Bicycles in the Media

August 30, 2011

The bicycle is the upiquitous darling of the media these days, surplanting the super-couple of Bradgelina as the most intriguing entity of the tabloids a mere six weeks ago.  With all of the hype it is hard to know what to believe and what to scorn.  For example, riddle me this, "Are recumbent tricyclists more likely to be hit by motorists than penny-farthingists?"

Sorry for the photo, I just had my cell phone camera.

This morning the rain and lightning were blatantly exhibiting themselves outside my humble abode. I didn't ride my bicycle because I consider lightning a hazard. "How hazardous is it, maybe you are just a large, hairy, oafish wuss?" you may be thinking. Well let's see what sources such as the following have to say about it.

This engaging touring cyclist shares my fear of lightning, and offers some tips in case you become the target of lightning's unwelcome advances.

NOAA's got some interesting advice (quoted below)-

Protect yourself when on a bicycle, motorcycle or dirt bike. Carry a portable NOAA Weather Radio or listen to commercial radio. If you see threatening skies in the distance and you are near a safe building, pull over and wait 30 minutes after the last rumble of thunder before resuming your ride.

Does any of this advice seem a bit dubious to you?  Personally, I am not sure about the part about listening to commercial radio.  For one thing, there are too many commercials.  For another, how can you hear the lightning in order to count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder in order to gauge its distance from your vulnerable ass?!  (I think every 5 seconds is about 1 mile).  I usually wait 'til the wrath of heaven is about a half mile away before cowering in abject fear in a ditch, or ducking into the nearest grocery store.   

Here is an article about an irrepressible bicyclist who was struck by lightning while training for a triathlon near Boulder. 

I decided to sit in my garage with the door open to watch the morning deluge.  While craftily creating a large latch-hook, Labor Day-oriented mural to hang from the top of the garage door, I was reminded of an uninspiring "quiz" that had been forwarded to me by a friend of mine. This self-righteous piece of propaganda featured many patronizing questions such as the following:

1. My boss is in before I get there and is still in the office after I leave. Is this OK?
a. Sure, she is working on bringing in new work to keep us busy and put food on my plate
b. Absolutely, she gets paid more and has an office instead of a cube, so she should work more
c. I should evaluate this more
d. It is her fault, she is a micro-manager and never instructs me otherwise
e. Both c. and d. 2. Riding a bicycle to work and reducing my carbon footprint is more important than getting to work on time.
a. True

b. False

Although I suppose a worker should be on time (this being the fluttering bat caught in the hair of Spain's [the land of the coveted siesta] illegitimate North American niece, Mexico [i.e., USA, USA, USA!]), I feel a more pertinent question might be worded in a thusly manner:

 

3. Sitting in a car staring out my windshield and then sitting at a cube staring at a computer and then staring out the windshield of my car again is good for my mental and physical well-being.

a. True

b. False

In other bicycle related media, I have learned that the campus police at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln are cracking down on bike thieves by planting stealable bicycles with GPS tracking devices inside them. While I support the non-theft of bicycles, I am pretty sure that this action may create a new breed of contract workers known as Repossession Agents (RepAges for short). These daring RAs will not only have to return the "hot" bicycles, but try to sort through the hazy fog of half-truths, black-outs, bong-hits and flat out lies related to how the bicycle ended up where it ended up. I can picture these daring operatives, making their way, the only way they know how, they are the law, so please take a bow. In a world where the rules of morality are as ill-defined and shadowy as the outline of a swerving college bicyclist to his intoxicated frat brother motorist, RepAges must try to impose order, even if that order is simply, "Step away from the bicycle or I will taze you!" I can't wait to come up with a screenplay!

So lock up that bicycle, hold onto your trouser tribbles and ride between the lightning you yippity yacks!

Thrills, bills and bellyaches

August 26, 2011

During a recent drive in my Raid-scented Metro, I noticed that my mirror was dangling at an awkward angle, presumably due to being "thwacked" by me and the Old Bastard as I carelessly careened in and out of the garage for exciting expeditions out and about. Speaking of excitement, I have recently come to the realization that instead of being a thrill-neutral entity, I am actually a thrill-avoider. This slightly disappointing realization occurred to me due in part to three events, which I will now address in an anti-thrill-like list:

1) Check out this crazy bicyclist. Yes, even watching Danny MacAskill in action feels a bit too thrilling for this casual cyclist. I received this video link from a non-bicyclist friend, which also shows how locked-out of the current bicycling scene I am.

2) I also viewed a B.A.S.E. jumper in action while drinking a beer and lounging fatly upon a hotel bed in the lovely town of Grand Island. The sight of a flying squirrel-like dude-man in search of thrills made me cringe in fear and avoid the television by staggering unevenly towards the hotel mini-fridge to grab another non-thrill-inducing Boulevard Wheat beer. I gawked in disbelief as a soul-patch-adorned scofflaw philosophized about when not to B.A.S.E. jump. "If a jump is not worth dying for, that's when you should call it quits," he stated. I began shivering, sucking my thumb and called the front desk to demand that they move me down to the ground floor, far away from any suggestion of falling.  Although I am ashamed not to have located the actual video footage, here is some slightly less-scary, but more photogenic footage of a more technically minded B.A.S.E. jumper.

3) This grass-hopper

rode on my recently fractured mirror from Grand Island to York, Nebraska. While refueling in York, I noticed two young women with bicycles on a trunk rack. I stared enviously, possibly arousing feelings of caution in these young Wisconis (I was too shy/sober to ask for a photo-op). Back in the Metro I noticed the 'hopper had migrated up onto the windshield

and possibly performed some type of insectoid B.A.S.E jump (in any case, my hitchhiking buddy had disappeared a few miles further) .

4) I went to visit a former college professor. Although being around 60 or so, this role model of mine had recently finished a 16 day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon. I nearly fell over backwards off the chair I was leaning back on. High waters had caused the Colorado to rise to such levels that the water near Yuma must have been more massive than most creeks in the less adventurous state of Nebraska! I wanted to cower behind my chair as he described an eruption of water known as a "haystack," with impressive amounts of "lateral force." My recent interactions with water had involved swimming across the hotel pool at the Grand Island Holiday Inn Express (where guests may enjoy free beer and wine during the 5-7 pm happy hour, which prevented me from doing my planned running exercises after work). The most extreme "lateral force" I had encountered was the enjoyably relaxing jets in the hot tub on my slightly sore knee.

In other news, here's what some people are riding to the bar these days.

Stone Mountain II, baby!  Rocky Top, suck on this!

I did not attend the Corporate Cycling Challenge event this year, although I did plan on it for awhile. I often imagine people asking me, "Why do you participate in one or more charity bicycle rides per year on average?" My response would be thusly, "Because of the wee ones! (yelling italicized words and then bursting into Groundskeeper Willie-like tears). By "wee ones" I don't mean children, I mean the wee folks, will-o-the-wisps, hobs, etc. which dwell in the tangly forests of yore. Yes, I occasional feel as if I am being messaged and/or messaged by the wee ones who guide me and link me to the supernatural powers to which my forebears were attuned via a heightened state of awareness created by a lack of modern distractions such as television, corporations and computer-aided-drafting.

Although I feel a barely detectable amount of sadness at missing the CCC, I do plan on attending an event I've been made aware of known as the "Nacho Ride" in the vicinity of the exciting town of Lincoln, Nebraska. For all you Cornhusker fans out there, this ride may include one or fewer actual Nebraska Cornhusker footballers (aka, northern North American futbol, con accento, tilda, upside-downo exclamacion marcos y itacizo por favor, tu cabron!). It takes place every Thursday. So get your cobs ready and head out for some cheesy fun in the slightly cooler late summer weather before you get all crazy with your Labor Day camping expedition! (And watch out for any lurking thrills....)

Run through the Suburban Jungle, Bloodworth!

August 20, 2011

Here in the suburban jungle it is sometimes difficult to keep up with the yardwork. The garden encroaches into your windows. The compost pile in the back of the Metro is full of angry hornets and a nephew seems to have disappeared underneath the patio. What is one to do? Well, you might kick back in the cool basement to watch a movie. I did. It was called Bloodworth, and I'm pretty sure my brother mistook it for Crazy Heart. How is that possible? Judge for yourself.

I haven't seen Crazy Heart, but Bloodworth wasn't too bad. The ending part was kind of peppy as (spoiler alert) the protagonist marries the hooker with the protagonist's uncle's baby. It might not sound uplifting, but it is.

After enjoying this uppity tale (along with a medium sized pot of tea [masala style, of course]) I felt the need for action. I did some calisthenics and went into the great outdoors where I immediately encountered this man and his recumbent bicycle.

Although he turned down my offer to accompany back to my home for a cup of pseudo-chia (Nepali-esque tea), he did allow me to snap his photo. Although occasionally afflicted with back discomfort, this affable man is able to cycle comfortably on his endearing steed. This man, possibly named Roshan or Greg, stated that he was able to enjoy rides up to 35 miles on this unusual comfort machine, as opposed to a single mile upon a traditional bicycle. So if you have back issues, you can still find yourself a faithful 2 to 3-wheeled, human-powered recumbent machine to accompany you on some type of adventure. You will probably be treated as a semi-celebrity and asked to be photographed.  By the way, Roshan, will you please sign this one for me?

After my meeting with Roshan I ran slowly towards the Red Box to return Bloodworth. Afterwards I switched up my route a bit and ended up near this field.

I high-footed it over the mid-shin-high vegetation and managed to effectively traverse the grassy glade without getting any vegetation stuck between my toes. I pranced gleefully onwards in my vegetation-free footwear. Then I hit the wall (not literally, just bonked, as they say). I shuffled back to my abode and ended up with a few blades of some grassy-weed-like plant between my rubberized toes.

I managed to stagger to my kitchen for a refreshing peanut butter and tomato bagel. Thus fortified, I ventured back out for some relaxing lawn-mowing. Take that jungle!  Take that and put a tomato on it!

Summertime Action Rolls!@ OMA area

August 19, 2011

Advance planning is generally a bit too advanced for me. Therefore I am pleased to inform you that you may have enjoyed a revival by the Rev. Horton Heat during the spiritually oriented Maha festival last weekend.

 There were also some other bands,

 lots of bicycles parked nearby,

and a lack of attendees willing to purchase my extra ticket.

Although this bicycle

Rivendell Sam Hillborne

(designed by someone who may have had a hand in the design of my overweight, irrascable, yet irresistable Old Bastard)

The Old Bastard (with multi-tool)

seems to have some redundancies in engineering (the perceptive among us may have noticed a second top tube), it has apparently gained a kind of cult following. Note to Grant Peterson: If the extra top tube were easily detached to use as a walking stick or bo staff, then I'd like you to put me down for 2 gross of these classy steeds.

Since I am vaguely aware of many bicycling events, I am pleased to inform you that an upcoming organized bicycle ride is occurring this Sunday at the Heartland of America Park. It's the Corporate Cycling Challenge. Don't let the name fool you, though, you don't have to wear business casual in order to participate. If you show up, you are likely to see many sizes and shapes of bicycles and bicycle enthusiasts.

On approximately last Tuesday the 16th I noticed a slight glut in the traffic flow while traveling homewards.

I paused to enjoy the moment with some self-satisfying photography, a quick smoke and a stroll back and forth across the six lanes of stalled vehicles. I even lay down on a car for a quick, slightly sweaty photo shoot (check my facebook page, photography and modeling by Yours Snotly). I eventually tore myself away from this happy sight in order to achieve the cool relaxation of my garage and refreshing ginger beer. I removed the decomposing pet from the trunk of my Metro and threw it into the composting barrel, while sipping my extremely carbonated beverage of moderate alcohol content.

I then drove out towards a lovely tower and clambered apishly upwards to the top of the tower like a creature along the Rue Morgue during the Tour de France. There I beheld the tops of many types of trees, including some type of oak with surprisingly sizable acorns.

I grabbed my pair of acorns and B.A.S.E. jumped off into the windy blue yonder towards the extreme, high-ropes course located at Camp Carol Joy Holling.

Although the course was not open to plebians such as myself, I did duck into the enjoyable Parkers BBQ House in order to evade some torrential rain. My longsuffering family picked me up and transported me back to my home where I enjoyed a lovely ginger beer garnished with some delightful cherry tomatoes. Ah, yes, a summer week or so well spent. No time for working, I'm too busy summering upon the plains. Put that one in your pipe and suck it, The Man!

No sun? Yes people!

August 12, 2011

I shan't forget the day for some time. 'Twas the ninth day of August and the temperatures had taken an icy plunge into the lower 80s as I began bicycling off towards the garage to retrieve my manly Metro. Little did I know, as I began my voyage, that it was to be as memorable as the ending of the film Amelia (about Amelia Earhart), which is to say - fairly memorable.

The streets, sidewalks, stoops and driveways were teeming with fellow hominids out and about, luxuriating and/or cavorting in the dearth of sunshine and cooler temperatures. A slender woman strode purposefully down the sidewalk while boldly hefting dumbells aloft, as if mightily cheering the amiable climate for its graciousness. I beheld a youngish, fatherly man, slowly rotating what appeared to be an entire bicycle tyre, still attached to the rim, through a cooler (presumably filled with water and one fat tire, nyuck, nyuck). Two daughterly girls looked on trustingly at this activity, and I was somewhat startled by this seemingly misguided attempt to locate a slow leak in a tyre tube. But perhaps this was one of those new-fangled "tubeless" bicycle tyres. Or perchance he was attempting to condense the air in the tube so that he could fit more air inside in order to decrease rolling resistance for an upcoming bombing of the neighborhood hills with his family. Cheerio, bewildering chap! Good show. Jolly good and all that... my mumbling gradually trailed off, per usual.

Up the neighboorhood hill I encountered a trio of helmet-wearing bicyclists. It was a thing of infrequently, nay, I shall be so bold as to say - unsurpassed beauty, and, 'twer I an artist, I would have unburdened my rucksack of its oils, brushes, mineral spirits and tautly stretched and gessoed canvas to painstakingly render a work entitled Helmeted Mother and Helmeted Child (2). I pedaled onward with a heart full of joy.

After floating downhill upon a veritable avalanche of goodwill, I passed two adolescent pedestrians before stopping at chatty corner.

The intersection at chatty corner (or XCC as I often think of it) was delightfully deluged with pedestrians (3) and bicyclists (2). "Great Gatsbies!" I exclaimed, overwhelmed. As my two newfound pedestrian acquaintances reached the northeast island of XCC, I excitedly snapped photo after photo of this unexpected profusion of self-propelled traffic.

As the two pedestrians bickered about when and/or if the pedestrian signal would beckon us to safety upon yonder shore, I assured them of our destiny. "Soon." I pontificated knowingly, "soon." We received the signal and one of them bolted. "Run for your lives!" I exhorted them as I sped onwards. My head was spinning at the sheer volume of human interaction I had endured upon this, the unseasonably mild, ninth day of August!

Another teenaged pedestrian, with a "too-cool-for-school" (too bad it starts this week, though, sucker - haha) aura, ambled nonchalantly along on a trajectory that nearly intersected mine.

Finally I reached my destination and retrieved my might Metro-polis of steel. Incidentally, as I may have mentioned in a previous post, the Metro may (and by "may" I mean "won't") be traded for a tour-ready (doesn't need to be immediately ready...maybe in 10 years or so...) road bicycle/penny-farthing, preferably with disc brakes. In order to "sweeten" the pot on this impending trade, I am now prepared to allow and insist that the person with whom I consummate this transaction also accept ownership of what has been "crammed in the boot" of my motorized vehicle of conveyance. Here are a few possibilities. Could this alleged junk in the trunk consist of -
a) a mobile compost pile
b) 13 used 26" bicycle tyres and accessories
c) a slightly decomposed household pet that I've not yet worked up the nerve to return to its owner (what? it's in a bag, don't be gross!)
d) 30 - 22 oz. bottles of my home-brewed ginger beer, or
e) a large, and genly used, collection of classic 80s porn/albums/uniforms
?????

Not that it's of any interest to anyone.......(that means you copper!)

On my way home, with the Old Bastard dismantled and all aboard, I spied a bicycle commuter on the corner who looked like this.

Although the statuesque Adonis astride geometric shapes of various sizes and substances may seem to possess a physique that is unattainable to us mere mortals, just hop on a bicycle, grab some sweet-ass shades and a sleeveless shirt and start pedaling. You might just surprise yourself!

Maintenance corner with the Snot -

I noticed my front tyre had a spot that looked like the basketballs of my youth before developing a goiter-like bulge.

 Since I had an unused, white-walled tyre in my garage cupboard, I quickly grabbed a plastic tyre-lever, removed the old tyre and partially installed the new, before I snapped the lever. I grabbed another lever to finish the job and made a mental note to get some more tyre-levers.

Postscript: As you might have surmised by the quaintly antiquated verbiage of this post, it was written with pen and ink at my window-side desk as I lounged about insouciantly in my tweed smoking jacket during my working holiday in the rather drastic locale known as Wichita.

Indian Cave Spiders ATTACK!

August 6, 2011

Occasionally I feel the need to get out into nature to enjoy some mental and spiritual recharging. Although I will not provide all the details, I will say that it was very spidery and sweaty at the edge of the Missouri River floodwaters at Indian Cave State Park.

No paw paws or flying squirrels were to be seen, either. We were able to find an open backpacking camping site only a few minutes in on the aptly named trail 10 (10 for 10 out of 10 on the southeast Nebraska steepness scale [SENSS]).

This would likely translate to Class 1+ hiking on the Yosemite scale. I have never been to Yosemite, but I hear that people are falling off of Half Dome in record numbers. I am sorry to hear it. I will try to get out there to remedy the situation as soon as they hire me as an honorary deputy ranger. Please just mail me the plastic badge and open-ended plane ticket (preferably Southwest). I will utilize a Yosemite Sam style approach to dealing with the public that I am sure will be both endearing and effective.

We were able to find a camping site because no one else was out feeling the heat of nature in early August in buggy southeast Nebraska. We showed our total disregard for common sense by arriving at around 3:30, just 30 minutes before the hottest part of the average day.  We got a late start due to my curious but clueless attempts to setup a new-fangled gadget called a global positioning service.  Although I plugged it into my computer and an electrical outlet (not at the same time, because it's kind of early in our relationship to get kinky like that).  Any-hoo, this globular positronic slide (GPS) was stymieing my gallant efforts at becoming a technocratic, outdoorsy renaissance wannabe.  It was a fruitless endeavor due to the fact that I couldn't get the correct Active-X pop up to appear.  (But I can where it counts, in the bedroom, thanks to this nutritional supplement).  We actually did encounter one other intrepid traveler, but I'm pretty sure he was the owner of the car from Pennsylvania (or an equivalent state), and therefore can't be blamed for his choice in recreational activities.

Here I am incoherently muttering and swinging a stick at the hundreds of spider-occupied webs in the path like an entire university's collection of those door-beads that college students used to adore and perhaps still do - I wouldn't know, because I haven't been invited to a college party for awhile, but if you'd like to invite me, I'll be over at 8 with the sake bombs (but I gotta be back by midnight or so).

Just make sure it's a properly ragin' party, cause I don't stay up late for no lame-ass parties, very often anyway, because I don't stay up late very often period.

I used to visit the hills of Indian Cave as a mountain biker, but I did not encounter any mountain bicyclists during our 1.5-day stay. I would often descend hills rapidly and bent many wheels in my thrill-seeking days of yore. Currently I do not thrill-seek as a habit, I more or less thrill-fabricate and thrill-reminisce: less high impact and nearly as rewarding. We also used a potent form of insect repellent that contained 95.5% DEET, and we finished each ride off by taking a shot of that hard stuff. Mmmm-YAARGH! Although the Deep Woods Off that we used didn't tingle the way the 95% did, I did find an herbal substitute with a lovely minty smell and a tingly finish. Herbal Armor - pretty good stuff for repelling the mosquitoes.

We also saw many hill frogs.

We also saw some Indian Cave Sandstone.

The actual Indian Cave appeared to be accessible only by wading or bushwhacking, neither of which we were prepared to undertake. We staggered back out to our parking spot and were just in time to purchase a delicious apple pie and cold pops at the bake sale by the old-timey/reenactment area.

Indian Cave, you haven't seen the last of the likes of me!

Comfort and Rodentia

August 3, 2011

The proud order of Rodentia has been paramount in my mind lately as I've been perusing Owls aren't Wise and Bats aren't Blind during my leisurely breakfasts of tomato omelettes or shredded wheat with milk and tomatoes. I have learned about various members of this family, such as beavers, muskrats, and tree squirrels of four varieties - red, gray, northern flying squirrel and southern flying squirrel. The thing that impressed me the most about squirrels is that they will eat young animals of most any kind given the slightest opportunity. So hide the children and look at these wild predators with new, slightly fearful eyes.

This rabbit reminded me very much of the frightening rabbit in Donny Darko.

Maybe they won't see me behind this scary, yet hypnotic rabbit.  Yeessss.  Come closer...

Waiting to pounce?  If you've got training wheels, you might be food!

The wild appears to be among us!

But what if you are more of a mild, relaxing type, such as I? Well feast your eyes on this domestic beast!

Call this ingenious contraption what you will, I am guessing that you will not call it a wild squirrel. It is labeled Day 6 Dream 7. A quick glimpse of the website reveals that the most important part of the bike isn't some fancy backward-tensioned derailleur or suspension lock-out-on-the-fly-switch, rather it is YOU! So if you like the idea of riding a bicycle, but are worried about the unnatural ergonomics of the standard upright bicycle and the high likelihood of being flattened while riding a recumbent bicycle a Day 6 bicycle is just what needs YOU! The Day 6 bicycles are sometimes referred to as semi-recumbent. That could just as easily be considered semi-upright. So feel that semi and get up to buy one, because it needs you and your urge for a semi. And once you get there you can just kick back and relax. Cup holder is a reasonably priced option.

In a drastic withdrawl from the dangers of the outside wild-ness, I retreated to the unsatisfying comfort of the mall where I was able to procure a beverage that complimented my outfit.

I stood around sipping for a while as mallers eyed my with respect (due to my color coordination) and amusement (due to my helmet hair). I felt like Johnny Carson reborn, and even tried a few air-golf swings- slices, and sticky shoes, damn.