(Still crankin' away--no retirement for Perwez Ahmed. Only prayer breaks.)
If you have the sort of gaping hole in your life that gives you the time and inclination to follow professional road racing, you know that this past weekend was the World Road Championships in Varese, Italy. And if you're American, you know that team leader Levi Leipheimer opted not to race. Never mind that Levi finished fourth in the time trial last Thursday, which is pretty good. (Personally I'd rather finish fourth instead of second or third in a race like that, since silver and bronze is kind of lame, but fourth is the best out of all the other non-medalers and is, when you really think about it, technically a win. ) Regardless, it seems Levi "didn't feel up for the leadership of our relatively young team." But I suppose Leipheimer, around whom the "Let Levi Ride" campaign was created, feels that while he should be allowed to ride whenever he wants he should also not ever be required to ride, and that he should be free to let a "relatively young team" eke out a 23rd place while he ends his season and evens out his cyclist's tan on some beach somewhere while listening to the sounds of Malaysian pop sensation Letle Viride.
But who can blame Levi, really? This bike racing thing is exhausting, and it seems like riders can't retire fast enough. Not only is Paolo Bettini retiring, but so is Yaroslav Popovych, who's only like 28 and had at least seven more good years of not living up to the promise of being a future Tour de France winner. Meanwhile, those foolish enough to stay in the sport often find themselves being harassed by the authorities. In fact, Italian police raided the Luxembourg team hotel last Friday, apparently because there were rumors that Benoit Joachim had been sleeping in an oxygen tent. Hey, not everybody who sleeps in a tent is doing so for purposes of performance-enhancement. It's common knowledge in the peloton that Joachim likes to have little hotel room floor campouts while he's on the road, and that he often pitches a pup tent in which he throws little tea parties for his assortment of stuffed animals and then reads them bedtime stories before finally turning in himself. Just because he copes with homesickness a little differently than the other riders does not make him a cheater. (Though I'm not sure what Frank Schleck was doing in there with him, and I don't know if I believe him when he claims that he was just playing "blood transfusion" with one of Joachim's teddy bears.)
Perhaps it was the hardship of being a professional cyclist and living on the road that sowed the seeds of Greg LeMond's lushly-blooming insanity, as manifest by his attempt to hijack Lance Armstrong's Interbike press conference last week. Or perhaps he was simply driven to it by the person sitting behind him wearing a Metallica shirt:
Word has it that LeMond never really got over founding bassist Cliff Burton's death in 1987, and that he refuses to acknowledge any Metallica album after "Master of Puppets." Still, despite himself, he had finally decided to give the band a second chance by purchasing their latest album, "Death Magnetic," just before the press conference--only to find as millions of other fans did that the sound quality was extremely poor. Understandably, after waiting over 20 years to purchase a new Metallica album only for it to be a tremendous disappointment, LeMond was sufficiently on edge to be pushed over it upon noticing the shirt above. At least that's the defense his lawyers are considering using.It's also entirely possible that Interbike itself is what drove LeMond to it. I wasn't at Interbike (nor have I ever been) but I understand from those who do attend that it can be extremely irritating. This bicycle, which I saw on the VeloNews site, would appear to be a case in point:
I'm not sure what's going on here, but I can only assume that these cables are supplying the bicycle with ugliness intravenously. I'm also not sure why people are always compelled to hide cables on bicycles, or to route them through the frame or through various components. Personally, I prefer being able to change cables and housing without having to first extricate them or remove bar tape, but then again I don't really care how my bikes look either--as long as they're not covered with purple mucus like this one is.
I'm not sure what's going on here, but I can only assume that these cables are supplying the bicycle with ugliness intravenously. I'm also not sure why people are always compelled to hide cables on bicycles, or to route them through the frame or through various components. Personally, I prefer being able to change cables and housing without having to first extricate them or remove bar tape, but then again I don't really care how my bikes look either--as long as they're not covered with purple mucus like this one is.
In any case, my advice to Greg and to all the other tired cyclists (active, retired, or coming back) is to take it easy. Just like Levi didn't feel up to the leadership of the relatively young US team, I didn't feel up to riding very quickly on my commute this morning. Instead, I resolved to go downright slowly. One thing I discovered was that the city looks very different when you're slow. You even deal with an entirely different kind of traffic. Instead of the crazed, rushed traffic, you deal with the slow and ailing kind:
Had I been riding faster I would not have had the good fortune of watching a minivan die. This is the moment when the sputtering, smoking hulk finally pulled over and the driver emerged from it. As you can see, he's just about to remove his hat, wave it around in a vain attempt to clear the smoke, and begin cursing in Spanglish. You'll notice also that the visibility has been reduced to almost zero by the emissions. I would have stopped to see if I could lend a hand, but not only am I a poor auto mechanic, but I was also completely unconcerned.
While preventative maintenance is not high on the agendas of many drivers in New York City, cosmetic maintenance certainly is. Here you see a "bumper bully," which is the top tube pad of the automotive world. You can also see the spraypainted lines of what may in fact be a nascent bicycle lane. This of course raises the question, "When does a bicycle lane's life begin?" If you believe it begins the moment the outline is hastily spraypainted on the pavement, as the conservatives do, then this Saab is already guilty of bike lane obstruction. However, if you hold the more liberal view that a bike lane is not a bike lane until the lines are solid and there are little pictures of bicycles in between them, then I suppose the driver has nothing to worry about. (And even if I were to rear end him, at least his bumper would be safe from superficial damage.)
A little while later I encountered workers actually painting the bike lane. (Though if it is a bike lane I'm not sure why it has a broken line. Maybe it's some other kind of lane.) Monday morning during rush hour didn't seem to me to be an optimal time to paint lines on the street, but then again I don't work for the DOT. I was, however, very careful not to ride through the wet paint, lest I inadvertently set a Pepé Le Pew scenario in motion. (Some overamorous fixter might think the Ironic Orange Julius Bike is equipped with white tires and I might find myself being pursued on the Craigslist Missed Connections.)
Continuing slowly on my way, I experienced a magical moment when I encountered two vehicles moving even slower than I was. They were traveling side by side and the drivers were engaged in conversation as rush-hour traffic backed up behind them. Despite my better judgment, I was curious and so I rode between them. Sadly, I was unable to understand what they were saying, as they spoke in a foreign tongue. However, for a few minutes I felt like I was swimming with a couple of whales--especially since both of them were really ugly, they were spewing forth from their blowholes, and they were liable to crush me at any moment.
Speaking of ugly slow-moving vehicles, as I waited for the light I noticed what appeared to be a covered wagon just beyond the head of the Nonplussed Woman Looking Away from BikeSnobNYC. As soon as the light changed, I gave chase. (And by "gave chase" I mean I resumed pedaling.) Here's what I saw:
According to the URL on the chassis, this monstrosity is the work of Organic Engines. I've since visited the site, where I learned this:
About Me and OE
I am obsessed with Times New Roman, I love coffee, and fabricating. I am a latent motorhead with a sustainability fetish.
I like to mentor, but I play it off like I am just helping out. One of my favorite things is paying wages.
I love music, all kinds, and try to see a show every week or two. I am known for my indie rock and 80’s music dancing. To many people they look the same.
I have a cat, my girlfriend has a dog.
I was born in Canada but I love the USA .
I love to tell bad jokes and meandering stories that confuse rather than inspire.
I can cook and like pints of Harp Ale. Bottle Rockets Rule, and I have the powder burns to prove it.
I love to sew.. fabric-cating, get it?
I am learning all about the Linux Operating System . Commmand line skilllzz!!!!!
Eventually I hope to make one of everything. This is getting easier since I am learning to program and build CNC machines.
A person obsessed with both typefaces and bad puns? Now that's font-tastic!
Had I been riding faster I would not have had the good fortune of watching a minivan die. This is the moment when the sputtering, smoking hulk finally pulled over and the driver emerged from it. As you can see, he's just about to remove his hat, wave it around in a vain attempt to clear the smoke, and begin cursing in Spanglish. You'll notice also that the visibility has been reduced to almost zero by the emissions. I would have stopped to see if I could lend a hand, but not only am I a poor auto mechanic, but I was also completely unconcerned.
While preventative maintenance is not high on the agendas of many drivers in New York City, cosmetic maintenance certainly is. Here you see a "bumper bully," which is the top tube pad of the automotive world. You can also see the spraypainted lines of what may in fact be a nascent bicycle lane. This of course raises the question, "When does a bicycle lane's life begin?" If you believe it begins the moment the outline is hastily spraypainted on the pavement, as the conservatives do, then this Saab is already guilty of bike lane obstruction. However, if you hold the more liberal view that a bike lane is not a bike lane until the lines are solid and there are little pictures of bicycles in between them, then I suppose the driver has nothing to worry about. (And even if I were to rear end him, at least his bumper would be safe from superficial damage.)
A little while later I encountered workers actually painting the bike lane. (Though if it is a bike lane I'm not sure why it has a broken line. Maybe it's some other kind of lane.) Monday morning during rush hour didn't seem to me to be an optimal time to paint lines on the street, but then again I don't work for the DOT. I was, however, very careful not to ride through the wet paint, lest I inadvertently set a Pepé Le Pew scenario in motion. (Some overamorous fixter might think the Ironic Orange Julius Bike is equipped with white tires and I might find myself being pursued on the Craigslist Missed Connections.)
Continuing slowly on my way, I experienced a magical moment when I encountered two vehicles moving even slower than I was. They were traveling side by side and the drivers were engaged in conversation as rush-hour traffic backed up behind them. Despite my better judgment, I was curious and so I rode between them. Sadly, I was unable to understand what they were saying, as they spoke in a foreign tongue. However, for a few minutes I felt like I was swimming with a couple of whales--especially since both of them were really ugly, they were spewing forth from their blowholes, and they were liable to crush me at any moment.
Speaking of ugly slow-moving vehicles, as I waited for the light I noticed what appeared to be a covered wagon just beyond the head of the Nonplussed Woman Looking Away from BikeSnobNYC. As soon as the light changed, I gave chase. (And by "gave chase" I mean I resumed pedaling.) Here's what I saw:
According to the URL on the chassis, this monstrosity is the work of Organic Engines. I've since visited the site, where I learned this:
About Me and OE
I am obsessed with Times New Roman, I love coffee, and fabricating. I am a latent motorhead with a sustainability fetish.
I like to mentor, but I play it off like I am just helping out. One of my favorite things is paying wages.
I love music, all kinds, and try to see a show every week or two. I am known for my indie rock and 80’s music dancing. To many people they look the same.
I have a cat, my girlfriend has a dog.
I was born in Canada but I love the USA .
I love to tell bad jokes and meandering stories that confuse rather than inspire.
I can cook and like pints of Harp Ale. Bottle Rockets Rule, and I have the powder burns to prove it.
I love to sew.. fabric-cating, get it?
I am learning all about the Linux Operating System . Commmand line skilllzz!!!!!
Eventually I hope to make one of everything. This is getting easier since I am learning to program and build CNC machines.
A person obsessed with both typefaces and bad puns? Now that's font-tastic!
Of course, some things never change, even when you ride slow. Here's yet another hipster bike locked to a pole on a New York City street. Note the lime green rims and matching grips. I can just see him doing a leg-over-the-bars dismount as he cinches up his messenger bag and saunters over to the playground.
Why won't these people grow up already?
