BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!

Remember when elaborate blinky lights were the hottest thing on Kickstarter?  Yes, for awhile there it seemed as though every would-be inventor was marketing some sort of sleek metal flashing suppository.  Times change, however, and now everybody's moved on to retractable filth prophylactics.    First there was the Plume, which used cutting-edge slap bracelet technology.  (To say nothing of the integrated slap bracelet/light.)  Now, there's Musguard, which despite the name is not actually a sprayable moose repellent:



Here's how it works.  First, you wake up and drink a fuckload of coffee:

Then, you get on your fixie and start skidding around Vilnius or wherever:

Then, because you drank all that coffee without waiting to go to the bathroom, you soil yourself while straining to lock up your rear wheel:

Of course, soiling yourself in public is a traumatic experience, which is why the inventor then fills an entire room with schematics and prototypes for what is essentially just a big long stick:

After which he just says, "Fuck it, I'll wear a hazmat suit instead:"

But while the hazmat suit is far more effective than a filth prophylactic when it comes to protecting you from debris, it really doesn't solve the whole soiling yourself problem.  So now he and his hair want you to invest in a non-edible Fruit Roll-Up:

The end.

Oh, also, starting this Saturday, be sure to visit the Rivendell pop-up store in San Francisco:

(This will explain everything.)

Be there, or be a Fred.

And now, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz.  As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer.  If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll see a triathlete doing what they do best.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and avoid altercations with bears.


--Wildcat Rock Machine

(A team of medical experts works to remove Bradley Wiggins's unfortunate shoulder tattoo.)

1) Bradley Wiggins will not defend his Tour de France title this season due to a:

--Knee injury
--Hip injury
--Back injury
--Cunt injury

2) Fred Rodrigues attributes his recent National Championship win to:

--Strava
--Doping
--Veganism
--His uncanny resemblance to Salman Rushdie

3) This device is called the:

--Z-Mist
--Q-Fog
--Spritz-O-Tron 9000
--E-Nema

4) Jimmy Carter always rides with a handlebar-mounted facial cooling system.

--True
--False

5) George W. Bush refers to his group of riders as:

--"Peloton One"
--"Juan Pelota"
--"The He-Man Woman Hater's Club"
--"Team Douche"

(Dayglo Abortions: Second-most popular Canadian rock band after Rush.)

6) Ronald Reagan embodied the Rivendell aesthetic before there even was a Rivendell aesthetic.

--True
--False

(Mmm, burned steak...)

7) A SoHo woman is protesting a Citi Bike station by:

--Fasting
--Chanting
--Chaining herself to it
--Displaying well-proportioned naked people next to it, and if that doesn't work, dying

***Special Bonus Soothing Lego Bike Video***

Warning: Harmful If Swallowed. When Reading, Keep Blog Away From Neck And Face. Contains Less Than 1% Fruit Juice.

So I finally broke my New York City bike share cherry--and I mean that literally, since the tires are inflated to about a million PSI (or [whothefuckevenknows] bar) and it was not exactly "vertically compliant" on the cobblestones of DUMBO, so I think I exploded my vaginal corona.

I felt like a can of house paint on a mixing machine.

Of course, even though I'd used the same bike share system in other cities, I still studied up before using it here by reading--what else?--the newbie's bible, "Bicycling" magazine:

How gross are the public saddles—should I bring sanitizer?

Treat them like a yoga mat or exercise bike at the gym. “A quick wipedown with antimicrobial wipes is never a bad idea,” says cyclist and sports science professor Steven M. Zinder, PhD, of UNC-Chapel Hill. But, he adds, there’s no reason to freak out. Washing your hands and your bike clothes will likely suffice. 

Actually, no New Yorker asks this question.  That's because we ride the subway, where there's a 99% chance the previous occupant of your seat was a homeless person who just shat himself.  (This is why giving your seat to pregnant women or the elderly is not quite as genteel as it may seem.)  Sure, it's pretty easy for some bike share hater to booby-trap the saddle with a turd, but given the relatively small surface area compared to a subway seat I gotta say I like those odds.

Still, that's not going to stop me from launching a Kickstarter for bike-specific "ass gaskets" and marketing them to the corner delis.

Here's another good question:

Will I be publicly mocked for riding this blue beast around town?

While the Citi Bike doesn’t take style cues from Bianchi or Cervélo, the only unsolicited feedback we received while riding the Citi Bike was packed with the sort of enthusiasm you’d expect from the prospect of free ice cream. 

Respectfully I disagree.  You will look like a complete idiot riding around in your street clothes at a leisurely pace--unlike the graceful exemplars of velocipedal style who ride Bianchis:

I actually rolled up next to this person while riding the Citi Bike yesterday, and any lingering sense of shame I might have been experiencing for riding 50lbs of corporate branding was instantly banished to the same far-off realm in which his shirt resides.

But, you know, at least he's wearing a helment.

Anyway, for those of you still doubting the efficacy of this program, I'd like to reiterate how incredibly convenient it is--FOR ME.  Without giving too much of my private life away, once a week I must travel from Lob's Country where I live now to DUMBO in Brooklyn, and if you absolutely have to know the reason for this journey let's just say I have a standing appointment for a Brazilian scranus waxing there.

Aren't you sorry you asked?

(And if you want the name of the absolute best Brazilian scranus waxer this side of the Mississipi click here, I won't judge.)

According to a popular Internet mapping application, this trip is something like 17 miles (or 346 bar) each way, and there are three primary ways to undertake it:

--By bike
--By subway train
--By driving THE CAR THAT I OWN

Well, we can cross driving THE CAR THAT I OWN right off the list, since barring the sort of extenuating circumstances that might require me to do so (like, I don't know, David Byrne left the lights of his Hyundai on and he needs a jump) it's silly to drive to Brooklyn during the week because it's a major pain in the ass.

As for the bike, I'll often opt for that.  However, in New York City riding a bike is way faster than the subway--to a point.  After a certain distance, the subway (assuming it's running properly, which is a big ass) is probably going to win.  What that distance actually is differs from rider to rider, but generally for me, riding at a fairly leisurely commuting pace and loosely following traffic laws, it's somewhere around 10 miles:

Wait, I think I messed that up.  I think the red should be the biek and the green should be the subway.

Aw, fuck it.

In any case, the long ride to DUMBO is nice.  I can take greenways, if I feel like it I can putz around Central Park laughing at Freds for a bit, and so forth.  But if I'm in a rush, or I'm going to be coming home really late, or it's disgusting out (I'm well past the age at which I feel it's necessary to ride 17 miles in shitty weather) I'll just take the subway.

But the problem with the subway train is that shitty DUMBO only has the shitty F train, which for me involves one of those shitty transfers where you have to walk a million miles underground.  Moreover, you have to make the transfer via the L train platform, and if you're unfamiliar with New York the L train has officially become the "hipster express" and watching an L train barf its quasi-lumberjacks and nouveaux yuppies onto the platform makes me want to barf as well.

The other option is taking a train that doesn't involve the long and nauseating switch, but that leaves me with a lengthy walk once I got to Brooklyn.  And don't even talk to me about the bus.  Plus, no matter what train I take, I don't have a bike with me once I get there--unless I schlep the folding bike.  That solves the transfer problem and the walking problem.  But now I don't even have to do that, because check out this shit:

Walk outside, yank a bike out of the dock, ride it to where I have to go in about eight minutes, dock it again, and forget about it.

See, that's what I'm talking about--ME, and this additional layer of almost gratuitous convenience that saves ME a very tiny handful of effort and time.

This is why the antagonism towards the program is so absurd, since every spoiled pain in the ass in this town who likes to complain about his or her commute (which is pretty much everybody) should be celebrating this thing!

Best of all, the bikes come with a clever little "easter egg:"

If you place your bare scranus on the cockpit-mounted rule slab, a hologram of Mayor Bloomberg and Janette Sadik-Khan "Frenching" is suddenly projected from the basket.

Don't ask me how I figured that out.

What the Citi Bikes don't seem to have though are bells, which are technically required by law, so I guess the plan is to make the program massively successful and then kill it in one fell swoop with the single biggest bicycle ticketing blitz in the history of humankind.

As for my commute, it all went to shit anyway in the end due to a train derailment, so I suppose I just should have ridden my bike anyway.

Lastly, I was quoted in the eleventy millionth bike share article to date, though they edited out all my mentions of my "scranus:"

Prudes.

Meanwhile, in componentry news, Stevil Kinevil of All Black The Hail Market has informed me that a team of Israeli scientists have now made it possible to give yourself a facial as you ride:



The device is as elegantly-designed and lightweight as it is hilarious:

(When cycling through occupied territories, replace water with tear gas and orient sprayer away from face.)

Though, like everything else in the bike industry, this has been done before.  Anybody remember Shimano's short-lived "Clown Drive" XTR upgrade?

Of course you do.

So what's the matter?  You don't want to donate money to hilarious crowd-sourcing campaigns?  Well, how about depressing ones?  This guy wants $5,000 to ride from Seattle to New Jersey and talk to people about how lonely he is:



This has got to be one of the saddest things I've ever seen.  Basically, he's starting in Seattle, which is a rain-soaked city full of heroin addicts, and finishing in New Jersey.  New Jersey.  He's going to go all the way across the country and he's not even going to finish in New York City?  That's like breaking into the Guggenheim and stealing a free map of the museum.

But don't worry, your money is safe with him, since he'll keep writing even if he's mauled by a bear:

Beyond funding, a big risk of my project is getting hurt on the bike trip. I have many many years experience with bicycling and have recently signed up to take a wilderness first-aid course in preparation. Unless I am horrifically maimed, I still anticipate being able to write.

This guy does not need $5,000.  This guy needs a hug.

Wednesday: It Happens

I threw a bagel in anger this morning--not actually at anybody, I was alone.

Felt pretty good.

Secondly, commenter McFly had the following question pursuant to a photograph in yesterday's post:

McFly said...

Why does a NYC Bed, Bath and Beyond stock massive milk-bones? Is that part of their "Beyond" inventory. Around here ours just have lotions and salves. 

And a few LOOOOFaaaaaaa's.

May 29, 2013 at 6:10 AM

Because people in Manhattan, especially the ones who live close to that particular Bed, Bath, and/or Beyond, are fucking insane for dogs.  Every single retail establishment between 5th Avenue and the Hudson River and between 14th and 23rd street sells shit for dogs, including the Judaica stores.

Speaking of Jews, I was checking in with BikePortland to see if they were talking about Citi Bike (now officially the most important "biking"-related subject in the world) and saw that proprietor Jonathan Maus is in Copenhagen:

 You see this all over Copenhagen. Friends stopping for a chat while astride their bikes. These conversations would not be possible if people were in cars or on the Metro/bus

I'm as beguiled by the cycling cities of Europe as anybody, but this happens with cars all the time.  Clearly Maus has never been to an affluent Jewish neighborhood in New York and seen the Luxury Car Yenta Stop-And-Chat.  The way it works is that the drivers of two Jaguars traveling in opposite directions recognize each other (usually by their large coiffures since all their cars look the same) and then the kibitzing begins.  Usually there's an elaborately bejeweled hand dangling out of each driver's side window.  These chats can last as long as 20 minutes as traffic comes to a halt in either direction, and indeed this phenomenon is responsible for 90% of the traffic on the LIE.

To put it another way, you know those scenes in "The Wire" where McNulty and "Bunk" would sort of 69 their cars and talk?  Well, it's like that, only a lot more nasal.

In other news, what's the first thing you think of when you hear the phrase "pop-up store?"  Collabos?  Artisanal sponges?  Bespoke pants?  Well, there's a new pop-up store about to pop up in San Francisco, and it's being up-popped by a company that's synonymous with "trendy."  That company, of course, is Rivendell.

(Hipster!!!)

And yes, you're goddamn right that's Jimmy Carter.

Or maybe it's Ted Danson, I can't be sure.

Anyway, the store pops up like a timer on a turkey this Saturday, June 1st, and here are the details:

Rivendell Bicycle Works is opening a pop-up in San Francisco’s Mission District, June 1 - 9, near Shotwell and just three blocks from the 24th & Mission BART Station. The space is run by Asterick Magazine, where they hold the occasional art opening.

There will be several Rivendell bikes to see and touch, art from our other showroom in Walnut Creek in the East Bay, plus bags and handlebars. Some free schwag, brochures, coupons, a secret ‘have-to-be-there-to-get-it’ super deal. Small items for sale, and discounted posters. No test rides, sorry, just too much to worry about at the start and our insurance for the rider... well, we’re not sure about that part.

Our big honkin’ 71cm Homer will be there though. It will be the only bike available for test ride. ‘Century Club’ only (if your pubic bone height is 100cm or higher).

Word is there’s an espresso machine, but not quite like the one we have in Walnut Creek. Our Man Rich Lesnik himself will be building wheels while you watch! At least a few days during the week. 

Opening day is noon on Saturday, June 1. At 5pm Saturday we’re doing something special, a giveaway? Hmm.

There are parking meters along the sidewalk for blocks. Plenty of bike parking. FYI: the road between BART and Shotwell on 24th is under construction. Good luck parking a car!

Come by! If for no other reason than to get a coupon… but your support will be appreciated by us and make this stretch of the Mission quite the spectacle. Our Walnut Creek location will be open normal hours, but since we’re taking a lot of stuff to SF, we’ll be low on test bikes and staff and the walls will be bare. You can pick up your bikes there.

If the store is a smash success, or we break even, we might be able to pull a Rapha and extend it longer. We’d like that!

It said "see and touch" and "pubic bone height."

Awesome.

Also, there will be a guy building wheels live (hopefully with Yngwie Malmsteen soundtrack and pyrotechnic accompaniment).  If you haven't heckled a guy while he's building wheels then you haven't lived--and it's especially fun to heckle a Rivendell wheelbuilder because the jeers write themselves.  ("Why not use some more spokes, Lesnik?"  "When that wheel sits around the house, it really sits around the house."  And so forth.)  Actually, as I understand it, Rivendell has also rented out the storefront next door to store the the many boxes of spokes and nipples for the two (2) wheels Lesink will be building.

In any case, I don't mean to sound rude, but you'd have to be a complete idiot not to go, if only because Rivendell has produced some of the finest "disembodied hand" photography to date:

I don't know how the photographer managed to hold the bike, keep both his forearms out of the shot, and press the button at the same time.

And yes, obviously I know that's not what's happening in the photo, but it's a lot more amusing than the truth, which is that a bear and an old-timey pugilist are fighting over the bike while being refereed by a flaming tiger:

And no, the bear doesn't have a human hand, it's just that the flaming tiger made him shave his paw before the fight.

In all seriousness, go.  I'd go myself if I didn't live on the other side of the country (the side where the smart people live) and I hadn't placed myself under house arrest until August.  See, two (2) things start to happen when you start to reach my age, which is that 1) You start really wanting a Rivendell; and B) You start getting nostalgic.  Moreover, these bouts of nostalgia hit you at odd moments, just like when you used to get an erection for no reason during homeroom.  It's all very Proustian.  (If you're not literary like I am, Proust was this French guy who wrote a whole book about "school boners," called "A la recherche du boneurs de l'ecole" or something like that, I did pretty bad in French.)

Anyway, yeah, so this innocent tweet made me nostalgic, and I've been walking around with a wistful memory boner all morning because of it:

My favourite bike of all time was my/is my________________
— bikeradar (@bikeradar) May 29, 2013

See, my favorite bike of all time was this one:

My male role model took me out to Brands in Wantagh to buy it.  I guess it was the low-end Haro at the time, but it was the first "real" bike I'd ever owned, in that you would actually see pictures of it (well, ads at least) in the BMX magazines.  I remember every sticker on that bike in vivid detail because I used to stare at them for hours.  First I tried to do tricks, but then I discovered BMX racing and my male role model would shuttle me to the track at Newbridge Road in Bellmore, which I assume disappeared years ago.  (The track, not Bellmore itself.)  On the way I'd stop at Burger King for a bacon, egg, and cheese Croissan'Wich, because we only had a rudimentary understanding of the concept of "pre-race nutrition."

As the years went on I performed all the usual "upgrades" on the bike, most of them with a Channellock, until I eventually traded the frame for my friend's Mongoose Californian, which ultimately got stolen.

If you think about it, that's really how everything works: it's new and wonderful, then you start fucking with it, and then you just fuck it up completely and it's over.  One day you're bursting out of the start gate in your very first bike race, and the next you're in the latest issue of "Country Living" next to the baskets, as forwarded by a reader:

If you need me, I'll be at Burger King sobbing.

Are You The Keymaster? Because I'm The Gatekeeper.

First of all, I'd like to congratulate the scumbags at the Daily News for the most disgustingly offensive and profoundly fuck-tardedest bike share reference to date:

The victim was not believed to be riding a bike from the city’s long-awaited Citi Bike program, unveiled Monday.

Oh, also, this:

Critics have warned that cyclists will be injured because helmets are not required in the program. It is unclear if the senior killed Monday was wearing protective gear.

In case you're not familiar with Brooklyn, Bensonhurst is nowhere near anyplace with a bike share station, thus the chances of finding a 74 year-old (or really anyone for that matter) riding a Citi Bike in that neighborhood are virtually nil, but why let that stop you from passive-agressive victim-blaming and micturating on someone's grave to promote your moronic agenda?

By the way, the person who wrote the article tweets at @bpaddockNYC, where he apparently solicits quotes from people whose friends and loved ones have just died, and not for nothing but his phone number is all over the place.

Now you have some "digits" to scrawl on a cocktail napkin the next time some sleazebag hits on you in a bar.

Actually, the saddest part of all of this is that this guy isn't even disgracing dead people for huge sums of "fuck you" money.  He's just doing it for the pittance they must pay at the Daily News.  He's morally deficient and broke.  Ironically, this scumbag "journalist" would be living a far better lifestyle in Portland riding around on a bike, making espressos for a living, and satisfying his journalistic fantasies by interning at BikePortland in his spare time.  That life seems a lot better to me than waking up in a shitty apartment and sending out tweets like, "Sorry your grampa died, please call me," but then again I have this thing called a "soul."

Speaking of sleazebags, yesterday saw the official debut of the Citi Bike program, and even though I was a founding member with a number in the low-300s (equivalent to like a second-row start in a cyclocross race), my key did not arrive with last Friday's mail, prompting me to post about the irony of Anthony "“When I become mayor, you know what I’m going to spend my first year doing? I’m going to have a bunch of ribbon-cuttings tearing out your fucking bike lanes" Weiner receiving one before I did:

By the way, in true sleazebag fashion, Anthony Weiner is now suddenly pandering to the bike demographic:

Gonna take @citibikenyc to my first debate today.@howiewolf impressed? #AnyoneGotAHelmetICanBorrow?
— Anthony Weiner (@anthonyweiner) May 28, 2013

I hope his shallow attempt at pandering actually transforms him into a genuine bike lane advocate, and I also hope someone from Citi Bike disinfects that seat.

Anyway, I can only assume someone at Citi Bike heard my kvetching, because that evening I received a call from a courier informing me that he was going to be hand-delivering my key the following day.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't really need the key before Monday since I had no plans to be downtown that day, and that I was really only bothered by the idea that I didn't have my key, so instead I let him ride his scooter all the way up to where I live (which is still in New York City, but just barely) in the rain.

Hey, he's a courier, they live for that stuff.*

*[On the off-chance someone from Citi Bike is reading this, I'd like you to know your courier was highly professional and diligent, and I'd also like to thank you for getting me the key.  I think your name is "Danni" but I may be reading the note wrong.]

Unfortunately, not everyone is a highly influential semi-professional bike blogger, and that includes my wife, who also didn't receive her key.  So what were these people supposed to do if they wanted their keys by Monday?  Pick them up their damn selves, that's what:

So yesterday, my wife, one of my seventeen children (my favorite one, the other 16 are a bunch of assholes) and I boarded a subway train and headed downtown to get her key.

(I should point out she didn't really need her key on Monday either, it was just a good excuse to go downtown, and the fact that we ended up doing so only made the poor courier's journey twice as moot.)

At the risk of blowing my massive "street cred," I should point out that the years have been kind to me.  I've come a long way from my humble origins, and I've grown increasingly soft as I enter middle age.  Whereas I grew up in a relatively affluent community adjacent to the city line, I now reside in a different relatively affluent community adjacent to the city line.  Therefore, I was shocked when I emerged from the subway in Union Square and encountered this assortment of "street toughs:"

This is a common sight in Manhattan shortly after the end of the spring semesters at Bard and Sarah Lawrence.  You'll notice that this is an ideal spot for soliciting donations from people getting on and off the subway and then going across the street to spend those donations at Whole Foods.  You may also notice that the guy with the pointy hair is wearing Nikes, which I really hope he found in the trash:

Back in my day, if you had pointy hair you were supposed to eschew products from giant mega-corporations--though I suppose the one with the Pepsi gets a pass, if only because Pepsi is part of punk rock history:

Incidentally, I harnessed the power of the Internet to see if PepsiCo was guilty of any human rights violations (besides owning Pizza Hut, which arguably qualifies), and I found this on a popular user-edited e-encyclopedia:

Criticism

PepsiCo has drawn criticism for collaborating with biotech companies that use technology originally derived from human fetuses in order to develop new food products.

I have no idea what that means, but just for the record I'm staunchly against forcing fetuses to take the "Pepsi Challenge."

Fortunately I succeeded in running the gauntlet of voluntary street urchins without either being solicited for donations or called a fascist breeder and made it to the Citi Bike tent:

Where at least one person was clearly so fucking psyched that he was packing a helmet and wearing his fastest "speed sweatpants:"

Meanwhile, my son Wildcat Rock Machine VIII was getting antsy, so while my wife waited for her key I took him over to the playground, where at least one little girl was wearing this t-shirt:

Yep, those $20K-a-year preschools can get pretty anarchic, but these kids have to learn how to skulk around in Union Square somewhere.

Why someone is not yet marketing a GG Allin-themed t-shirt for toddlers is beyond me:

I'd get in touch with his estate, but I'm afraid someone might throw feces at me.

Anyway, it wasn't long before my wife got her key and joined us at the playground, just in time to break up a typical playground fight.  (Some kid totally cut me on the slide, it was MY TURN!!!)  Next, we headed off to get Wildcat Rock Machine VIII's septum pierced, and then we boarded a subway train back to Lob's Country.  Alas, we did not sample the bike share, because while personally I have no issue with carrying a helmentless child under my arm as I ride, I'm pretty sure that would land me on the front page of the Post.  (Headline: "BIKE SCARE: Hipster Uses Toddler As Battering Ram.")  I did see others taking to the streets though, and none of them were riding on the sidewalk, salmoning, or using their helmentless children as weapons:

I do have some "business" in the gentriverse tomorrow though, so I'm looking forward to sharing some bike then.

In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be in my hazmat suit, negotiating with GG Allin's attorneys, Doody, Lipschitz, & Brownstein.

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz See You Tuesday It's a Long Weekend Even Though My Whole Life Is One Long Weekend!

I have an important question:

How the fuck does this guy have his Citi Bike key already and I don't?

(Weiner cupping balls.)

If you're a New Yorker who's even remotely pro-bike I challenge you to read the above article without wanting to punch this guy in the "pants yabbies."

In any case, I'm glad he got his key in a timely fashion so he can go cruise the city and decide which bike lanes he wants to remove if he gets elected.

Meanwhile, on Wednesday I mentioned that the Hasidim are trying to engage the "hipsters" of Brooklyn in a great big facial hair circle jerk, and their efforts have now attracted the attention of the New York Times:

Not only that, but apparently the Roman Catholic Church beat them to it:

First the Brooklyn Diocese of the Roman Catholic Church began running ads suggesting that Jesus was “the original hipster.” Now a group of Hasidic Jews have seized upon the beards – metaphorically, anyway – of the hip, young demographic as a way of reaching out to them.

I admit the Catholics make a good point about Jesus being "the original hipster."  A white guy with blond hair living in the Middle East two thousand years ago?  Yeah, sounds like a gentrifier to me.  Unfortunately, he tried to start an ass-sharing program (that's "ass" as in "donkey," not "ass" as in "ass") in downtown Jerusalem, and then this happened:

(No criminality suspected.)

Anyway, part of the Hasidic attempt to engage the so-called hipsters was some kind of "Ask A Jew" night, but the Times reports that no hipsters actually showed up:

There were plenty of bearded Hasidim among the several dozen attendees listening to Rabbi Manis Friedman’s lecture. “The Torah says, tradition teaches us that facial hair actually grows from the head towards the heart,” he said. “The beard is actually a flow of energy that connects the mind and heart.”

But a reporter present for the first half of the meeting had trouble spotting anyone who could pass for the stereotypical bearded hipster.

It could be that hipsters can find pretty much anything they need to know about the Hasidim by using the Internet (you know, that big scary evil thing that basically contains the sum of all human knowledge).  Or, it could be that some of the hipsters owe back rent and were afraid of running into their landlords.  However, the Rabbi's excuse for the poor turnout is that Williamsburg is like totally over:

He added, “It’s true, we did not get any motorcycle hipsters with tattoos and big beards – no over-the-top-looking hipsters.” But those types, he said, are “more in Bushwick now, not as much on Bedford.”

Meanwhile, the Catholics think the Jews are ripping them off:

As for the Catholic campaign, Monsignor Kieran Harrington, a diocese spokesman, said the diocese’s Web site had had “400 times the normal traffic” since the ads began running April 1. The ads, posted at bus stops and phone booths, show a pair of red Converse sneakers sticking out from under a white robe,

Told about the “Unite the Beards” effort, Monsignor Harrington chuckled and said, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

I wouldn't get so smug there, Monsignor.  The only reason anybody's paying attention to either of these campaigns is that they're ridiculous. Do you seriously think any young person in gentrified Brooklyn is going to start following a religion that bans premarital sex, contraception, and wanking?  It's like the KKK opening up a recruiting center on 125th Street, or like T-Mobile trying to sell cellphones to the Amish.  And as for the Hasidim, their big mistake is in trying to appeal to the hipster men.  Sure, in the Hasidic world it may be the men who are in charge, but it's exactly the opposite in the hipster culture, where the woman works and the man tries to get his band or film project off the ground until they finally have a kid and the man becomes an "artisanal father."  Sure, the man may wear the beard, but it's the women who wear the pants.

Really, the Catholics and the Hasidim should leave the hipsters out of this altogether and just court each other with a "Unite the Pederasts" effort, since hiding molestation is something both of them are equally good at.

Lastly, someone in Washington is introducing a bill to introduce an Amtrak "critter car:"

Said Mr. Denham: “My dog, Lily, is part of our family and travels with us to and from California all the time. If I can take her on a plane, why can’t I travel with her on Amtrak, too?” he said.

It's a supreme hassle to travel with a bicycle on pretty much any form of transportation in America, so before Lily the dog gets her own special car maybe we could get a few more fucking bike hooks first.  Or how about a law keeping some of these ridiculous airline fees in check?  It's odd that our culture goes so far out of its way to accommodate pets yet we're so hostile to bicycles.  I guess in America we're only comfortable with things that kill (cars and guns) and things that shit on the sidewalk (dogs, and occasionally people).

And if it shits on a bike rack then that's even better.

Now, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz.  As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer.  If you're right great, and if you're wrong you'll see all-limb cycling.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and I'll see you on Tuesday because Monday's a holiday called Memorial Day which I hope very much you'll enjoy.  (And if you come from a place where they don't have Memorial Day I'm giving you the day off anyway, tell your boss.0


--Wildcat Rock Machine

(Di Luca's super must have installed one of those low-flow showerheads.)

1) Is Danilo Di Luca really "that fucking stupid??"

--No, he's not.
--Yes, he is.

(Nothing says "irreverent" like signs reminding you to be irreverent.)

2) Portlanders love bikes, but they hate:

--Motorcycles
--Boats
--Fluoride
--Minorities

("If you don't look at me I'll kill myself, I swear to god!")

3) Which is not an actual Pedalpalooza theme ride?

--The Dave Matthews ride
--The Food Foraging! ride
--The Hitler ride
--The Sons of Jihad ride

(Routine traffic stop.)

4) In Bath, England, you can get pulled over for:

--Stopping for a red signal while riding a bicycle
--Wearing your helment backwards
--Cycling pantsless
--Not dressing like a Fred while riding a road bike

(Just because I used this picture doesn't mean it's the right answer.  Even though it is...  Or is it?)

5) The latest argument against cyclists is that:

--They are smug
--They don't obey traffic laws
--They are killing the US auto industry
--The are duckling killers

(Robs Fords indicates the size of the burger he just ate in mime.)

6) Beleaguered Toronto mayors Robs Fords now claims that the purported video of him smoking crack is actually a poorly doctored scene from the Chris Farley movie, "Beverly Hills Ninja."

--True
--False

7) Finally!  A:

--Retractable mudguard
--Foldable machete
--Seatpost-mounted ironing board
--LED button-down shirt

***Special Misty Mountain Disco Fred Bonus Video!***