Dorkimus Maximus

This evening post is brought to you by BikeRadar, a UK cycling website celebrating April Fool's with this article.



Ah, yes. Bicycle humor. Aside from horrible tan lines, shaved legs, emaciated torsos, and a penchant for pain, it is what sets us aside from other non-cyclists. We can talk about frame geometries and training techniques in the most serious of tones. But when we've had one too many quarter-beers after a long, dehydrating, 6-hour day in the saddle, we amuse ourselves with bike humor in a phenomenon known as "Geeking out." A good geek out consists of a few factors:

Obscurity.
To prove that we're cyclists, we must always talk about things that other non-cyclists would have no idea about. Avoid commentary on subjects that might be even remotely understandable to your average Joe. Frame materials, for example, can be easily be boiled down for normal people into "Metal heavy; Carbon fiber good." Instead try topics like my senior thesis, "The Effects of Bar Tape on Lateral Rigidity and Vertical Compliance." [I failed, but my professor said the paper was actually very well written, just not appropriate for a thesis on international political economy.]

Spontaneity.
After "that's what she said"-jokes, bike humor should be the next go-to for a cyclist. It can be applied nearly everywhere, not unlike chamois cream. Squeaky doors, chairs, dogs, and small children just need a good coating in Tri-Flow or PolyLube 1000. When you beat a person up a flight of stairs, always make a comment about how they should've switched their shoes over to compact gearing or how you've been climbing stairs in the Pyrenees since you were a toddler. Your jokes don't necessarily have to make sense. As long as you get it and that other people get that you're talking about cycling, you have achieved your goal of being a weird bike geek.

Triathletes.
I know I harp on this subject a lot in this blog, but who could resists? Aerobars, wetsuits, silly diets, and oodles of money spent on a hobbyist competition (or a competitive hobby?) are really just my way of pretending to be cool and poke fun at a sport that's even weirder and more ridiculous than my own. It's like me pretending to be the Fonz, while the triathletes are Richie. At the end of the day, we're all just stupid roles playing out in a great big shitty sitcom. (But I still hate yous guys and those stupid tri bikes yous gots. Eeeeyyy!)

Bridging the Gap: Part Two

And now the continuation of the NobodyGivesAShit Show...

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Bridging the Gap: Only Lance Can Save Us Now

Fucking shit. If I hear any more about Lance WhatsHisFace, I'm gonna kirk out. I crash all the damn time and you don't see my face plastered all over the news media. Granted, I haven't won seven TdF's, lost a testicle, or made out with either of the Olsen twins. But still... Enough is enough. It's getting ridiculous now. I understand the desire to watch his fitness progress throughout the season, but I didn't need to know that he rode for 16.5-seconds at the front of the peleton in the Not-the-Tour-de-France. I didn't need to know that he doesn't like having helicopters hover so closely to him in Austrailia. I didn't need to know his entire thought process regarding his decision to ride his stolen custom TTX; either he rides it or he doesn't, its not like there aren't other bikes for him to ride. The fact that people use his twitter to report on the most insignificant happenstance is proof positive that Lance needs to hurry up, get better, and start winning races. Otherwise, the entire world will explode or rather, there will be billions of tiny explosions as people's heads get overloaded with useless Lance minutiae. With his broken clavicle, reporters are quickly running out of fuel for the TrivialShit-mobile. The video below is case in point. The Today Show (the bane of my existence) reported on ESPN's broadcast comparing Lance's crash to Matt Lauer's bike accident involving a deer. Not only does this make for a ridiculously easy game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but also combines my contempt for obnoxious pseudo-news media and corny puns (@ 1:23) with my grudge against useless cycling news. It's media incest and I won't stand for it. I hate this second Lance-effect as much as I hated the first one, but we need him now more than ever. His mission: Save the world from himself.

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It's The Time Of The Season

It's official. The cycling season is upon us. It can often be difficult to figure out when the season begins. For many, it's when the first race registrations fill up 13 seconds after they go live on BikeReg. For others, it's when they have finally succeeded in getting into any given MABRA race many months later. And still others, the so-called badasses of the sport, will say that the cycling season has always been upon us and remind the lesser-legged masses that they've been training, lifting, and racing all year round. A training peak? Peaks are for girly-men with chopstick legs. My peak is a vertical line and at any given moment I am 1328% ready to show off the magnitude of my gnarliness. The point is, for the average cyclist it is impossible to determine the actual start of the cycling season because each cyclist has a different definition of when it's appropriate to ride.

For us at the shop, we go by the customer-based calendar. Lunar and solar have their places, but the biking season really starts when the first uber-douche comes through our doors. If we can determine the length of the winter season by a dumbass groundhog, how different is it to use a dumbass triathlete to determine the beginning of the cycling season. This weekend, I dealt with our shops first complete idiot. He came in with his girlfriend and his bike, an aluminum Felt road bike with one-piece clip-on aerobars. While his girlfriend was checking in her bike for a tune-up, we discussed tires. He had worn through his Continental UltraGatorskins and was looking for an upgrade. We engaged in the following dialogue:


Idiot Cyvant: So what kind of tire are you looking for?
Uber-Douche: What do you mean?
IC: Well, we have a few different brands, but they're generally classified as commuting, training, or racing tires.
UD: I've had a pretty good experience with the tires I have on my bike. What would you suggest that's close to that.
IC: So a training tire then? Well I have a few kevlar-belted tires that would give you about the same puncture-resistance, but I would also recommend the Continental 4-Seasons or Grand Prix 4000 as a good all-around ...
UD: [Interrupting me] What do you mean by racing tire?
IC: [Hating being interrupted; gritting teeth] Well racing tires are generally lighter, have a tackier compound for better grip, and have a more supple casing that allows for better road feel and...
UD: [Interrupting again] So my tires aren't race tires? I've done fine on them.
IC: [Pause to gain composure] Right. Well those would be considered training tires, which are designed more to resist cuts and log long miles, as opposed to race tires that aren't necessarily as tough and wear out more quickly.
UD: So these "race" tires, how much faster do they make you?
IC: Well, you can run a higher tire pressure with a race tires so you'd be theoretically more efficient and you can corner better with a grippier tire compound, but it's hard to...
UD: Like, how many more miles per hour will these tires make me?
IC: [Thumbing the knife in my pocket] It's hard to quantify exactly since everyone rides differently and it's all relative...
UD: [Interrupting again] Like say I ride at 21 mph, how much faster will I ride with these tires?
IC: [Blacks out with rage]


I don't know what happened next. I must have lashed out in white-hot fury and when this happens I cannot be held responsible for my actions. I will admit that I woke up the next morning and there was the blood head of a triathlete at the foot of my bed, aero helmet and everything. It was that morning I realized the season was upon us and that I would be dealing with these "cyclists" more frequently. May God have mercy on us all.

Multi-Faceted

If you saw my face an hour ago, it would have been all screwed up with irritation. I had to abandon plans to geek out and see The Watchmen tonight and instead, sat in front of my computer refreshing a BikeReg page. I got such an adrenaline rush after successfully registering for a race that I called Chuck Norris and roundhouse kicked him through the phone. After I finished my victory kick (a good kick lasts at least 8 minutes), I began thinking about all the different faces I saw on today's ride.

As a cyclist with a specialization in hurting myself, I'm used to seeing and making a lot of different faces on the bike. I usually start with a stone-cold gaze of stoicism. This is to be considered as the "warm-up" phase which after about 3 minutes quickly transitions into the "Going Fast" phase, where I clench my jaw and bare my teeth. Tongue wagging is optional in this phase, but must always be accompanied with the obligatory exclamation, "RRAWR!" This look, commonly known as the pain face, is my look of choice, but is pretty much a sign that I will bonk, snap, crackle, or pop my way into a lanterne rouge in the very near future (within 5 minutes max). My final facial expression is a look that says I've either eaten way too many Chipotle burritos (my limit is usually 4 per sitting) or that I'm finished and there's nothing left in my legs. This queasy, pale-faced expression is everyone elses cue to clear the area because I will either pass out or simply explode. Bonk Face is nothing to mess with.

Today I didn't make any of those faces. It wouldn't have been possible because there was no way I could wipe the stupid ass grin off my face. Yes, the weather was that nice. Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea as me and decided to spend some quality time on the W&OD, which I use to in order to get from suburbian hell to anywhere worth riding. Today's trip took me to Hains Point. It's not exactly a glamorous destination, but is good enough for a few, quick laps. And as I was riding and feeling self-conscious about the dumb smirk plastered on my face, I took the opportunity to take note of all the other faces that were equally as stupid looking.

The Hostages
It turns out that I might have been the only one actually enjoying the weather or at least that's what I gathered from a majority of the people running, riding, putzing around, etc. The W&OD was full of frowns and grimaces as people forced themselves to enjoy the good weather by working out. While exercising is far from a pleasurable experience, there were people out there downright suffering. It looked like somone was holding a gun to their heads and shouting "Do cardio!" through a giant cartoon megaphone. You couldn't see it in how they were running or riding, but their faces definitely told the tale of someone who didn't want to be exercising.

The Steely Eyes of Determination
I try not to speed on the W&OD. While I technically ride above the 15mph limit, I am by no means recklessly pursuing a new speed record for douchiest douche on the trail. In fact, I often yield the right of way to oncoming traffic instead of sprinting ahead of my slower moving obstacle. Others do the complete opposite and use the trail as their own personal racing circuit. These people can be seen riding just about anything else with wheels and will usually barrel towards you in your lane while showing little or no signs that they actually know what they're doing. The best part is when they accomplish this feat in tandem, passing a slower trail user side by side, like some kind of crappy faux Blue Angels' stunt move on bicycles. And while they come in different shapes and sizes, they all share the same face. It's the GetouttamywaybecauseI'mworkingoutandmoreimportantthanyou Face. I think it was developed in Germany. Under Hitler.

The Uh-Oh Face
When caught in a similar situation as the Steely Eyes, this face is most commonly seen on riders sitting up from their aerobars. It's a combination look which calls for two parts ignorance for not knowing aerobars aren't W&OD-friendly, one part fear of not being able to stop the bike while being "aero," and six parts confusion about whether to sacrifice the efficiency of their workout or sacrifice life, limb, and total annihilation via surly bike mechanic. I guess I don't really need to say much more about aerobars other than "AARRGHGGGHHHH!!!1!!!ONE!!!"



In Other News
Lance Armstrong, who's currently training in France for some kind of bike race, has been paid yet another "surprise" visit today by the French Anti-Doping Agency, AFLD. A little pee and blood has never been a bother for this seasoned veteran of being poked and prodded. But to celebrate his 24th anti-doping control since announcing his comeback in September, Armstrong was asked for the celebratory hair sample as well. Methinks the French are staging a complex murder scene with LA as the primary suspect. Oh, who could it be? I bet it's this guy.

Back In The Saddle

The laptop is dead. Long live the laptop.

I have finally given up on my beloved Toshiba, after weeks of trying to fix the damn thing. By "fix" I mean turning the computer on repeatedly only to have the blue screen of death come on after failing to boot windows. I haven't tried so hard just to turn something on since Dr. Eufemiano Fuentes told me I could gain 15watts in my sprint if I had a boner. It didn't work. With my debilitated laptop, I even sought professional help. Professional Help told me it needed to be put down for good. Now I'm back online (or rather have easier access to the interwebs) and ready to share a few pearls of wisdom that I've learned in my absence from this blog.

One
Banana bread makes a delicious substitute for regular bread when making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Seriously. Try it.

Two
I'm still good at bonking. Riding outside of my abilities would be my middle name, but I think "Idiot Riding Outside Of My Abilities Cyvant" is a sixth-grader's misspelled, incomplete sentence. Sentences don't make good names. Just ask me about the kid whose parents named him "Hey Throw Me The Ball."

Three
I'm finally building my new race bike, which brings the total count up to six. But not to worry, I've decided there is a bike that I can part with and plan to sell in the near future. It took a lot of work to convince myself that I don't need to keep three road bikes. At the top of my list of reasons for selling the bike was "Can use money to buy a different bike."

Four
James Huang must be my brother from another mother. His review on the 7900 Dura-Ace is pretty much my first impression after riding and playing with the group for 5 minutes times 44,640 (or whatever number of 5-minute intervals there are in five months).

Bridging The Gap: The Spanish Will Kill You

Today Alberto Contador won the opening stage of Paris-Nice. If you're like me, you're probably eating some candy right now and saying "Yeah... And?" The kid seems like he could win any race he wants and I've finally learned his secret.

It's not that he trains better than everyone else and he's not on the juice. It's because he's got big guns. "Guns," in this instance, is not a euphemism for muscles like "pythons," "gats," or "choke machines." We're talking about actual guns here; the kind you shoot people with. Contador uses them to intimidate the rest of the peleton until they poop their chamoises and give up. Sure, they might be invisible, but often times it's the unknown that scares us the most. Also, invisibility guarantees total concealment of the weapon to easily get past the commissaires, who are forced to uphold several outdated and irrelevant laws, like UCI weight limits and the lesser known "Thou shalt not bear arms whilst racing bicycles" regulation.

Only one other person has been seen prominently carrying weapons in the peleton. It's Spaniard Juan Antonia Flecha. His bow and arrow may be a bit outdated, but nothing hurts more than getting shot than string propelled sticks. And if you think these are just random occurences, I've heard rumors that Alejandro Valverde was in talks with Russian team, Katusha, about getting a rocket launcher. I'm officially raising the ProTour Alert Status to Jaune, which means there's an increased liklihood that Contador will bust out his "gats" a few more times before Paris-Nice is over.

"Give me all your jaune, oro, and rosa jerseys. Now."

An Appeal

Criminal or Dork?

In October 2007, Andrew Hamlyn took 92 days off from work at his IT job at Teignbridge Council due to a viral infection and stress-related illness. Three weeks into his hiatus, Hamlyn participated in the Dartmoor Devil Endurance Event, which is a hilly, 66-mile bicycle ride. His picture was taken at this event. Soon after his leave of absence, Hamlyn was fired and sought legal action for being unfairly dismissed. An employment tribunal met yesterday and ruled against Hamlyn, dismissing his claims that he was "too ill" to meet with colleagues or respond to their repeated attempts to contact him. Furthermore, Judge John Major ruled that Hamlyn's participation in a "grueling bike race" was evidence that he wasn't sick in the first place. I would beg to differ.

In the case of Andrew Hamlyn vs. "Employment Tribunal," I would like to submit the following evidence in favor of Hamlyn's innocence:

Exhibit A: The "Race"

A race? You people think he did a bike race? While a 66-mile ride is nothing to scoff at, nowhere in the title "Dartmoor Devil Endurance Event" does it say race. Sure, you spell "race" from those letters, but you can also spell "Eat At Devil Mart," but you don't anyone being sued for chowing down on devil's food cake and deviled eggs. Furthermore, by now we should all be accustomed to the misleading terminology that refers to non-race or faux-race sporting events, especially considering the rising popularity of "triathlons." Shit, you can't even spell "race" from "triathlon". If you're saying this guy did a bike race, then you'd be validating the ridiculous hobbies of an enormous population of dweebs and making their big heads bigger (even bigger than mine!). Please for the love of all that's holy, please use "race" sparingly and only when appropriate.


Exhibit B: The Distance

Taking a moment to expound upon the distance of this event, a cyclist sees 66-miles as long day in the saddle. As with most things that require a large amount of time to accomplish, the task of riding such a distance takes a bit of endurance. Judge Major argued that not only did Hamlyn's participation in the race serve as evidence to his physical well-being, but also that in order to do such an event he must have had time to train. Ignoring the "race" vs. "event" argument for a moment, every cyclist can still clearly see that this judge has no friggin' clue about cycling. Distance isn't the only index of a grueling test of endurance. Things such as time, terrain, riding partners, traffic, and the number of food, beer, and pee breaks are all factors that contribute to how difficult a ride actually is. Other cyclists will be quick to add factors like V02-max, lactate threshold, and power numbers, but all that shit is just plain black magic to me. Most non-cyclists look at 66-miles and say "oh golly gee, that's a really long ways to go!" But the truth is that most cyclists can probably squeeze out 66-miles given an entire day and unlimited amounts of beer. Distance argument debunked. (Ed.- I also blame non-cyclists for the century ride phenomenon. Not since the 1920's when flappers began revealing the backs of their knees has an entire population been turned on by something so boring. OooooOOOoooo I just rode into the triple digits! Psht, gimme a break)

Exhibit C: The Equipment

A Trek 520 is not a race bike. It is a Chro-Moly touring bike. V-brakes and bar-end shifters are not considered to be the pinnacle of racing technology. Five bucks says his shifters were also in the "friction" setting. Nowhere on earth would anyone consider riding this bike if they wanted to be even a remote contender in any competition. Sure some people might be doing their first race just to see if they like racing, but would someone in a race still keep his Dynamo light-generating front wheel? What about the fenders? What about TWO FUCKING PANNIER BAGS?! Even the dippiest of the dipshits could figure out that bags, fenders, and stupid generator lights add mass, or in layman's terms "make bike heavy." Even a drunk gorilla would take all those things off before rode. Either that or he'd attempt to peel one of those hideous yellow water bottles and be slightly peeved when he got Cytomax shot in his eye.


Exhibit D: The Rider

Racers do not wear wrist watches when they race. (Triathletes do, but then again they don't race. So, whatever.) Racers do not wear baggy cotton undershirts when they race. Racers do not smile when they race. Even if they've won a race easily, they must always look as if they're about to keel over and die at any given moment, because that's racing. Racer's do not wear lace up SPD-compatible shoes that are comfortable to walk in. Most racers have forgotten how to walk since they're almost always on the bike or getting a rub down from a soigneur or unlucky significant other. Racer either wear a helmet or don't. They are forced to wear helmet during races and, when training, choose to look Euro-chic and pimp the bare cycling cap. Racers do not dangle their helmets over the hoods of their bars during a race. That's what team cars are for. Even if racers did do all these ridiculous things, they would never, EVER have hairy legs. If Hamlyn was a wristwatch-wearing, baggy undershirting, smiling, SPD shoe-tying, helmet-dangling, racer and all those things weren't already a sign of some sort of extreme illness, the fact that he's baring his woolen legs on a bike ride is evidence that he's been very sick and sick for enough time that his leg hair was able to grow back into those furry legwarmers. And since he was too sick to shave his legs, I'd safely assume that he was too sick to deal with badgering phone calls from work, justifing his 92-day leave of absence. [Ed- If my legs were that hairy, you could safely assume that I'd been sick for at least 3 years.]


Conclusion:

Let the records show that Hamlyn was wrongfully fired for riding his bicycle. He did not participate in a grueling endurance competition. He did not even ride his bicycle an extraordinarily prodigious distance. He was not riding a race bike, or even a bike designed to attain anything other than long, slow miles. And finally he is a complete and utter dork, something that us bike racers can safely say that we have nothing in common with.

Frustration Mode

I prefer to take the modular approach with many aspects of my life. When I dress to ride on a chilly day, I'll choose clothing items that are easily taken on and off. That way I can easily adjust my kit to accommodate for temperature changes or perform impromptu strip teases on the W&OD. I'm the same with food. I will usually eat from a diverse spread that is 18% Chipotle burrito, 15% beer, 38% pasta, 10% Clif Shot Bloks, 5% cookies, 5% ice cream, and 89% candy. I realize that adds up to 180%, but I'm on the Totally Extreme Diet that naturally requires extreme consumption of WhateverIDamnWellPlease and an even more extreme misconception of how percentages work. After eating 180% of my daily nutritional values, I let my body choose which "mode" to digest it with. If I'm on a bike, that means I'm usually in "Cramp," "Puke," or "Death" mode. If I'm on a couch, I'll usually be "Sleepy" mode which usually precedes "Comatose" mode depending on whether or not I feel the need to quickly transition to "Puke" mode. Additionally, I made the obvious mistake to choose modular furniture from Ikea, a mistake that I regret to this very day. It's still a very sore subject for me so I won't dive into my anti-Swedish furniture tirade, but it stands as yet another example of how the modular paradigm applies to my life.

Trying to apply this theme to building a bicycle tends to upset the delicate balance I have struggled to achieve between doing bike-related things and having a real life. I made the mistake of ordering a new frameset and had a few other parts lying around that I was planning to install on this new bike. The rest of the parts (a new saddle and Rival group) are on backorder until later this month. This is a tinkerer's worst nightmare. I've literally taken this bare frameset in and out of its box and bubblewrap an average of 6 times per day since I recieved the frame weeks ago. Albeit, it's a pretty damn cool frame, but that's a lot of wasted hours that I could've used to be a productive and contributing member of society. And it doesn't stop there. I eventually gave in and took the frame and a few parts to the shop and installed them on my day off. I reasoned to myself, these parts need to be installed anyways and it'll save me some build time so I can ride it sooner. I knew it was the bike devil pulling the hipster merino wool cycling jersey over my eyes, but I couldn't resist. With the headset and crank installed, I headed home with a pretty sweet module. I threw some rubber on the new, used wheelset I recently picked up and put them on the bike. Stem and bars came next. Those were all the parts I had accumulated in anticipation of this bike build. Having run out of parts to put on the bike, you would've figured I'd stop there, but you'd be very wrong. I wanted to know how the bike would fit so I spent nearly another hour rummaging through my boxes of bike crap. I pulled out carbon headset spacers, a torn up Selle Italia SLR, and even found some roughed up Dura-Ace pedals (which I think I might be able to salvage and use for the build). I pretty much only stopped to write this blog and scratch my man region. Now I have tools and bike parts lying all over my basement. I think I've learned my lesson, though. Next time I'll order everything together and hopefully avoid the assault on productivity that occured today.


PS:
The inciting moment of this tornado of bike parts occurred when my laptop decided to crap out on my yet again (this time probably for good). So instead of drooling over images from NAHBS, I relieved some frustration by futilely building up a bike that I knew I couldn't finish. Now, instead of being frustrated with my piece of shit laptop, I'm frustrated with a bike that I want to build and ride but can't. I guess life's funny like that sometimes.

PPS:
Broken laptop = less blog posts. Sorry.