Sideways: Take Me Away!

If you were around "back in the day," then you might remember this commercial:



Who among us can't relate? It's a sentiment that rings as true today as it did back then. The goddamn traffic. That sonofabitch boss! That Spawn of Satan baby!! And the dog!!! Oh my God, won't somebody kill that fucking dog!?!?!

Between David Berkowitz and the Calgon lady, people of the 1970s and '80s were highly susceptible to dog-induced stress. This, as much as anything else, was responsible for the so-called "cat boom" of the 1990s.

In any case, when I find myself overwhelmed by the barking baby and the crying dog and the boss who snarls indecipherable orders at me, I can't just slip into a hot bath with a bar of Calgon--mostly because the dog always follows me in, and the smell of wet canine is not exactly aroma therapy. So instead, I daydream about people whose lives I envy, and I imagine what they're probably doing right then.

I used to imagine Mario Cipollini, since it's a pretty good bet that at any given moment he's pectorals-deep in decadence at his Tuscan villa--either that, or he's just riding shirtless:

Now, though, I've found somebody who lives even more sumptuously than Mario Cipollini. That person is of course the man we met yesterday, Larry Olmsted, writer of "The Great Life" column on Forbes.com. In addition to being the author of canonical cycling classics such as "Why You Need A Custom Road Bike," he also penned "Dog Days of Summer? Not With the KoolCollar!," which you'll no doubt recognize as perhaps the single greatest thing ever written about how to keep your dog from getting too hot.

Anyway, there I was, once again drowning in life's travail as an overheated dog humped my leg and a baby, in turn, humped the dog. And once again, I wondered how I could possibly manage all this stress. Taking a deep breath, I thought to myself, "I wonder what old Larry's up to right now. Something fabulous no doubt." So I checked his Twitter, and sure enough he was in Norway stuffing his face full of moose meat:
Sigh... I can almost taste the fur. Moose meat, take me away!

By the way, when he's not gorging himself on moose, Olmsed is riding around Italy dressed as a cow:

Presumably he never saw the movie "Top Secret." Or, more profoundly, maybe he did.

But while it's easy to be jealous of people like Larry Olmsted, whose lives are filled with custom bicycles, and moose meat, and cow jerseys, and Golden Retrievers with ice collars around their necks, it's important to remember that life just isn't fair. The truth is, the universe doesn't owe you anything, and it all comes down to the fact that some people are simply better than others. Larry Olmsted is one of those people. You ride a Cannondale, he rides a Seven. You eat chicken, he eats moose meat. You have a regular jersey that's one color, he has a mottled one that makes him look like the world's Fredliest Holstein.

Look, he can't help it if he's naturally awesome. And how awesome is he? Well, he's so awesome that he had to get a singlespeed because he was too fast for the group ride:

I got my first single speed three years ago because I often participated in group fun rides where the pace was bit slow and not challenging, but that’s okay because I was there for the social aspect. But I soon thought, if instead of slacking off so I could hang and chat, what if I was working the entire time?

Sure, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "If you're so fast why don't you just find a stronger group instead of sandbagging on the MS ride?" Well, that's just the sort of thing a loser would say. See, what I've learned from reading Olmsted's work is that you can't think like a loser--you have to think like a Larry. Sure, a loser might just quit that slow group ride, but a Larry just keeps taking parts off his bike until the ride is hard again. Problem solved.

Actually, I think USA Cycling should introduce this concept to bike racing. Instead of having a bunch of different categories, there should just be a single Category 5, and instead of upgrading you they could just remove components every time you win. This way, the slow people could all ride their custom Sevens, and the fast people would have to ride unicycles.

This is the beauty of Larryism. Instead of seeking new challenges and experiences, you simply change your equipment. This allows you to live in a perpetual state of moronic condescension.

Speaking of singlespeeds, a reader has forwarded me one that is so "bad ass" that even Larry "Too Strong For The Group Ride" Olmsted probably couldn't handle it:

Bad Ass Bike - $315 (The Dalles Ore)
Date: 2011-07-19, 8:36PM PDT
Reply to:

This is a bad ass mother fucker Bike. This bike has no speed limit. Brand new chain tenser. If you can't handle it, I have the shimano derailer. Michelin Kromion tires ($60.00 per tire.) (Sugio) 52 teeth front sproket, fuji bars & seat post. Alex rims, tektro clip on brakes.
Adam 600 vintage pedals. 1 altar custom butted alloy frame.

This bike is meant for a hard-core mother fucker.....

Call Kirk at 541-993-[deleted] $ 315.00 or best offer


Do you know what the definition of "bad ass" is? It's a chain that contains at least two right angles:

The only way you can outdo that is with the elusive "Cat's Cradle" setup:

Show up at the SSWC with that and they'll give you the winner's tattoo before the race even begins.

Meanwhile, moving from "bad ass" to "bad Assos," another reader tells me that the gilded "A" is still running ads which feature egregious examples of cleat/pedal incompatibility:


To wit:

You'd really think they'd have noticed by now. Then again, the model is probably another Larryist, and he set his bike up that way on purpose since his local charity ride wasn't hard enough.

Also, the very same reader also sent me this ad, which features a disembodied hand:

As much as I admire downhill mountain bike chic and the manner in which it evokes chin-strap facial hair, "peeing Calvin" decals, and that whole 1990s "cat boom"-era Limp Bizkit aesthetic in general, I also can't help thinking that the hand would be doing him a huge favor by handing him a change of clothes instead of a camera. At the very least, perhaps the hand could proffer him this anorak, to which I was alerted by high-end clothier Outlier:

Here are three (3) quick facts about this garment:

--It is "experimental;"

--It has a magnetic dickey;

--It costs $425.

It's also an ideal choice for scurrying crab-like on all fours:

Beyond this though I'm sorry to say I can't provide you with any additional insight. For example, I have no idea why it's "experimental," though perhaps the magnetic dickey is untested and there's still some danger of strangulation. (Warning: never use your magnetic dickey while wearing metallic neck jewelry.) Also, the jacket appears to have something on the order of 97 pockets, and from the looks of things can be folded up into the shape of a teddy bear, but as for how you'd do this or why I have no idea. Presumably, if you break your leg while scurrying on stuff and get stranded in the wilderness, you can snuggle the teddy bear as you alternately scream for help and sob about the cruelness of fate.

I will hand it to Outlier, though, for this appears to be by far their most complicated garment to date. I'd get one myself, except I'm reasonably sure I couldn't figure it out and would get caught in it like a straight jacket. Also, I try to keep the crab-like scurrying to a minimum. And, it's $425, which I could use instead to buy like 20 moronically simple baja-style pullovers with the marijuana smell pre-impregnated:

Thus attired, I'd hop on my sideways bike (forwarded by another reader) and ride off into the sunset:



Of course, you really should get a custom sideways bike, but I'm saving that article for Forbes.

Stuck In Customs: Bespoke Rationale

In yesterday's post, I mentioned a review of a $15,000 road bike. As anybody well-versed in cycling literature knows, high-end road bikes elicit prose of surreally comical exuberance. This is because bike reviewers will say nearly anything while under the intoxicating spell of fresh, new crabon. They're like adulterers in mid-coitus, blithely promising to leave their spouses and buy their paramours a house.

However, there's another subject that produces articles which make high-end crabon reviews seem as dry as actuarial tables in comparison. This subject is custom bikes.

Now, I admire, respect, and covet custom bicycles as much as any cyclist. I mean, who wouldn't like to have one? What's not to like? If you're an experienced cyclist who knows what you want and why, at a certain point you're probably going to want somebody to make it for you.

However, the current handmade bike boom, coupled with the Internet, has given birth to an absurd new form of cycling literature I call "Custom Bike Proselytizing." This literature is authored by people who started riding yesterday, got a custom bike today, think this means they "graduated" somehow, and are now going to tell you why you're an idiot if you don't do the same thing.

Recently, a fellow Tweeterer alerted me to this article, and it may very well stand as the high water mark of the genre:

(Because you need a bike that looks like it was designed by Dr. Seuss.)

See, you need a custom road bike. Why? Because Lance Armstrong bought one:

In fact, I was just in Mellow Johnny’s, the Texas bike shop owned by the most famous cyclist in history, 7-time Tour de France champ Lance Armstrong, and they had a hand-built custom frame on display with a placard saying that it was the first bike Lance EVER bought with his own money – and that was a recent purchase.

You're probably familiar with the bike he's talking about. It was built by Sam Whittingham of Naked, it won a bunch of awards at the NAHBS in 2008, and it does indeed hang in Mellow Johnny's:


Apparently though, during his visit to Mellow Johnny's this guy somehow managed to miss all the other bikes on display in the shop that Lance Armstrong actually used to win races. He also seems to have overlooked the fact that his article is about custom road bikes, and this is not a road bike. Nevertheless, let's look at the motivation behind Armstrong's decision to buy a custom bike. Which do you think is the more likely scenario?

1) Armstrong was unhappy on his Trek Madone, which he helped design and upon which he won multiple Tours de France, so he got rid of it and ordered a custom singlespeed with wooden wheels;

or;

2) Armstrong saw the bike at the NAHBS, thought it was cool, and decided it would look awesome hanging in the bike shop he was opening.

Not to diminish either Whittingham's talent or Armstrong's appreciation for it, but I'm going to go with #2.

But this isn't the only reason you should buy a custom bike. You also need one because it is crucial to your emotional well-being:

FYI, a new study written up in The Atlantic showed that in places where more people ride bikes to work, the citizens are happier, healthier, and more successful. I bet this is even truer for those who go custom over stock.

Oh, yeah, I bet that as well. Clearly someone who spends thousands of dollars on a custom bike to ride to work will be a "happier, healthier, and more successful" human being than someone who commutes on a stock bike--especially when that expensive custom bike gets stolen. I mean, what kind of loser commutes on a stock bike anyway?

At this point, you may be doubting the author's credentials, but it soon becomes clear that he's a cycling expert--and by "expert" I mean a guy who admits he really doesn't ride all that much:

I spend a lot of time in the saddle as a recreational rider, doing charity Centuries (100 mile rides) and weekly fun group rides, but nowhere near as much as many enthusiasts, and going custom has emancipated my back and neck from pain, eliminated numb hands on longer rides, and basically crushed all discomfort except that which comes for being out of shape.

Please note that this sub-enthusiast says he needed a custom bike to free him from numbness and pain on those grueling charity rides. I will come back to this one later. Anyway, while he'll clearly spare no expense to free himself from discomfort, he's a bit more miserly when it comes to his wife:

My wife, on the other hand, has a high-quality stock frame, and has made repeat visits to bike fitters over the years for new stems, handlebar adjustments, etc., in an attempt to eliminate her neck and shoulder issues. It has helped, but not enough (she’ll go custom when it’s time to buy a new bike, meaning when the piggy bank gets bigger).

How chivalrous. "Sorry, honey. Not enough money to get a new bike for you too. You're just going to have to suffer." He should have called this article, "Why You Need A Custom Road Bike, But My Wife Should Just Deal With Her Jamis." At the very least, she probably finds reassurance in the fact that riding her stock bike is probably nowhere as painful as her marriage.

But don't take his word for how awesome custom bikes are; take the word of the dentist he met the other day:

The other day I was riding with a guy who had a Serotta, one of the top companies for custom bikes, and he told me how he went to a fancy bike shop and they told him that due to his size and shape, no off the rack bike would fit him well. He naturally assumed they were scamming him into buying a high-priced custom, so he spent the next two years going from shop to shop, unable to find anyone who could offer to sell him a bike that fit, riding a painful compromise the whole time, before biting the bullet and investing in the Serotta, which he now wishes he had bought two years earlier.

Ah yes, the quasi-mythical person who cannot be fit to a stock frame under any circumstances. Sure, there are a lot of people who have no alternative but to go custom due to sizing reasons. However, most of those people are called "Neanderthals" and went extinct about 1,300 centuries ago. (That's actual centuries, not the things the author says he needed a Seven to do.) They're not all Neanderthals though. In fact, here's Serotta guy before he "saw the light:"

The shop rat who fitted him to that bike should be ashamed of himself.

Anyway, despite the almost incalculably vast number of off-the-rack road bikes and frames out there, rest assured that there's almost no way any of them will ever fit you:

Unless you are 100% “average” no premade frame will ever fit you as well as one custom made to your measurements, from inseam to reach to how far you bend at the waist while riding. When I got my bike made by Seven Cycles, there were over 100 different questions and measurements involved.

First of all, Seven makes a fine bicycle, but anybody who regularly begins sentences with "When I got my bike made by Seven Cycles..." is probably a douchebag. Secondly, I think what he meant to say is that unless you're 100% "nonhuman" no premade frame will ever fit you. As it is, I know people (humans, all of them) in all sizes who ride stock frames comfortably, happily, and far more swiftly than I ever could. Then again, when someone asks you over 100 freaking questions about the product you're buying it's only natural to assume it will be 100 times better. Here's an excerpt from that Seven Cycles questionnaire he had to fill out:

46) How many miles a year do you ride?

--Less than 1,000

--Less than 100

--Less than 1

47) Which of the following describes your spending habits? (Check all that apply)

--I spend freely

--I spend exorbitantly

--I came, I saw, I squandered

48) Have you ever gotten a boner while watching a Range Rover commercial?

And so forth.

Sure, some of it seems gratuitous, but they need to be sure you're real "Seven Cycles" material.

Speaking of materials, Seven Cycles needed to use an oversized seat tube to suit his climbing style:

Then there is the performance issue. I like to climb, a lot, long grueling climbs and I like to stand and grind. So when I got my custom bike, I told Seven Cycles this and they built in an oversized seat tube to add rigidity for my standing pedal stroke, an efficiency increase. Even if a stock bike fit me perfectly, no stock bike can change the diameter of the tubes and flex of the frame to suit my whims, but Seven can.

In other words, Seven will build a bike around your poor climbing technique. Somehow a big guy with massive power like Thor Hushovd can finish in the top 10 for the entire first week of the Tour de France on a plastic Cervelo, yet this guy can't find a bike rigid enough to withstand his mighty climbing style. If he's "standing and grinding" all the time, my guess is he doesn't need a Seven; what he he needs is a triple.

This is why he didn't buy a bike from Richard Sachs:

In a recent interview with Men’s Journal Magazine, Sachs said, “My bikes aren’t going to make you a faster or better rider.” I don’t know if that is true or not, but I know my Seven, and my friends’ Sevens and Serottas and Penguins have made them faster, if not better, riders, because they are lighter and optimize efficiency while better comfort on longer rides reduces fatigue.

This is another way of saying, "My friends and I only buy bikes from people who will lie to us." And that's not the only problem with Richard Sachs, either:

The other “problem” with the small custom shops is that for the most part they only work in metal, and many only in steel, because titanium (better than steel) requires more specialized equipment (especially for welding) and carbon fiber (better for some applications, like time trial and aero triathlon bikes) even more so, while the bigger companies offer the full choice of materials.

Yes, the other "problem" with small shops--apart from the obvious fact that they won't lie to you--is that they also won't let you buy more expensive frame materials. Remember: titanium is better than steel. Got it?

Most importantly though:

Wherever you get your custom bike you are going to be very happy with the fit, and anyone who knows anything about bikes will tell you that the fit is the single most important thing.

Yes, anybody who knows anything about bikes will tell you that the fit is the most important thing. I know this is true because he doesn't know anything about bikes, and he just spent like half the article saying the advantage of custom bikes is stuff like variable seat tube thickness for mashing your way through a charity ride, as well as the availability of titanium--which, of course, is the greatest metal known to humankind.

Then the same Tweeterer sent me this article, in which the author totally reverses himself:

Remember that Seven he needed for those century rides? Well, it turns out all he needed was a cheap singlespeed:

By the end of my first summer I took what was meant to be an occasional training tool and rode a charity century on it, 100-miles in Vermont and New Hampshire, where there is no ride without hills. I’d done the ride for years on my normal bike, and had to work harder, but finished in the same time.

In fact, he actually rides his cheap singlespeed instead of his Seven a lot of the time:

Usually I ride my single speed every third or fourth ride... I feel it has definitely helped my riding and fitness, and it’s fun. It is also cheap, easy and one less thing to worry about getting tuned at the shop.

So his singlespeed is cheap, easy, and fun, and he rides it at least 25% of the time. Meanwhile, the Seven is apparently a source of anxiety. But don't confuse his singlespeed with a track bike, because track bikes are for "obscure bike racing:"

The other traditional user of the single speed has been the track racer, a relatively obscure bike racing niche you probably never have seen outside the Olympics, sort for like speed skating with bikes, and these racers use single speed track bikes.

Somebody really needs to put that on a t-shirt:

And here's why you don't want a track bike:

Track bikes are “fixies” meaning they have a fixed gear... These bikes also have foot acitvated braking, like your childhood bike, which frankly is better suited for 5-year olds, except when going downhill at 40MPH.

Yes, track racing bikes have "foot activated braking," so while they're a bad choice for you, they're great for your 5-year old kid. And the difference between a fixed-gear and a coaster brake is not the only distinction that vexes him:

Also for some reason, manufacturers don’t think you will ride it like a road bike and tend to give them fatter crossover tires. I started by ordering a bare bones Motobecane model similar to this one from bikesdirect.com, for around $400 (note how almost every other single speed model for sale is a track bike. Where are all these track racers?).

The manufacturer may have given your Motobecane its "fatter crossover tires" because it's actually a cyclocross bike. As for the whereabouts of all those track racers, you may not be seeing them on your charity rides because they're at the freaking track. In any case, I'm still trying to figure out why he needed that Seven, and apparently so is he, since his mail-order Motobecane seems to be serving him just as well:

This is the bike that started my love affair with single speeds and I did the first century on it, rather than my custom titanium road bike that cost roughly 12 times as much.

To that end, he's come up with some stupid car analogy:

And while I still firmly believe you should have one great bike, custom fit to you, this is an occasional fling, like the 60s muscle car next to your Mercedes sedan in the garage, so don’t worry too much about it (See my post on why you should get a custom road bike).

A bike that you ride a quarter or a third of the time is not an "occasional fling." Try spending 25% of your time with another woman and then telling your wife you're having an "occasional fling." You remember your wife--she's the one who's in all that pain while you brag about your Seven and build stupid singlespeeds:

Nice bike. Looks like it fits pretty well, too. Just put the derailleurs back on that thing and maybe you can finally get rid of that Seven.

The Age of the Epic Commuter: Raising the Bar, then Flattening It

Last week, I mentioned that article in The New Yorker about cycling in Rwanda. Since finishing it, I have moved onto other portions of the magazine, and this morning I found myself reading about a bunch of bands giving a concert on Rikers Island. In case you don't know, Rikers Island is jail, and evidently the people who live there are somewhat resistant to gentrification. This is a band called Zongo Junction:

And here's what happened during their set:

The band's inspiration is the Nigerian activist Fela Kuti, but in presentation--beards, plaid shirts, a trucker hat--its influences smelled a little of Bushwick. This, coupled with the general monotony of incarceration, seemed to leave them vulnerable to heckling from above: "Get the fuck out!," for instance, followed by "Play Bob Marley." The band launched into "Stir It Up," which only emboldened some of the distant voices: "More Bob Marley, or Ima fucking kill you!"

Well, at least the inmates didn't use the "h" word. I do kind of want a t-shirt that says "More Bob Marley, or Ima fucking kill you" though--even if it is a little hilpstery.

Actually, I wonder if high-end cycling clothier Rapha would consider making such a shirt, since the slogan is easily as catchy as anything Jens Voigt has ever said. They could use marino, incorporate shoulder pads for easy "portaging," and charge $175 for it.

Speaking of Rapha, you may recall my mentioning I had taken part in the Rapha 2011 Northeast Gentlemen's Race. Or you may not recall. Or you may recall and not care. Regardless, I did, and I'm pleased to announce that the Raphafied "edit" of this race has finally "dropped." Please note that it's shot in Raph-O-Vision, and that you'll need to wear your 3-E (that's Triple-"Epic") glasses in order to see it properly:

2011 Rapha NE Gentlemen's race from RAPHA on Vimeo.

I learned a lot from this video. In particular, I learned why they call it an "edit," and that's because my team was edited out of it. Yes, there's not a single millisecond of footage of us, even though we were one of only nine teams that managed to finish:

Now, I wouldn't ordinarily brag, but in this case I'm making an exception since the race was like 482 miles long with like 275,000 feet of climbing, so I was very proud of my team. Sure, I know that barely qualifies as brevet in rando-nerd circles, but for a bunch of roadie wussbags it's a lot. Anyway, I'm not even bragging for myself. Rather, I'm bragging for the rest of my team, since they were amazing and I just sat behind them the whole time, like this:

(They totally would have won if it wasn't for me.)

By the way, my team was called "BSNYC," but it's pronounced "LAY-oh-pard Trek." I'd thank them each member here by name, but frankly I think they're all embarrassed to be associated with me, so I'll just thank them in the aggregate to spare them the ignominy. I'd also like to thank Team C3, who we joined for the latter part of the race.

As for why we got snubbed for the video, the best we could come up with were: 1) Our kits didn't match; and 2) We actually smiled occasionally. I'm guessing that second one was the killer, since smiling in a Rapha video is like whipping out your "pants yabbies" on "Sesame Street."

And of course I couldn't have done any of it without BicycleBungee™:

BicycleBungee™ Promotional Video Pronunciation Guide:

"Air"="EEE-yah"

"Effort"="EEE-faht"

"Companion"="LAY-oh-pard Trek"

Speaking of "epics," a reader has forwarded me this article from the New York Times about a reporter who will cycle across Canada's dental dam:

I enjoyed the article and I wish him the best. However, I also couldn't help noticing his flat bar bicycle. As he explains it:

It has a titanium frame (that is, it’s very light); handlebars that go straight across, rather than drop, to keep me more upright (I’ve got a neck problem); especially durable wheels and tires.

I certainly wouldn't argue against his comfort, and I'm assuming that as a cycle touring veteran he knows what works best for him. Nevertheless, we seem to be in a new Age of the Flat Bar, and I must admit I'm still traumatized by that designer hybrid "commuter" from a few weeks back:

Not only that, but I just saw on Prolly's blog that the same company, Firefly, has designed another so-called "commuter" that makes the one above seem eminently logical:

(Commuter?!?)

Now, I should point out that I have nothing whatsoever against Firefly, and that they're obviously extremely talented builders. Their customers, on the other hand, are clearly the kind of crazy that only comes with having way too much money, or syphilis, or maybe both. Honestly, who pays that much money to commute on a mountain bike? Does he not know that if you work at Ikea they give you a bike like that for free?

The only way I can make sense of this bike is that maybe he just wanted a really nice mountain bike, but he felt guilty about buying himself one for some reason, so he called it a "commuter" instead to justify the price. Smug people think that commuting by bicycle equals "saving the world," so by calling any bicycle a "commuter" it automatically allows you to spend as much on it as you would a car.

Or, maybe he really does need a crazy offroad commuter like this. Because, you know, he lives on the surface of the Moon.

Anyway, once upon a time, if you wanted to ride around the city on a mountain bike with your bars way higher than your saddle, you went to Walmart and you bought yourself a Mongoose. Now, people are actually buying custom bikes to replicate this riding experience. So what are people actually buying at Walmart now?

Well, you'd be surprised. It turns out they've come a long way since that first Mongoose Cachet, and their offerings include "haute tarck," complete with stylishly curved seat tube:

Classic fixie:


And even (this one really surprised me) full-on Dutch-style "cycle chic:"


Meanwhile the guy with the Firefly is paying a zillion dollars to replicate the ride of his beloved 1998 Pacific with the unhooked v-brakes.

I never thought I'd see it, but I guess it's finally happened: the dreaded Walmart/custom inversion.

I can't wait until I can finally buy a "More Bob Marley, or Ima fucking kill you!" t-shirt at Target.