



That said, it turns out arm wrestling doesn't languish in complete obscurity, for no less a personage than New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg made an appearance to congratulate and faux-wrestle with the winner:
In all, it was an exciting moment, and I was torn between a desire to pull the sock from my right arm and challenge someone to an arm-wrestling match (I'm also producing a sock puppet theater piece based on the life of Raymond Poulidor--part of the reason the Sock Doc was so irritated with me is that I kept asking for something more "Gallic") and to press Bloomberg with questions about the new Sands Street bike lane, which is constantly menaced by drivers due to the age-old practice of car service double-parking:
Sadly, I didn't have time to do either, because I had a wedding to attend:
Of course, I wasn't invited, nor did I know the bride, or the groom, or any of the attendees, but this did not prevent me from crying disconsolately, shouting my heartfelt congratulations, or pelting them with Russian dumplings.
But the beauty of two people pledging their undying tolerance for each other was not the only source of my tears; I was also saddened by the knowledge that summer was nearly at an end. Indeed, the signs are all around us. For example, the bicycles are now donning their autumn scarves to protect them from chills:

The only purpose I can see for this bottle is that it would allow you to drink simultaneously from it with two of your teammates, giving you all the appearance of a trio of whelps suckling at a bitch's teat. Either that, or it's some kind of "style exercise." If the latter, that's the kind of exercise that's sure to lead to increased forearm strength.
But the beauty of two people pledging their undying tolerance for each other was not the only source of my tears; I was also saddened by the knowledge that summer was nearly at an end. Indeed, the signs are all around us. For example, the bicycles are now donning their autumn scarves to protect them from chills:
("Freelocked"=free for the taking.)
Though it is possible I'm misinterpreting them and they're simply diabetic bandanas.
Another sign of autumn is when Rapha "drops" its new "Autumn/Winter range." And what autumnal range would be complete without something for cyclocross?

Yes, it's the "Rapha Cross Jersey," and it comes in a distinctive "colourway:"
Frankly, while I'm sure this is very nice, I'm not sure what makes it a cyclocross jersey. Firstly, most "serious" cyclocrossers wear skinsuits (or women's clothing if they're from the Land of Epic Burritos). Secondly, even "non-serious" cyclocrossers have no use for pockets since the races are so short. The only cyclocross-specific touch I see (besides the autumnal colourway) is the shoulder pad, though in conjunction with the "slimming appearance" that seems less cyclocross and more Huey Lewis:
But while the Cross Jersey isn't particularly crossy, I must admit that the "Gentleman's Cap" does indeed seem perfect for the "urban riding dandy:"
Perhaps next year Rapha can simply offer a cap designed for douchebags. They'd better hurry, too, since there's a helmet for douchebags already in the works. Not only that, but pending a commercially available douchebag hat young urbanites are already beginning to improvise:

This to me is an ominous sign that the tri-corner hat may be the latest thing in hipster headwear:
This is disturbing enough on its own, but in conjunction with the nascent folk instrument craze the implications are staggering. We may very well soon see streets full of young people wearing tri-corner hats, blowing on fifes, and beating snare drums. Williamsburg, Brooklyn will be transformed into Colonial Williamsburg. Worse yet, faux dive bars could begin serving Hamantashen along with PBR, and the last thing anybody should do is combine cheap beer and prune-based desserts.
Speaking of disturbing things that come in threes, a reader recently forwarded me this photo of a tri-nippled water bottle:

Yes, it's the "Rapha Cross Jersey," and it comes in a distinctive "colourway:"



This to me is an ominous sign that the tri-corner hat may be the latest thing in hipster headwear:
Speaking of disturbing things that come in threes, a reader recently forwarded me this photo of a tri-nippled water bottle:
