In honor of Pinchie's 25th High School Reunion....

Well, you know, this is about 20 years before the first Bailey Works messenger bags, so Charlie Chaplin can be forgiven for racking his — uh... laptop computer.




Do click on the image for full sized -- the copy is a priceless trip down memory lane (for us old farts who remember a time when amber 9" monitors and 256K of memory were fucking mint).

But this ad from a 1984 issue of the New Yorker strikes a perfectly anachronistic note. In 1984, Dutch-style commuter bikes with Brooks seats were about as culturally relevant as Charlie Chaplin was. Which is to say: Not at all. If IBM were trying to be totally hip they'd have put Boy George on a first-generation Rock Hopper.

The cause of -- and solution for -- all the world's cycling problems

With Chequamegon in the bag, the inevitable question comes up: Will you be crossing this year? First, I'll have to go into a longwinded soliloquy about how the Fat Tire 40 comes at a bad time in my natural cycle, how I'm on the backside of a good August, although this August wasn't that great either, and I'm just not sure whether I raced stupid, or whether I'm getting a lot slower for no obvious reason other than maybe pancreatic cancer or something (not to make light of serious health issues; quite the contrary, once you pass about 40, we're all hypochondriacs in direct proportion to the number of funerals we are obliged to attend). So with all that in mind -- suffering, pain, medication -- the Pinch Flat News Team brings you this delightful message from the makers of SKOL beer (courtesy of cveloca, thanks rogerson! Send more, you lazy duffer!)

Conspicuous Idiocy in Motion

About the only time I see a serious bicycle sound-system scenario is during Homie fall fest. Grayboy and SnakkyP and the rest of the estimable Surly gang have been known to rig up their Fat Dummies with all manner of woofers, tweeters, and wine mulling paraphernalia for the general betterment of all mankind. Although I think music has kinda sucked for about 20 years now, and can generally do without it. Let's say the pleasures of the bicycle, and good company, and strong liquor are sufficient for the day.

Anyway, over here we see examples of all sorts of improvised sound systems for bicycles like this dude.
I have to admit I've never fully understood the compulsion to be DJ for the Soundtrack of Life for everyone within earshot. I suppose the same thing is true of the dudes who drive around in their GTO's with trunk-based sound systems that shake the loose fillings out of all the strolling dowagers inching their way with tennis-balled walkers around Lake Calhoun. I mean seriously, what is the point? And bike systems almost universally tend to sound bad and look even worse.

I admit, though, that I've grown a little attached to my own sound system for those long, fat, slow solo rides in the spring. But my system is a little less -- uh -- cumbersome.

The Economy is So Bad That I Want to Buy Photographs of Myself Suffering

Everyday, people ask me how bad the economy is. It is very bad. They slow down on their bike rides in order to speak to me at length. What should I do about my 401K, they ask. Let's take a left on Garfield, I say. Why are farming and other seasonal jobs excluded from the unemployment statistics, they ask. I prefer Murphy-Hanrehand, I say, because there aren't so many artificial impediments and barriers. Will the emerging middle class in the BRIC nations slow their consumption, they ask, or will their appetite for Western-style goods and services continue unabated? I actually run a 38:21 on the singlespeed, I aver, which is awesome in the woods but hell on the approach.

I noticed today that Marathon Foto has considerably extended the deadlines they have been threatening me with ever since about one second after this year's Chequamegon. I have, over the years, always gotten a kick out of seeing their photographs of me, in both the Fat Tire 40 and the Birkie, generally suffering like a dog and looking like I just took a big bite of a crap sandwich, and well gosh, that's the best crap sandwich I ever ate, can you pass the mustard, yum! I usually open my envelope from them, and then take a scissors and cut out the tiny little proofs, and stick them on the refrigerator, where they yellow and curl and take me back about a decade everytime I go for the ketchup or the pickled herring, and I can't really imagine wanting or needing anything more than that, but I do wish Marathon Foto good luck and godspeed in this terrible, terrible economy where people are buying pretty much just rice and Cialis.



If they were really smart over there, they'd — well, the first thing they'd do is learn how to spell "foto" correctly. But if they were really really smart, they'd realize that with this here Internets dingus, they could indefinitely store every photograph they ever took of me, and then they could give away this year's photographs, and then sell archival access to all those bygone years, the one where I went fast, the one where I puked grape Cytomax out my nose, the one where I blacked out afterward and spent an hour under a space blanket, the one where I wore that ugly Rock Shox jersey that almost every other rider wore too, and so on. Maybe even make an animated GIF, a sort of time lapse documenting how I've gotten older, fatter, more wizened, but how I always pick the right line going around Lake Helane -- clever rider!

Getting all Guitar Hero on my bike

Love the proof-of-concept here, and I'm sure someone is going to take this idea all double-suspension and titanium and shit. (Actually, more likely someone will take this idea all Bare Knuckle and Nitto and Deep-V and shit.)

Fun with journalistic standards & practices

I had to laugh when I saw that VeloNews and Cycling News both obviously had tape recorders in front of David Millar's nose at the same time. It's common practice to clean up transcripts so that the written word and the spoken word meet in the middle, at a point where you hope you've captured the speakers intentions. I rather prefer the uncensored version, because it tells you... well, it tells you how fucking pissed David Millar is. (I took the liberty of spelling out what Cycling News sort of lamely bleeped out with their silly typ0graphic fig leaves.)

VeloNews: “The unfortunate thing is when things look like they’re too good to be true, they are too good to be true. He did look pretty good,” said David Millar of Garmin-Chipotle. “It’s just amazing that he’s that irresponsible and doesn’t have any love or respect for the sport.”

CyclingNews: "It is bullshit... I think it's unfortunate that when things look too good to be true, generally they are too good to be true - and he did look pretty fucking good," Millar told Cyclingnews. "It is just amazing that he is that irresponsible and doesn't have any love or care for the sport. What a cunt!*"

And just to be clear: Journalists--myself included--edit quotes all the time to clarify the intent of the speaker and to generally lessen the risk of making them look like stuttering idiots. Tape yourself speaking sometime, and then write a verbatim transcript. You'll immediately understand what I'm talking about.

*Also, I made up that last sentence and added it to the Cycling News quote. You know, to clarify intent, and to be funny.

Wanna ride Belleville?

All the Francophilia in the air had me wondering: Where the hell is Belleville, and how can I get my calves to look like two little baby butts?

It turns out there is a real Belleville on this side of the pond, and it's down by St. Louis. They even have a bicycle tour, scheduled for tomorrow -- although I note with disgust that alcohol is prohibited, and no mention of egg-beater calf massages.

Great listening: Bike story from This American Life

Also, I almost forgot: Please listen to this past week's podcast of This American Life. (It's frustrating that I can do nothing more than send you that way.)

But listen. Do! After the saga about two homeless dudes and their efforts to break into the slam poetry scene (not bad), there's a touching and sweet story from Dave Dickerson about getting his first bike, and royally fucking it up. I know you'll be moved to tears the way I was. It's very sweet.

Serious! Click here to download the episode. (The story, "Take My Bike Please," begins at about 37:40)

60 smiles per hour

Here's another sweet video in the developing cute-girl-riding-a-basket-bike genre. This one features the Latina singer Andrea Echeverri, and she has a pair of killer arm warmers that are worthy of Mario Cipollini.

Memo to Michael Ball: the next time you switch up the Rock Racing kit, two words-- Sleeveless turtlenecks.

The bicycle backlash has begun?

For a recent French gig, Radiohead donated 50 free front-row tickets to anyone who cycled to their label's Paris office to pick them up. Alas, only 15 of the tickets were claimed.

This "bicycle blunder," according to the trashy British fishwrap The Sun, was evidence of the "egghead rockers potty ploy" backfiring.



This no doubt proves that continental Radiohead fans are among the most vehement deniers of Global Warming, and would rather forego a free concert ticket than play into the hands of the worldwide bicycle conspiracy. Can't we all just stop with this whole "Global Warming" fad?

Or maybe word just didn't spread as far and wide as Radiohead would have liked.

The Sun, of course, is a reputable family newspaper with the highest journalistic standards that also features bare-breasted women each day on page three.

Notes on the state of my "pro cycling journalism"

OK, so we're back. I covered the Nature Valley Grand Prix again this year for VeloNews, and it was -- as ever -- a hoot. Those athletes are something to see, and one of the pleasures of covering it with a MEDIA laminate hanging on my neck, is that it gives me an opportunity to run around talking to as many of them as I can. Being a shy and introverted person who makes a lot of bold and brash statements from behind my little screen and keyboard (we used to call this "cocking off" in the dark days before the Interwebs) this poses some interesting challenges. And it provokes a couple of interesting thoughts.

• Isn't it strange that Kristin Armstrong is completely unrelated to Lance, and yet dominates the pro women's field as much -- or even more -- than her male predecessor? Isn't that kind of a strange coincidence?

• CyclingNews.com's Kristin Robbins is a former pro bike racer turned journalist who cranks out the copy and gets the story straight, often from the mouths of the racers themselves. She knows which breaks were key, she gets inside strategy, and basically can spin a perfect yarn around any given race. That's what happens when you have her connections and history, and when you practice your craft 50-weeks out of the year. I think she's likely the best workaday journalist covering the domestic pro calendar, and I know that all the riders read her pretty closely.

• Robbins is also connected with Colavita/Sutter Home, one of the big pro teams on both the men's and women's side, where she has worked PR and media relations. In trad journalistic circles, that would be seen as working both the dark side and the legit side, but I can't see how that's much of a problem. Maybe if she had something ticklish to write about, some kind of major scandal within the ranks of her employers (The chamois butter is Canola-based! OMFG!) , then she'd be in a pickle. But frankly I think her longterm association with pro cycling is aces, and it's not like the domestic pro peloton is festering with secrets and intrigue. And if it is, it's probably just those goofy Aussies who wreck every after-party with their drunken derbying.

• I myself felt a little compromised in a couple of ways. First, it's great to cover this race year to year, but I'm at a significant disadvantage to folks like Kristin, Amy Smolens, and Kent Gordis (more about them in a second). Without regularly following the pro schedule in person, I don't have instant mental access to the general trends -- who's riding strong right now, who's injured, what happened at the Reading Classic last weekend, where is the peloton headed to next. True, I could stay on top of that stuff, but you know how it is. How much of your free time do you spend reading books that will help you do your part-time job better? (Part time as in about 20 hours per year.) But more than all that publicly available data, it's the inside information that would really help: the team directors personal cell numbers, the hard-working promoters, the USCF officials. I could get my sweaty mits on all that stuff, if I were more tenacious and anal and generally type-A.

• Another way that I was compromised in a more obvious way, relative to being an "objective journalist," was that I'd agreed to help out with the NVGP this year on the volunteer side-- I stood in to provide "race radio," which means riding in one of the officials cars and relating all available and relevant information about the race back to the team cars: You announce breaks, you call up cars to provide support to their riders, you give warnings about situations on the road-- loose gravel, railroad tracks, hard turns, the time gaps and the numbers of the riders in them, and so on. This is an ideal position to be in to try to reconstruct a race, incidentally, and by far the best place in the world to be. (One of the motos at the head of the peloton would be a slightly more advantageous place, but it would be hell to take notes. Truly at well-covered events like the Tour De France, television viewers have by far the best seat in the house. Those moto-guys with their cameras are amazing athletes in their own right.) I'm a terrible note taker, but I have an awesome memory for details-- what the course looked and felt like, how the peloton is behaving, what their mood appears to be, and so on. But I have almost no memory whatsoever about anything numerical or mathematical. Sometimes I think I'm a little dyslexic. Or maybe just an idiot savant, without the savant part. So it can be a significant challenge to take good legible notes about what happens during a race. The best way, in the end, is to make sure you get the numbers of the riders, the time gaps, and the portion of the course. No need to worry about teams or individuals until afterward, when you can reconstruct the race like a baseball box score. (You really can tell the story of a ball game, at least in broad strokes, from reading a box score, if you know what you're doing.) The officials I rode with in the Mankato Stage were brilliantly talented at remembering numbers, instantly editing them in order to read them back and confirm in ascending order-- meanwhile, I'm not sure I got about a third of those numbers even right. Luckily, the officials have a very redundant system of reading and confirming the numbers of any riders making a move or needing help or what ever.

• So anyway, I wondered: Working for the race and covering it would not pass the smell test of traditional journalism. But I didn't get paid, and it was actually a way of doing my job "out loud" and in service of the peloton and their support. Plus I only did it for one stage: The official kicked me out of the car in Canon Falls (I'd arranged to have someone else do radio tour that day because of the "smell test" issue.) If you want to see the difference between covering a race from inside an officials car versus covering it from the lawn at the finish line, you can read the Canon Falls report and compare it to Mankato.

• I'm not sure who, incidentally, really cares about the fine details of every little attack and every little 5 second gap, but maybe a lot of people are interested. Surely the riders and their sponsors would love to get every mention they can-- that's the business side of pro cycling, the pro part of pro cycling. Press coverage is PR. It's the reason companies like Colavita and Jelly Belly support cycling the way they do (though it very often has to do with a particularly enthusiastic cycling fan or amateur athlete high in the ranks of those companies marketing departments).

• If Kristin Robbins is the best "print" journalist working the domestic pro cycling scene, then Amy Smolens and Kent Gordis are surely the best on the broadcast side-- and more purely "journalists" in the traditional sense. Both self-employed, they cover many of the world's biggest cycling events from the Olympics to World Championships to the Tour de France to-- well, to the Nature Valley Grand Prix. It's a real honor to be chasing those two around and hoping just a tiny bit of their knowledge and expertise rubs off on a pretender like me. I envy them their expertise, but I definitely don't envy them their travel schedule. They live in hotels and airports and in rental cars, and probably have zip for a social life, and probably don't get to see their families very much. I don't think I could handle that trade-off very well, so there you go. That's the moral of the story: trade-offs.

• Finally -- for now anyway -- I hope that my work this year conveyed one thing most of all: What an astonishing athlete Kristin Armstrong really is. She's one of those athletes that establish whole eras. You know, before Kristin Armstrong and (inevitably) after Kristin Armstrong. And in many ways she personifies why pro cycling is really fun to cover as a journalist. She may be the best female cyclist in history -- the XX-chromosome Eddy Merckx (the Eddy Merckx with two X's, ha ha), and that's no exaggeration. Naturally, she's a cannibal on the road in every stage of every race, a take-no-prisoners kind of competitor. And yet she's so modest and approachable off the bike, taking extra care with media parasites like myself, almost looking for children and begging to meet them and sign autographs. She recognizes fans and makes friends with them. She wins the most competitive domestic races virtually alone, with no team, putting minutes into a field that is otherwise separated by seconds. She is head, shoulders, hips and thighs above any of her nearest competitors -- and yet you could never hope to meet someone more down to earth. If you never have the pleasure of seeing her race, you are missing a historical opportunity. An historical opportunity.
  

• Pinch Flat News is about bike culture. Less and less, maybe, as I just don't find the time to devote to it that I should or did. Several people approached me during the race to tell me how much they enjoyed the cyclocross coverage last fall, and I had to admit that I had "burned a lot of matches" on that coverage. Maybe I'll hit my stride again this fall, I don't know. Mainly, I just don't get a lot of feedback or ROI for goofing off here as I do, and I realize that's all a get-what-you-give deal, but you know. See "trade-offs" above. I get a lot of return for hanging with my amazing kids, making my Thursday night dirt ride, and occasionally, you know, showing up for the dayjob.

• Is pro cycling a part of bike culture? Definitely. It's a bit removed from the world of advocacy and spoke cards and mess bags full of PBR and clownish couch bikes, and there are elements of it that seem incredibly decadent and wasteful. The carbon footprint of any given race is gigantic, with all the huge vehicles chugging around the country just to put on a show of a couple hundred hardbodies in funny skinsuits. Decadent indeed. I was super bummed to see how the peloton threw water bottles this year during the extra hot Mankato stage, littering every little farmyard with plastic, stopping in front of a little ranch house to have a group nature break and whipping it out in full view of a little ranch house with a picture window -- when 100 meters up the road there was 5 miles of uninterrupted cornfields. Whatever. I just mention it because bike racing is still pretty exotic in rural America. To see the looks on the faces of these humble and generous people standing in their years to watch the show, and then to have their children literally pelted with litter, and their lawns urinated on by about 100 men-- well, I was embarrassed. I really was. Call me a puss. I know a lot of the guys could give a crap -- they're animals during a race, and that's fine. I'm just saying. There is actually a rule in place in Minnesota that riders are supposed to be fined for throwing their bottles. It's actually a matter of life-and-death-and-taxes, because livestock that eat plastic bottles can and do die. Any idea what a head of beef costs a farmer? Let's just say it's worth more than a handful of those fancy carbon bikes with Dura-Ace and Zippy wheelsets, and when they autopsy that Black Angus and find the shard of plastic that pierced the animal's intestines, and it has the words "Team Bissell Pro Bike Racing," what do you think their view is? Don't kid yourself: one head of beef is every bit as important to a farmers' livelihood as three or four bikes are to Team Health Net presented by Maxxis. I was chagrined that the officials made no effort to enforce this rule, although I announced it several times to the caravan on race radio. Maybe it's unrealistic, I don't know. And maybe the worst that will happen is that a few angry farmers will refuse to honor the road closures (which would not necessarily be all that harmless, come to think of it), or they'll just pull their shades. Whatever. I just know -- having grown up riding my bike around Mankato and knowing how little sympathy and understanding there is out there in that beautiful rolling and windy country -- that the last thing everyday cyclists need is less sympathy for our sport.
  

Separated by a common border and a different sense of humor

I honestly don't know what this video from Cannondale means, other than the subtle product placement of that odd Jackknife folding concept that just stands there in the background.

I suspect it has something to do with what happens when your company gets bought by a Canadian holding company with a strange sense of humor. Guy Caballero, where are you?

Rainy Friday bike music

I have to admit I've actually been riding my bike instead of blogging, mostly because I'm working on a highly controversial theory -- doing research y'know. I'll report the results, along with my long awaited commentaries on Mexican Spin Class as well as the Bicycle Porn Film Fest. Ah, the backlog is piling up, but at least I filed my taxes and the Wild are out of the playoffs.

This song is by Bob Halloran, and it's called "Busted Bicycle." And while it features some awesome cool 12-string picking -- not something you see every day -- it is also a description of my Stumpjumper, which hangs forlornly in the basement, waiting for a new Juicy 7 and dry trails.

Variations on a cliche: "Bicycle Race" naked!

RE: Queen's "Bicycle Race"


Remember how we used to stroll over to YouTube and see which video had been watched more often -- Monty Python's "Bicycle Repairman" or Queen's legendary (and much overplayed) viddy?

We sorta gave that gag a rest for awhile, but I noticed today that some thoughtful young man has posted the uncensored version of the original music video. I didn't even know there were uncensored music videos in the Paleolithic age, but there you go.

Still can't believe Freddy Mercury wore that weird Brooks Brothers shirt, sort of the opposite of seeing your grandma in a knit tube-top. Course, maybe it was the undue influence of the Bay City Rollers.

A worthy timewaster: Finally, an MTB spinoff of the ubiquitous MX gravity game

Up arrow=pedal
Left=weight back
Right=weight forward

One of the worst U2 lyrics ever, by way of Gloria Steinem, brought to life

Yesterday, I had the bizarre experience of riding to the post office, the library, and the beer store and back again -- and having a tailwind the whole way. Do you realize what that means?

Today, I'm thinking everywhere I go will be downhill, and I'll buy a lottery ticket, and coast back home.

And now for something completely different.

This is so fake, because everyone knows a fish would be exhaling through his gills.

Awesome advertising game appears to be bike-themed

Here's a new trailer for the PS2 game Mountain Bike Adrenaline.

More than one viewer has commented that this looks like "a cheap knockoff" of Downhill Domination. Personally, I have no dog in this fight, because if I'm going to sit on my butt doing nothing, I'll do it in the saddle out on the trail, not in front of my TV. Just saying.

But I was struck by the top-line marketing message the makers of this game want you to remember: "Experience mountain bike stunt-racing at its finest with every professional mountain bike brand around."

Huh? Do kids really care about the brands of their fake bikes and fake bike componentry? Seriously? It's not just reassuring, but actually preferable to have major corporations paying for product placement in their games?

Gawd, I'm truly getting old and clueless. And I don't seem to mind.

Like a Bat out of Hell -- er, VeloPress

Jamie Smith has a new book out: Roadie: the Misunderstood World of a Bike Racer.





This should not be confused with the 1980 film starring Meatloaf: Roadie, the Misunderstood world of a Prog Rocker.



Or maybe it should.

Handlebar mustache rides, 5 cents!

Some thin-skinned folks are a little upset about this new CarMax ad, although I think it's kinda cute.

I'm not sure it's as offensive as Johnny Pragmatik thinks. But the woman with horsey teeth and the man with the creepy eyes certainly don't make cycling -- nor Neo Victorian steam punk, for that matter -- look especially cool.

[via Fritz and Pragmatik]

Funny little island in Atlantic has bike safety adverts

Every day I wake up and scour all the British newspapers looking for a job that will give me an excuse to drag my sorry butt from Minnesota over to, say, London... to live amongst a people who would produce and broadcast a TV advert like this.