The Daily Musette

Bogging Down

2008-05-30T19:24:00.001-07:00

If the following clip portends anything relating to the apocalype, then the world is ending soon. Very soon. In fact, it seems the Mayans were about 4 years short, but I guess it's still within an acceptable margin of error.

Now, don't get the wrong idea here people. Regardless of your reading habits, I am not a casual, low-brow visitor to OMG!, but my job does require a certain knowledge of celebrity attire, panache and lifestyle. A recent excursion revealed this little gem, one of the most hideous photo sets in the history of the "red carpet." There's not a single attractive human in the group, and I say this in fear you'll come to know me as the supericial and shallow twit I am. My favorite photo not only reveals an embarassingly forlorn Olsen twin attempting the job-hunting, rehabbed-coke-head-single-mother look, but also a panoply of janitorial supplies in the lower-left background.

Also, I'm not a Sex in the City hater. I think the show *is* trashy and cheap like its stars, but even its ardent supporters would agree with that statement. I guess there is something to be said for its importance to the women's liberation movement, these women are powerful and on the move!, but they still see the world as filtered through the men in their lives. Then again, the show is called Sex in the City, so what the fuck am I talking about! It's T-R-A-S-H-Y, and that's why people love it. Or at least they used to love it, back in the early two thousands, which was not that recent.

So, don't worry about going home after a long day at work. Just VoIP or Blackberry some of your gal pals at 4:45 PM and meet up at the shopping mall mini-plex to wash down some red vines and popcorn with a Diet Sprite. Fun!

One more Sifl and Olly:

Actually, two more.

Three more.

Four more.

Life at 55 m.p.h.

2008-05-11T22:25:00.000-07:00

I drive 55 mph on the freeway and I refuse to go faster regardless of the "posted" maximum speed. This does not make me a popular driver here in SF but I'm not trying to get anybody's vote.

If you have never done this in a major city it's a fun time. Every vehicle, and I mean everything from school buses to tractor trailers, will pass you. It's like the world was meant to just go around and you get to watch the carnage unfold while listening to your favorite music. Don't worry about guns and road rage. Just stay in the slow lane like me.

People might say I'm just petty or mean spirited. True. But more importantly, I am possessed of a deep-seated contempt for mankind, or at least that's what my shrink says and I concur. So, next time you're driving, give it a try.

Also, you'll have the added benefits of: 1) no speeding tickets; 2) well-honed merging skills; and 3) increased fuel efficiency. Honestly people, don't fucking bitch about high gas prices if you refuse to take your foot of the GAS pedal. Slow the fuck down and you'll save some money.

I sometimes feel like this.

Fuck Bikes. I'm Changing This Blog.

2008-05-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not promising anything here people. But I will say this--I am no longer going to limit my fertile and devious imagination to the confines of bikedom.

On that note, let's take a trip to one of my favorite fantasy lands.

Maybe I'll post more often than, say, every three months. What a lazy little shit I am.

On a serious note, I'm reading Iris Murdoch's first novel Under the Net, which somehow combines the aesthetics of both, strangely enough, Aeschylus and P.G. Wodehouse. Also, I am 7/8 of the way through Thornton Wilder's Bridge of San Luis Rey.

One more for old time's sake.

How Very Perceptive of You, Senor

2008-02-13T01:01:00.000-08:00

These days, I've got a lot more time to contemplate my life whilst riding, as my ridiculous bike permits an aforementioned top speed of just 11 mph. Yet, as all who know me may suspect, I have eschewed this newfound intellectual liberation and instead continued my downward spiral to a cesspool of incessant mockery.

Conversely, much like Palahniuk's penguin, I've been simultaneously wrapped in a blanket of tranquility, floating my way through an ever-growing sea of fakengers, meth addicts, europhilic degenerates, and hobos on 1993 Diamond Back Ascent EXs.

And, plumbing the depths of my soul in quiet repose at home, I've found the wellspring of my existence, my raison d'etre. Do yourself a favor and follow this link. Please.

And then: this masterpiece of modern american cinema.

I love people. I hate people. I love people. I hate people.

Even Hell Has Its Heroes

2008-01-29T09:25:00.000-08:00

Since the clamoring from my adoring fans has become well nigh to incessant, I figure its time to post. Problem is this: it has rained here in SF for what seems like 2 or 3 weeks straight, and my bike stands watch like some forlorn sentinel. More importantly, my ass grows a millimeter or two fatter every day.

Long gone are the days of getting out there in the pouring rain just to squeak in a few miles. However, there are plenty of people who will. So..what do you say we take a little foray into the senseless world of training in foul weather?

First off, I hereby exclude all professional cyclists from this post. If it's your job, then by all means, do whatever you have to do. But, if you're a 33-year-old Cat.3 racer (for those who do not race, amateur categories are graded from 5 to 1, 5 being beginner, 3 intermediate and 1 elite), then please pay attention. I also exclude the legions of people who use a bike as their sole form of transportation. No bus fare? I gotcha..ride on Ms. Thang, just tuck your thong back into those Jordache.

Otherwise, don't say I didn't warn you. People die in this sort of weather. People crash in this sort of weather. On days like this, idiots break their ulna, fracture their clavicle, splinter their fibula, crack a couple metatarsals, break open their nose and chip teeth. People crash into signposts, ride into ditches, fall into traffic, hit their heads on curbs, get crushed like a cardboard box beneath the wheels of a Kia Sportiva.

I don't intend to be mean. I don't mean to be flippant. And by no means am I a fear monger. I have ridden my bike countless times in the rain. I have ridden in the rain in tapered, acid-washed 501s with no fenders during a rainstorm that can be classified as nothing other than a maelstrom. I have been run off the road into ditches by old ladies in VW bugs. But the fact remains, trees fall on people during high wind and rain is not so good for your track bike. Get some damn brakes!

You'll Never Guess What I Saw Last Night...

2008-01-09T09:25:00.000-08:00

An idiot on a track bike!

Walking down Oak St. between Masonic and Central at 9 PM I hear the distinctive whirring of a bad chain line coming up behind me.

I turn, look, and in the vast night air I'm able to squeak out the visage of a lone fixed-gear freestylist (BSNYC) careening down the street.

Dressed in all black with nary a blinkie or other light source, this maverick rode not through the panhandle with its extensive network of bike paths, but instead in the center lane of Oak. For those who do not live here, Oak St. is essentially a three-lane freeway running alongside the Panhandle park.

Anyhow, heavy, three-lane traffic is coming up behind this nutmunch, yet this brave soul did not wander from his straight, true, narrow and incredibly stupid course.

I'm heading out in about ten minutes, and I'll keep you posted on the roadkill situation. By this point, probably all that's left is an empty, hardly used messenger bag, a Kryptonite chain lock, and a dopey cycling cap.

We all like SWAG!

My New Bike

2008-01-03T23:08:00.000-08:00

Will remain a single speed for now.

Of course you, dear reader, might be asking yourself, "Why? Why would such a perfectly reasonable, sane, and handsome young man keep such a devilish beast as a single speed 29er when he had heretofore made such bold proclamations to the contrary?"

My answer: I have no money for such endeavors, or endeavours if you must. Sure, I wrote in my last entry that I was trying to scrape together cash for parts, but my bank account suddenly developed a scaldingly horrific case of genital warts.

Boy howdy, I ain't goin' near that thing for a long while!

Honestly though, I'm kinda liking the experience, and maybe this is just a great excuse to simplify a little. Yeah...right.

Nevetheless, I've learned some humility from riding the SE Stout. Foremost among these: my top speed, on flat land, is approximately 11 miles per hour. In other words, any speed freak on a BMX en route to her/his connection (usually a her, with numerous purses and duffel bags oddly attached) can pass me at will.

The indignity of it all.

Still, I'm happy just to have the bike. I really am.

Thank you Jesus.

Now I Really Done It!

2008-01-01T20:41:00.000-08:00

I woke up three days ago and found a singlespeed 29er in my dining room, or should we say bike room. I pleaded with the gods to take it back, just take it back, oh please, oh god. My knees! My poor, weak knees!

But they did not listen.

Finally, I went riding. Lo and behold. Fun. I had simple, unadulterated fun. I felt like a little kid on a BMX bike. I rode 8 hours. The gearing is decent enough, and I'm strong enough, that most hills are really no obstacle. It's basically a 39 X 21, which for you old-school roadies should be a familiar ratio (I still have a 42 tooth chainring somewhere in some box in some drawer, don't you?)

Nevertheless, I'm putting a goddamn derailleur, shifters and cassette on the thing ASAP. Why? Let me show by example.

Yesterday I'm gleefully riding through the Panhandle and I look right. Some guy is standing there next to his single speed rigid 29er. He knowingly smiles at me and waves. He waved!

This is not Disneyland. Just because I'm stupid enough to be riding the same sort of bike you are does not mean we are in the same club. I don't want in. In fact I want out. Like yesterday. Unfortunately, I have to scrape up enough money for the bike parts.

All that crap aside, this is a great little bike that I bought. $400 flat gets you an SE Stout. Pine Green. Linear pull brakes. 25 lbs. Suspension corrected with a dished rear wheel and 9 spd cassette freehub. It's basically begging to be turned into a geared bike which I assure you was my intention upon buying it. It's very much like the Santa Cruz Chameleon, only waaay cheaper. And I like cheaper, when cheap is stil good quality.

In the meantime, I'll be shamefully riding it as it is. Afraid to be mixed up with the rest of the peabrained scumbags on track bikes and single speeds, I'll be slinking my way through backstreets. Maybe I'll see you there.

Flunking the Tour of America

2007-12-14T12:11:00.000-08:00

For those who have been following the inception, ineptitude and hilarity that has so far comprised that ray-of-light known as the still-conceptual Tour of America, I direct your attention to a few snippets from this missive lovingly crafted by my colleagues at www.cyclingnews.com:

"Things are moving along really fast," he said [Tour Director Frank Arokiasamy]. "I say that with reservations, because some [things] are slower."

Uhh...not a good start. Which is it? Fast or slow?

Later:

"Arokiasamy also was quick to point out that many people are interested in turning his dream into reality. "People are coming out of the woodwork asking if they can help. We have around 200 volunteers around the country so far, and I'm driving up to Augusta, Georgia, soon to meet with three people."

Wow. Can you imagine the staff during this leg? "People are coming out of the woodwork," he says. Yes. The backwoods woodwork. Are we talking hillbillies and gapers? Can these people hold a directional flag?

Tell me, how desperate for volunteers is this guy? By his own accord, he has 200 people, but he is driving up to meet just 3? Homie, for your information, there are these things called telephones, and there is also this feature called teleconferencing. You don't have to drive there.

200 volunteers! Wow. That's, like, 4 people per state! Now we're getting somewhere.

I do honestly hope this event gets off the ground. And as long as there is a leg through Detroit and Flint, MI, Arokiasamy can count on me.

The Horror of Bike Shops

2007-12-13T23:52:00.000-08:00

You see, now that I've joined the burgeoning ranks of the unemployed, I have time to actually walk into bike shops and check out all the junk I can't buy. "Just kickin the tires," is what I tell the perky salespeople when they pop by and ask me if I want to test ride the new Specialized S-Works Epic. Hell yeah I wanna test ride it, but it would be nothing more than torture, so why bother. I guess I must look like I can afford a bike like that, although I find even this possibility doubtful.

While aimlessly standing around yesterday, I eavesdropped on a conversation between a customer and a couple of guys behind the counter. From this dialogue I learned three things: 1) when a person hits 40, they lose fitness at an incredible rate (according to this clown, if you train 4 weeks and take a week off, you lose all those hard-fought gains); 2)for some unknown reason, a significant percentage of so-called regular bike riders feel a powerful need to impress the peach-fuzzy, minimum wage bike shop employees with their astounding array of cycling and fitness knowledge; 3)all serious cyclists refer to their training and rides as work. As in, "I do all my work in zones 1 and 2." Gag.

I can believe #1 if a person had never thrown a leg over a bike before Lance Armstrong's fifth Tour De France victory, *worked* for three weeks, strained an achilles tendon, watched the Discovery Channel dope heads charge down the Champs Elysses demurely sipping fine champagne, and then resumed cycling only to find it's not as much fun when Lance isn't around.

I have fallen victim to scenario #2 as well, in the beginning. Now, all I really want is for you, dear bike mechanic, to properly cut my cables and housings, as I fucked them up with Vyse-grips in a frenzy to get back out there on the road and *work*.

As for number three, (if you haven't figured it out by now)when I start referring to bike riding and training as work that's when I'll know I need to get my priorities in check. Come on dude. You are 45-ish. You probably have a silver Audi station wagon, a purty little wifey and a trio of kids at home down in Mill Valley. I don't give a crap what crumby little local 1/2 pro you happen to be training with. Either you're born with it or you're not. Fanatically plan your regimented fitness program all you want, but I'll take a ride with my sweet woman over *work* with whatever straggled group of Colnago-riding dorks you happen to wrangle up on Sunday morning after your coffee enema. Just get over it.

Moreover, when was the last time you actually raced in "zone 1" or "zone 2," whatever those are? Fat-ass Chris Carmichael (have you seen his ads lately?) ain't gonna save you on race day when you get dropped.

Since I'm Posting from the San Francisco Public Library

2007-12-11T16:05:00.000-08:00

I'm gonna have to keep this one short. My bike is locked up out front and I'm afraid, regardless of the fact that I have not one but two U-locks on it, that someone is gonna come along and rip off the components.

Also, if anyone has ever set foot in this branch (it shall remain nameless (although it is right off the panhandle for those who live here)), one will know it to be crawling with homeless, ne'er-do-wells, and randomly displaced alchoholics looking for a place to check their myspace account. In other words, it gives me the creeps. Not that I have anything against these people, mind you, it's just that I don't need 'em gurgling, dozing and staring at me.

In fact, I feel vaguely homeless just being here.

Apparently, a select few fixed gear and single speed idiots can get near the GG Bridge, but not very quickly. In fact, there very few things on this earth that can take the perceived style and class out of riding one of these stupid things (not to mention bring me immense pleasure)more than having to pedal up the Arguello hill into the Presidio. Holy 15% grade, mattman, get some gears on that thing before you hurt yourself!

Alas, I'm hoping for a great tidal wave to come and wipe this vermin from the face of the San Francisco. Since they are relegated to the lowlands, they will be washed out into the bay by this great cleansing flow, while those with gears will have safely (and easily) pedalled their way to the highlands.

Adios Vino!

2007-12-10T12:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, you are no longer a professional bike racer. At least you had the common courtesy to bow out, and not come up with some dopey collection of half-witted explanations for your homologous blood transfusion. Nevertheless, you had a certain panache, a daring, eastern-bloc flair seldom seen in today's cycling world. I guess, maybe because of where you were from, you had nothing to lose, and I'll miss that insatiable attacking spirit.

The Indignity of Shopping by Race Bike

2007-12-05T16:11:00.000-08:00

Actually, it is my race bike, my training bike, my commuter and my beater. I have no quiver. I have no stable. Just the six-year old Giant that I have consistently upgraded through the years.

One of these upgrades was a pair of Speedplay pedals. Light, easy on the knees and simple to engage and disengage, these are some of the finer pedals on the market, in my opinion. However, all who own these beauties are well aware of the simple fact that riding in so-called normal shoes is essentially impossible. Thus, anytime I wanna go anywhere (say, to the grocery store) I have to bring a backpack with a pair of shoes. Since I live here in San Francisco, one of the more scandalous U.S. cities, I also have to bring along a pair of U-locks. Now, with my bag half full of crap before I step foot outside my apartment door, I am ready to go.

I pull up to the Safeway with my bag in tow. I lock my bike to the rack (so conscientiously supplied by the dear San Francisco Bicycle Coalition)and lock my front wheel to the frame. I then remember my helmet, and undo one of the locks for its inclusion. Then I realize I still have a seat bag on. I detach that. Then I realize I have a rear light on the seatpost. I remove that. Then I realize I have not one but two water bottles in the cages. I detach those. Then I finally remove my Sidis and put on the Adidas. Now, my backpack really is full, and I am still not shopping.

I'm nearly ready to move away from the bike rack, when some essentially homeless guy on a crapped out 80s Trek mountain bike leisurely sidles up next to me. He looks at my ridiculous predicament, SMIRKS, and then secures his "ride" up with some crumby Topeak wire lock, and goes inside.

What's more, this grocery store is no more than four blocks away, and I only purchased a loaf of sourdough bread, bananas, a chocolate bar, and a quart of organic milk.

This has dealt a serious blow to my self esteem.

I'm Back Baby!

2007-11-29T15:49:00.000-08:00

Back in San Francisco, that is. This time for good, at least for a little while. Recently laid off from my dumpy 9-9 job (corporate work is a life-flogging experience), I now have, at minimum, 12 hours per diem to update The Daily Musette. Actually, it seems to have turned into a biweekly musette, what with all the moving and associated turmoil, but we'll stay optimistic here, especially with my new-found leisure time.

Actually, joining the ranks of the unemployed ain't so bad. At least, it's not so bad right now. I have been afforded ample time to pursue two of my most-favored hobbies. Namely, riding bikes, and mocking both myself and other cyclists. That may be three things, but what's the diff?

Once you make it out of the SF city limits, things calm down considerably. All of the knuckle-dragging fixed-gear freestylists (as Bike Snob NYC might say) have been weeded out by their inability to climb up to the Golden Gate Bridge. It's really a comical thought: As Tool claims, "Shit adds up at the bottom," and truer words were seldom spoken with reference to these fixed-gear asshats. Since they can't climb hills, they are instead relegated to the flatlands, trapped by the inadequacies of their own stupid bicycles to noodling around the Panhandle, select areas of Golden Gate Park, and damaging their knee ligaments anytime they venture beyond their apartment's three-block radius. This is San Francsco. Fog City. Hill Country. Not Austin, or NYC or Los Angeles. Hills = Gears.

Go ahead. Call me a hater. I'll say it again. If you're on a track bike, you'd better be on the track, front brake or not.

Otherwise...I don't know, exactly. At 6'0 158 lbs, I'm not going to come beat you up. And if you have ever watched this clip (and I'm sure you have), you'll have some idea of what my picking a fight with you would look like.

Of course, I could claim to have grown up in the 'hood like I did when I was a kid, but I'm not in middle school anymore, and I'm not trying to impress anybody, 'xcept you.

To be honest, I miss the Southern California weather. For those of you unfamiliar with the SF climate, I'll tell you right now. It's cold. It's cold all the time. In fact, I'm wearing my arm warmers right now. And my apartment has zero insulation and no heat. I feel like I'm living off the grid sometimes, which is okay when I'm pretending to be part of the Fight Club cast. The rest of the time, I'm looking for excuses to leave. At least it's walls shield me from the wind.

Nevertheless, the riding is great, with plenty of open space and terrific scenery. That was one of my main beefs with Orange County. There are all of these fantastic rides and tons of singletrack, but the classic road rides are just stuffed with cars, and when cresting a long, switchbacked climb, one is treated not to the sight of a sweeping canyon wall, or open meadow filled with wildflowers, but instead a vision of the 5 Freeway or some Toll Road jacking the environment.

Don't get me wrong, I drive a car sometimes and I like it. But how about a little forethought, eh? Natural areas are better off when they are not bisected by an interstate highway.

Instead, let's allow a bunch of reckless, G-ride thumping mtbr's to scare the shit out of hikers, white-tailed deer, Acorn woodpeckers, jackrabbits, Greater Roadrunners and joggers when they bomb that fireroad, or better yet, go off trail and erode the hillside.

Anyhow, I'm freezing, and I'm gonna go take a bath.

Prepare Yourself

2007-11-18T20:23:00.000-08:00

I've watched a lot of crappy bike videos on You Tube. Everything from Anquetil, Poulidor and Merckx, to reels of quirky crashes and amateur victories. The latter is well worth the effort. Usually grainy, shaky and laced with inappropriate and needless zooming, we the viewer get to watch a very happy amateur come rolling into a sparsely populated finish line and raise her/his hands in a tentative, almost embarrassed victory salute.

Tied for most-offensive genre in the You Tube world of cycling videos is the homemade descent snippet. A usually medium-length sub-section (as opposed to the lengthy, Trust-but-Verify camp's offerings), here (sound up!) we are not only treated to childish, comical and certainly laughable pre-descent jibber-jabber and man talk, but we are also awed by and envious of the sweet, sweet, pixelated sights captured by the video maker's new Gorillapod. More importantly, we all get to bask in the warmth that is their almost flawless descending style.

However, though entranced by the rush of the wind in our ears, and the thump of our quickening pulse, this Zen-like experience is interrupted by the incessant clatter of his camera against its incredibly flimsy mounting system. With an annoying, plastic chickering, we jar ourselves on down the mountain, as if just another loyal member of this roaming pack of lycra-clad Robin Hoods. We are the Merry Descenders.

Through countless and arduous battles, not to mention my inestimable skill skirting the tempests and fluctuations that comprise the matrix, I have discovered one of the finest clips to have graced the TFT display. In a word: I'm so fucking jealous I can't stand it. Sound up! (After countless, sustained viewings, I've only just begun to appreciate the true beauty of this video's title. Nothing less than genius.)

P.S.

This Is Not a Blog About Idiot Cyclists, Though It May Seem That Way

2007-11-17T16:43:00.000-08:00

I'm not in SF anymore, but I'm sure there are plenty of idiots riding around over there pulling similarly moronic bicycle faux pas. Or, almost.

Imagine, if you will, the following spectacle. Riding her Cannondale in the Presidio, my girlfriend was passed (on her right) by a rider so focused on his course, so engrossed in the navigation of his Trek hybrid, that he failed to vocalize his presence through his labored breathing. Yes, another legionary of the undead, deaf-mute cyclist. No "on your right," no excuse, no nothing 'xcept a waffling, yellow overgarment and a streak of unadulterated cycling energy. As is typical, Laura eventually catches up with this guy ('cos she's plain strong) and sees he has, of course, earphones on. Not the ear bud mind you, but instead those bulbous, gray, whole-ear-covering, back-of-neck, quasi-tiara headphone type.

On the verge of saying something to Mr. Man, she most propitiously looks down, and sees what could very well be considered the purest epitome of the idiot bike rider. Ear Bud? Bad. Bulbous, Earphone Tiara? Worse. Passing on the right? Deadly. Not saying on your right? Inconsiderate and Dangerous. All of the above + getting caught by the rider (Laura) just passed? Sweet, Cycling Revenge! All of the above + looking down and seeing an infant-occupied baby seat strapped to the handlebars? Pricelessly, Painfully, Unbelievably, UNBELIEVABLY bad judgement.

Yes, a headphone-tiara wearing, deaf mute, child-endangering, phenomenally clueless, bicycling douche bag. Stunned, my girlfriend said nothing. She simply rode home and straightaway called me.

So, if ever, dear reader, you hear my bestowing the title of Supreme Primitive upon another two-wheeled assmunch, just remember, that is likely not a mere mortal, but rather a trio posted up on a fiery tandem and baby trailer--Satan, Beezelbub and Saddam Hussein.

Back in San Francisco (Land of the Idiotic Cyclist)

2007-11-11T18:26:00.000-08:00

Just took back the apartment in San Francisco, and though it rained yesterday, today was one of those rare clear and sunny, though still cold, days. While I thought that people in Orange County were clueless when it came to bicycles, I have become reacquainted with the realization that sheer numbers do not equate to bicycle-riding knowledge.

First, I can plainly see why bikesnob NYC has gone so apeshit over what he calls fixed-gear freestylists. These numbnuts are all over the place. Why anybody would want to ride in one of the hilliest, dampest and most-congested cities in the world with no brakes really is beyond my comprehension. Second, there are just so many obviously new cyclists out there that the roads and paths have become littered with flocks of skill-less troglodytes on two wheels. However, I list forthwith my greatest gripe with the clueless (as oppposed to considerate and thoughtful) neophyte.

Nevermind the swerving. Nevermind the annoying enthusiasm. Nevermind bad fashion and substandard bikes and components. Nevermind the the fact that you are sitting on my wheel without even letting me know. If I accidentally slam on my brakes, it's because I did it on purpose.

What I do mind is the obvious fact that so few of these newly acquainted bikers have learned the simplest of road etiquette. It's like they have been rendered dumb and, most importantly, mute by the whirring of their bad chain lines.

First do not pass me on the right cause you have to keep up with your gal pal. Secondly, when you do finally pass, say "on your left." I guess when you have no one to teach you, you have no way of learning. But I have an terrific idea! Do a little research. Not a lot. Just Google it. You can find the link here. But please, don't make me force you in to a ditch because I can hear your ragged, see-through lycra clad carcass sweating your way past me on my right.

iPods Make You Look Like the Moron You Are, not a Pro

2007-11-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

Listen, all I want to do is pass you on your left because you're weaving all over the freaking bike lane. I yell out, "On your left," but as I pass I also look at you for some reason, and I notice the dreaded ear bud--your ride apparently fueled by the sounds of Stevie Wonder.

Now that Walkmans are small enough to fit in a jersey pocket, people apparently think them appropriate to wear on the bike. But listen up--you are putting your life in danger, and more importantly, you are putting my life in danger too.

Like George Carlin asks, is the world really so bad that you have to wear earphones all the time? Take them out and enjoy the world, and maybe you'll be able to hear that death machine coming up behind you before it hits you.

Then there are the people who actually have them taped into their ear, as if their DS is in the car behind them giving them time checks. Really now, you are not fooling anybody.

Also, I'm so tired of people passing and not saying on your left. Please, this is done not only out of common courtesy but also for safety. I might be forced out of my line, by, say, a pothole, and if you are passing unbeknownst to me, I might make you crash. And then you might get hurt. And then I might have to laugh at you.

Shorn Legs

2007-11-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

People come up with all sorts of reasons for shaving their legs, the top two being: (1) ease of massage; and (2) ease of road-rash care.

To point one. Maybe if I were a professional road racer getting daily, post-ride massages by a soigneur someplace in Belgium, it would be more comfortable if my legs were clean shaven. However, I am not in Belgium and I am not a professional road racer. In fact, the only lotion that even touches my legs is sunscreen, and that goes on before the ride, not after. Moreover, I don't get massages. My post-ride recovery consists of attempting to find food in the cupboards, usually settling on pancakes.

To point two. Most leg-shaving proponents use the ease of removing and applying bandages as a prime motivating factor. True, it is less painful to remove adhesive from bald skin, but if it is necessary to shave prior to the injury, and not after like medical teams do, then why don't road racers just go ahead and shave the rest of their bodies as well? At the very minimum, we should all be shaving our arms as well as our legs, as these too are prime places for road rash. But we don't. We just shave the legs.

Don't even get me going on the whole aerodynamics issue. If one wants to be more aero, lose the high-rise stem, slam the seat back, lose the gut and please remove the flapping yellow tarp you call rain gear. There is no need to accessorize your already developmentally disabled "look" via a pair of pale and shorn legs.

Instead, we shave legs for ritual, as a rite of passage, vanity, and most importantly, to be part of the club. And I'm in. Sometimes.

Lance Love Blisters

2007-11-01T15:29:00.001-07:00

I think there are several hilarious points of interest in the whole Lance Armstrong making out with one (or both) of the Olsen twins at The Rose Bar in NYC a couple of nights ago. However, most important is the simple fact that this little adventure into the world of sleazy anorexia (as a calorie-counting bike racer, I’m sure this comes as nothing new to him) has had little impact on my respect for him.

In other words, I already think he is such a loser that his, ummm, intimate encounter with that street-urchin wanna-be comes as no surprise. She looks like some horrible gothic-dwarf. In fact she might very well be the missing link!

I mean, come on already, talk about image suicide. This is just trashy!

Bikes, Cars, and Temper, Temper

2007-10-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

This story has been circulating all over the bike blogs as of late, and it has made me think even more about the relationships between cyclists and cars.

We all have our moments of self-righteous indignation, when we feel that we as cyclists somehow have a greater right to be on the streets that some gas-swilling car. And to some degree, I think that self-righteousness is justified. We are positively contributing to the world by cycling, but that doesn't give us the right to be jerks.

I see cyclists doing really dangerous things all the time--running stop signs, red lights, going the wrong way down a one-way street, riding on the sidewalks, swerving into the car's path--the list is longer, but you know what I mean. We've all seen it, and I for one have performed my share of idiotic stunts, including all of the actions listed above.

Yet, the two main antagonists (cars and bikes) often fail to accommodate each other based out of sheer ignorance, malice and carelessness.

I do drive sometimes, and I have almost doored riders, and had incredibly close calls as I rolled through a stop sign in the old Honda. In other words, I'm guilty on many counts.

You might be wondering what my point is, and honestly, there isn't one. Actually, there is. No matter what you think, whether you're a wanna-be bike messenger on a fixie you can't control, a commuter, a road or mountain bike racer, we are really vulnerable out there, no matter how empowered you might feel. Those massive, powerful and fast-moving lumps of metal can end your life, and it is only your intelligence, bike-handling skills, and awareness keeping you alive, no matter how the law might protect you.

This whole thing has been an elongated form of a post I made on one of my long-time favs, which can be found here.

Cycling Rant: Clothing and Bikes

2007-10-08T21:30:00.000-07:00

Now I know my readers are thinking. "Oh great, another rant about stylish clothing." But no. Not this time. Instead I want to talk about the folks you come across who, for some reason or another, don't just go ahead and buy new shorts every once in a while. Instead they simply roll out their time honored pair of Pearl Izumi bibs that have been washed in the hot cycle about 45 times. Now I have been there, AND I have no problem with Pearl at all. They make good, somewhat pedestrian, clothing. What I don't like is when these old favorites are so thin as to be transparent. Trust me people, riding around in Lycra, no matter how hot you think you might look, is embarrassing enough without having your pasty-white ass visible through what is now equivalent to a pair of women's pantyhose. It's just bad taste and it's gross.

So, go to ebay and get yourself a new pair of shorts every once in a while. When in doubt about the status of your clothing, simply ask someone you trust to give you their honest opinion or go ahead and shell out the $35 for a new set.

As an aside--I have noticed in cycling magazines people referring their backyard shed full of bikes as their "quiver." Please. What are you, Robin Hood? Do us all a favor, skeezix, and get out there and actually ride one of those things every once in a while.

Also, while I love bike tech, I can't stand the widespread proliferation of ultra-high-tech bikes and components. I am not a Luddite, but I still ride aluminum bikes. Dura Ace / Open Pro rims with rock-solid Vittoria tires all the way. Call me crazy, but when I'm 55 miles from home, I don't want to have to call a taxi when a spoke breaks. Plus they are way cheaper, way stronger, and don't actually weigh much more than the $1500 boutique rims I see out here in the OC.

That $3,500 frame you bought cuz your favorite pro rides it? Got news for you: They don't pay for theirs AND it won't really help you go any faster. Plus, if you crash it really hard, there's a very good chance that you can kiss that puppy goodbye. And if I happen to be watching, in addition to my incessant laughter I'll also be saying I told you so.

You want to climb better? Unfortunately, the bike will only help so much. Maybe you ought to just lay off the meatloaf. Still though, it is nice to have a new ride, isn't it? Maybe I'm just envious. But hey, I'm man enough to admit it. So go ahead with your quiver of Calfee's and Giants with HED ultra-aero rims. If I were in your position, I'd be riding that schnizzed-out road bike too (thanks BIKE magazine for that little quip).

For now though, all I can say is "sorry" when I am unable to help you out with your flat. After all, my spare tube doesn't have a stem long enough for that deep section rim. Maybe if you had a team support car following you...

Tour Down Under

2007-10-07T21:26:00.000-07:00

Now here's a race that never gets enough play. First, it's held really early in the season. Second, it's in Australia, and like all the major Aussie races, it never get their kudos. Last, it lacks, at least on paper, a truly momentous stage.

Personally though, I think Australia is a terrific country/continent. I was there for the Tour in 2003, although, granted, the race itself wasn't my main priority. We wandered into the racer's prep area in Adelaide and all the big stars were there. It was exciting, and I guess we looked enough like the real thing that nobody ever questioned us. I remember seeing Jens Voigt out training and thinking that he looked bigger than I expected. Taller and heavier, I mean.

Speaking of Jens, I always liked the guy. Not only does he look like Peter Tork from the Monkees (go ahead, google them) but he always seems to be suffering. I mean always on the rivet, but he never seems to crack. He's just there, shattering himself. Then, he's there the next day, doing the same thing all over again. What's not to like? I always remember him wearing the maillot jaune for one day in the '99 Tour. He was so excited...like a little kid. Only, Jens.

What would you do?

2007-10-05T23:44:00.000-07:00

What do you think would happen if we took the champions of old and put them in today's peloton? Would merckx be caught wearing a testosterone patch? Fignon caught taking sleeping aids?

And does it really, really matter?

I love cycling and I always will. I know others feel the same. We talk as if doping is going to destroy the sport. I say get down of your moral high horse. What would you do?

And doping, what does it do to the person? Look at the below post or talk to Genevieve Jeanson.

Calm Like a Bomb

2007-10-05T23:16:00.000-07:00

Ah...Marco. Il Pirata. Pure, unalduterated, hopped up speed. Explosiveness in the mountains. A fearless attack, an attempt to demoralize his opponents with swagger. I guess, in the end, that's why I'll wear my old mercatone bibs every once in a while. A bright yellow finger to the world. Although I guess I'll always remember Pantani in pink.

I wonder though what his final hours were like. A demoralized human, holed up in a hotel, high on cocaine, a waste of a life. Or maybe I'm just being overdramatic here.

Whatever the case, he was a champion, and I'll always think fondly of his big, floppy ears. I wonder, did he ever tape them down for better aerodynamics?

True, he must rank among the finest climbers in history, but he was also a magnificent descender.

My question to you, dear reader, is the following:

Who will be the future of cycling, and why?

Anquetil the Great

2007-10-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

Jacques Anquetil lived and died like he rode. Or at least, that's how it seems from my sofa. He won over 200 races in his career. The first 5X Tour de France champion, 2X winner of the Giro, countless classics, 4X Super Prestige Pernod. All the while drinking whiskey and smoking cigarettes. He retired at the age of 35 and died at 53. Here are two quotes snipped from Wikipedia:

When I was small, he was for me the champion cyclist. But above all he was a gentleman for his personal qualities as much as his sporting achievements. I have always been irritated by the game of comparing champions from different times but to be compared to him was an honour. — Bernard Hinault

Jacques simply tries harder than anyone I have met. In a time trial you can hear him catching you, you don't have to look round, there is this hoarse sound of breath being drawn in gulps, and then he's past you. Then it's like being in a thunderstorm, with the sweat simply pouring off him as he goes by. — Tom Simpson

O'Grady is Back

2007-10-04T08:59:00.000-07:00

What a phenomenal rider this guy is. Read on cyclingnews.com that Stuey is back on the bike after a horrific crash that left him whinnying on the ground. Fractured ribs and vertebrae, medivac'd outta there. Here he is, October, riding in the Jayco Tour. Unbelievable.

Stuart is a rider that has been around forever, winning the points classification back when old Lance was just a cancer victim and a World Champion.

Speaking of Lance, I'm glad he's gone. Not that he wasn't a great champion, but his goofy image just dominated the American cycling scene, but I guess that's a good thing if you like cat 5 crits packed to their limit of 75 riders.

Eeesh. Loads of bad-looking, frumpy jerseys torn and bloodied. Not my idea of a fun Sunday.

The Year's End of Cycling

2007-10-04T00:38:00.001-07:00

Well, the World Championships finally ended, and Bettini won again. Ah, Bettini. Always seems to pop out of nowhere, like you never even considered him prior to the start. And then he wins and your like "Oh yeah...Bettini. Of course!" Or not. Word is he retires the end of this year, and good for him. He always struck me as a sort of classy rider, and I was sad to see him come under pressure for not signing the UCI riders' commitment, and also for allegedly helping Sinkewitz get the old Bonds treatment. Who cares if it's true or not, I love how Bettini basically humiliated them all with a hammer on their heads. That was style.

Cancellara continues being the beast we all know him to be, waxing the the field in the TT. He was making all kinds of noises prior to and after the start about how he was tired, and then he just stomps on 'em all.

Lately I've been digging through the archives. Hinault. Fignon. LeMond. Poulidor. Anquetil. The Belgians.

Remember Tchmil? That tough bastard! Like a beast in the break and scary as all hell.

Thinking on these men, these brutes, who cares if they were taking the old Charge or not? Don't get me started...

But I digress. Doping. Ah, doping. People, come on. Maybe it's a sign of my own moral turpitude, but dear reader, these people are always going to use drugs. Their job is hard. What would you do in their position? Ask yourself honestly. Me, I'd be charged up like a all get out. Bring it on, soigneur! I'm exhausted!