Transcendence: Where There's a Quill There's a Way

In yesterday's post, I included a picture of a woman in Portland whose "coin slot" was obscured by a copy of the book "Ceremony" by Leslie Marmon Silko. Here in New York, however, the weather is far less conducive to paperback portaging or exposing the small of your back. Indeed, the only "coin slot"-spotting to be done around here these days is this:

Notice that the meter is enshrouded in ice, due to the freezing rain that is falling upon this miserable metropolis even as I type. The sidewalks are faring no better than the parking meters, either, and as I set out this morning to procure diapers for my helper monkey, Vito, I derned near slipped and busted my "coin slot:"

There would have been small change everywhere. I really should put some tampons on my shoes like the mountain climbers do.

With walking this treacherous, and conditions generally this unpleasant, even the most smug and dedicated commuter could be forgiven for leaving his or her bicycle at home and instead dreaming of better days while rubbing thighs with the rest of humanity on the subway. Hopefully these better days are not far away, either. As it happens, today was "The Groundhog's Day," a holiday that commemorates the day almost 20 years ago now on which the groundhogs of the world rose up against their human oppressors and emerged from the resulting bloodbath as the supreme beings on the planet Earth. Of course, before our groundhog overlords start getting drunk and throwing bottles at us, they like to tell us whether or not we will have an early spring, and this year it seems that two out of three "groundhogs of record" agree that we will:

Puxata Punksa Pennsylvania Phil:

Early spring? Yes!

Staten Island Chuck:

Early spring? Yes!

Cincinnati Frank:

Early spring? Unnnnnnnghhhhhhhh...

By the way, if you ever encounter Cincinnati Frank while you're out on a ride and he tries to "prognosticate" on your head, you might want to defend yourself with a "vintage" French Velo Dog revolver:

I was informed of the above by a reader, who mentioned it subsequent to Jeff Underwood's somewhat distorted claims about cockpit-mounted turrets or whatever it was he was talking about. It seems to me that vintage bicycle-themed firearms are ripe for hipster appropriation, and are the perfect accessory to complement that French porteur bike and that artisanal axe. It's only a matter of time before someone in Portland starts fabricating a modern version to market to the "bike culture," though obviously it will have to have a bottle opener on it since apparently bottle openers are the new "lawyer lips."

Fun legal fact: If Clarence Darrow sees his shadow there will be six more weeks of jury deliberation.

Speaking of prognostications, I'm what they call a "realist," and as such I don't buy into pagan myths about rodents seeing their shadows, or lightning happening when Thor Hushovd does intervals, or "evolution." (All Lob-fearing Crustaceanians know that the Almighty Lobster created the Earth in two and a half minutes while watching "Three's Company" and killing time during the commercials. A-meh.) I do, however, believe in the Lone Wolf, and a reader recently sent me actual video he captured of the Lone Wolf himself in full flight astride his White Lotus of Truth:



Notice how our cinematographer struggles valiantly to get on his wheel, though of course he cannot, since even Fabian Cancellara couldn't hope to catch him. The Lone Wolf's minute man is the speed of light, and he runs with the power of a billion Gruber Assists. To actually ride on his wheel would be like staring into the "Coin Slot" of the Universe and suddenly grasping all its secrets. Also, if he sees his shadow, it means six more weeks of suspension for Alberto Contador.

Certainly then the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork is like unto the Lone Wolf as the snowflake is to the Antarctic ice shelf, and ubiquity cannot compete with omniscience and omnipotence. (Omnipotence comes from riding a bicycle with a poorly-positioned saddle.) Still, the retro-Fred is a compelling figure nonetheless, and the proprietor of the esteemed blog Cycling Inquisition has actually uncovered the man behind the camera in front of which the retro-Fred posed:

He is Ljupco Smokovski of Macedonia, he is the Annie Liebovitz of stock Fred photography, and he likes hats. He is also not a prognosticator of anything, because oddly he casts no shadow whatsoever.

Speaking of miserable weather, it seems that "NYC's Direct Action Environmental Organization," Times Up!, as they put it, "gathered on the Williamsburg and Manhattan Bridges to give cyclists 'Token Tickets of Love' for braving both the weather and antagonistic conditions to ride their bikes to and from work:"



I think I'd rather be stopped by the NYPD than accosted by a bunch of self-satisfied smug-mongers handing out "love tickets" or repurposed chocolate Hanukkah gelt or whatever it was they were doing. I didn't cross the Big Skanky on Monday, but I imagine if I had and had run into this scene it would have felt like what Cincinnati Frank was doing to that other dog's head. This is of course the same organization that held the "funeral" for that Williamsburg bike lane:



And who gives fake tickets to drivers in the bike lane while dressed as clowns:

If acting like a total buffoon had the power to transform society than Ernest P. Worrell would have won the Nobel Prize by making movies like "Ernest Goes to Somalia." If Time's Up! are looking to land a cameo in the next installment of the "Scary Movie" franchise then they should keep up the good work, but if they're looking to change the world they might want to try a different approach. Anwar El Sadat, Mohandas Gandhi, and Martin Luther King were from different cultures and fought for different causes, but they all had one thing in common: not one of them wore clown pants.

Anyway, thanks, Times Up!, for ensuring that when police and irate motorists see me riding in the city they'll think of annoying clowns. That ought to put me on the receiving end of some real respect.

Speaking of respect, I have immense respect for the people of Norway, who may very well be the most innovative cockpit curators in all the world. For example, you may recall the amazing "puppeteer" setup that was the catalyst for the "Cockie" awards. Well, further to yesterday's post concerning the "Quillinator," another reader in Norway informs me that it is not in fact "the one, the ONLY," as Soma claims:


Note how the curator has modified a threadless stem to accept a quill of truly Rivendellian proportions:

Clearly when it comes to cockpits, Norwegians are simply operating on another level--and it's at least three feet higher than their saddles.