...keepin it real Thursdays

In keeping with this week's dorkiness-theme, I thought I'd relay this charming little snippet of intrigue that is unfortunately born of some hardcore real-ness.


Remember back in 2003 when space shuttle Columbia disintegrated on reentry (depicted above in all its sparkling horror)? Well, when it happened, lots of pieces of shuttle and crew rained down on Earth's surface as opposed to burning up as most earthly matter would. However, among the items recovered from Columbia's wreckage was, amazingly, the flight diary of an Israeli Astronaut named Ilan Ramon.


I haven't quite figured out how a bunch of paper managed to survive a 100km fall from just beyond the Kármán line at speeds approaching mach 7 (5,328.5 mph). Regardless, a group of astronauts and oragami masters in Japan have decided that based on this evidence, they will fold up about thirty miniature paper planes and release them from the a box on the exterior of the International Space Station, where they will begin a lazy descent back to Earth that is expected to take several months.

The planes will be printed with instructions in several languages requesting that the finder kindly notify Mr. Shinji Suzuki of the University of Tokyo's aerospace engineering program about when and where the plane was found.


I like this "expirement" because unlike the shuttle's violent and abrupt end while attempting to return home, the quiet and slow glide of the paper plane speaks of peace and moderation. Of course it is only possible due to its extreme lightness of construction, though it is a beautiful metaphor for the calmness and composure we should all strive for amid swirling social atmospheres that take us this way and that, unknowing and uncaring of our desired destination.

Speaking of strange things falling from the sky, in Greenpoint recently, two young perigrine falcons were rescued from gangs of pidgeons that were preemptively attacking their future predators. As I've heard, the adorable lil flappers are ok, as one is now at the Animal Medical Center and the other is apparently hiding in a bush near McGorlick park.


It most be something about New York City that fosters a gang mentality amongs the local animal populations. As I had noted a while back, dolphins were seen forming rival pods and established "turf" in our tidal estuaries.

Anywho, fly safe friends...

...Video Wednesdays!

I came up with a brilliant post to write this morning on my commute in, but forgot what it was by the time I arrived at work. As I've said before, coming up with new material on a daily basis taxes my vocabulary and humorabulary equally.

As I read through my blogroll every morning, I have come to realize that blogs come in many different color-ways and shape-ways, though the prevailing style-way that I encounter on my daily travels is what I like to call the SPASM (Small-Posts-About-Singular-Matters) blog.

While many notable bloggers utilize this method of abundance (wwtdd, prolly, inhabitat), my personal preference is toward the ODE (Once-Daily-Entry) blogs such as my personal favorite, Bike Snob NYC, and the less verbose Velodramatic. I have nothing against blogs that post new things constantly, but I definitely tend toward the lyrical and paced ones where the writer earns a rapport amongst his readers by consistently bringing quality ideas and material to the fore.

As a man of principle, I take issue with the semantics of behavior; forthrightness on the internet not excluded. It usually doesn't bother me all that much when I see the same invention or idea repeated on more than one site on the same day (you gotta cut the news blogs some slack on this though, only so many noteworthy things happen each day), though it's when there is a several day or week long gap between re-postings that I get a little annoyed. I'm not sure why, but it bugs me to be re-fed images and opinions that have long been old news (or conjecture, the two are easily confused).

That said, I present for your general amusement three videos about bicycle dorks as they are in the wild:

First, the Steam Boat Willy; a hovercraft powered by a recumbent bicycle. Weird, I know...



And this next one is just silly...



I hate to say it, but this seems like a self-defeating invention because the water you purify (mind you using a $200+ CycleOps trainer) would be immediately needed for rehydration, right?

Lastly, this guy is a maniac. You may have seen this before, but in case you haven't...



That's all for tonight folks, ride safe tomorrow...

... the parable of the bicycle

I was reading the blogs this morning and came across a tidbit of public design news that piqued my interest. Apparently Kent Ave is, as of yesterday, beginning a conversion into a northbound-only street for car and truck traffic. the bike lanes on either side of the current, two-way road will be combined into the rarely seen two-way bike lane.


I'm no sociologist or city planner, though I must express my apprehension about this move by the city. Though the multi-directionality will be preserved for bicycles, forcing southbound car and truck traffic through the middle of Hasidim will only serve to further strain the tenuous relationship between Williamsburg's landlords and their hipster tenants.

Wythe and Bedford Avenues are vital thoroughfares from Williamsburg through to Pratt (a known hipster breeding ground), and compose a significant portion of "The Great Hipster Silk Route." And though Hasids have raised a (metaphorical) stink about the immodest behavior of hipsters as they pass through their archaic enclave, they will likely find that a few bicycles is nothing compared to the rumbling delivery trucks and reggaeton-blasting Puerto Rico-mobiles that will be diverted into their lives.

On the topic of being resented for the pitfalls of society, I've officially become a jaded cyclist.

I commute to work in Manhattan from Brooklyn every single day I am able, as you no doubt have noted given the abundance of BLRI posts and road-use rants on this blog. In the eight months that I have unshackled myself from the MTA, my reactions to unfortunate traffic situations have morphed from a burning, holier-than-thou rage to passive irritation, and ultimately into the cold, stony ire of inward disdain that I am now only capable of emoting.

Whether I publicly acknowledged it or not, I've mentally flip flopped on a lot of issues in that time; Salmoning, bike lane abuse, and pedestrian oblivity top the list. I am torn between my desire to admonish idiots and intellectual modesty. I have tried numerous times to follow legal and socially acceptable routes of retribution to little or no avail; and conversely, I've also often done the exact opposite to similar effect.

Thankfully there are articles like this one, wherein commentors tragically berate one another with sweeping accusations and generalizations. I am reminded, while reading the shortsighted irritance, that life, like a bicycle, is composed of lots of different parts that serve a variety of useful functions.

While many people would like to think that they are the bottom brackets of the world (around which all power is revolved and within which it is stabalized), the truth is that most people are just cogs on the rear wheel of life; easily replaceable and fairly cheap.

Then there are those who (however necessary it may be) hinder progress by squeezing those who carry the weight of the machine; the brakes to wheels, if you will.

Still, there are the dork disks and spoke-reflectors of society that enjoy a federally mandated existence regardless of their pointlessness and ineffectiveness.

Lastly (that I can draw an allusion to right now, anyway) is the saddle, the ass sweat-soaked ivory tower upon which the bloated rump of reality sits. These are the rare idealists and thinkers who know no better existence than altruistic pursuits of widespread peace and comfort. Their job is a thankless one, and resenting that fact, are known to imitate the petty tomfooleries of other ignored parts, though to much more dramatic ends: (warning: NSFW)

... colorway me a dork disc

This weekend I didn't do any spectacular or inspiring cycling to which a lengthy and abounding write-up would be appropriate. With the exception of some high-pace laps around Prospect Park, I pedaled softly from place to place with the girls, just enjoying the sunshine and pleasant company.


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)