Urban Alienation: Cultural Carnage and Alleycats

We live in trying times. Hurricane Ike has pulverized Texas. Wall Street is in turmoil. And, most horrific of all, the New Kids On The Block are preparing for their reunion tour.

It's no wonder then that so many of us choose to bury our heads in the proverbial sand of cycling. I certainly do. It's far easier to live in a world where "tragic" means a really ugly fixed-gear conversion and "scandal" means your favorite rider has just tested positive for EPO. That's why when something enters the world of cycling that forces me to look beyond it and contemplate the larger issues I become especially angry. Like a child shut in his bedroom listening to music, I dread that moment when someone pounds on the door and tells me to turn it off and get to work.

The latest knock at the door came yesterday, in the form of an alleycat:

I'd seen this particular one advertised on the various bike blogs for quite awhile now. Apart from briefly sighing to lament the tiresome formula of pop culture appropriation to which all these alleycats seem to adhere (in this case it was the re-working of the Morbid Angel logo) I really didn't think anything of it. By the way, if you don't know what an alleycat is, it's something that used to be a messenger race, then became a race for people who copy messengers, and then became a race for people who copy people who copy messengers. And if you don't know who Morbid Angel are, they're a band. For every genre of music, there's a band that officially carves out the heart of that genre, discards it, and dances around in the carcass campily like Buffalo Bill from "Silence of the Lambs." Morbid Angel were that band for the subgenre of a subgenre called "grindcore," and they excised from it any social consciousness bands like Napalm Death may have had, slipped on the carcass of screaming and speed like a stage costume, and very successfully upped the ante of metal idiocy.

At any rate, I didn't give much thought to the "Metal Rage" alleycat, until I was checking in with trackosaurusrex (home of the exclamation point!) and saw this:

Clearly this wasn't just another contrived alleycat with a cutesy theme. This was full-bore, white-knuckle, hunched-over-the-neck-of-the-guitar, hair-swinging, cock-rocking stupidity. Aghast, I followed the link to the report, and learned this:

At each checkpoint you had to do a task like sign the manifest in your own real blood, bring roadkill, shotgun a beer, get slapped by a groupie, be anointed with fake blood and let all but 30 psi out of your tire.

I also read this comment from a participant on one of the sponsor's sites:

Jack’s arm looked so fucking nasty. I watched it happen to. They gave us razor blades and said “cut yourself” and Jack pulled some fucking suicidal shit. His arm split open and he screamed…

I listened to Bathory and Dissectiont the whole night.

Now, as I mentioned, I was aghast. And the reason for my aghastation (sure, why not?) wasn't the theme, or the makeup, or the clothes. It wasn't even the idea of people cutting themselves open for what is essentially a big Easter Egg hunt. I mean, sure, all those things were pretty stupid, but that's not what was bugging me. It was the dead animals. I kept going back to the pictures of the dead animals.

I'm the first to admit that I'm a simpering wussbag when it comes to animals. I can't even watch a dog food commercial without getting emotional. And forget Animal Planet--all it takes is one story of a cat with cancer or something to bring me to my knees as I press my hands together and beg of the heavens, "Why? Dear God, why!?!" But still, I do have some perspective on it. I realize at least part of the reason for my extreme sensitivity in this area is because I'm so insensitive in others, and that I've sort of unevenly focussed all my compassion on the animal kingdom. I guess that's why I can shrug my shoulders at a person in distress, but if I see a pigeon with a limp or something I need to go have a drink. I also realize that I come from a place where the death of animals is not a part of my day-to-day life. Maybe if I'd grown up on a farm or something and chicken decapitations were as commonplace as mail delivery I'd see things a little differently.

Still, I think no matter where you are on the animal sensitivity spectrum, pictures like these should at least raise an eyebrow. I couldn't help wondering if at least some of the "roadkill" hadn't been alive before these people go their hands on it. (In fact, I have reason to believe this may indeed be the case.) And even if none of the "roadkill" had been killed by the participants, surely when a group of grown men are riding around New York City playing with bloody animals it is symptomatic of something in the "bike culture" that goes beyond simple stupidity. Here's another picture from the flickr page linked to on the trackosaurusrex site:

I've taken the liberty of annotating this particular photo in order to draw attention to the bloodied animal, the depraved expression, and the torso in dire need of a manssiere.

And here's a closer look at one of the photos from above:

I suppose if I heard about a bunch of 14-year-old kids in rural Kansas riding around doing something like this I might understand it. I've been to rural Kansas, and while it certainly has a certain beauty I could also imagine it breeding a certain restlessness and destructive boredom in an adolescent hungry for social and intellectual stimulation. However, it's much harder to understand something like this when the participants are a bunch of adults in one of the cultural capitals of the world, who have thousands of dollars of high-end bicycle equipment, and, at least in some cases, also have expensive educations and white-collar office jobs as well as access to all the socially and intellectually stimulating pursuits those assets afford them.

Could they not think of anything better to do with their bikes or themselves? Moreover, if any of these people actually have romantic partners, what kind of exchanges did they have with theirs the next morning?

"What did you do last night, honey?"

"A few of us stopped by an art gallery. Then we had dinner, talked for awhile, and saw a really great show. What did you do?"

"I pulled the wing off a dead pigeon, shotgunned a beer, and wrote my name in blood."

Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised when people choose the stupid route. If you want to race your bike, why should you enter an actual race? Those are hard, and sometimes require you to get up early. Why not do an alleycat instead? And if you want to have a visceral experience, why go hunting or fishing? That would require you to think, and to learn something, and to deal with the consequences of taking a life. Plus, you can't really do it while dressed as your favorite Norwegian black metal hero. Indeed, you can only sit in your office in front of you iMac for so long before you feel the desperate need to legitimize your brand-new knuckle tattoos by wrapping them around a bloody animal while dressed as the people who live the lives which you covet yet of which you are also afraid.

I hope I'm wrong in my suspicion that any animal, no matter how low on the food chain, might have been killed just for an alleycat. But even if I am wrong, I think a bunch of yuppies riding around playing with roadkill represents a new low. I'd love to see some comments from the participants, who can perhaps show me that I'm overreacting and can prove me wrong on all counts. I mean, I must be, right? After all King Kog, home of the vegan toe straps, was one of the sponsors.

Oh well, I'm glad all the frat boys are still managing to have fun after graduation.