...my free breakfast

Since It's Friday, I think I'll post a little earlier today. Meh, who gives a shit anyway? nobody even reads this blog yet...

I was watching Scarponi win stage six of the Giro last night on that newfangled Universal Sports channel (110 on IO, in case you're wondering). While it was interesting to see the mountain stages being ridden so early in the race, I was sorta bored. There were a couple of funny or mildly entertaining things to see or ponder though... specifically in the final kilometers leading up to the finish at Mayrhofen.

The Bleacher Report writes:
"...Scarponi, the winner of March's Tirreno-Adriatico, dug in, dropped Kiriyenka, and managed to hold off the storming peloton to win the stage by 32 seconds. Kiriyenka had been swallowed up in the finishing kilometers."


What they failed to mention, and I unfortunately can't find a picture of, was Kiriyenka's gazelle-esque on-bike stretching technique. His left leg started freezing up right after they crested the last climb, so he unclips it, and pulls his foot up right behind the saddle! I've never ever seen this before (probably due, in part, to my questionable bike handling ability) and am totally enthralled by it!


I can see this turning into a sweet freestyle trick to be performed principally by hipsters masquerading their fixed-gear athleticism around McCarren Park. Shit, better yet, what if you could do both legs at once, no handed! We could call it the Amazing-No-Hands-Or-Legs trick or ANHOL.

That would provide some humorous situations:

"Hey bro, I was doing anhol tricks down Bedford yesterday and these chicks were totally diggin' the whole anhol show."

Or:

"Dude! That guy totally ate shit doing an anhol trick."

See, then it would only be natural for one to assume that person being referred to not only enjoys anal sex, and fecalphelia, but is possibly even an exhibitionist hooker. Though, dear readers, please use caution when utilizing accusations such as this; they tend to breed animosity and contempt. As a self-described pacifist, I cannot condone speech of this kind.

Moving right along, I was watching that depressing Documentary Overcoming, about Bjarne Riis, Team CSC, and all the personal crap that gets in the way of performing how you want to when you want to. Anyway, I chuckled to myself about how when Ivan Basso is really digging deep, he looks as though he's about to fall off his bike in a fit of laughter. I was pleased to see that my blogging muse, Bike Snob NYC, promptly and humorously made reference to this strange version of the grimace. I can't believe how damn happy he looks climbing the toughest climbs. It must be a psychological thing, as snobby pointed out, though from a different direction. Instead of making your adversaries think you are nothing to worry about by keeping your legs fuzzy or losing a wheel; you make them feel like pussies because you look like you're having about as hard of a time with the Alps as you would with the Manhattan Bridge. This is sheer brilliance. I'm gonna steal that technique and use it to "slay" the Cadence Cup cat 5 races next spring.

Speaking of the Manhattan Bridge, after crossing it into the city this morning, I noticed one of those expand-a-tent thingies they use at outdoor markets, shading a veritable oasis of breakfast stuff! Not one to pass up free grub, I stopped and filled my pockets with fruits and Clif Bars while making small talk with the young activist types manning the stand. Apparently I had completely forgotten that this beautiful day happened to be National "Bike To Work Day"!

Oh shit not TA again. I love the concept of an advocacy group fighting for cyclists rights, but I must admit, I take issue with a number of the things the Transportation Alternatives wants.

Firstly, Bike lanes.

While I would certainly miss bike lanes if they were suddenly beamed out of existence; for me they create more problems than they solve. As BS NYC and others have pointed out countless times, bike lanes fester dangerous obstacles to even the most experienced cyclist. Road debris collects there, making it a wonderful place to perforate your tires; police, delivery trucks, and cabs use it as the default "double parking lane"; and it's frequently used as a lead-off zone for impatient pedestrians.

This may sound crazy, but you are (and feel) considerably safer if you take a lane of traffic and aggressively dominate it, even alone. When you cower in the gutter you're effectively ceding the road to the cars and they see you for what you are: small, slow, and weak. Please don't go Rambo on the 6 o'clock traffic, but holding your own on an avenue is a necessary skill in this city.

This brings me to the other major beef I have with Transportation Alternatives' agenda. They suggest cyclists be meek and obey the letter of the law 100% of the time in order to effectively "set an example" and to show car-drivers that cyclists deserve their portion of the road as well. Just like the Bully in elementary school, problems like this aren't going to go away by winning drivers over with unflappable kindness and tact. They're going to go away by standing up for one's self in the face of bodily harm. Again, sounds like a rediculous statement, but its true.

This was brought to my attention again by a commenter (I hope you don't mind me using your words Bill, I couldn't state this better than you did) on snobby's site. he writes:

"...there is nothing that pisses me off more than this new 'we have to get them to like us/respect us by obeying the rules' shit...as if that really is what drivers respond to 'damn, i really like the way you stopped behind the line, i was going to cut you off, but now..."

Personally, I couldn't agree more. Be that as it may, Thanks for the breakfast TA, biking definitely beats taking the subway, where those disgruntled MTA workers take every opportunity they get to confuse straphangers, as I witnessed yesterday, when I was forced to take the iron horse instead of my aluminum steed:


Update - Sorry about the shades-of-grey text today. I can't figure out how to make it all one color and it's kind of annoying me so I'm just going to leave it.

...mexico kicks ass after all!

So I got to thinking about my recent trip to Mexico and how totally awesome it was. For eight days, friends and I vacationed on the fabulous Mayan Riviera. It was far more fun than can be related on a crummy blog about cycling and the city. We had virtually no complications during the entire trip even though I was the only one with any reasonable command of the Spanish language (albeit with a heavy gringo accent).

I know this is the usual line from recent vacationers, but it was quite pleasant disconnecting from all the shit you gotta deal with in "real life". No calls. No e-mails. No nothin, and I would pay any amount of money to do it again.

Of course we get back after our week of Caribbean fun and all that crap comes flooding back into our lives like the Mississippi into New Orleans (Oh 'scuse me, Nawlins). Normally this wouldn't come as any suprise, I've returned from vacations once or twice before, so allow me to put this in perspective:

We landed at JFK early in the morning on Sunday, April 26th. We hailed a yellow cab and were promptly ferried to our respective apartments for much needed R&R. Turning on the idiot box and firing up the internets, the woman and I were bombarded with news reports and headlines like this one:
Mind you, I'm fairly certain that at this point in time, only those 17 or so kids in queens even possibly had the piggy flu. 150? 150 kids? really?

Anyway, far be it for me to expect accurate reporting and hard hitting journalism from the boobs over at the Post. While I know nobody who is employed by them, I know I really like whoever comes up with the headlines. I'm trying to remember some good ones, hang on...
Oh yes! this one is just priceless. Its like Johnny Depp is saying "yo ho ho" or some such nonsense, but they've modified that trademark pirate diddle by adding a poignant D'oh! at the end. y'know? like homer Simpson? Get it? Hahahaha! you're so fucking clever NY Post.

Returning to my daily routine of playing chicken with cabs separated by a token stint as a freelance architect, I expected some curiosity about the Flu to come my direction from co-workers and others. Well, after quelling their suspiscions that I was infected with deadly international livestock viruses. I began to worry that I might actually be infected with something. That perhaps it was in my belly, waiting for the most opportune time (as dictated by murphy's law) to come bursting forth in all its haggard glory. It just so happened that according to FOX news (obviously someone if my intellect gets their news from only the finest of sources) the incubation period was about 8-10 days.

Oh shit I'm thinking to myself. I've gotsomething to do precisely eight days after my return from the source:

Damn, what an opportunity! Had I been a host to this disease, I could've given it to literally every other person on the ride. Especially considering the ride moves slower than christmas pretty much until you're in Queens (more on that in a later post), I would've had more than enough time to make sure each and every participant was good and sick. That 30,000 infected cyclists, NY Post, construe what you will with those numbers.

So all that aside, say yes to mexico. Brave the banditos, drug cartels, and piggies, and you'll have an awesome time. I guarantee it.

...to standing on Line

I find that increasingly, there has been a rising trend of poor speech habits among new yorkers who populate the service industry. My frustration revolves around lines and weather we are, as customers, standing "on line" or "in line" when patiently waiting to pay.

Whenever it is implied that I'm next on line, I can't quell my desire to correct the clerk or clerk-ess on their crappy handling of English. Usually I act like an asshole and scan the floor around me for a painted line, purposely looking disoriented and generally unsure of my surroundings until a more accurate statement is made. Countless times I've tried valiantly to gently explain their error, hoping that once recognized, the shopping experiences of millions will be slightly less bewildering.

Thinking further about this strange linguistic habit, I find myself hoping that somehow the cashiers at my favorite establishments are so deeply committed to their profession that they comprehend the seller-buyer relationship far better than I ever could, and by extension must actually perceive a literal line upon which we as customers stand.

Is it possible that they see the vector of sales flowing toward them; that the line to which they refer is literally there though so imperceptible to the untrained eye, that confusion ensues?

I've always operated under the assumption that I contribute to the solidarity of the line, maintaining the flow of revenue for the vendor unabated. Therefore, because my body is an integral part of the line, "I" is part of that line and being a part likely means in the whole to which it is a part not on it.


Maybe it would make more sense if someone was riding the shoulders of another person who was standing in line beneath them. It would be so damn literal!

Or we could say "Next in corral!"


But perhaps people will have qualms with being compared to cattle.

Anyway, fear not friends, I will assemble the most powerful men in the galaxy to sort this out... Somehow, I think the end result will be to omit the reference to your position in space and simply say "Next!"

Who knows, perhaps it will be something more encouraging and have little to do with the queue itself.

Actually, using British English might work best! Across the pond they come up with all sorts of strange pseudonyms for commonplace things, crossing the rigid fences of grammar to bid someone adieu or describe a shopping cart, for instance. Then again, British can get a little squirrely when approaching proper nouns.

Take Hugh Laurie, star of the gripping medical drama "House". Going by standard british, we discover that his parents must have been eating LSD for one of two reasons:

1. When you google his name this is what comes up. Big trucks? I don't get it. It must require some kind of drug induced leap of the imagination.
2. Americans are well aware that everything european is small and eco-sized, leading me to surmise that his parents had high hopes that their future-thespian son would strike gold in Hollywood by naming him after the trademark of Americana: big ass trucks.
   

Until we've arrived at a reasonable alternative, say yes to the queue.

First Post Ever

I thought it appropriate to start a blog focusing my disinterest upon a smattering of events and topics occurring in and about NYC. Several things to keep in mind during your perusal:

1. If you're reading this post, you apparently have little better to do with your time than surfing for half-baked conjecture online. This leads me to assume that like myself, you are not only strikingly handsome and of the highest intellect, but also beset by the ennui of life.
   
2. I will allow myself to be lived through vicariously by those of you to whom life is too irksome a task to bear. The way I see it, the fewer of you there are mucking up the real world for go-getters like me, the better.
   
3. Refusing to try things out is about as useful as retard on xanax at a construction site.

So, that aside, I think we can delve into some things that have caught my disinterested eye of late.