From the Mailbag…

For some reason or another, I’ve gotten a good bit of mail in the last week and a half. I wanted to share with you a few of the goodies.

First, “Ben” asks:

Are you an intern?

No.

If you’re asking because you’re interested in becoming a target for the delightful parlor game, stripper-or-intern?™, I recommend convincing your parents to donate at least three gobs of money to your representative or at least seven gobs to your senator. If you’re interested in further reading on the local intern scenesters (or “internsters”), check out the DC Interns blog. Lots of invigorating Clif Shot Bloks-sized morsels of fun there.

Quick-camera “Reid” sent me a couple of lovely shots of lockjobs in and around our fair capital. Have a look at this Trek:

It's a good thing thieves don't have opposable thumbs.

The thing about a quick release is that the “quick” doesn’t just apply to you, nor does it cease to be “quick” when the release is out of your line of vision. Our Trekker is clearly acknowledging the substantial and superior value of a Bontrager front wheel and the unabashed worthlessness of all other parts on a Trek bicycle.

Before we look at the next photo submitted by our intrepid street scout, let’s do an exercise. This is a picture of a bicycle with parts labeled in Esperanto, so as not to alienate any segments of my reading audience:

Diagramo de biciklo

This, on the other hand, is a rocket ship. The parts are unlabeled, because it’s a rocket ship. The parts can be whatever you want them to be.

Rocket ship!

Good. We’ve completed the first two phases of our exercise. Now for the “ask” portion of our “thought experiment.”

These only exist in Fantasy Land. And Washington.

What, praytell, is this? It’s clearly neither completely bicycle, nor completely rocket ship. I propose to you that we’ve discovered a new species in Phylum Birota, Bicyclus Rocketshippicus, or in common terms, the Rockcycle. I hope to see many more of these in the future, which is where the Rockcycle came from.

So I’ve gotten emails inquiring as to my profession and with delightful little pictures like “Reid”‘s, but I’ve still not seen one about the super secret squirrel unlicensed “urban cross” race in DC I alerted you to only a few weeks ago. If you hear anything about it, or if you’ve got anything else to shout at me, just email me. Remember, it’s bikesnobdc@the only email server people still use.

The Ballad of the Fuji Zipper

Not long ago, I spotted a new Fuji Roubaix all decked out with its stock 105 or Ultegra or whatever gruppo and a delightful piece of flare. That Zipp bottle sure did look fast. Moreover, it told us, the bicycle-gawking public, that this reasonable-quality-for-bargain-prices bike shopper knows what’s up in the world of wasting paychecks on bicycle toys.

Sad news, friends: our Fuji Zipper has removed his bottle (and cage) from his aluminum screw-turning machine.

Even faster senza waterweight.

I’m quite aware that I’ve arranged a large stack of wood just a few feet behind me, ignited the seasoned winter warmers, and deployed a fan to direct the runoff at my bathing suit area, but I certainly hope I’ve had nothing to do with this.

Here’s the thing. I ride bikes because it’s fun. It puts my competitive streak to a healthful use and it gives me an excuse for my manorexia. Also, and way more importantly, I do it because I really think riding (and racing) bikes is cool. There, I said it. I clean my bike not only to keep my frame from corroding, but to keep it shiny. It looks better that way. Fuji Zipper, if you’re reading this, you should totes reinstall your Bianchi bottle cage for the portage of your superfast (it’sonewordbecauseI’vegotnotimeforspaces) Zipp bottle.

You have to ride your bike, so you should like it. That goes for you, too. Be well, and stay hydrated. This place sucks in August.

Skinny bicycle arms and Los Campesinos!

We are a judgmental bunch. I’m not talking about cyclists specifically (though that “we” can be particularly judgy); I’m talking about all of us. When you notice someone walking into the office, sitting down at a restaurant, or parking their car, it’s not unheard of to think something along the lines of “he/she could stand to dress up a little,” “maybe a meal isn’t what you need right now, fatass,” or “instead of driving your Prius the one and a quarter miles to Trader Joe’s, you could’ve crashed on a new fixie on the way home.”

DC has its own fun judgment games–especially on the Hill. I’ve started taking to a wonderful new game we call “stripper or intern.” You’d be surprised at how often the answer is, in fact, red-badge-toting intern.

Now for the important things–the judgy moments that we bisicklers, especially those who turn their pedals in competition, experience from time to time. When I see a thin, gaunt-faced stranger, the first thing I look at is their arms. Runners have to hold up their fists for hours, and thus are prone at least a wee little bit of muscle mass in their upper arms.

However gaunt, these gentlemen would likely have little trouble lifting a gallon of milk.

The Tour of the Gila’s medical director, Dr. Michael Seargeant, says cyclists have “arms the size of beauty queens” (and “thighs the size of gorillas,” but that’s a story for another day, fatass). I prefer to call them what they really are–skinny bicycle arms.

Frank Schleck on a riding mower because a push mower would break every bone in his skinny bicycle arms.

See the picture of Frank Schleck above, taken by Brother Andy, as Phil & Paul call him. So this is what I look for, these skinny bicycle arms, when determining whether or not the emaciated gentleman sitting across from me on the metro should be my new riding buddy or if I should be prepared to kindly turn down his request for change (the clinky kind, not the kind that this gentleman is apparently bringing to our fair capital).

So when I went to the Los Campesinos! show Wednesday night, I found myself in the classic dilemma of the judgmental cyclist.
The show itself was excellent, and I highly recommend you check them out, but let’s get to the important things first.

Skinny bicycle(?) arms

Check out the arms on the beautiful and golden-voiced keyboardist. My question is this: did these arms come from a) long hours in the saddle, b) the poverty inherent to touring, or c) long hours doing blowcaine while touring? In my heart of hearts, I imagine the answer is ‘a’, though my show-going compatriots tended towards ‘c’. I’m not here to pass judgment (just kidding; I am).

As I mentioned, the show was excellent, and I think Los Campesinos!’ career in the fickle music industry has legs. The music was poppy, but thoroughly enjoyable, Gareth Campesinos!’ vox were reminiscent of Luke Pritchard the Kooks and Kele Okereke of Bloc Party on Intimacy, and the crowd was young enough to still think buying CDs is cool (I think. It’s been a while since I’ve known what was cool with the young people).

If you’re looking for a real review of the Los Campesinos! show and a real picture of the seven non Welsh members of the Welsh rock outfit, check out the CityPaper.

Have a good weekend, friends. I’ll see you at Jazz in the Garden, and if you want to be real life friends and not just internet friends, I recommend you not pick up or carry anything over 4 pounds, lest you lose your skinny bicycle arms.

Urban Cross in DC?

Got a tip the other day that there might be an urban cyclocross event somewhere way up in Northwest. Some bearded hipster and his bepierced hipstress friend told me something about a friend with a something something vegetable oil hybrid something van stuck something something New York something fundraiser something something unlicensed something urban cyclocross something something something “pay to play” something. Wait, did you say unlicensed? Count me in! Ain’t no cyclocross like non-UCI urban cyclocross within bike riding distance.

Know anything about this? Drop me a line.

Oh, and also

If you’re wondering where I’ve been the last few weeks, call it post-Tour partem syndrome with a side of Swine Flu. Wash your hands, you damn tourists!

Sex, Components, + Rocknroll

Let’s face it: bicycles are sexy. They’ve got curves, thin, drawn lines, supple parts, and some that are just rock solid. I myself am a handlebar man. For those of you who follow me on twitter, you already know that I went to the US Royalty mansion party a little while back. US Royalty put on a very solid show, and I highly recommend checking them out when they do another DC show–August 5 at the Black Cat.

The highlight of the evening, though, was the beautiful rack I spotted on a redhead out front of the mansion.

The rack in question

Like I said, I’m a handlebar man. These are sexy handlebars because they are reasonably creative, but most importantly, they retain functionality. The full rig didn’t catch my eye at first, but upon further inspection…

Look at all the sexy parts.

Whoa whoa whoa, is that a Chris King headset? And a Time carbon fork? And a full Ultegra drive train? And this city beater’s owner knows well enough to put his (or a tall her) valve stems in line with the logos on his tires? Mmm. This is one sexy redhead.

Components can also make a bicycle significantly faster. Zipp isn’t kidding around when it calls its products Speed Weaponry.

Whirrrrrr

Riding in the middle of a peloton full of Zipp deep section wheels sounds eerily similar to riding in a pack of Priuses (Prii?).

Gasoline should be sipped like a fine scotch.

Everything that Zipp makes will make a bike faster. Everything. Let’s do an exercise. When you’re getting your road whip ready to do, say, a hill workout, what is the heaviest part of your bike? Your frame? Only if it’s steel. Your wheels? These are a close second. Your saddle? Not unless it’s filled with water. Wait a tick… there is something on your bike filled with water: your bottle! That’s it! Your filled water bottles are the heaviest part of your bike. Logic suggests that making the heaviest part of your bike (your water supply) faster (by making it Zipp) is the most effective upgrade someone can make. I was nothing short of titillated when I spotted this Fuji Roubaix at Eastern Market last week.

Simply. Better.

Notice all the other components on the bike… stock saddle, stock wheels, stock shifters, and (probably) all original cables and housings. Now take a look at the one upgrade: the Zipp bottle. It makes the bike look so fast it’s unreal. So here’s to you Roubaix Zipper. Try to stay away from traffic speed cameras, because you’re dangerous.

Now go buy tickets to the next US Royalty show.

Bastille Day Ruined by Seven Strangers

Very simply, Bastille Day is my favorite of the French national holidays. I’m quite aware that it’s yours, too. So what better place to celebrate than Bistrot du Coin in Dupont Circle, where I once had the most wonderful meal of my life.

So I’m getting down with the getdown in a hot sweaty sexy dance party…

Guns don't kill people. Lazers do.

Live emcee. Likely from the islands.

Live yazz saxophone. I will not say that it was saxy.

… and all the sudden, the Real World DC rolls in. The party quickly got stupid. It went from so-crowded-you-can’t-move to so-douchy-you-can’t-breath faster than you can say “stop being polite, and start being real.”

There's no tape delay for gonorrhea.

I know I’m not the first to say this, but I want the Real World out of my town. Just after I get that dark-headed Real Worlder with the “wedding band” to come out to one of my races. Hey, who doesn’t want to race on (M)TV?

What’s with all these hipsters on track bikes?

What’s with all these dudes in brown flip flops?

I know this is old, but I swear it’s relevant. The Arlington-types in Remy’s rap are in all of our cities. They’ve all got brown flip flops. There are also hipsters in all of our cities. Just yelp “hipster” and “taco” and you’ll know where to find them. These hipsters also ride bikes. They also blog, most of the time about their bikes (see Trackosaurus Rex, the Bike Snob NYC, and my personal favorite, Hipster Nascar–you know, go fast, turn left). Even the most obnoxious of the hipsters are rocking super fresh classic rides. Take this Nashville hipster, below.

Notice the jorts.

The lopsided jorts, mussed hair, gas station Wayfarers… this is a hipster alright, and he’s purchased a bicycle that could well have gone to this guy, or maybe this chick.

Back to the point though, where did these hipsters get the idea to ride bikes? Then where did they get the idea to ride track bikes (or “fixies,” making said track bike-riding hipsters “fixters”)? And when did they start racing on them? Again, see Hipster Nascar. Is it because of characters like the late, great, Sheldon Brown, who exalted the utter simplicity of fixed gear bicycles? Probably not.

In my heart of hearts, I imagine that the trend began in San Francisco, one of the hilliest and hipsteriest of the Land of the Free’s cities.

San Fran hipsters forgetting the importance of pale skin to hipster credibility

Just follow my logic for a moment. Track bikes are built and configured to ride on flat land. How many velodromes have hills on them? All of the velodromes in DC (0), that’s how many. Bicycles that are built for climbing have all kinds of gear ratios (mmm… that 34×27 gear ratio is like taking shots of room temperature water). That would make climbing SF’s hills a wholly impractical proposition on a fixie. Perfect. Just look at the hipsters below…

I am a hipster sleeper-in, ironically celebrating Pajama Wednesday.

I am a hipster cowgirl, ironically herding my cattle.

Hipster culture thrives on the irrational. And the expensive, but that’s a different story.

Maybe that’s why you people ride them.

Bicycle Racing + the Twitterwebs

Breaking news: Ted King of the Cervelo TestTeam will be racing the Tour of Austria this July. He would like to race the Tour next July.

Now this is clearly not that big a story. Ted King is in his first year of a Pro Tour contract with one of the strongest teams in the world (see 2008 yellow jersey winner and 2008 green jersey runner up), and at 26, he’s just settling into the life of an international pro. What is a big story is how I found out about Ted’s plans. He sent me a direct message via the Twitterwebs.

Bicycling Magazine did a short piece on twitter in the pro peloton a few months back, so I’m aware I’m breaking no ground here. What I want to talk about though, is how perfect twitter and cycling are for each other. Bicycle racing is a community sport. Any two bicycle racists may know each other by name, face, reputation, or bike, see each other every weekend, and live literally hundreds of miles away from one another. When we race, we race in a group, and we even ride in teams in what is an ostensibly individual sport. Off the bike, bike people are still bike people. There are guides to understanding us that we wish our friends would read (see Roadie by Jamie Smith). Better yet, we should just hang out with other bike people. The trouble is, we aren’t that big a proportion of the population. Enter technology.

At my core, I hate technology. I secretly loved it that my parents waited until 2006 to buy a DVD player, all of my electronics are scratched, broken, or some combination of the two, and I recently deleted (with great pleasure) my account on the facebooks. Technology–specifically the innertubes, though, has presented a medium by which we can connect with other bike people without having to make a 2 hour drive to a muddy field in rural Maryland to hang out for a few hours on a Sunday afternoon. Enter the next big thing in social networking on the innertubes–twitter.

The twitterwebs are still relatively small compared to other social networking tools like the facebooks, the myspaces, even the blogging outposts, but they are both simple and powerful (see the Twitter Revolution or “twitterution”). Twitter is also fantastic for our purposes–sharing quick notes about races, training rides, or just spotting a unicyclist at our favorite training grounds.

The twitterwebs present to us, the weekend warriors and fans of the sport, a chance to get inside the heads of the athletes who make a vocation out of our collective avocation. Lance Armstrong is notorious for tweet tweet tweeting away, even on training rides up in Aspen. Conveniently enough for us, Lance has compiled a list of riders in the Tour who get down with the twitterwebs. Check out:

Astana riders
@lancearmstrong
@levileipheimer

Columbia riders
@ghincapie
@mickrogers
@markrenshaw1 (featuring guest tweets by Mark Cavendish)
@bradwiggins

Garmin riders
@dzabriskie… probably the funniest guy in the peloton
@christianvdv
@thedpate

Skil Shimano riders
@koendekort
@fumybeppu

Silence-Lotto riders
@wegelius
@cadelofficial, the Boyd’s Bear

And others
@bdlancaster of Cervelo TestTeam
@laurenstendam of Rabobank
@stevendejongh of QuickStep
@andy_schleck of SaxoBank and my choice for a 3rd place finish in the Tour

And one more rider who you’ll no doubt be seeing in future Tours, @iamtedking. While you’re at it, give me a follow, @bikesnobdc.

Strange Things in DC

I just finished up a hill workout in Rock Creek Park, and I noticed a pair of strange phenomena in our fair capital.

First, everyone is singing a Michael Jackson song, and they’re all different. First a woman walking up a hill in Rock Creek was getting down with the get down to Smooth Criminal.

Then on the way back into town, I spotted a couple serenading one another to Billie Jean. I can’t help but think that’s an inappropriate tune for a twilight promenade.

The strangest MJ sighting by far had to be the guy in the Bike Rack DC kit. I could swear the guy was doing the Thriller dance.

So that’s the fun and games. Now for the scary shit. On the way back into town from RCP, I was alerted by a Secret Services Uniformed Division officer (on a sweet ass bouncyfork hybrid) that the cobbled road on the north face of the White House was closed. I complied and hopped from the gutter of the road up to the curb, because that’s what you do when someone with a gun and a badge politely asks you to get onto a sidewalk.

Penn Ave NW, north side of la Maison Blanc

Maybe police all over the city are just getting ready for the (literal) shitshow that will overtake DC this weekend for the 4th.

Not stinky (yet)

Not thinking much of it, I made my way back towards my humble Hill abode, and was stopped on First and East Capitol (my favorite street in the whole entire city), this time by US Capitol Police. I made my way up to Constitution and rolled eastward from there.

The Capitol Police... I'm a big fan.

It goes without saying that we live in a city where a lot of “black helicopter shit–” as my apt political junkie correspondent calls it–goes down without us hearing a damn thing about it. I can’t shake the feeling that these two road closures have something in common with the increasingly frequent partial evacuations of the Capitol and/or its Visitor Center in the last few weeks. Again, thanks to my political junkie correspondent for that nugget.

I have all the faith in the world in the USCP and Secret Service, and I truly believe that they’ve got whatever shit is going on on lockdown. Metro police and transit police though, I’m less confident in. So take heed, friends, and let’s all try not to get blown up before summer’s end.