Apocalypse La Jolla

Last weekend I took a little road trip down south. I only went 110 miles down the freeway but I might as well have slipped into a portal and taken a trip to Bizarro World. By all accounts La Jolla was nothing short of a seaside bicycle paradise. Took a 60 mile ride and all but 20 of those miles had bike lanes. The ones that didn't weren't exactly mean streets as motorists were so friendly it was truly confusing.

Really? You're going to wait for lil' old me to make a left? Really? Cause in any other part of the world, that move just sets the table for a trip over the hood of a car. But if you do insist, I'll go right ahead.

About halfway through the ride I realized that this bicycle utopia was just a very clever ruse to disguise the fact that the people on bikes are by far the biggest kooks in the Western Hemisphere. Seriously, you could take the snootiest memeber of Velo Club La Grange and even he would think the average La Jolla cyclist's butthole was wound up more than a little tight.

What I'm about to write is a the request of my therapist. She said that writing down a traumatic experience, is a great way to take ownership and turn the tables on what traumatized you is a big step in moving forward with your life.

There I was in La Jolla. Riding along the coast minding my own business. It was about 8:30 in the morning. The Pharcyde was playing on the iPod and the clouds were starting to break. A great sign that the day was shaping up to be very nice.

Then suddenly without warning, the distinct sound of Wagner filled the air and the breaking clouds started to gather once again.

From behind I heard the whir of a giant fan blade and turned over my shoulder to see what was causing a noise not of this earth. I saw a guy on a tri bike. Then I blinked. When my eyes opened three were two more guys on tri bikes flanking the first one. If you are familiar with The Empire Strikes Back, this is what's known as "attack pattern delta."

It didn't take long to realize I was the next target in their sights. The were the cheetahs and I was the hunted gazelle so close they could already taste me.

The only problem was that I was already crusing at 20mph and this pod of triathletes, despite being in a paceline in their aerobars were only able to manage somewhere around 20.1mph which effectively means I was swarmed by the wild beast that is a group of triathletes pacelining in their aerobars.

I can't believe I was just able to write that without breaking down. But I did and now I'm stronger. For I have been in the belly of the beast, looked death in the eye, gave my self paper cuts then just jumped in shark infested waters for a laugh and a swim. I have been through the black hole and came out the other side without fear.

Thank you tri guys for making me afraid of nothing.

Quick, somebody get C-3PO on the horn...

We need him to calculate the odds as to whether or not this guy has ever been laid.

I'm not exactly a bookmaker but I'd wager that the chances of this guy having touched a girl who wasn't employed as a Bomber Girl at Interbike '02 are certainly greater than the line of 3, 720 to one Threepio dropped on Han Solo as he pointed the Millennium Falcon into the nearest asteroid field in a valiant effort to escape Vader's wrath.

What I like about his guy, aside from the fact that he might quite possibly be the biggest bike geek west of Guitar Ted, is that every possible nuance of his being was carefully chosen to ensure that he was the king of the bike geeks gathered at the Hope Rides Again Ride and that he would not be getting laid while in Hollywood.

Working from top to bottom:

1) Mellow Johnny's cycling cap. Did he take a trip to Austin or mail order one like a punk? I didn't find out because I didn't want to talk to him.

2) The mustache. It must be a newer addition since it has yet to be shaped like a handlebar.

3) You obviously can't tell by the pic but this gent is wearing a LiveWrong t-shirt. Ha-ha-ha what a punk. Everyone else is wearing a LiveStrong t-shirt and he's proudly rocking a LiveWrong shirt. Oh I'm sure he'll still be laughing about it right up to the point where Lance gives him cancer.

4) Tweed knickers that are more like elf pants. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that this pair of chick repellers were made at home while watching Klunkerz for the 42nd time.

5) Budweiser socks. If you're going deep you might as well put on every stupid accoutrement at your disposal. Seeing these Budweiser socks gave me a little flashback to 1980 when I was dropped off at grandma's for the weekend and before she took me on a field trip to her favorite bar, I attemped to put on three different sets of Underoos so that I could be three times more impressive to the neighborhood drunks. Oh how I had visions of them being in awe of the kid who had Bobo Fett, Luke Skywalker, and Green Lantern Underoos. Unfortunately grandma brought me back to earth by reminding me that she wasn't going to be doing any laundry and that if I stuck to my genius plan I'd be out of clean underpants after day one. OK, I now realize I probably should have saved that story for the therapist.

6) Sidi Dominators. These at least make sense since he's got a mountain bike and all but for a two mile ride you gotta think this man would have been capable of riding sans special shoes. And I only bring this up because there was a time back in the last century when I walked into a happening nightspot with Dominators strapped to my feet and had a conversation that went like this:

"No, these aren't rock climbing shoes they're for biking."

"Oh cool, what kind of motorcycle to do you ride."

"I don't have a motorcycle. I have a mountain bike. It's locked up outside if you'd like to see it."

"Uh no thanks. My friend just showed up. I have to go."

7) Finally, we've got the bike. Rigid. Singlespeed. 29'er. Pretty hardcore rig to most people but then again I have to assume someone of his caliber is only slummin' it with his 29'er until his custom 36'er is finished off. My favorite details by far though are the purple anodized bits one big ugly statement that this guy has been riding since the dawn of man- or at least 1993.

Hope may ride again but there's no hope for triathletes

Last Saturday night Lance Armstrong lead a ride through the streets of Hollywood. It was a two mile epic down Sunset and my Spidey Sense told me to make sure my camera's battery was charged.

Out of all the kooks in attendance the triathlete faction made sure it was well represented by this gal.

A two mile ride at a pace a couple steps quicker than your average marching band is just the sort of ride for which Cervelo P3 was designed. Of course a triathlete's only bike would be a P3 because why would they need another bike if all they do is train for and compete in triathlons? And of course they'd pull it out of they garage to ensure a sketchy ride is as sketchy and dangerous as it can be. All I gotta say is you know it's bad when the average brakeless fripster runs from a triathlete faster than they run from a pair of loose fitting pants.

At least she went as deep as possible by pulling out the compression socks for optimum muscle support. I just hope she didn't spike her heart rate over LT before making it to Vine Street cause that would just throw a huge wrench into her training program.

What's wrong with this picture?

Found one more gem hiding on the ol' SD card from the ToC's Solvang TT stage and it's a doozy. If miracles do come true this could be the photo that ruins the street cred of fixed gear bikes because it's pretty the white rimmed equivalent of your Uncle Kenny friending you on Facebook and proceeding to ruin your hard earned street cred by tagging you in a slew of embarrssing family photos.

Do you think the MASH crew even made eye contact with this guy when they rolled by?

The more I study this guy and his rig, the more I'm thinking he might be the most subtle mocking of the fix gear fad ever.

He's got the Pista, the white rims and the white Vittorias but after that the high flyin' aeroplane of fashion crashes right into a mountain. Let us count the ways.

1) Crank Bros mallet pedals. Really?

2) While he gets a pass on a brake, note the positive rise stem.

3) Seatpost mounted water bottle. He must not have gotten the memo. The only hydration options are cans of PBR or whatever you can fit into a flask.

4) White New Balance running shoes in lieu of Pumas, Adidas, Nike Dunks, or Asics Tigers.

5) Cargo shorts instead of girls jeans or proper knickers.

6) T-shirt tucked into cargo shorts.

7) A backpack that's not even up to JanSport standards.

8) Finally, the piece de resistance, sunglasses with the optional croakies upgrade.

Awesome. Just awesome. If you happen to find a detail I missed, feel free to let me know.