invited




(She's folding, like the Cervelo Test Team)
4) Cervelo Test Team will fold at the end of the year, and instead Cervelo will become the official bicycle sponsor for:
--Team Saxo-Bank SunGuard--Team Garmin-Transitions--Team Astana--Tri-geeks and "Freds" on recreational paths across North America




5) To install a fixed-gear cog you will need:

--A chainwhip
--A lockring tool
--A full set of sleeve and knuckle tattoos
--All of the above






6) "Let's all waste money!" Rolf Prima is making a $700 14-spoke fixed-gear commuting wheelset called the "P-Town."

--True
--False





(All You Haters Floss My Crotch)
7) "Move over, fixed-gears!" The next hot drivetrain is nothing at all.

--True
--False



***Special Future of Trendy Tattooing-Themed Bonus Question***

(Is that you, Floyd?)
Knuckle tattoos are like sooo 2010. In 2011 it's going to be all about:
--Armpit tattoos--Earlobe tattoos--Nipple tattoos--Cat portraiture tattoos

As many of you are probably aware by now, former President of the United States and avid mountain bike enthusiast George W. Bush has recently gone "29er:"

If only Bush had adopted larger wheels back when he was in office, he totally would have cleared that gnarly second term, and he might even have successfully made it through that highly technical "Iraq" section. (As Gary Fisher will tell you, it's all about the "angle of attack.") Incidentally, the bicycle Bush is about to drape those baggy shorts over is a Niner, and you may remember Chris Sugai of Niner (the guy who isn't George Bush or the other guy in the helmet) as the star of my favorite product-testing video of all time:



Few people know that Sugai was actually a member of Bush's cabinet, and in that capacity was responsible for much of our government's policy during his tenure. Trouble with other countries? Hit them with a hammer! Economy is sluggish? Hit it with a hammer! Hammer-wielding maniac on the loose? Hit him with a hammer! He also engaged Dick Cheney to help test some of those early Niner crabon fork prototypes, though the infamous "shotgun test" was not only unsuccessful but also fatal and Niner quickly removed it from YouTube. (A bit of advice: when Cheney asks, "Hey, can you hold this fork for a second?," don't agree.)
Still, you've got to admire a company willing to literally pound the crap out of its products, and I only wish Gerard Vroomen of Cervelo would do the same instead of producing fashion shows:



Amazingly, despite this display, the full pro team kit has yet to take off as casual wear.
Speaking of getting new bikes and testing things, I recently received a new "test-cycle" in the form of an Electra Ticino 8D:
Since it comes from a "collection" and is represented by a picture of a guy wearing a wool jersey and the sort of hat worn by people who are way too into "craft ales," I knew the Ticino was going to be something special (and by "special" I mean "pretentious"). Incidentally, Electra are well-known for their "Townie" bicycles, which feature that insanely relaxed "flat foot technology" geometry and are ideal for canine "portaging" (or, if you're not from Portland, "schlepping"):
(Woman on Townie schleps dog in Prospect Park, Brooklyn)
Electra also sells those Amsterdam quasi-Dutch bikes, one of which I actually reviewed last year:
(Wasn't I pretty back then?)
The Ticino, however, is something different. Here's how Electra's copy explains it:

Whether you ride every day or go for long journeys on the weekend, the Ticino will handle it in comfort and style. Named for an Italian-influenced area of Switzerland, Ticino's design aesthetic, craftsmanship and frame integrity are inspired by the vintage Randonneur-type bikes once ridden throughout the region. Stylistically, Ticino picks up where bike builders of the '40s and '50s left off with its retro-inspired hubs*, cranksets, chainrings, tourist handlebars, forks, pedals and rims. But this thing is far from a relic. When it coms to performance, the Ticino is decked out with the latest custom Electra components and will hold its own against other sporty rides with fast-rolling 700c wheels, a lightweight frame and a host of drivetrains from single-to 20-speed. All in all, the Ticino is a fine-tuned, smooth-gliding machine that offers a comfort level no longer found in today's twitchy frames. Take your time to study the unique details of each model.

*on Ticino 18D, 20D and LUX models

In other words, it's a mass market version of all those North American Handmade Bicycle Show "Artisan Porteurs" that people who wear wool cycling caps love to ogle, but for people who think "lug" is a synonym for "schlep," Rivendell is where Archie and the gang lived, and who don't know Velo Orange from a Jaffa orange.

Anyway, I got the 8D, which doesn't have the "retro-inspired hubs" and which was fine with me because I couldn't care less what my hubs look like. Here's the way the bike looked when I pulled it out of the box:

And here's how it looked after I assembled it, removed the reflectors, and performed my customary and elaborate pie plate-burning ceremony:


Here's the view other cyclists will have when you're "salmoning" towards them. ("Salmon" love Electras like "Freds" love Treks):

Here's the view other riders will have when you're dropping them--which, let's be honest, isn't going to happen:

And here's the way the Electra Ticino looks when it's waiting to go to the bathroom:

It needs to go so bad its spokes went from 3-cross to 4-cross.

As I mentioned, my Ticino didn't come with the "retro-inspired hubs," but it did come with other "custom Electra components," such as the TA-like (or T-Ain't) cranks:

Rims with a vintage-like Mavic-esque pre-exploding wheel era-inspired sticker:


A quill stem with a little threaded cap to cover the stem bolt:


And faux-leather grips with bar-end brake levers:

Together with the vaguely Brooks-like saddle, skinwall tires, and "hammered" (or hammered look) fenders, the bike will do doubt infuriate Randonnerds, retrogrouches, and the sorts of people who bedeck their bicycles with an airport carousel's worth of canvas luggage, but will simply look really nice to people who don't know what any of that means or who don't really care. By the way, here's the OBBS (or Obligatory Bottom Bracket Shot):

While not "beefy" by James Huangian standards, you may note that the bike uses a single chainring sandwiched by a couple of chainring guards, and that it also includes vibration dampeners on the fenders. Also, the frame is aluminum, which will doubtless have rendered any remaining retrogrouches who have not long since defected to Classic Rendezvous apoplectic.
I, however, am not troubled by the facsimile aspect of the bicycle, and while the aesthetic is a little "precious" for me my first impression was that it's a very nice-looking bike. I also found it very comfortable, thought it handled well, was sensibly geared, and was even light enough for the average "wuss" to carry up and down a few flights of stairs.

But to really test it properly I had to take it "out on the town" in the manner of a typical non-bike dork simply looking to ride a comfortable bicycle from one place to another. Fortunately, fatherhood has already rid me of the extraneous portions of my dignity, and I no longer give much thought to my attire or equipment when mounting a bicycle. So, clad in a pair of homemade "shants," flip-flops, and (my only concession to foppery) a canvas bag from Rivendell, I grabbed the Ticino and set out looking like the miserable aftermath of a collision between "cycle chic" and Mugatu's "Derelicte."

My first thought was that this was a kinder and gentler sort of bicycle than I typically ride, and that it was well-suited for the kinder and gentler urban cycling offered by New York City's new lime green protected bike lanes, onto which I soon steered the Ticino:

Incidentally, you may notice that, way in the distance, there is a woman riding a mountain bike on the sidewalk. Apparently, she was too afraid to ride in the street, yet moments before I took this picture she had ridden right through that intersection against the light and was nearly hit by a car. She had a look of terror on her face the entire time, and it was as if some otherwordly force was compelling her towards death and she was powerless to resist. "Must stop at light...can't stop at light." Here she is about to do it again:
This time she actually manages to cross the intersection diagonally, maximizing her exposure time to oncoming traffic:

Anyway, soon I was in Prospect Park, where I joined my upright-riding brethren:

Note the "epic" quill stem on this Klein:

He has more headset spacers than most people have steer tube.
Shortly afterwards, I passed an excited gentleman who regarded me wide-eyed and shouted, "Is that a Schwinn?" At first I was frightened, thinking it was an enraged Grant Petersen come to tackle me from the Ticino and give it the "hammer test." I soon realized it wasn't, though, and as I passed I answered "No." Crestfallen, he reacted as though I had just called his mother a Schwinn. "Not a Schwinn!?!," he exclaimed. However, I did not have time to explain to him that it was not a Schwinn and was in fact a mass-produced facsimile of the "artisanal" retro-inspired bicycles so popular with the "bike culture" right now, and continued on.

Of course, navigating Prospect Park is one thing; hanging with the "hipsters" of Williamsburg on its eponymous bridge is quite another, and it was with trepidation that I approached its purple girders:

Desperately, I clawed my way up to the trio of "hipsters" ahead of me:


Amazingly, I caught them without breaking my flip-flops:


Arriving in Manhattan, I decided I liked the bike. It was as comfortable as a bike needs to be, but it was in no way sluggish. I did, however, ride cautiously, and when I encountered a Mercedes with a vanity plate reading "Cupper" I kept a safe distance:

I did not relish a run-in with the "cupper," having no idea what it was intended to cup.

By the way, so bike friendly has New York City become that in addition to bike lanes we now have designated folding bike unfurling areas:


However, stoplight match sprints continue unabated:

As does shoaling, and on my way back to Brooklyn I was shoaled repeatedly and violently by a "Beautiful Godzilla" in the 2nd Avenue bike lane:

In any case, as everyday transportation the Ticino performs very well, and I'd be lying if I said I haven't thoroughly enjoyed my time on it--though I'd also be lying if I said I didn't find it a little "precious." (Then again, I am a considerable and dedicated schlub.) It's very comfortable, it has fenders, it's stable yet reasonably quick, and you can carry it up steps. It is not exactly cheap, however, and it retails for about $800--though some dupes actually pay close to that for Flying Pigeons, so I suppose price is relative. Plus, it comes with most of what you'd need apart from a rack. To some extent I suppose it is an affront to the more rarefied corners of cycling, but at the same time it's also a coup for accessibility, and it's nothing if not enticing. And it makes way more sense than a Klein with a flagpole for a quill stem.

In last yesterday's post of Tuesday, August 24th, 2010, which I posted yesterday, and which should not be confused with today's post, today's bonus post, or any other post, I included the following piece of "fixie"-themed artwork:
While originally taken aback by its resemblance to the propaganda materials of a certain political regime so evil that it caused the interruption of all three Grand Tours in the 1940s, I have since learned that it's actually (as its creator informs me) intended to parody fixed-gear elitism. Indeed, so well-executed was this parody that I was thoroughly taken in--as was this unwitting "hipster," who also seems to have missed the point:
Prince Harry, incidentally, bears more than a passing resemblance in the above photo to Tom Boonen, who also shocked the world recently with this instance of anti-Semitic and/or anti-Amish mockery:

(It's impossible to know for sure whom Boonen is mocking without additional props such as horses or minivans.)
The UCI really needs to stage an intervention for this guy, and the admonishing visage of his mentor Johan Museeuw glowering at him from beneath his flaxen hairpiece could prove to be just what he needs to "scare him straight."
Furthermore, in addition to misinterpreting that image, a number of airplane nerds have informed me that the following statement I made in the day after Monday's post is also in containment of a factually inaccurate incorrectitude:
Just wait until I "drop" my own "fixie" video, in which I ride up and down the tarmac at JFK while doing elephant trunk skids and almost get hit by a Scandinavian Airlines 747.
As it turns out, Scandinavian Airlines doesn't use 747s at all, a fact of which I was unaware despite a childhood spent more or less directly in the JFK flightpath. By the way, in case you're wondering what Scandinavian Airlines does use, it turns out their fleet consists mostly of longships:

Though they have been upgrading it in a piecemeal fashion:


Anyway, having duly acknowledged my mistakes, I'd like to return to a time before I made them. It was a much simpler time--you might remember it as this past Monday--and it also happens to be the day I received the following press release from minimalist bike designers Biomega:
Apparently, the marketing department at Biomega wants the world of cycledom to know that as of Monday it "renews its curatorial commitment to cherry picking the world’s top designers to design its bicycles," since their previous "curatorial commitment" has expired. This, of course, is nü-pretentious maximum-verbiage minimalist-speak for "we're selling some new crap now." So what stylishly useless and overpriced fruit hath this cherry tree of pretention curated? Well, there's this "true urban tool" for true urban tools:
This is a great choice for the urban tool who wants a neutered mountain bike-like machine that is useless offroad yet also has no fenders or really anything that would make it useful for everyday city riding. (Though it does have that brilliantly conceived hole in the frame so that you have one tiny place to lock it.) Or, if you prefer something that's not "classic" but does have the "potential of a classic," you can opt for this model:
I was amused to note that this potentially "classic bicycle" is called the "NYC," and it even has a mostly-useless integrated downtube "filth prophylactic" which I assume is a stylistic nod to the pieces of cardboard food delivery people zip-tie to their frames. Clearly, brilliance like this cannot spring from a single mind, so it should come as no surprise that this bike the brainchild of "the three creative forces of Danish design group, KiBiSi"--which consists of Brüno, Dieter from "Sprockets," and a monkey with a protractor:

Together they may not be able to design their way out of a paper bag, but they can at least decorate the bag's interior in fashionably spartan style while they're trapped in there.
Speaking of minimalists, since last week I've mostly gotten off them (getting off minimalists should not be confused with "minimalist getting off," which refers to looking at porn on your iPad). However, it is worth noting that the blogger who wrote that "I only have 57 things" post
has not only removed all the comments to that post (a number of which were critical), but has indeed, in the name of minimalism and helping people, also eliminated comments and commenting from his entire blog:
(Killing comments in order to save you.)
He then goes on to list (again with the lists!) a number of reasons why comments are an anti-minimalist waste of time, though a more cynical person might suspect that the recent influx of skeptical visitors was really the deciding factor and that he prefers not to grapple with truth:

My blog traffic has exploded to 64,000 readers per month while I was not even here to oversee the operation. Obviously being away from my blog encourages growth more than sitting around all day reading comments does.

Also, he's going "vagabonding," which I guess is a form of minimalist walkabout.
In any case, the truth of the matter is that eliminating comments from a blog is like filling a guitar with cement--you can still play it, but it will lose all its resonance. Even if some of those comments are negative, interesting music is both mellifluous and dissonant, and I suppose what really lies at the heart of minimalism is carefully "curating" your own insular and self-serving "reality"--which is perfectly fine, but also seems antithetical to blogging. Amish people also "curate" an insular self-serving reality, but they're not out there blogging and selling books about it. If you're going to proselytize people into your lifestyle, at least be ready to do some convincing.
Speaking of convincing, a reader informs me that an insurance company failed to convince anybody to buy bicycle insurance, when they left a bunch of bikes around London that didn't get stolen:
Ultimately, I infer two things from this. Firstly, British thieves are apparently hale chaps who prefer a good challenge and find the plucking of low-hanging fruit distatefully unsportsmanlike. (They probably even have their own club and wear a distinctive hat and tie combination so they can recognize each other.) Secondly, if you're regularly locking up a bicycle that's so expensive it warrants its own insurance policy, then you're probably a fool, or a Biomega owner, or possibly both.
However, we may all need insurance if we're invaded by a "hipster robot bike army:"
Actually, judging by most of these fixed-gear videos, we already have.

While life can often seem chaotic and inscrutable, the truth is that much of it can usually be broken down into easily identifiable stages. For example, mythologist and canned soup magnate Joseph Campbell established the "Hero's Journey," which consists of "Separation, Transformation, and Return" (or something like that). This is the template followed by pretty much every narrative hero ever created, and it simplifies everyone from Jesus to Beowulf to Luke Skywalker. Similarly, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross neatly summed up the entire process of mourning with her famous "Five Stages of Grief," which are: Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; and Acceptance. (These, incidentally, also happen to be the "Five Stages of Purchasing a Specialized Bicycle.") Even pop-cultural trends can be explained as a series of "stageways," and almost all of them follow the following process in their evolution: Identification; Appropriation; and Conformity.
Consider the fixed-gear trend for example. "Back in the day," all sorts of people rode fixed-gear bicycles, and they thought little of it. Some raced them on tracks, and others trained on them in winter. There were messengers who used them to deliver packages, and there were frugal commuters who simply cobbled them together from spare parts. While to some extent these people were united by their choice of drivetrain, it was mostly Just What They Rode. And as people used to say "back in the day," big freaking deal.
But then, certain people realized that they liked the way certain fixed-gear bicycles looked in conjunction with certain pants and certain bags. So, having Identified something they liked, they set about Appropriating it. The process of Appropriation involves establishing a set of rules, or what a reporter once called "weird style diktats" (frontal Aerospoke, key carabiner, knuckle tattoos, and so forth). These rules are put forth by means of internet bicycle galleries (Fixedgeargallery, Velospace), various blogs (too numerous to mention), and, most importantly, videos (MASHSF and the various facsimilies), so that people in the hinterlands with no direct exposure can see what the whole thing is supposed to look like in motion, and so the participants can establish their credentials. Finally, once the whole trend is documented, detailed, and labeled like a butcher's chart, the Conformity begins. Companies know what to sell, trend-aspirants know what to buy, and everybody's happy.
Consequently, the fixed-gear trend (like any trend) is highly ordered and regimented, and the videos that come out of it follow style guidelines as strict as those governing any sonnet or limerick or sitcom. Consider the latest "trailer" that recently "dropped" all over the non-coasting Internet:

To Live & Ride In L.A. OFFICIAL TRAILER from TRAFIK on Vimeo.

Ever since urban fixed-gear cycling entered the "Conformity" phase, every city in America and beyond has taken turns "stepping up" with a video that shows that they too know how to be like everybody else. San Francisco had "MASHSF" and "Macaframa," New York had "Empire," and now Los Angeles has "To Live & Ride In LA." And while each new video seems to outdo its predecessor, unfortunately it only does so in terms of its inanity. Consider the bold claim this trailer makes in its opening seconds:

Do they really ride the most dangerous streets in America, or do they simply make regular streets dangerous by riding like complete idiots? While I haven't actually seen the entire feature, I'm guessing the latter scenario is more accurate, since the claim is followed by people riding brakeless into busy intersections:

And riding brakeless on the freeway:

And riding down hills brakeless into busy intersections:

Any street is the most dangerous one in America if you ride it like a raging schmuck. Just wait until I "drop" my own "fixie" video, in which I ride up and down the tarmac at JFK while doing elephant trunk skids and almost get hit by a Scandinavian Airlines 747. Streets are for "woosies." 2011's going to be all about 'da "runway cred."
Anyway, just as the fixed-gear trend has followed prescribed stages, so too has my reaction to these sorts of videos and the riding they portray. First, it made me Angry; then, I found it Comical; and now I only feel Sadness. Yes, the sight of somebody riding straight into an intersection in the absence of anything real to rebel against is imbued with pathos--even a suicide bomber believes in something. (Terrorist organizations and religious cults are eventually going to figure out how desperate these "fixie" riders are, and they're going to send representatives to wait on the other side of these intersections during filming. "Just risked your life for no reason? Here, read this pamphlet!") This pathos is even more profound when you consider that he's doing it while his friend who has no actual creativity makes a video of it, presumably so they can screen it at the funeral as a final indignity to the family. But I suppose people with cameras who lack creativity and the people willing to die for them is what L.A. is all about:
Indeed it is. L.A., the land of cultural suicide bombers.
But this film presumably doesn't bother to examine the implications of this behavior, for it's all about "living fast:"

"We will be cutting lights, we will be bombing traffic," promises this rider. He won't be thirsty, though, because he's wearing a CamelBak:

"Thass how we do it," exclaims another rider, neatly summing up the sickening undercurrent of cultural appropriation and conformity that permeates this entire filmed endeavor:

So what's really so wrong with all of this? Is it the riding, which undermines the popular perception of a mode of transport against which people are already prejudiced? Is it the jeopardy in which the participants place themselves? Is it that fixed-gear freestyling and wheelies are so inherently boring that footage of it must be interwoven with near-death encounters just to make it watchable? No, I think it's something even more insidious. Sociologists have tried to scare us with the notion of the "super-predator," a generation of amoral and incorrigible juvenile delinquents. While this is debatable, I do think we're living in the age of the "super-conformist," a desperate generation of 20- and 30-somethings willing to surrender themselves to any pop-cultural phenomenon with an easy checklist, whether it's minimalism, or fixed-gears, or any "[insert commodity here] culture." And we all know what happens when conformity goes too far. Consider the disturbing overtones of this image, which was forwarded to me by a reader:
(The Aerospoke is apparently the "hipster" Swastika.)
It's only a matter of time before they discover and appropriate those old Skrewdriver logos just like they did with the Misfits.
Meanwhile, another reader has forwarded me a completely different sort of video, in which an entire family undertakes an "epic" bicycle journey from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego:

View more news videos at: http://www.nbcnewyork.com/video.

Here is the "epic" matron:

And here is the "epic" family:

It's worth noting that the mother is in New York while the rest of the family languishes in a small Peruvian village, ostensibly so that she can pick up a new wheel for her bicycle. She implies it's some sort of wheel that would be difficult to obtain in Peru, so my guess is she's flown here to pick up a used Aerospoke she found on Craigslist. In any case, it's almost certainly the most "epic" wheel pickup and/or excuse to get away from the rest of the family I've ever seen.
Speaking of "epic," yet another reader has informed me of this "epic" bike theft, in which the thief drove a truck through a bike shop window, got stuck, and made his escape on a Giant time trial bike:

According to the article, it was a Trinity Advance, which looks like this:

With any luck, the thief is a triathlete, in which case he will be easily apprehended during the running portion of his getaway.

Like a pet owner wrapping Rex's heartworm pill in a piece of salami, or a hippie trying to "turn on" some "square" by baking some Wednesday Weed into his brownie, the Forces of Smugness continue to attempt to trick people into riding their bicycles to work. Generally, these ploys follow a seasonal pattern. First, they prey upon a populace still suffering from the residual effects of Seasonal Affective Disorder by designating May as "Bike Month" and some week in May as "Bike To Work Week." This gets new people on their bicycles for anywhere from a day to a few weeks, and they generally stop riding again when it gets too hot or they have their first brush with death, whichever comes first. The Forces of Smugness then lie in wait for the rest of the summer, lulling the populace into a false sense of security until they pounce once more in September by issuing some kind of "challenge:"

They also pair this with imagery of sport jackets, flowing scarves, and riding through fallen leaves, so that people think riding to work in the fall is like traipsing across some prep school campus in New England and not the smog-sucking, death-defying, sleet-soaked slog that it really is. Consider this blog post, forwarded to me by a reader, which promises that, "no, you do not need to change your clothes to ride to work," and then presents as an example this image from that insufferably foppish "Sartorialist" blog:
No, you don't need to change your clothes to ride to work--unless you're this guy, in which case you really should. As Paul Newman's stunt double uncomfortably straddles his midlife crisis-inspired "fixie" conversion, his sleeves ride up to the crooks of his arms and his pant cuffs hover at about mid-calf. One can only imagine the strain on the crotchal seam of his trousers, which is almost certainly about to burst. As he casts his eyes pensively eastward, hoping to be noticed, he claws at the bars awkwardly like some morbid hunchback playing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor in some forgotten church basement. And whither socks? Banished, it would seem, in favor of blisters and swampfoot.
If he refuses to change his clothes in the name of sartorialism, he should at least consider changing his bicycle. Perhaps he should try one of those hefty Dutch numbers so popular with his ilk--or, if he wants something he can actually hoist now and again without incurring a hernia, he might try an Electra Ticino, for the one I have been testing has been quite dandy. (And by "dandy" I mean that it is befitting of one who pursues "the appearance of nonchalance in cult of Self.")

Meanwhile, the reality of urban cycling is considerably less refined. Consider this scene I passed while cycling through Midtown Manhattan at the end of last week:

Please forgive the jaunty tilt of this image--I was, as always, hunched over my aero bars in full-on "TT" mode (I commute on a Cervelo P3 "fixie" conversion) and this was simply the angle at which my head was oriented. In any case, you'll notice that, in addition to the somewhat Ditka-esque gentleman riding his mountain bike on the sidewalk, there is also a pedestrian in the background using stilts and wearing a "banana hammock" in a patriotic "colorway:"

For a moment I thought I might be laboring under one of those LSD "flashbacks" they always told us about in school. ("Back in the day," they used to try to scare you away from psychedelics by assuring you that, if you tried them as a teenager even once, 20 years later you'd be driving your Volvo with your wife, 2.5 children, and Golden Retriever on the way to your weekend house, at which point you'd suddenly be stricken with a "flashback" in which you hallucinate a giant lizard fighting with a giant raccoon in the middle of the highway. Swerving to avoid them, you'd then send yourself and your entire family plummeting into a ravine.) Ultimately, however, I ruled this out, since when I kicked out the stilts from beneath the guy in the bikini he came crashing down in a heap instead of exploding in a hail of petunias and candy corns like my hallucinations usually do.
Still, I am always waiting for that potentially fatal fixed-gear freestyle "edit" of the mind to "drop," and if the possibility of seeing lizards fighting raccoons, or nearly-naked men on stilts, or Mike Ditka is not enough to dissuade you from cycling under the influence of hallucinogens, then perhaps this cautionary tale from an LSD-addicted messenger which was forwarded to me by another reader is. Consider the following excerpt:

(This screenshot is legible if you're on acid.)
To describe the experience of putting my life in the hands of the San Fransisco Traffic God's while the sky melds together in an amalgous orgasm of blue and magenta and while cars leave such profoundly solid tracers behind them that I can't tell whether they're limousines or not is, essentially, impossible. The experience is just fucking ludicrous. I've been bombing hills at 35 miles an hour before only to have taxi cars open their doors in front of me with only ten feet to brake. I've been within inches of been piledrived by several ton cars in direct oncoming traffic. On one occasion, the quick release on my primary brakes snapped while I hauled ass down one of the steepest streets in the city (which is really saying something, if you've ever been to San Fransisco before), forcing me to simultaneously wedge my foot between my front wheel and my front forks to slow myself down while navigating my bike through two massive four way intersections. I was a half second away from getting anally raped between a bright silver Hummer and a half lime-green/half hot-pink sedan. I suspect that this was not the actual colour of the vehicle.

While the idea of a lysergic acid diethylamide-addled messenger plying the streets of San Francisco is disconcerting, I was impressed that he apparently had the wherewithal to install some sort of auxiliary braking system, since he refers to his "primary brakes" malfunctioning. Unfortunately, he doesn't explain what this auxiliary braking system is, so it could be his fixed-gear drivetrain, or a coaster brake, or a parachute in his Chrome messenger bag, or perhaps even some kind of braking system of the mind in which a phalanx of Care Bears descend from the heavens and wrangle him to a stop with a rainbow of friendship. In any case, it's more than the typical Nü-Fred is using, and our hero would like us to know that he's got things under control:

I've since gotten used to getting my shit together on acid. To be honest, though, it's pretty effectively kept me from ever being able to relax on psychedelics, even if I'm not on my bike. When trip-cycling, I have to devote every ounce of my mental capacity to keep my mind on the road and my reflexes. It's a combination of letting my mind trust myself so completely that I don't have to think about hitting that brake fast enough to avoid that taxi door or turning my wheel just enough that I neither plow into that pedestrian OR get clotheslined by that pole, and forcing my mind to be on the edge constantly.

So in other words, it's taken him gallons of psychedelics to learn that he needs to pay attention while riding his bike. In many ways, this is the very essence of the drug experience: wasting years of your life on a mythic journey in pursuit of the sorts of revelations that are, for everyone else in the world, simply common sense. It's like going through the trouble and pretense of becoming a minimalist in order to figure out that, yes, you don't really need that second fondue pot.
But at least he seems to have things in perspective:

Then, I have to live with the ramifications of dosing large amounts of psychedelics up to five times a week for multiples years on end. I'll be just like one of those burned out hippies on Haight and Ashbury that can't finish a sentence, mumbling to themselves about UFO's and how cheap weed used to be.

Or, in other words, he's going to be the next Dogpaw:



You could certainly do a lot worse for yourself. Anyway, I'd rather share the streets with thousand Dogpaws (Dogspaw?) than with one salmoning tourist:

At least, I'm assuming he's a tourist, since he was riding one of those "Bike and Roll" bikes:

As the Book of Fred predicted, "And you shall know them by their handlebar bags, and they will salmon towards you wearing expressions of cluelessness and sandals of nylon:"

I like tourists, and while cycling I do my best to treat them with respect--even when they study maps while standing in crosswalks or ask me for directions to streets on which they're currently standing. (I'm referring of course to the short-term tourists and not the ones who stay here for two or three years, are called "hipsters," and occupy that giant extended stay theme hotel known as "Williamsburg." They're similarly clueless, but instead of asking for directions they use their iPhones.) However, coming here and salmoning is very disrespectful--it's like visiting the Wailing Wall and having a pig roast, or like visiting Portland and showering daily. One wonders if they behave as poorly back home in Salt Lake City--where, as it happens, yet another reader spotted this Ford GT in the Gulf Racing "colorway" complete with trunk-mounted triple-chainring Trek:
Clearly he is the World's Fastest Fred.

Yesterday I mentioned the phenomenon of "shoaling," which has become an epidemic here in New York City due to the increasing numbers of bicycle commuters. But while some shoals are noteworthy due to their size, others are impressive due to their artfulness. Consider this shoal I witnessed recently at the corner of Vanderbilt Avenue and Fulton Street in Brooklyn (which is sort of the Galapagos Islands of bike shoals due to their abundance and diversity):

As you can see, one of the riders of which this modest two-man shoal is comprised is on the sidewalk. This in itself is unremarkable. However, what is remarkable is how he got there. Coming up the left side, he rode all the way into the intersection past all the other riders, circled right, hopped the curb, and 360 degrees later finally came to a stop on the corner:

This sweeping maneuver was positively balletic in its execution, and I could not help but marvel at its pointlessness. It somehow managed to evoke modern dance, sailing, and the way some dogs circle a spot on the floor before lying down on it, all at the same time. I'm not sure if he was insecure about clipping out of his pedals and was unsuccessfully searching for something to grab hold of, or if he simply likes to arrive at intersections with a flourish, like a debutante twirling upon entering the room. Either way, despite my distaste for shoals, I must admit it was fabulous.
Nevertheless, it's important to remember that you should behave at an intersection the same way you would in a public restroom, in that you should wait your turn and keep a polite distance. Shoaling is like sidling up to someone at a urinal, unzipping your fly, and "joining in," so unless you're trying to pull a Larry Craig you should do your best take your place at the back of the line.
Still, there's one thing worse than being inconsiderate when you ride, and that's being afraid. This is because decisions borne of fear tend to be bad ones. This is why I was dismayed to read the following in an interview on BikePortland with the rider who inspired the infamous "Kill this Bicyclist!" post:
Commuting by bicycle in Portland is like sloshing around in the kiddie pool while wearing water wings and a life preserver, so if riding a bicycle in Portland makes him that nervous and agitated then I'm not sure he should be on a bicycle at all. I especially like that he's "big, aggressive, and loud" and that he gets "quite an attitude much of the time"--so in addition to sloshing around in the kiddie pool, he also bullies the little children while he's in there (presumably by intimidating them with his "statuesque ass"). I would love to see him attempt to ride here in New York City, where you'd probably find him somewhere along the Great Hipster Silk Route, clinging to a lamppost and sobbing.
Speaking of sobbing, 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 it and may treat yourself to a pickle, sardine, or other delicious treat, and if you're wrong you will see someone ride his bicycle through his fears, ride his bicycle through his fears.
Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and refrain from shoaling--even if you have a "statuesque ass."

--BSNYC/RTMS




1) Bikepath is:
--"Dum"--"Dumm"--"Dumb"--"Oddly sensual"




(Vintage Vande Velde, via CyclingInquisition)
2) Christian Vande Velde will ride the Vuelta a España because:
--Matt White told him to
--Spain is lovely this time of year
--He wants to complete a "Grand Slam" by breaking a bone in all three Grand Tours in a single season--He wants to win it so he can adopt the nickname "Christian Vande Vuelta"





3) What is a "Mamil?"

--A "Middle-Aged Man in Lycra"--A form of traffic accident in which the victim is "Maimed After Making an Illegal Left"
--An extreme minimalist
--A class of warm-blooded animal where, like, the baby comes out of its vagina






4) What is this man doing?
--Explaining how a fixed-gear drivetrain works
--Indicating the "beefiness" of the bottom bracket junction
--Explaining the so-called "ThinBike"
--Helping the bicycle to make a baby, like, come out of its vagina




5) A reader recently spotted this t-shirt for sale at:

--Walmart--Walgreens--Target--Starbucks




6) "Snow bikes" are poised to replace "monstercross" bikes as the Gratuitous Addition to the Stable that Never Gets Ridden (or GASNGR) of choice for 2011.
--True--False



7) Too much "epic" for one chest.
--True--False

***Languid Mail Order Bicycle Commercial-Themed Bonus Question***
(Inverted image or just individualistically built?)
The "Mojo Bike Fixed Gear Fixie" is all about:
--"Individualism"--Riding around slowly--Coasting--All of the above

***Superfluous Minimalist Ultra-Bonus Bonus Question***

Is this a rectangle?
--Yes

In yesterday's post, I mentioned the following graffito, which I spotted in the controversial Prospect Park West bike lane in Brooklyn, New York (an area first settled by the Dutch in the 17th century and named "Breuckelen," which means "Place of the Hipster"):

While I was initially puzzled as to the author's intent, I subsequently noticed another message scrawled just a few feet ahead and in the same hand. This message clarified matters considerably:

I now see that person think bikepath is dum, and that same person also want bike go on streets. If bike go on streets we no need bikepath. This why bikepath dum.
Regardless of where you stand on bike lanes (which, if you're a New Yorker, is probably right in the middle of them, as you'll soon see), you've got to admit this is elegant reasoning. While I support bike lanes, the truth is that in practice they don't always work as well as those digitally-rendered "livable streets" imaginings you see on Streetsblog. This is because New York is a crowded city, and our pedestrians (meaning, really, all of us) are innately compelled towards broad thoroughfares on which to perambulate. Obviously we cannot do this where there is heavy motor vehicle traffic, but as soon as that traffic is removed it's inevitable that this reclaimed pavement becomes flypaper for shoppers:
Avid recyclers:

And postal workers:

Not to mention joggers, Rollerbladers, skateboarders, professional dog walkers, private dog walkers, operators of motorized wheelchairs, nannies playing "fast and loose" with other peoples' babies, "hipsters" on those stupid Puch mopeds, and any other person bearing a sizable load, operating any vehicle that is not a car, or engaged in an activity that requires ample room for limb-swinging. In addition, there is of course the often less-than-ideal behavior of the cyclists themselves. Consider this hard-hitting local news bike lane behavior exposé (via Streetsblog), which takes many of these factors into account:
By the way, note this commuter's iPhone placement:

I guess when he needs to take a call he just cocks his head to the left.

Note also that whenever a video camera is switched on in any city in America, a "fixie" rider will immediately enter the frame and gratuitously dart in front of a truck:

In any case, New York is a city in transition--a place in which an aggressive and survivalist riding style is being rendered moot by a cycling-friendly infrastructure, yet at the same time a place where many cyclists disregard that infrastructure because they're enamored with the aggressive and survivalist riding style of yesteryear. For this reason, giving New Yorkers a bike-friendly infrastructure can sometimes seem futile, like when I give my helper monkey Vito a fork at dinner and he just scratches himself with it before putting his face right back in the mashed potatoes. At the same time, those who do want to use the bike-friendly infrastructure often can't, due to the idling trucks and waddling shoppers and avid recyclers. I mean, I prefer to use a fork, but it's a lot less appetizing when it's been down a monkey's pants.
Still, I support bike lanes, but it's clear we need a real-world solution the aforementioned problems. Fortunately, I have one, and that solution is gravel:
I strongly believe that every bike lane and bridge crossing in New York City should be graveled immediately. Firstly, gravel would make it nearly impossible to ride a skateboard or push a shopping cart in the bike lane. Secondly, gravel bike lanes would probably eliminate almost all brakeless fixed-gear riding within a week. Consider this rider I encountered recently:

It's become an all-too-familiar scenario: as you're riding up the bridge, you're passed by a brakeless track bike rider in the standard "hipster" out-of-the-saddle-with-hands-on-the-bar-tops climbing position. Then, just when you think you've seen the last of him, you get stuck behind him on the downhill as he slowly grinds himself to a halt, weaving and skip-stopping and taking up two lanes of traffic, as pictured above. However, if this bridge crossing were graveled, he'd almost certainly give up his ways after the very first evening spent picking small rocks out of his thigh.
By the way, take a closer look at that frame:

At almost $4,000 for the frame and fork this is the perfect set-up for "killing it" on your urban commute:

We really need more secure bicycle parking in New York City so people can continue to use exotic professional-level racing bicycles as everyday transportation.
In addition to discouraging pedestrians with small-wheeled contraptions and riders on brakeless bicycles with narrow tires, gravel bike lanes would also rid the city of roadies, who lock up their arms and crash at the mere mention of the word. Meanwhile, riders of tank-like Dutch bikes would be largely unaffected by gravel--though I'm not sure that's a good thing. Consider this fashionisto executing the classic crosswalk-to-salmon maneuver:
In fact, the gravel could make Dutch bikes even more popular. This would lead to even more shady street-level Dutch bike dealing, which is already on the rise:

"Back in the day," it was impossible to walk the streets of downtown Manhattan without hearing the constant call of the drug dealer. Now, the whispered entreaties of "Smoke, smoke?" have given way to, "Pssst, wanna buy a Dutch bike?"

(She'll be strung out on "cycle chic" before the Vogue September issue is off the stands.)
It's like "The Wire," only with more espadrilles. By the way, if you're a "cycle chic" addict, you may have noticed that those aren't necessarily Dutch bikes, strictly speaking--which is fitting, since "back in the day" most of that "Wednesday weed" wasn't what they said it was either.

Also, I admit that the ongoing problem of "shoaling" would probably also be relatively unaffected by gravel:


Here is a truly "epic" shoal that formed in front of me recently:

With the exception of the gentleman in the purple shirt (he must be another minimalist, since they love purple), behind whom I duly stopped in accordance with the unwritten rules of society, all of these riders arrived after I did, venturing as far into the intersection as they dared in order to get the coveted Manhattan Bridge holeshot.

I was even repeatedly shoaled recently by a rider on some kind of electric contraption:

I'm not sure what his vocation was, but there's just something about the electric bike, cargo shorts, and plaid backpack that suggests "marijuana delivery person."

At no point, however, was I shoaled by anybody riding a bamboo bike. By the way, according to this video which was forwarded to me by a reader, bamboo is a great material for bicycles as long as you don't get it wet or leave it in the sun:


Watch this video on YouTube

Also, it's apparently "sustainable," even though the stuff bolted to it is no different from the stuff bolted to any other bike made out of any other material. Honestly, while I certainly begrudge no man his woodworking project, in terms of environmental impact I'm not really sure how this is any different than putting wood veneer on your IRO.
Show me a bamboo headset, then I'll be impressed.

(What's with minimalists and long lists?)
Having gorged myself on minimalism to the point of nausea, I have sought to settle my stomach by consuming some professional cycling (which is also the subject of my Wednesday Bonus Blog). Outsized claims, big corporate logos, extravagant bicycles--it's like dining on "comfort food" after days of queasiness-inducing "fusion" cuisine. However, all is not well in the world of colorful lycra, and I was dismayed to learn that Oscar Pereiro will probably miss the Vuelta a España (which is like the Tour de France, only with more vowels) due to a persistent hand injury:

Pereiro, of course, became the winner of the 2006 Tour de France after Floyd Landis was stripped of his title for allegedly placing a testosterone patch in the vicinity of his genitals. Landis subsequently wrote a book entitled "Taint Got Nothing To Hide," in which he proclaimed his innocence, and he also mounted a compelling legal defense in which he claimed that the testosterone spike in his blood sample was the result of his inadvertently brushing up against a shirtless Mario Cipollini at an evening soirée. (Cipollini's natural oils are rich in both hormones and gametes, and the great sprinter has accidentally sired numerous offspring in a similar fashion.) Unfortunately, the defense failed, and thus the record books will forever show Pereiro as the winner. As for Landis, he gave birth to a son in the spring of 2007, and while the paternity tests were inconclusive the child was born fully pubescent with blond highlights and a suntan.
I was genuinely saddened to learn that Pereiro's injury places not only his Vuelta but also his entire career in jeopardy, for the truth is that too many riders take their manual dexterity for granted. Meanwhile, Pereiro's situation is so dire he's running out of medical options and is turning to prayer:

“The Vuelta is pretty much out of the question,” Pereiro told El Faro de Vigo. As a last hope, Pereiro is set to visit the holy shrine at Fátima after conventional treatment failed to resolve the problem.

In this, I have two pieces of advice for Periero. Firstly, it's important to remember that God is a minimalist. Not only did He come up with the original list of 10 things, but He also made that list on a tablet, which is of course the minimalist's medium of choice. So be sure to drop an iPhone or similar offering in the collection plate. Secondly, should Pereiro opt to drive to the holy shrine, he should be sure not to park his car in the bike lane, because checking in with the Lord is no longer a valid excuse:

Not only were parishioners parking in the bike lane, but they were also parking on the sidewalk, as you can see in this video made by blogging crusader Peter Kaufman. I've also been inconvenienced by and taken photographs of these scofflaws, but after a cursory search I was unable to find the pictures in my archives (I suspect the Angry Minimalist in the Sky smote them from my computer), so instead I give you this photograph of Mario Cipollini subcutaneously impregnating three women at a time:

(The immaculate and unctuous conception)
Of course, it's somewhat ironic that a bike lane in Brooklyn Heights was liberated from so-called "God" while just a few miles away in Williamsburg another was sacrificed in "His" name, but the common denominator in both cases is the awesome power of incessant complaining to move mountains, and it's a decidedly worldly lesson that the "kvetch" is truly mightier than the sword . Had Peter Kaufman attempted to rally a bunch of his friends for a naked protest ride like the "hipsters" did, the outcome probably would have been much different. Indeed, by keeping his "sword" in his pants where it belongs, Kaufman managed to emerge triumphant.
Meanwhile, the pen can also be mightier than the sword, but only if you know how to spell:
I encountered this perplexing message on the new Prospect Park West bike lane in Brooklyn recently, and I'm not sure if it's the sincere protest of a moron, the ironic protest of a person who wants to make anti-bike lane people seem like morons, or just a simple case of somebody being frightened off by an approaching cargo bike before they could finish scrawling that final "B."

One wonders if similar messages appear in "Portlandia," the "first loser" of American bike cities according to "Bicycling" magazine, and now (as a reader informs me) the inspiration for an original comedy series:
Rest assured, "Portlandia" will feature the requisite cyclist stereotype character in the form of a "militant bike messenger," though it would be both funnier and more accurate if the character were an aspiring frame builder, since artisanal hand-crafters of bicycles and the people who want to be them outnumber messengers in Portland by something like 450-1. Plus, everybody knows that in Portland soup delivery people are the new bike messengers. According to a recent study, there are now exactly three classes of people in Portland: the people who work at Wieden+Kennedy; the people who deliver soup and coffee to them by bicycle; and the people who build expensive bicycles for all of them. In any case, I fully expect "Portlandia" to be off the air before Sacha White even moves on to the next person on his wait list.
Meanwhile, here in Brooklyn we have the Boneshakers bicycle-themed vegetarian café, where people sit around in silence hoping the objects of their affections will give them cryptic signs involving utensils:

boneshakers brunch girl - m4w
Date: 2010-08-18, 2:09AM EDT

I am too shy to ask you out, and even if you see this and reply, I'll be too shy (probably) to let you know who I am. But watching you elegantly stride around the restaurant wearing high heels and an apron makes my heart jump out of my chest. I know its corny to say, but your smile brightens up the whole day. When I saw you leave one day on the beautiful cinelli track bike that I drool over anyways, I think I fell dumbstruck in love. Someday I hope I get the you-know-whats to ask you out, but until then, I'll just keep watching your smiling face!
(If, by some luck you have an idea who this is and want to go riding or something, let me know by giving me a spoon instead of a fork?)

I very much hope she sees this, if only so that she will decide to confuse him by presenting him with a spork:
It's the most ambiguous of all utensils.

Like many people, when I discover something new and exciting I tend to immerse myself in it, almost to the exclusion of everything else. For example, when I discovered the bold and color-coordinated world of fixed-gear freestyling I spent hours and hours practicing barspinzzz in parking lots, under elevated expressways, and on municipal property. Also, I just found out that George Michael was in this underground industrial band back in the 80s, and since then I haven't listened to anything else. Similarly, now that my eyes have been opened to The New Minimalism (not all the way opened, mind you; we minimalists tend to go half-lidded through life) I simply can't get enough of it. I'm now convinced that adopting a fashionably minimalist lifestyle is the key to enlightenment, and fortunately for me, there's paradoxically tons of minimalism out there.
By the way, minimalists should not be confused with "Manimalists," which are of course obsessive fans of the TV show "Manimal:"


Anyway,, my newly-adopted minimalist siblings have been criticized for, among other things, really just being a bunch of rich people with a penchant for Apple products. This couldn't be further from the truth. Consider this post from minimalist blog "mnmlist," which explains that "minimalism isn't just for the affluent:"
First of all, if you didn't figure it out from the above, if you're not "middle class or above" I regret to inform you that, yes, you're poor. This means that, even if you've been living happily and getting along fine despite occupying that income bracket just below what some sociologists and economists variously and somewhat arbitrarily call the "middle class," then you are now poor and should begin acting accordingly. An essential tenet of minimalism is having an overly simplistic worldview, so for the convenience of all minimalists if you're poor please turn to a life of crime and pack your government-subsidized home with lots of unnecessary crap immediately.
If you're still not sure of your class, here's a quick checklist you can use to see if you indeed fit the minimalist definition of "poor:"
1) You own a computer marketed by a company other than Apple;2) You own a cellular telephone marketed by a company other than Apple;3) You don't feel the need to turn what you do with your disposable income into a philosophy because you don't have any disposable income;4) You live someplace other than New York City or San Francisco.
In any case, once you've started acting like the poor person you are, you can then begin to redeem yourself and experience the joys of minimalism by following these simple instructions:

Eliminating unnecessary possessions also means you’ll need a smaller home, which will save on rent and heating/cooling. Buying fewer things means less debt. Spending time with loved ones or doing things you love means you spend less. All of these things are good whether you’re wealthy or not.

It’s true that the poor are often thought of as not having the luxury of even thinking about simplifying, or minimalism. They’re too worried about putting food on the table, or where the rent is coming from, or how to avoid creditors until the next paycheck. And there’s a lot of truth in that. But it doesn’t have to be true: anyone can pause, breathe, and decide to live differently.

Say what you will about minimalists, but if it wasn't for them who would tell the poor people of the world that they should live in smaller homes and buy fewer things? And can you believe that some poor people don't even think about how they can simplify their lives? What's with that anyway? The poor are so self-involved! Consider the people who live in these houses in Africa:

Do they really need all that thatching? Isn't it a bit excessive? They should really consider more minimalist roofing options. Why can't those three families just become minimalists, stop wasting thatching, and start sharing a single home like this?

Not only is it minimalist, but it's also "green," so those poor people can finally start helping us to "save the Earth."
Or what about these people in the Amazon?

(Is this boat really necessary?)
I bet that big house is cluttered with nets, blow guns, and bows and arrows. Can't they just downsize to something more elegant and "sustainable," give all their hunting equipment away on Craigslist, and consolidate by buying the new Apple iSpear? Seriously, if they can only count up to five then why do they need so much stuff?
If only poor people would put more thought into their lifestyle, the world would be a better and more minimalist place. Meanwhile, while poor people are frittering their lives away by working to feed themselves and their families, minimalists are reaching levels of self-denial that would amaze even the most devout yogi. Believe it or not, some of them aren't even buying iPads:

Just think about that while you're slurping thin gruel in your straw hovel.
Of course, a key component of minimalism is the bicycle, and almost all minimalists either own one or plan to own one. However, don't confuse this with actually riding the bicycle, for in the minimalist universe bicycle ownership is less about riding the bicycle and more about bragging about not using a car. Consider the author of the "mnmlist" blog, who recently moved to San Francisco and went "car-free:"

We’ve gone car-free, which is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. It’s almost impossible to do on Guam, for many reasons, though we did manage to go car-lite while we were there. Today, we walk and take transit everywhere, and it’s easy. We plan to get bikes soon.

Like Manhattan, San Francisco is one of those places where in many ways it's actually more difficult to own a car than not to own one. In this sense, bragging about being "car-free" in San Francisco is kind of like bragging about being "goose down parka-free" in Miami. Meanwhile, the "mnmlist" couldn't be "car-free" in Guam (instead opting to be "car-lite," which I guess means he didn't drive to the bathroom), which is a tropical island of only 209 square miles:

Even the most feeble "fixter" could probably cover the entire island on an IRO in a couple of days. You'd think in the interest of minimalism he could have at least traded his car for a scooter.
Meanwhile, as it happens, a number of readers have informed me that the BBC ran an article about minimalism yesterday:
The article profiles minimalists like Kelly Sutton:

By now, the "minimalist" pattern should be familiar: a person who lives in a trendy neighborhood with thousands of dollars of designer electronics renounces a bunch of stuff nobody uses anymore anyway. He also has a website, on which he says it's impossible to own nothing, even though it's entirely possible:

Then he lists his many possessions and reveals that he's getting rid of everything that's not expensive, trendy, or both:
He has sold his Fuji track bike and accessories, though, which could indicate that either his minimalism is about to reach the next level of austerity--or, more likely, he's about to buy a Mini Cooper. You'll notice he's also sold all the books about sex and marriage, having finally come to terms with the fact that he'll never get "laid" again.
Meanwhile, the other guy in the article is a professional couch-surfer:

"Back in the day," this form of minimalism used to be known as "freeloading." He's also only just realizing things about records that the rest of the world figured out in like 1986:
"Things like records snap and wear down over time. It's upsetting."

Though it is worth noting that records tend to last quite a lot longer when you have a home instead of a backpack.
Speaking of minimalism, I recently took delivery of a non-minimalist bicycle for testing:

It is an Electra Ticino 8D, and here is what it looks like when it is assembled:
I will share with you my impressions of this bicycle once I've spent some time with it, but my first ride was a "comfy" one, and I felt like an utter dandy despite my slovenly attire:
In the meantime, should you see me "palping" this genteel bicycle about town, please feel free to greet me in the traditional "minimalist" manner:
(Minimalists greet each other by holding aloft their iPhones.)
One thing I will say about the Ticino is that it provides for a rather upright riding position--though not quite as upright as an ElliptiGO, as photographed by "Daddo One:"

I wish the minimalists would move on to these and leave bicycles alone.

Ever since discovering The New Minimalism last week I've been taking inventory of my life, both literally and metaphorically, and I've come to the realization that I am indeed in thrall to my own possessions. Do I really need that climate-controlled penguin habitat? When was the last time I actually used that sausage maker? Is it worth employing a live-in massage therapist when I actually have a deep-rooted phobia of human touch of which my live-in psychotherapist has as yet been unable to cure me?
Alas, these are simply things that "society" and "commercials" and "the system" and "Wall Street" and "Madison Avenue" have duped me into thinking I need, and in reading the "Far Beyond the Stars" blog I've finally been awakened to the fact that I'm merely a slave to those insidiously catchy sausage maker jingles with which we are eternally barraged. I've also learned that it's important to be mobile, and that I've actually been foolish to pack up and fly with my climate-controlled penguin habitat every time I leave town. Instead, I should be like the "Buddhists:"
Oh, those wily Buddhists. Oh, those stupid Americans. "Can you imagine what it would be like to simply fly from New York to Chicago with just a satchel bag?" Actually, yes. It's only like a three hour flight. In fact, I can't really imagine flying from New York to Chicago with more than just a "satchel bag," and I'm sure many business travelers feel the same way. (By the way, a satchel is a bag--for a minimalist he really likes to waste words. Calling a satchel a "satchel bag" is like calling a bike a "bicycle cycle.") However, I can imagine traveling without "a laptop bag with a couple of books in it." I thought this guy had an iPhone. Doesn't he realize you can read books on them now?
Anyway, after berating his fellow travelers the minimalist asks this question:

1, What would you bring with you, if you had to leave now?

Say in a hypothetical situation you wanted or needed to leave your house at this exact moment. What would you bring with you? You have to go right now! There’s no time to sit around and mull over the decision.
Holy crap! Right now?!? What's going on? Are we being attacked by terrorists again? Is the building on fire? Have the penguins escaped? Actually, I know exactly what I'd bring in any of these situations:
Nothing.
I'd just "GTFO," as they say in Internet parlance.
Clearly, though, I've got a lot to learn about minimalism. Actually, in the event of terrorist attack, conflagration, or stampeding penguins, you should bring the following with you when you flee:
Here’s my list:
5 shirts, 5 underwear, 5 pairs of socks, 1 pair of jeans. Suitable jacket for overnight weather at my destination. iPhone, iphone charger. Moleskin. Cash, credit cards, and ID.
The "moleskin" is especially important. Penguins, as everybody knows, are deathly afraid of moles, so disguising yourself as one by donning a moleskin is a highly effective means of self-preservation in case of penguin attack.
Of course, if it's really urgent--like, if the penguins also have rabies--you should bring even more crap:
If it was an emergency: sleeping bag, tent, any food available in my area, water bottle.
I can't believe he left out the duct tape.
Oh, and if the situation is less urgent--like the terrorists are attacking, but in sort of a "half-assed" fashion and not so violently that there will be a disruption in Internet service--you can bring a laptop:

Less urgent situations: I’d bring my laptop.
He also adds the following:

Obviously this is a rather small list, but I actually don’t own many more things than this.
Actually, he does. We know he has 57 things (not counting the stuff he shares with his partner), and he's only listed like 10-25 things here, depending on how you count and how serious the emergency is. So, at most, this isn't even half of what he owns.
Still, this doesn't change the fact that it's important to be prepared, and he presents us with the following exercise:
Think about what you would bring with you, if you had to leave now. Make a list. Maybe even pack a bag and see how heavy it would be. Consider if you had to walk 50-100 miles with that bag. Does it still seem doable?

After thinking for approximately a half a second, I made the following list:
Actually, I dictated the list to my helper monkey, Vito, whose penmanship is improving considerably thanks to the journal he's been keeping. (He carries a Moleskine notebook at all times.) In any case, it definitely seems "doable," and when the Penguin Apocalypse begins and I run past some guy who's carrying a week's worth of clothing, a suitable jacket for the weather at his destination, a sleeping bag, and a tent--while simultaneously making notes in his "moleskin" notebook and checking his iPhone for the signal that no longer exists--I'll be sure to thank him for all the great advice.

But what if you decide to flee the Four Penguins of the Apocalypse by bicycle? What sort of bicycle would you bring, and how much stuff would you carry? Well, if you're these two, you'd just bring a couple of brakeless "fixies," a couple of messenger bags, and a whole lotta love:

A reader recently alerted me to this couple's journey, and they are the latest fixed-gear riders to heed the call of the open road but to ignore the call of practicality by not using things like brakes, derailleurs, panniers, or even water bottle cages:

Though in a surreptitious nod to hydration one of them does use "butt rockets," the favorite accessory of both the Nü-Fred and the "tri geek:"


Together, they're elephant trunk skidding their way across the American Southwest:
When you consider those guys who went to the pyramids, and those other guys who went to Japan, and now "American Fixed Gear," as well as all the other ill-prepared "fixie" riders who have "lit out" in search of meaning and sore knees, it's clear we're close to a moment in which every single fixed-gear rider in the world will be on a journey of some kind. At that time, the "hipster ghettos" of all the world's cities will be empty, leaving their lofts and artisanal boutiques unguarded and vulnerable to looting and plunder. The masses will rise up and seize any Apple products or similar "minimalist" commodities they may have left behind, the "minimalists" will become the hunted, and the penguins will roam free.
Speaking of minimalism, another reader forwarded me this grotesque example of conspicuous minimalist consumption:
The builders call it a "nice little commuter," and it is indeed a perfect commuter if you need to ride to your job as an animated extra in a Japanese cartoon, or you're competing in an Ironyman--which is of course the "hipster" equivalent of an Ironman. (Ironman finishers get this; Ironyman finishers get this.)

Really, sometimes it seems like the only true minimalist is Mario Cipollini, who doesn't even wear a jersey when he rides:


"Cycle smarm" is the new "cycle chic."

("But, can it core a apple?")
Firstly, I'm pleased to announce that last night's BRA at the Rapha Cycle Club was a success, inasmuch as nobody assaulted me or, at least to my knowledge, sabotaged the espresso machine. I failed to take any photographs of the evening since I was too preoccupied with administering my hastily-prepared PowerPoint presentation, but here's a picture from the Rapha Cycle Club's Twitter which captures me in mid-"douche-clamation point:"

Alas, words and even photographs are insufficient to convey the intoxicating sensation of standing amid all those overpriced jerseys and making a complete douche of oneself. Thanks to the Rapha Cycle Club for having me, and thanks to all who came for indulging me.
Speaking of capturing things in photos, a number of people have informed me that New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones has been featured in the New York Times for the boring pictures he takes with his minimalist-approved iPhone:
Some people have role models in life, but I find it much more inspiring and motivating to focus on people who deeply annoy me, for it is only by confronting and exploring that which we dislike that we can truly learn who we really are. For this reason, I was glad to learn that, beyond writing irritating music reviews, my favorite anti-role model Frere-Jones works in other media as well. I was also not surprised to learn that Frere-Jones's photography is of the "Ooh, isn't that blighted building or rust stain interesting?" variety, nor was I disappointed (by which I mean I was tremendously disappointed). By the way, apparently Frere-Jones doesn't take photographs so much as he frames things that he sees:

I'm not sure what the difference is, but then again I didn't go to Bard College and tend to betray my lack of education by simply calling things what they are. For example, I've foolishly been telling people I "wrote a book," when I should really be telling them I don't so much write books as I "put covers around words.")
I wonder how many of Frere-Jones's Twitter followers are also interested in him for the sole reason that they are bothered by his work:

As far as the claim that his "tweets" rise to the level of poetry, I'll defer to the Bard graduates out there on that one:

"We Need More Rap Box Sets" is sure to become the "Leaves of Grass" of the 21st century.
Having sufficiently annoyed myself, 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 a commercial.
Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and remember: it's not so much a weekend as it is a couple of days framed by a pair of work weeks.

--BSNYC/RTMS




1) How many purple tank tops does "minimalist" Everett Bogue own?
--Zero--One--Two--Fifty-Seven




2) The man pictured above purchased this bicycle at a yard sale for $5. To which professional racer did the bike formerly belong?
--Cadel Evans--Julien Absalon--Levi Leipheimer--Floyd Landis




3) What is Mario Cipollini thinking about?
--His new line of bicycles--Riding shirtless--"Lady parts"--All of the above
(video via Stevil/AHTBM)



4) Vino is:
--Back--Self-referential--Bereft of eyebrows--All of the above
(image via Lucho/Cyclinginquisition)



(Rodney "The No Hand King" Hines, the Lone Wolf of the East Coast, poses with his fleet of bicycles)
5) How does Rodney "The No Hand King" Hines train for his famously "epic" 100-mile no-handed wheelies?


--By riding a bicycle with no front wheel
--By riding a unicycle
--Hill repeats
--Pilates






6) Champagne is the new PBR.

--True
--False




(Your next what?)
7) Subdermal derailleurs are the new knuckle tattoo.
--True--False

***Special Bicycle Messenger-Themed Bonus Question***


Bicycle messenger Malcolm Woodcock has 28 days to become a:
--Polo player--Fox hunter--Cricket player--Living cliché

As you're probably tired of hearing by now, this evening at 6:30 I will be visiting the Rapha Cycle Club in the Bowery, which is a once-gritty and now "douchey" area in Manhattan. Once there, I will display images loosely connected to the theme of "epic." I will also give away a few t-shirts and other random items I have in my home (who wants the toilet plunger?), probably by "curating" a game of "Rapha Price Is Right" in which people must guess how outrageously priced certain Rapha garments are. There will also be copies of my Pulitzer Prize-winning book available. I'll also add that, if you're considering attending but are unsure, there is some rain in the forecast for this evening, and that means your ride to the Rapha Cycle Club will automatically be "epic:"


Also, if you want to make your ride even more "epic," I recommend following these directions:

If you leave now you should arrive by the end of the month.
Speaking of "epic," in researching the theme I discovered an exciting and new (at least to me) form of smugness. Apparently, there is a movement of people who advocate and brag about living a "minimalist lifestyle," and this minimalism is supposedly the key to making your life "more epic:"

At first glance, I thought that perhaps these minimalists might be on to something. I certainly believe that, for the most part, we have way too much stuff, and I also don't think it's a stretch to say that "we've been duped into buying things by an advertisement-dominated society for the last 50 years." However, as I continued to read I grew increasingly suspicious. As you can see from the title of the above post, the author only has 57 things. Here is the list of those things:

Here’s my list of 57 things:

MacBook Pro
Macbook cleaning cloth
iPhone 4
iPhone earbuds
Black Yoga Mat
Moleskin notebook
Pen to write in moleskin notebook
Surly Steamroller Fixie
Helmet
Bike lock
Frye Boots
Belt
Gray Converse Allstars
Tom’s Shoes
REI two-person backpacking tent
Sleeping bag
Gray hoodie
Wind breaker
Sunglasses
Army jacket
Tweed jacket
Black heavier jacket
Gray backpack
Black Diamond Gray Backpacking bag
Jeans
Jeans
Cutoff old jeans
Purple tank
Purple tank
Gray tank
Gray long-sleeve sweatshirt
Gray long-sleeve T
Coffee tank
Gray v-neck
Gray v-neck
Black v-neck
Blue v-neck
Purple T
Gray T
Gray T
Black T
Toothbrush
Deodorant
Swim Trunks
Keys to apartment + bike lock
Minimalist “wallet” (really just a paper clamp that I keep my cards and cash in)
Gray sweatpants
Brown sweatpants
Brown button cowboy shirt
Gray button-down
Socks (about 10 pairs)
Underwear (about 10 pairs)
Sewing repair kit for clothes
Travel towel
Knit hat that Alix made me
1 TB harddrive
500 Gb harddrive (looking into cloud backup options)

My first thought after reading this was, "Wow, minimalist or not, that's a lot of crap!" Indeed, I immediately spotted a number of items that could be pruned from this bloated list. For example, do you really need a MacBook Pro and a MacBook cleaning cloth? I mean, there's nothing wrong with taking care of an expensive computer, but if you're going to be a minimalist couldn't you just wipe it off with your shirt or something? And speaking of shirts, the author has two purple tank tops. I would argue that simply owning one single purple tank top is grossly excessive, let alone having a second one to wear while the first one is in the wash. Just lose the cloth and the extra tank top and you're already down to 55 things. Plus, honestly, does a minimalist really need deodorant? The only reason to wear deodorant is for other people, and I can't imagine many people are trying to get too close a guy who walks around in sweatpants, Frye boots, and a purple tank top. Where I live, when you see that you cross the street.
Also, why does he count keys as a separate item (arguably the key is part of the bike lock just as much as the keys are a part of the computer) yet counts his ten pairs of underpants as a single item? Why does a minimalist even need underpants? If Iggy Pop can live as long as he has without wearing underpants, then so can a minimalist. As far as I can tell, this whole "minimalist" thing is really about rationalization. Consider this "disclaimer:"

It would appear from this that he lives with someone called Alix, and between them they share the usual kitchen and furniture items as well as "a blender/food processor which is decidedly un-minimalist," but which he rationalizes by saying it facilitates minimalist breakfasts. Now, if you live with someone who has a bunch of stuff, and you use that stuff, at best that makes you the same as everyone else in this country who has a bunch of stuff, or at worst it makes you a freeloader. It does not make you a minimalist. That's like saying you're a vegetarian even though you're always taking bites of your boyfriend or girlfriend's hamburger.
In fact, most people in a relationship would probably agree that, if in addition to all the items you share with your spouse, life partner, or significant other you also have 57 things that are entirely your own, then you've got what professional organizers call "a lot of shit."
Of course, true minimalism has nothing to do with keeping low inventory--it has to do with your attitude towards the stuff you have. While I might have more than 57 things (I never bothered to count), I have a pretty simple view of all of it. Here's a list of all the stuff I own and share as I see it:
--Shit I Need--Shit I Play With
The only way I could make my life any simpler would be to get rid of the shit I play with, but in a lot of cases I also play with the shit I need (computers, bikes, and "pants yabbies" come to mind), so in a way it would be impossible, and in any case things are so simple already there would really be no point.
It's hardly surprising though that minimalism would become the latest form of conspicuous consumption, living as we do in the age of the overpriced fixed-gear and the designer ax(e). Plus, there are a whole lot of people in the world living with a lot less than 57 things because, well, that's just how it is. At the very least, if you're going to be a minimalist, then go all the way. I realize this guy is a blogger and "needs" a computer, but if his only possession was a Snuggie and he preached his minimalist doctrine on a little hill someplace Jesus style then I might be impressed. Really, even the Snuggie would technically be more than he needs, since a true minimalist would have nothing. Until then, he's just a tech geek with a Costanza-esque wardrobe.
And what about that Steamroller he owns? I notice he doesn't list a pump, or a patch kit, or chain lube, all of which I'd argue are necessary if you own a bicycle. I guess you can go to the gas station or the bike shop when you need air, and I guess you can "borrow" things like patches and lube from people when you need them, but at what point is the effort involved ultimately less simple than simply having the stuff? This bike is "minimalist" at the expense of practicality:

Whereas this behemoth, while arguably bloated, might also arguably make your life simpler:

Either way, between fixed-gears and futuristic "concept bikes" the Forces of Minimalism are compelled towards cycling like the the moth to the coconut. (Moths love coconuts even more than they love flames.) Consider this minimalist frame design that was forwarded to me by a reader:
Not only is it minimalist, but it's also "green" because it uses fewer welds (Earth, thou art saved)--though that's still more than it would require if it were never made at all, which it probably shouldn't be considering the fact that you can't even adjust the seatpost:

Anyway, everybody knows the real "green" frame material of choice is bamboo--ask the New York Times:

But don't ask an actual rider of a bamboo bicycle. This one seemed annoyed when I asked about his awhile back:
I can't really blame him though. I am pretty annoying.
But regardless of what smug manufacturing process is currently in vogue, the minimalist lifestyle seems to be gaining traction--though it's not because of their shoes. In fact, a reader in Philadelphia recently spotted this person cycling without them:

("Cycle Chic" goes barefoot.)
I guess shoeless is the new clipless.

First of all, I'm pleased to announce that my ruthless publisher Chronicle, an evil conglomerate of San Francisco hippies, have finally received newly-printed copies of my book "Bike Snob," which, unlike "Positively False" author Floyd Landis, I wrote all by myself without a ghost writer or anything. This means that gooey batches of oven-fresh literary goodness are on their way to the various purveyors of books both online and off, and that you can finally read a book in which "sarcasm takes precedence over actual thinking." (This according to some "bicycling almanac" called "Boneshaker," which is so pretentious that they actually think calling my book "sarcastic" is an insult. I'm looking forward to their upcoming carbon time trial bike round-up called "Missing the Point," in which they denounce them all because "speed takes precedence over grocery hauling.")

Of course, if you want a book you can also get one at my BRA tomorrow night at 6:30, which as I mentioned on Friday will place at the Rapha Cycle Club. Rest assured that I will insult Rapha even as they play host to me, and that I will also give away t-shirts and other items. I will also present some sort of slideshow loosely organized around the theme of the "epic." In fact, I briefly considered turning the event into an "epic burrito story" open mic night ("epic burrito stories" are the "beat poetry" of the 21st century), and if you have such a story I encourage you to take the stage and tell it. You can also test ride my Surly Big Dummy if you leave a substantial cash deposit.
In any case, I hope to see you there tomorrow night, and if you need cycling directions you can always consult a popular search engine. If you're wondering how accurate these directions are, the New York Times has endeavored to find out:
I only read this article because I'm quoted in it (I get my news from Hot Chicks With Douchebags), but I was alarmed to find that the writer was not only encouraged to "salmon" by the popular search engine's mapping function, but that "it steered [him] away from the rough parts of Bedford Stuyvesant."
The fact that the popular search engine would avoid an area it deems "rough" is doubly alarming to me, and seems to be even more evidence of a far-reaching cycling-based "douche-spiracy." Consider also that when the New York Post tested the mapping function it sent their hapless reporter directly into the maw of bloodthirsty, bicycle-hating Hasidic Jews. Clearly this sort of neighborhood "curating" on the popular search engine's part is proof that we have entered a new and disturbing age of online cultural gerrymandering designed specifically to manipulate and control "hipsters." I've long suspected this, and to test it I asked the popular search engine to give my cycling directions between two non-hipster locations: Harlem and Bedford Stuyvesant. Sure enough, it simply advised me to ride around and around McCarren Park in Williamsburg instead:
While this may seem obvious, it's positively subtle compared to the results I got two weeks ago:

In any case, it's clear that the popular search engine intends to corral bicycle-mad "hipsters" who don't know their way around their adopted cities into "gentrified" ghettos by providing inaccurate directions, thus limiting their exposure to the outside world. Those who exhibit "tech skillz" will be forced to toil in the popular search engine's delightfully M&M-colored labor "campus," and the rest will be ground into tasty and delicious "Soylent Douche."
Speaking of "salmoning," video of what can only be the World's Dumbest Bike Messenger recently surfaced. In it, the messenger is filming himself while riding the wrong way on a busy street, at which point he hits and knocks down a man in a suit. Astonishingly, the man in the suit expresses concern for the messenger, who responds in mind-bendingly douche-tastic fashion by berating him for not using a crosswalk. Subsequent to being uploaded, the video went more viral than a sex worker's "naughty components," at which point the messenger deleted it in what I can only imagine is shame, but you can still see the victim here:
(Video now deleted. New link here via a helpful commenter!)
And here is the messenger and his friend, as shown in one of his other videos, which indicates he is also an aspiring ("aspiring" in this case means "in the process of failing") musician:

As the bicycle courier industry breathes its last breaths, it seems that "street smarts" are finally giving way to online mapping, and the few remaining messengers are delusional stars in feature films of the ego that they don't realize are slapstick comedies until they actually upload them and the public at large informs them they're idiots.
Speaking of which, I suspect the upcoming film "Premium Rush" is shaping up to be unintentional slapstick comedy as well. Yesterday, I posted this picture of a Parlee road bike on the set and speculated as to its purpose:

Well, another reader informs me that it actually belongs to an "evil messenger" character and even managed to photograph the "evil messenger" having trouble with his diabolically recalcitrant clipless pedals:
If the crabon Parlee wasn't enough of a clue that this messenger is evil, then his left bicep should be a dead giveaway:

I'm not sure what's actually in the bicep holder, but I suppose it's the iPhone he uses to find his way around the city.
Meanwhile, in "real life," another reader informs me that an enterprising group of people who probably didn't land jobs at a popular search engine are planning to create an independent New York City bike-sharing program:
Apparently, you'll be able to find a bike with your popular brand of smartphone. The bikes will be locked at bike racks all over the city, which means they should all be stolen in a matter of days. Here's a charmingly naive video that explains the whole thing:

The Social Bicycle System from Ryan Rzepecki on Vimeo.

Notice, by the way, that he can deliver his entire speech while standing in the bike lane without encountering a single cyclist:

I guess they're all too busy riding circles around McCarren Park.