“Things have been hectic” is just something you say. Obviously as a semi-professional bike blogger my life is almost cartoonishly easy. For example, today my biggest challenge was deciding which bike to ride–a challenge I’m pleased to report I met decisively:
I may be 75% Mudbunion at this point, but I’ll always love a misty spring road ride, and every pedal stroke upon this bike is pure bliss. I once scoffed when people would extol the virtues of their titanium frames, but now I know that to ride one is to feel even more coddled and sated than a tick nestled in the fleece of that lamb the Virgin Mary is carrying for some reason:
As always, I stopped at my private photo booth on the Tappan Zee Mario Cuomo Bridge, and speaking of ticks I should probably check my beard for them:
My choice of arm warmers and my about-to-sit-on-the-toilet stance are probably the only thing I have in common with the Assos guy at this point:
Those arm warmers are well over 20 years old, so whatever they cost I guess they were worth it.
[Hard to imagine a drier food than gluten-free matzoh, you might as well eat spackle. As for Easter, I’m fairly certain you don’t eat the eggs.]
Sorry for my absence, I’ve been busy observing the holidays:
Just kidding!
No, I’m so profoundly spiritual I’ve transcended mere religious ritual and can now enter into a non-denominational state of Cosmic Oneness at will…though I do require a bike in order to do so, so in that sense I have not yet managed to fully liberate myself from the material plane:
Still, I do occasionally liberate myself from gears, which is a start:
No, the reason I’ve been absent is that I was on location making another video for Phil Gaimon’s new YouTube channel…even through they have yet to “air” my first video for their new YouTube channel, probably because they finally watched the video and saw what I look like:
You can practically feel the insufferable bloviating as I waggle my shaming figure.
Additionally, I’ve also been engaged in mundane life stuff. For example, I don’t want to speak prematurely, but I do believe I may have not only successfully vanquished the Electronic Chupacabra that was preying upon THE CAR THAT I OWN BECAUSE I FINISHED PAYING BACK THE FASCIST BULLY BOYS AT THE BANK, but also restored my ability to listen to music in said vehicle through the actual speakers instead of via a Bluetooth speaker duct-taped to the dash or a phonograph plugged into the cigarette lighter. (Please note “cigarette lighter” is a figure of speech, my car is a victim of political correctness and does not have a cigarette lighter.) This is not an automotive blog, but I am always ready to discuss my journey in the comments or extracurricularly if you are experiencing similar problems. I’ll also add that, while I stand by anti-car sentiments such as this one, it’s also amazing how many smart and helpful car people there are, which is yet another reminder that nothing in this world is cut and dry. When you’re on a bike or on foot trying to navigate around that garage that leaves cars double-parked or on the sidewalk they seem selfish and evil, but when those very same people are helping you repair the vehicle you depend on in order to transport your family or get to work they seem like nothing less than divine agents. (Not that I depend on my motor vehicle to get to work–I’m a semi-professional bike blogger, I don’t even know the meaning of the word “work”–but, you know, other people do.)
In smug circles, bicyclists often congratulate themselves for using a mode of transport that keeps them in touch with the world around them. This is certainly valid, in that yes, you absolutely notice stuff on your bike you’d never notice while driving. I’ve discovered all sorts of little out-of-the-way spots over the years, from restaurants to parks to panoramic vistas, all by virtue of the fact that I was riding a bicycle and not speeding along in my gasoline-powered four-wheel recumbent.
At the same time, this connection to your environment is relative, and you also whiz by all sorts of stuff on your bike without realizing it. We all feel like we’ve got a broadband connection to Total Consciousness when we’re riding, but there’s a fine line between enlightenment and having your head up your ass, and we often mistake the latter for the former. For example, I’ve been riding past this log repeatedly, but only this morning did I notice that someone is making an awesome totem pole out of it:
So I took this as a sign that I should sit down for a bit and enjoy the peace and tranquility of the forest:
Even the whoosh of traffic on the Major Deegan couldn’t drown out the woodpeckers and other woodland denizens, in the same way someone mixing margaritas in the next room does little to diminish the soaring majesty of a Beethoven symphony. I suppose I could have lamented how Robert Moses shredded this park with parkways and expressways, but instead I chose to dwell on how fortunate I was to be sitting on a log on a Friday morning in April, my exquisite custom bicycle leaning jauntily against an artisanal hand-curated carving-in-progress.
Speaking of my bike, my crank downgrade seems to be holding up, so hopefully there was nothing too wrong with it when I relegated it to the parts bin several years back:
As for the new bike project I’m embarking upon, I’m awaiting the frame and some components I didn’t already have, and I’ll keep you posted.
I’ve also been considering stealing back the Bruce Gordon Rock n’ Road tires for that project, but I have others in my tire pile I think I should use first, and also I’ve really been enjoying them on this bike:
Though they are a bit too narrow for certain applications, especially if your offroad line-holding skills are sub-mediocre like mine are:
There’s nothing that undermines your state of woodland bliss like getting your tire wedged in between two planks and bashing your knee on your stem in the process:
That never would have happened with the Jones:
Which reminds me I’ve gotta get back on that Jones!
New York City is home to many exotic animals, such as the so-called “peafowl,” which is of course native to the Bronx and Central Park Zoos:
We came upon this stunning display last Friday. Note the bemusement of the peahen as the peacock attempts to woo her with his voluminous plumage. Every so often the peacock would also shake his feathers rapidly, emitting an intimidating sound not unlike that of a rattlesnake. He’d also turn to us periodically as if to say, “Don’t even think about it, she’s mine.”
It’s hard to watch such a display and not consider how much of human endeavor can be dismissed as simple peacockery. Consider for example the roadies who parade up and down 9W, resplendent in their Lycra finery and dancing pompously upon the pedals of their crabon bicycles. Even those of us who ostensibly eschew such behavior and fancy ourselves above (or at least beyond) the Realm of Fredness are just as flashy in our own way:
Waxed canvas and cloth tape is our plumage, and we ratchet our friction shifters defensively when we feel threatened by the disc brake set.
You know, if I had a bunch of spare parts I’d totally build up one of those…
*winky emoji*
…though of course my A. Homer Hilsen lends itself perfectly to mixed-terrain rambling:
You know something? It’s taken me awhile to appreciate it fully, but the riding in the greater New York City metropolitan area is really, really good! However, besides not having a real job, the key to taking maximum advantage of it is to live on the mainland instead of one of those silly island boroughs where you’ve got to ride to two hours just to break free from the street grid. Here you can practically roll out of bed and right into the woods:
Sometimes it turns out you’ve got everything you need right in your own backyard–even if you don’t even have your own backyard.
Finally, this past weekend I was Just Riding Along on my vintage titanium Fred Sled when I heard the impatient whining of a small gas motor behind me. I thought maybe it was someone ripping around the streets on a dirt bike or something, but I was soon overtaken by one of those RC cars being followed closely by a German sports sedan:
Today I saw a gas-powered radio-controlled car driving in the street and being followed by an actual BMW.
I didn’t get a look inside the car, but clearly either the driver or the passenger was driving the RC car around from the car, which seems not unlike riding your actual bike while watching your Zwift avatar on a handlebar-mounted screen.
It’s always a sad moment when a bicycle leaves your household.
Actually, that’s not true. Sometimes a bike goes away and you never think about it again. Or, sometimes you think about it often, but when you do you are overwhelmed by feelings of gratitude for the fact that it’s gone, which is what happens whenever I recall this bike:
Wow that thing sucked.
Belt drive monstrosities notwithstanding, yesterday I said goodbye to a bike, and while far from perfect I will always think fondly of it. That bike is the American M-16 from Classic Cycle, which looked like this when I received it back in January of 2020:
The bike appealed to me aesthetically and mechanically, though my first long ride reminded me that straight, narrow bars, short chainstays, and a reliance on tire tread instead of tire volume for traction were not the recipe for comfort on long mixed-terrain rides:
Then there was the chainsuck–the bike devoured the chain exuberantly nearly every time I shifted into the granny–as well as the lack of tire clearance in the rear triangle, which meant that the knobs of the tires pictured above were slowly eating away at the chainstay.
Eventually though I realized (as are many other people these days) that, while the mountain bikes of yore may no longer be the best mountain bikes, they are quite satisfying to ride on what people generally refer to today as “gravel:”
Narrower, less-aggressive tires, a more comfortable saddle, and flat pedals were the first steps in transforming this bike into the casual rambler it wanted to be (though one could argue I’m projecting and it’s I and not the bike who is undergoing a transformation into a casual rambler), and eventually I refined it with more sumptuous tires, more upright bars, and pedals more in keeping with the bike’s ethos:
Thusly equipped, the bike made for a great casual yet zippy grab-and-go all-arounder:
I mean the Tarmac was a really nice bike, but the RockCombo is the kind of bike you can really sink your teeth into–especially if you don’t plan to start racing again, which I emphatically do not, though I suppose the fact I feel compelled to emphasize this means I’m ripe for a relapse.
Anyway, not only is the RockCombo a fitting replacement for the plastic Fred Sled, but it also makes the M-16 more or less redundant, inasmuch as it is of more or less the same vintage while at the same time much more comfortable and versatile. So as of yesterday the M-16 is now en route to Bainbridge Island from whence it came, and as Classic Cycle’s designated Old Crap Test Pilot I’m looking forward to my next mission:
As I mentioned recently, I’ve been making some videos down there in Manhattan for Phil Gaimon’s new PreemTV channel, and would you look at that, the first one is up!
“Shut up old man” is of course the correct response to everything I say in this video (as well as everything I write on this blog for that matter). Nevertheless, it’s been a pleasure working with Terry Barentsen, who I hope at least appreciates working with a rider it’s extremely easy to keep up with, even if collaborating on these videos with me was a condition of his community service.
Thank you for watching my prolonged descent upon the escalator of relevance.
They say you should never read the comments, but I did glance at the ones at the bottom of my YouTube video yesterday, and I was pleased to find they were insightful as always:
Saying a fixie isn’t a fixie because it has brakes is like saying a sandal isn’t a sandal because you’re wearing socks with it. By the way, anybody remember Ted Shred? If a fixie is a bike without brakes then that would make his bike a fixed gear!
Ah, 2006..heady days indeed. I like to think Ted Shred eventually did get a brake, but in order to stay True to the Shoe he had a custom one made that uses a pair of Vans instead of brake pads:
Actually, you could probably fabricate a Ted Shred pro model brake out of a Ken Doll:
Just bolt his torso to the brake bridge, use one of his arms as a cable stop, and with legs akimbo he could squeeze the rim between his feet.
And of course your Ken Doll brake should always wear a helmet:
Speaking of brakes, we’re living in the age of discs. As we all know, rim brakes are weak and ineffectual, and if you’re using cantis you may as well be Ted Shred. Nevertheless, this morning I fucked off egregiously on a profoundly satisfying mixed-terrain ride astride the RockCombo:
I took the above photo on the popular stretch known as “River Road.” The other day I mentioned how even when you’re on a bike it’s easy to miss stuff, and for years I missed the fact that bald eagles live here. Idiotically, I just thought all the people with high-powered cameras were taking pictures of the mighty Yonkers skyline or something, and it wasn’t until the commenter known as “Mikeweb” pointed it out to me one day did I realize I’ve been blithely pedaling past our national bird. Anyway, today I got a good look at one, though you can hardly tell from my shitty pinch-to-zoom smartphone photo:
The small blob is the bird, and the larger blob is the nest. I’d feel shame for this poor shot if I didn’t know that I am in fact capable of brilliant nature photography:
That is easily the best picture I’ve ever taken or will ever take. It also says pretty much all you need to know about life:
Some days you’re the hawk, and some days you’re the pigeon. But most of the time you’re just a squirrel stealing half-eaten pizza crusts out of the garbage.
After leaving River Road I headed off into the woods:
I don’t now much, but I do know that when you come across a big-ass rock you’d better sit on it and contemplate your place in the universe, so I did just that:
If you’re very lucky you experience a moment or two every day when things just make sense. How you arrive at that moment doesn’t really matter, but in this case I just happened to get there via a short-lived proto-gravel bike the color of Don Johnson’s nightmares.
A little while later I stopped in Piermont for a snack. Piermont is one of those towns that’s so cute you don’t know if you want to pinch its cheek or slap it in the face. On the weekends the racks are generally bursting with bicycles, but today it was just my Sinyard’s Folly and one other lucky bastard:
From there I headed over the Tappan Zee Mario Cuomo Bridge and to yet another dirt trail that brought me pretty much all the way home, by which point I was forced to admit that the riding around here is in fact pretty damn good.
