We spent a while at Outpost, a new-to-me cafe x bar collabo on Fulton St. between Grand and Classon Aves. A few of my close friends frequent this establishment on a regular basis and attested to it's quality. I must say, any place where Brooklyn Lager is rightly considered domestic beer (and $4 a bottle) gets a thumbs up from me... too often I go to bars in this city where it certainly isn't the most expensive beer on tap, but it's strangely priced similarly to big-name imports like Stella, Heineken, and Dos Equis.
Seriously though, they brew that shit in Utica (no, not the storied Utica of ancient-times notariety).
However, many things are produced here in the city, such as "custom" machines by Bespoke Bicycles, above.
I went over to check out this store on Lafayette Ave. while the ladies were recuperating from the temptations of expensive clothing across the street. Though they seemed to have quite a few things for sale and the employees seemed nice enough, I didn't actually see any truly bespoke bikes. sure many were be-spoked with shiny new wheels and they all boasted beautiful paintjobs, but I didn't notice any frames that looked custom welded, nor did the telling stench of ozone greet my nose when I went in (a sure sign that someone is, or has been, welding nearby).
I didn't stick around for long so I can't concievably turn this experience into a LBSR, but I must say that I hope they do well and are a permanent fixture in Fort Greene, and I sincerely hope they do actually build custom frames and can find a market for them.
Unfortunately, for people who can afford them, a 'bespoke' bicycle is often more fashion accessory than serious transportation. I'm not saying that I want everyone to be ascetic and discard all but the most fundamentally useful bicycles, but I would like to see reason and utility inform thier purchases, as opposed to 'colorway' coordination and subcultural branding that dominates the bike scene here.
Hipsterdom started the colorway-ing of bicycles a few years back, branching off from the catch moniker of beautiful simplicity and transforming itself into a grotesque industrial behemoth bent on catering to the weens and wans of the wandering and lost youth of Williamsburg.
I suppose there's nothing wrong with wanting your bicycle to be unique or readily identifiable among others; though as I noted before, the fixie scene here has passed the inflection point whereby the exception has become the norm. Like the be-plaided, be-booted, psuedo-anarchy of punks in the nineties, 'deep-vee' rims and miniature handlebars are now the uniform of the urban (and at times, suburban) hip.
That glimmer of rationality in fixed-gear culture that shunned the unnecessary and embraced the minimal has been subverted by people of all entrepeneur-ways. Like so much else in life that derives it's beauty and appeal from it's purity, it has been raped by the long cock of capitalism and public misunderstanding.
One of the products that I find metaphorically apt here is the oft-overlooked dork disk - the thin metal or plastic disk that comes on all new geared-bicycles regardless of price or intended use. It is called the dork disk because if you maintain your derailleur even a little, you have absolutely no need for it.
Similarly, if your bike lacks the ability to shift gears, the dork disk does nothing for you except provide added wieght and possibly another site for colorway-ing your ride. One would then think that this would be a rare sight, but alas, it is not.
Take the above example from fixed gear gallery; this disk must have been intentionally added. I have circled the offending part in colorway BADA55 and likened it to another popular "dork disk" to elucidate my meaning.
Though this bike hasn't maximized it's colorway potential by using a stock-metal disk, it's safe to assume that this trend will likely yeild lots of 'hard-anodized' dork disks in a multitude of styles. Then again, hipsters are known for palping useless appendages for unknown reasons (like beavertail fenders to presumably keep road grime from soiling their threadbare hanes which are undoubtedly already dingy from being exposed to the grimy hipster buttocks upon which they rest).
I don't know if this represents an invasion into bicycle culture by yet another product-way, but if my recent odometer sighting is any indication, the apcalypse seems to be nigh.
Rock on, lock on, SATAN! (to be pronounced SAY-tawn)
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