It has probably been said somewhere at some point by somebody that cycling is about extremes. Indeed, many hues are refracted through the prism of cycling, and it is a spectrum of light that is beautiful to behold. It’s a very wide, spectrum too. It goes all the way from this:
To this:
But what about the stuff in between? The technicolor skinsuit of cycling is truly a busy one, and we all occupy a different part of it. (Though we all try to stay as far as possible from the chamois.) Personally, I try not to get too wrapped up in labels. My identity as a cyclist is as ever-changing as a moron’s Rubik’s cube. When I am on a road bike, I am a road biker. When I am on a mountain bike, I am a mountain biker. When I am on a recumbent wearing a chicken suit, I am a guy on a recumbent wearing a chicken suit. And when I’m on a cyclocross bike, I just suck. My identity is the mercurial wind, and it truly is as mixed as that last metaphor.
There are signs also that the rainbow Italian ice of cycling is melting, and the colors are all mixing together. But is that disgusting or delicious? Well, it all depends on whether you’re the sort of person who likes to scrape at it with a spoon while it’s frozen, or the type who likes to let it get all mushy and then slurp it straight from the paper cup. The point is, I recently saw this on polarizing style maven, fixed-gear architect, and BSNYC conspiracy theorist Prolly's blog:
To this:
But what about the stuff in between? The technicolor skinsuit of cycling is truly a busy one, and we all occupy a different part of it. (Though we all try to stay as far as possible from the chamois.) Personally, I try not to get too wrapped up in labels. My identity as a cyclist is as ever-changing as a moron’s Rubik’s cube. When I am on a road bike, I am a road biker. When I am on a mountain bike, I am a mountain biker. When I am on a recumbent wearing a chicken suit, I am a guy on a recumbent wearing a chicken suit. And when I’m on a cyclocross bike, I just suck. My identity is the mercurial wind, and it truly is as mixed as that last metaphor.
There are signs also that the rainbow Italian ice of cycling is melting, and the colors are all mixing together. But is that disgusting or delicious? Well, it all depends on whether you’re the sort of person who likes to scrape at it with a spoon while it’s frozen, or the type who likes to let it get all mushy and then slurp it straight from the paper cup. The point is, I recently saw this on polarizing style maven, fixed-gear architect, and BSNYC conspiracy theorist Prolly's blog:
Ah yes, alleycat "racing" and cyclocross are now coming together in a succession of bad mud-related puns. What does this mean? Well, certainly it was inevitable that New York’s urban fixed-gear riders’ minds should start wandering off-road. We’ve actually got legal trails in the Five Boroughs now, and running lights and dodging cars just gets boring after awhile. Furthermore, there's certainly nothing new about unsanctioned off-road racing, and I'm sure this sort of thing happens in the godless rain-soaked trend sponge of Portland all the time. But does this presage a major shift in urban cycling style? Will “fixters” indeed venture into the woods en masse? (We know they're already dirt-curious.) If they do, will they get along with all the singlespeeders who are already there? Will tire clearance now be a frame attribute more prized than track geometry? Will canti bosses become the new horizontal dropout? Will we now see a new breed of urban rider who takes pride in his bicycle’s versatility and his own adroitness on a variety of terrain? I don’t know, but they’re definitely going to have to learn proper bike-portaging technique first:
Perhaps most important is a message on one of the flyers: “Use of fixed gears encouraged, not required.” This too might indicate a coming change. People may well learn that the line between fixed-gear dedication and sheer obstinance is as thin as a derailleur cable and as subtle as a spring and a pawl. They may also discover for themselves what people have known for decades now, which is that in many situations outside of a velodrome coasting and braking equal increased overall speed. Perhaps the era of the fixed-gear as the dominant urban bike species is at an end.
Or, more likely, this might just be a bunch of people getting drunk on Randall’s Island.
So if you tend to scrape your Italian ices, you can look at this as another sign of the Apocalypse. Or, if you prefer to slurp them, you can look at this as a joyful coming-together of cycling subcultures, and one more step towards a day when we all mutually embrace the unbridled joy of cycling. All I know is, if it's the latter, I hope we don't all start hugging. Because I'm just not comfortable with that.
