Douchebag of the Week: The guy who didn't get the Rapha memo

In the latest issue of Bicycling Magazine (thanks, grandma!), the chaps at Rapha took out a multi-page advert that began with these inspirational words of cycling wisdom:

"You have to look good when you are riding, you have to impress your adversary with your elegance. To look good is already to go fast.

Paul Fournel "Need for the Bike."

Apparently this guy has yet to read Mr. Fournel's cycling tome. This jersey was so stretched I swore I could hear sheep howling in pain. Now that it's the off season, it might be a good time to think about doing a couple sit ups, tubby.

Douchebag of the week: Any guy who cuts his own hair.

Oh joy, the Borg known as Swobo has launched a new website specifically for the fixed gear bicycles ridden on the street market. Sorry, unless it's actually being ridden on the track, I'm no longer going to be calling anything a "track bike."

What I do love though is this quote from Swobo founder Tim Parr:

"We wanted to create a site that was authored and managed by people and ideas that fall well outside of the traditional bike industry. This particular urban bike enthusiasm (the track bike scene) is pure, and is being borne by anonymous kids across the country and beyond. Nothing could be healthier, or more real, so we wanted to create a place where people could post ideas and the progression of what's happening right now. This is something we've been waiting for, for a really, really long time. We're just happy to be here to witness it."

Oh yes, nothing could be "healthier" or "more real" than a bunch of out of shape people pretending to be bike messengers.

And of course Tim's been waiting, a really, really, long time because there's a pile of money for Swobo to make off these rubes.

Now please excuse me, I've got a couple of mid 90's Swobo wool jerseys and a beanie that need to be posted up on eBay before the weekend because rumor has it "vintage" Swobo is fetching top dollar these days.

You're a pilot? No, I'm a naval aviator.

Captured this moment out at a local watering hole the other night and I love how even though it's just a single picture, you can tell that it's playing out like one of my favorite scenes from Top Gun.

Girl: Wow! you're a professional bike rider? Like Lance Armstrong?

DoB: No, I'm a cycling enthusiast.

Girl: I don't understand. We're at a bar and you're wearing a skin tight Lycra shirt covered with advertising. That's what the pro's wear, right?

DoB: Yes. This is the exact same thing they wear but my jersey is different.

Girl: How?

DoB: For starters, I bought it. Pros get their kits for free.

Girl: And you thought it'd be a good idea to wear out because..?

DoB: I had to ride six blocks to get here. There's no way a t-shirt could handle that job. More importantly sets a cycling jersey apart from any old shirt is that there's pockets sewn in the back.

Girl: Pockets?

DoB: Yeah, it's a great way to carry stuff like you're keys, ID, energy gels, tool kit, and um, you're phone number?

Girl: My phone number?

DoB: Yeah.

Girl: I don't think so. I only date guys who ride fixed gears.

Tight pants, baggy chain.

FYI: It's hard to have street cred when you ride on the sidewalk.

Ladies week contiues

I love it that a 5th year sophomore says that riding a fixed gear is a reminder that you can't coast through life. Words of wisdom. Pure wisdom.

Girls can be douchebags too!

Earlier today while riding to an appointment, I was waiting for a red light to turn green and much to my surprise a fellow cyclist pulled up alongside me.

Before I could even complete I "good morning" nod, I realized I wasn't saying hello a friend I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting but to a POB as coined by the great Dave Moulton.

Actually, this gal was more along the lines of an HOB- hipster on a bike. Janky ass singlespeed (not fixed) conversion with a purple Velocity Deep V on the rear and her right pant leg was deftly tucked into her cowboy boot.

Before I had a chance to ask her how much fun it was to ride a bike with flat pedals in cowboy boots, she'd already blown clear through the intersection.

Even with her enormous head start, I was able to nearly catch her before she ran though the next light. Like the good cyclist I try to be, I patiently waited for the light to turn green before proceeding and somehow still managed to run into her a mile up the road even with taking a completely different route.

I guess if you ride that slow running red lights might be needed to get anywhere in timely manner though getting a ticket might cut into her "buy a matching wheel fund."

Douchebags of the week: Rapha and their gentleman

At first blush the Rapha Gentlemen's Race sounded wicked awesome. Unsanctioned and unmarshalled. Oh yes, the perfect double u combo that all but implies that chainsaws are welcome.

As if.

With a race put on by Rapha I should have known from the get go that there'd be no Mad Max shit. I guess that's the optimist in me. The same optimist who once spent half his rent on a Rapha jersey only to have the pockets fall apart after two wearings. Really, you'd think a $150 Chinese made jersey might be built for the long haul but I guess Rapha decided to go for the cheapest sweat shop possible. Come on, Rapha don't feel bad about hiring children. Their nimble little fingers can stitch up those hard to reach places like nobody's business.

Instead, what we get is a glorified group ride. Sure 130 miles with almost 8,880 feet of climbing is most certainly epic. But when said ride has a Casiotron providing the soundtrack and the lame version of the Sklar brothers providing the commentary, this gentleman's "race" is suddenly one peanut butter sandwich holding leather handlebar bag away from being a fat ass filled brevet.