So whether you're getting a new flat-screen TV, or a new bicycle, or a new car, or a new spouse, it's crucial that the process includes a "Ceremony of Acquisition," in which people coddle you and reassure you and tell you how smart and special you are and what a great decision you're making. So when Joe Burton's "Ceremony of Acquisition" was interrupted and he did not receive the attention and praise he deserved for purchasing a Cervelo, he got angry. This is hardly surprising. Wouldn't you get angry at your wedding if somebody lost the rings? Wouldn't you be outraged if you went to a Passover Seder and the hosts forgot the Haggadahs? Wouldn't you be furious at the Pope if he tried to celebrate the Eucharist with an Eggo waffle? Sure you would--assuming you believe in those things in the first place. Similarly, when you believe in the awesomeness of the Cervelo as well as in your own awesomeness for getting married to a Cervelo only to have the sacred "Ceremony of Acquisition"disrupted, you become disappointed, disillusioned, and angry. It's "consumerus interruptus," or what's colloquially known as "blue bills."
Actually, considering the circumstances, Joe Burton actually took it pretty well. His bike only cost $4,000. What if he was purchasing an $18,000 bicycle, like Tony Shalhoub's stunt double in this article from the New York Times (forwarded by Daddo-One)?
It's tempting to think that the sorts of people who purchase bicycles that cost many thousands of dollars are doing so because they have a great deal of cycling experience, and as such not only can appreciate and take advantage of the subtle differences between expensive bikes and cheaper ones, but are also possessed of the kind of knowledge, confidence, and self-sufficiency that comes with experience. As such, it's also tempting to think that they can make their way through the bike-buying process with a minimal hand-holding. However, this is not true. The more expensive the bicycle, the more experts need to be involved. They must measure you like a bass at a fishing contest. They must point lasers at you and hook you up to a computer like you're a business presentation or a car that's getting the "check engine" light. Simply put, you require the "Ceremony of Aquisition." You're not buying the bike; you're buying the attention.
Of course, ITTET, this particular high-end shop has had to change it's approach:
Mr. Heitmann, who has a Ph.D. in philosophy, explained his bike shop’s adjustments in Hegelian terms: “Take the status quo (thesis), challenge it with a new idea (antithesis), and emerge with a better idea (synthesis). We’re at an antithetical period — I believe the Cadence brand will emerge stronger and better despite the difficulties New York is experiencing now.”
Mr. Heitmann, who has a Ph.D. in philosophy, explained his bike shop’s adjustments in Hegelian terms: “Take the status quo (thesis), challenge it with a new idea (antithesis), and emerge with a better idea (synthesis). We’re at an antithetical period — I believe the Cadence brand will emerge stronger and better despite the difficulties New York is experiencing now.”
Now, I only have a 105/Centaur/Rival-quality education, but if I understand Heitmann properly he means this:
Thesis
Antithesis
Synthesis
This means that Cadence is going to become the "keytar" of bike shops. Frankly, I'm not sure Hegelian philosophy is what a struggling bike shop needs, but then again I don't have a Ph.D. and I admit I am a bit of a "keytard." Apparently, becoming the "keytar" of bike shops involves selling cheaper bikes. Yet, as the article points out, "Personal coaches, who can charge lawyer-style rates of as much as $150 an hour, are reporting a spike in business." This is a disturbing sign if you're a retailer of $18,000 bicycles, since it means that crafty consumers have figured out a way to enjoy the "Ceremony of Acquisition" without actually acquiring anything. In other words, they're skipping the new bike, but they're still paying to have somebody follow them around and tell them how great they are. This is like being budget-minded by putting your kitchen renovation on hold and then using that as a justification to dine out every night. I guess wealthy roadies don't want to buy the keytar right now, but they'll still pay top dollar for the lessons.
After spending a little time inside the mind of the high-end New York City roadie, the "excesses" of the fixed-gear world seem quaint in comparison. As ridiculous as these riders can be, they've got a ways to go before they're paying for alleycat-specific training programs and fixed-gear freestyling lessons. At the moment, it seems like the New York City fixed-gear riders are in an awkward stage of development, and they're arriving at that place where their fashion choices are becoming painfully at odds with practicality and functionality.
One place these growing pains have manifested itself recently is in fenders. For some reason, New York City cyclists in general are fender-averse. Even people who ride bikes with clearance and eyelets for fenders rarely use them. I suppose it's because they don't like the way fenders look, and instead prefer having abstract pointillist designs on the seats of their pants. The truth is, though, that fenderlessness is a sign of cycling immaturity (racing bikes and offroad bikes excluded). Realizing you need fenders is as elementary as toilet training, and in both cases there's nothing as immature as not knowing how to keep your own ass dry.
To their credit, New York City's fixed-gear riders are now spending enough time on their bikes that they are beginning to learn about ass protection. However, they're also riding bicycles that don't allow it, because they coveted things like "true track geometry" and "tight clearances" that sound cool but are mostly at odds with all-weather city riding. As a result, I've seen a sudden spike in the number of clip on "beaver tail" fenders--which, as I pointed out last week, are almost always set up so they're almost touching the rear tire, flat-brim style.
Obviously, fixed-gear freestylers aren't going to adopt full fenders anytime soon since they would get in the way of tricks, but generally speaking I feel as though fixed-gear riders in New York City are at an interesting turning point. They're willing to ride around in utility belts and beards looking like that guy from "Home Improvement," yet they still covet minimalist bikes. Will they finally abandon fashionable affectations and begin to embrace practicality, or will they continue to pursue things like this?
Beaverizing a mountain bike might make sense for muddy rides, but on an urban bike something like this is just sad. It's really just a pie plate for your saddle. Once you've fastened an oversized labium like this to your bike you've already admitted you need fenders, so next time you're in the market for a frame you might want to think differently. Even my lowly Scattante Empire State Courier manages to accommodate full fenders:
Incidentally, as a proud Scattante owner, I've done some research into its provenance. Here's what the bike looks like as Performance sells it:
However, it's also the same exact frame as the 2008 SE Lager: 
...which is in turn the same exact frame as the Bikesdirect "Windsor Clockwork:"
I'm sure that there are more iterations out there, but I stopped looking because it was getting me depressed. Suffice to say though that I own at least three bikes in one, and that it can also be purchased for anywhere from $329 to $599.99, depending on your decal preference. Just make sure you also budget for fenders and coaching.
As depressed as I was to learn about the promiscuity of my Perscattinsor SE (though I still prefer it to that Look), I'm nowhere near as upset as Lance Armstrong, who's now being accused of "misbehaving" during a drug test:
I can't blame him for questioning the tester's validity. As I've already surmised, the French are attempting to collect enough of Lance Armstrong's hair, nail clippings, and bodily fluids to build their very own Lance Armstrong. For all he knew, the guy with the backpack could have been an agent in this diabolical scheme. But what Armstrong didn't know is that the French are actually much closer to completion than anybody thought. In fact, the French Armstrong bootleg was recently spotted out training:
He's even riding a Trek. Granted, his Tour de France performance may not be all that animated, but it will almost certainly be re-animated.
I can't blame him for questioning the tester's validity. As I've already surmised, the French are attempting to collect enough of Lance Armstrong's hair, nail clippings, and bodily fluids to build their very own Lance Armstrong. For all he knew, the guy with the backpack could have been an agent in this diabolical scheme. But what Armstrong didn't know is that the French are actually much closer to completion than anybody thought. In fact, the French Armstrong bootleg was recently spotted out training:
He's even riding a Trek. Granted, his Tour de France performance may not be all that animated, but it will almost certainly be re-animated.
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