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Photo Credit to: Willem van de Poll
Chilled Beer, Cool Movies, even Cooled Seats... Go ahead and grab a cold one, but don't vilify those who brought it to you, because (perhaps) they brought more good than harm.
The term “air conditioning” actually originated with textile engineer Stuart H. Cramer. Cramer used the phrase “air conditioning” in a 1906 patent claim he filed for a device that added water vapor to the air in textile plants to condition the yarn. This invention became the Humidifier, which is essentially the opposite of what we now know as Air Conditioning.
In 1902 just one year after Willis Carrier graduated from Cornell University with a masters in Engineering He was making $10 a week at the Buffalo Forge Company, A year out of college, and Carrier’s “Apparatus for Treating Air” was already in operation for a Brooklyn printing company, Fluctuations in heat and humidity in his plant caused the dimensions of printing paper to alter and create misalignment of the colored inks. The new air conditioning machine created a stable cool dry environment and, as a result, aligned four-color printing became possible His first of several patents was awarded to Willis Carrier four years later. Carrier is recognized as the “father of air conditioning.”
In 1911 Carrier published his basic “Rational Psychrometric Formulae” to the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. His formula remains today as the basis in all fundamental calculations for the air conditioning industry. Carrier said he received a “flash of genius” while awaiting a train on a foggy night. He was thinking about the problem of temperature and humidity control and by the time the train arrived, he said he understood the relationship between temperature, humidity and dew point.
The term “air conditioning” actually originated with textile engineer Stuart H. Cramer. Cramer used the phrase “air conditioning” in a 1906 patent claim he filed for a device that added water vapor to the air in textile plants to condition the yarn. This invention became the Humidifier, which is essentially the opposite of what we now know as Air Conditioning.
In 1902 just one year after Willis Carrier graduated from Cornell University with a masters in Engineering He was making $10 a week at the Buffalo Forge Company, A year out of college, and Carrier’s “Apparatus for Treating Air” was already in operation for a Brooklyn printing company, Fluctuations in heat and humidity in his plant caused the dimensions of printing paper to alter and create misalignment of the colored inks. The new air conditioning machine created a stable cool dry environment and, as a result, aligned four-color printing became possible His first of several patents was awarded to Willis Carrier four years later. Carrier is recognized as the “father of air conditioning.”
In 1911 Carrier published his basic “Rational Psychrometric Formulae” to the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. His formula remains today as the basis in all fundamental calculations for the air conditioning industry. Carrier said he received a “flash of genius” while awaiting a train on a foggy night. He was thinking about the problem of temperature and humidity control and by the time the train arrived, he said he understood the relationship between temperature, humidity and dew point.
Because of Carrier, temperature and humidity levels could now be controlled, and with impediments removed, Manufacturers could scale production regardless of the weather to improve productivity in Meat, Medicine, Textiles, Printing, Prayer, and even Office Work.
Charles Franklin Kettering invented many things, He invented an easy credit approval system, a precursor to today's credit cards, authorization system. In fact you’d likely wait the same amount of time from swipe to signature today as his O.K. system in 1920. Kettering also invented the electric cash register for NCR (National Cash Register), which remained in production for 40 years. These allowed sales clerks around the globe to manage transactions, authorize credit cards, and conduct commerce at a new clip. Later his electronic cash register would evolve into Code-Breaking devices for wartime cyphers, Followed by the folkloric Enigma Machine, and later your Computer.
Shortly after Joining NCR Kettering’s coworkers were encouraging him to improve the automobile, Charles Kettering modified an internal combustion engine to run on kerosene. However, kerosene-fueled engines knocked, as trapped kerosene droplets would crack the cylinder heads and pistons.
Thomas Midgley Jr. An associate of Kettering, discovered that the cause of the knocking was from the kerosene droplets vaporizing on combustion. Anti-knock agents were researched by Midgley, and subsequently tetraethyl lead was added to fuel. This led Thomas Midgley to invent leaded (ethyl) gasoline.
With a smooth running engine, Kettering (working now at General Motors), invented the first electric automobile ignition system. The “self-starting” ignition was first installed in a Cadillac on February 17, 1911. The invention of the electric starter motor by Kettering eliminated the need for hand cranking, but equipped the automobile with a Lead Battery. Lazy Humans could now go forth by automobile, And do so with very little effort, and even bright lights.
Lead would become ubiquitous when the new self-starting automobiles began to run upon leaded gasoline, ignited by a leaded battery.
Charles Franklin Kettering invented many things, He invented an easy credit approval system, a precursor to today's credit cards, authorization system. In fact you’d likely wait the same amount of time from swipe to signature today as his O.K. system in 1920. Kettering also invented the electric cash register for NCR (National Cash Register), which remained in production for 40 years. These allowed sales clerks around the globe to manage transactions, authorize credit cards, and conduct commerce at a new clip. Later his electronic cash register would evolve into Code-Breaking devices for wartime cyphers, Followed by the folkloric Enigma Machine, and later your Computer.
Shortly after Joining NCR Kettering’s coworkers were encouraging him to improve the automobile, Charles Kettering modified an internal combustion engine to run on kerosene. However, kerosene-fueled engines knocked, as trapped kerosene droplets would crack the cylinder heads and pistons.
Thomas Midgley Jr. An associate of Kettering, discovered that the cause of the knocking was from the kerosene droplets vaporizing on combustion. Anti-knock agents were researched by Midgley, and subsequently tetraethyl lead was added to fuel. This led Thomas Midgley to invent leaded (ethyl) gasoline.
With a smooth running engine, Kettering (working now at General Motors), invented the first electric automobile ignition system. The “self-starting” ignition was first installed in a Cadillac on February 17, 1911. The invention of the electric starter motor by Kettering eliminated the need for hand cranking, but equipped the automobile with a Lead Battery. Lazy Humans could now go forth by automobile, And do so with very little effort, and even bright lights.
Lead would become ubiquitous when the new self-starting automobiles began to run upon leaded gasoline, ignited by a leaded battery.
We were now set to scale up simple knock-free self-starting cars for everyone. Convenient Cars could belch lead and cast their leaded sheen over the coal dusted landscape. Midgley, now called the most destructive inventor of all time, kept secret the known hazard of Leaded Fuel until his death. In fairness Midgley and Kettering, moved the Fuel industry to efficiency, and thereby reduced emissions, and waste. Kettering and Midgley experimented with a variety of fuels, and patented
many blends, He also discovered that the most interesting high-percentage anti-knock additive was ethyl alcohol (ethanol); Which is blended in fuel today to maximize it's efficacy, and reduce knock.
With full credit to Carrier, it should come as no surprise that two of the most influential inventions, (perhaps ever); The Automobile, and the Air Conditioner, would become substantially improved by Kettering and Midgley, en-route to destroying the Ozone, and poisoning our landscape.
But Air Conditioning and refrigeration, (arguably the coolest inventions of all time), were using ammonia, and other caustic, toxic, and flammable refrigerants, to cool and dry the air. In fact many arched top refrigerators stood in yards because of their propensity to catch fire, or sicken a household. These dangers became the devil you’d know.
Comfort cooling evolved along side industrial utilization, and in 1924 three Carrier centrifugal chillers were installed for the J.L. Hudson Department Store in Detroit, Michigan. Shoppers flocked to enjoy an “air conditioned” store. The revolution of human cooling flowed from department stores to movie theaters, Matinee tickets were cheaper in the hot seats, Before the Rivoli Theater in New York installed their Carrier Chillers. “Cool Comfort” signs soared sales for the Summer film business, and as demand increased for safer refrigerators and cooler spaces, demand outpaced ingenuity.
Refrigerators from the late 1800s until 1929 used the toxic gases, ammonia (NH3), methyl chloride (CH3Cl), and sulfur dioxide (SO2), as refrigerants. Several fatal accidents occurred in the 1920s because refrigerators leaked methyl chloride.
many blends, He also discovered that the most interesting high-percentage anti-knock additive was ethyl alcohol (ethanol); Which is blended in fuel today to maximize it's efficacy, and reduce knock.
With full credit to Carrier, it should come as no surprise that two of the most influential inventions, (perhaps ever); The Automobile, and the Air Conditioner, would become substantially improved by Kettering and Midgley, en-route to destroying the Ozone, and poisoning our landscape.
But Air Conditioning and refrigeration, (arguably the coolest inventions of all time), were using ammonia, and other caustic, toxic, and flammable refrigerants, to cool and dry the air. In fact many arched top refrigerators stood in yards because of their propensity to catch fire, or sicken a household. These dangers became the devil you’d know.
Comfort cooling evolved along side industrial utilization, and in 1924 three Carrier centrifugal chillers were installed for the J.L. Hudson Department Store in Detroit, Michigan. Shoppers flocked to enjoy an “air conditioned” store. The revolution of human cooling flowed from department stores to movie theaters, Matinee tickets were cheaper in the hot seats, Before the Rivoli Theater in New York installed their Carrier Chillers. “Cool Comfort” signs soared sales for the Summer film business, and as demand increased for safer refrigerators and cooler spaces, demand outpaced ingenuity.
Refrigerators from the late 1800s until 1929 used the toxic gases, ammonia (NH3), methyl chloride (CH3Cl), and sulfur dioxide (SO2), as refrigerants. Several fatal accidents occurred in the 1920s because refrigerators leaked methyl chloride.
Charles Kettering was the vice-president of the General Motors Research Corporation from 1920 to 1948, when Thomas Midgley was chosen by Kettering to head research into new refrigerants. An auspicious collaboration with Dupont, General Motors, and Frigidaire, lead to the development of a safer, and more effective refrigerant. In 1928, Midgley and Kettering invented a "miracle compound" called Freon. Frigidaire received the first patent, US#1,886,339, for the formula for CFCs on December 31, 1928.
Freons, (unlike leaded fuel) are colorless, odorless, nonflammable, noncorrosive gases or liquids.
They contain several different chlorofluorocarbons, or CFCs, a group of aliphatic organic compounds containing the elements carbon, fluorine, as well as halogens (especially chlorine) and hydrogen. These have been deployed in commerce and industry at incredible scale for a hundred years to improve production of nearly every industry from filmmaking, to food-processing. They are invisible and odorless, and so it’s no surprise that nobody saw them destroying our planet, in tandem with Leaded Fuel. These Hazards became the Invisible Devil.
Willis Carrier developed the first residential “Weathermaker” air conditioner in 1928, for private home use. The Great Depression and World War II slowed the non-industrial implementation of air conditioning, which is just as well, because the new refrigerants would improve a rebound after the war.
Packard would become the first automobile manufacturer to offer an air conditioned vehicle in 1929. Massive units about the size of a window AC unit today bolted in the trunk, consuming more than half of the boot, while pipes were run the length of the car to deliver the chill via vents. This “option” was installed by Bishop and Babcock (B&B), of Cleveland, Ohio. The B&B AC upgrade were ordered on approximately 2,000 cars. The "Bishop and Babcock Weather Conditioner" also incorporated a heater. Cars ordered with this option were shipped from Packard's East Grand Boulevard factory to the B&B factory where the conversion was performed. When finished, the car was shipped to your local dealer for pick-up by it’s wealthy clients.
Packard warranted and supported their conversion. However, it wasn’t commercially successful in depression era America because of it’s price of $274. ($7500 in 2020 US dollars)
Freons, (unlike leaded fuel) are colorless, odorless, nonflammable, noncorrosive gases or liquids.
They contain several different chlorofluorocarbons, or CFCs, a group of aliphatic organic compounds containing the elements carbon, fluorine, as well as halogens (especially chlorine) and hydrogen. These have been deployed in commerce and industry at incredible scale for a hundred years to improve production of nearly every industry from filmmaking, to food-processing. They are invisible and odorless, and so it’s no surprise that nobody saw them destroying our planet, in tandem with Leaded Fuel. These Hazards became the Invisible Devil.
Willis Carrier developed the first residential “Weathermaker” air conditioner in 1928, for private home use. The Great Depression and World War II slowed the non-industrial implementation of air conditioning, which is just as well, because the new refrigerants would improve a rebound after the war.
Packard would become the first automobile manufacturer to offer an air conditioned vehicle in 1929. Massive units about the size of a window AC unit today bolted in the trunk, consuming more than half of the boot, while pipes were run the length of the car to deliver the chill via vents. This “option” was installed by Bishop and Babcock (B&B), of Cleveland, Ohio. The B&B AC upgrade were ordered on approximately 2,000 cars. The "Bishop and Babcock Weather Conditioner" also incorporated a heater. Cars ordered with this option were shipped from Packard's East Grand Boulevard factory to the B&B factory where the conversion was performed. When finished, the car was shipped to your local dealer for pick-up by it’s wealthy clients.
Packard warranted and supported their conversion. However, it wasn’t commercially successful in depression era America because of it’s price of $274. ($7500 in 2020 US dollars)
Packard Automobile Air Conditioner, Mach II
CFCs, or Freon, are now infamous for greatly adding to the depletion of the earth's ozone shield. High up in the stratosphere is a 3mm thin veil of O3, which blocks (filters) UV wavelengths. This blanket guards against Ultra Violet bombardment from our sun. Leaded gasoline is also a major pollutant, A double duty damager producing burnt carbon, and toxic lead in spades, and dumping the heavy stuff in our drinking water, while floating the lighter stuff upward. Thomas Midgley secretly suffered from lead poisoning because of his inventions, and tunnel vision, a fact he kept hidden from the public, until his death.
Before everything went to shit with The War, America enjoyed cool Theaters, Cool Cars, and Cold Beer.
Because of ozone depletion, Most uses of CFCs are now banned or severely restricted by the Montreal Protocol. Today, no suitable (general use non-flammable / non-toxic) alternatives to halocarbon refrigerants have been found to resolve problems innate to the original Freon
Brands of Freon containing hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs) have replaced CFC’s for the same purposes, but they too, are under strict control under the Kyoto protocol. CFC’s & HFC’s are deemed "super-greenhouse effect" gasses. If you believe in that junk.Kettering holds over 186 patents from the Neonatal incubator, to Guided Missiles, and from Diesel Engines, to Automotive Paint.
Of course every new feature comes with some bugs, and at a cost, -- So in consideration of a myriad improvement to human comfort afforded by your lovely Fridge, One’s car, or the humanity restored by your first 'Window Unit” — We have a few formerly unknown fellas to toast as the thermometer goes straight up.
As you pull a frozen Hot Pocket from your ice-box, reflecting that you were lucky enough to be vaccinated, then you can thank Carrier, Kettering, Midgley, and (of course) our frenemy Freon.
Before everything went to shit with The War, America enjoyed cool Theaters, Cool Cars, and Cold Beer.
Because of ozone depletion, Most uses of CFCs are now banned or severely restricted by the Montreal Protocol. Today, no suitable (general use non-flammable / non-toxic) alternatives to halocarbon refrigerants have been found to resolve problems innate to the original Freon
Brands of Freon containing hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs) have replaced CFC’s for the same purposes, but they too, are under strict control under the Kyoto protocol. CFC’s & HFC’s are deemed "super-greenhouse effect" gasses. If you believe in that junk.Kettering holds over 186 patents from the Neonatal incubator, to Guided Missiles, and from Diesel Engines, to Automotive Paint.
Of course every new feature comes with some bugs, and at a cost, -- So in consideration of a myriad improvement to human comfort afforded by your lovely Fridge, One’s car, or the humanity restored by your first 'Window Unit” — We have a few formerly unknown fellas to toast as the thermometer goes straight up.
As you pull a frozen Hot Pocket from your ice-box, reflecting that you were lucky enough to be vaccinated, then you can thank Carrier, Kettering, Midgley, and (of course) our frenemy Freon.
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What do you get when you cross a McLaren with a Stuffed Toy? What happens when you shod your Ducati with doughnuts? How can I possibly make fast more comfortable? Can I have my couch mounted to my bike's seat-post? None of that is possible, as the dynamics of comfort are antithetical to the physics of going fast. To be efficient, is to shed every possible exceptional gram, and gadget, and perhaps slip the wind. Going Faster seems a direct proportion of effort, exertion, and efficiency. Is a Front shock the answer? Full suspension road bike, in your future? Maybe a "Road Bike" is not the "right bike" for you?
If I ride a bicycle wearing a baggy wind-breaker and a back-pack, I should expect these to luff in the breezes catching wind and dragging me slower. If I ride my 1956 Schwinn 3-Speed, I should expect to work a bit to push against formidable rotating weight, and heft. If I ride the lightest bike on the block, and wear my birthday suit, I should expect to slip the wind, powering forward without impediment, as I double or treble my Schwinn's-speediness, but be arrested, just the same. So with a sense of danger, ideal gear (a proper lycra kit on a fast bike) & perfect elements (lovely weather & conditions), the only thing slowing one down is ability, and (of course) the rank surface upon which you roll. For the city rider with perfect kit, speed may defy gravity, but one cannot become fast at all if the terrain plots to swallow you whole. It's best to levitate.
I recall fondly the first day I borrowed my friend's Peugeot Mountain Bike, and the deliberate reckless abandon with which I bashed into every conceivable bump, patch, and pot-hole. I felt empowered to do evil to the cushy tires, and sturdy steel frame. I cut across every lawn, and landscape, river-beds, and pathways, until I returned to put that mare away wet. I feel certain that this release of testosterone, and adrenaline, as counterpoint to my Custom Paramount with 20c SUP's, was cause for my friend never lending me her bike again. She was polite to not berate me for banging up her bike. But This set a fire beneath me to one day own my own fat-tire rig. I relived this very moment again when I picked up my new Cannondale MT2000 from Lay-away, and put it through it's paces. This was the same moment that I swore to learn to build wheels, swap rims, and hence I became a better mechanic. It is not lost on me that everyone has this primal YOLO experience, when given a deadly toy. Most "normal" people slip a bit when handed the danger keys. It is poignant that I can tap this very nostalgic empathy each time I help some sap fix something bad they did quite deliberately to their beloved bike. It is with this same Evil Urge to bomber into shit, that I clicked my heels upon my new set of wheels, and became belligerent with my bike but again. Ohh the sweet release of being negligent!! Like a rental when you have "Full Coverage"...
I recall fondly the first day I borrowed my friend's Peugeot Mountain Bike, and the deliberate reckless abandon with which I bashed into every conceivable bump, patch, and pot-hole. I felt empowered to do evil to the cushy tires, and sturdy steel frame. I cut across every lawn, and landscape, river-beds, and pathways, until I returned to put that mare away wet. I feel certain that this release of testosterone, and adrenaline, as counterpoint to my Custom Paramount with 20c SUP's, was cause for my friend never lending me her bike again. She was polite to not berate me for banging up her bike. But This set a fire beneath me to one day own my own fat-tire rig. I relived this very moment again when I picked up my new Cannondale MT2000 from Lay-away, and put it through it's paces. This was the same moment that I swore to learn to build wheels, swap rims, and hence I became a better mechanic. It is not lost on me that everyone has this primal YOLO experience, when given a deadly toy. Most "normal" people slip a bit when handed the danger keys. It is poignant that I can tap this very nostalgic empathy each time I help some sap fix something bad they did quite deliberately to their beloved bike. It is with this same Evil Urge to bomber into shit, that I clicked my heels upon my new set of wheels, and became belligerent with my bike but again. Ohh the sweet release of being negligent!! Like a rental when you have "Full Coverage"...
So today, quite deliberately I poked new valves into a brand-spankin' new set of custom wheels, and belted them with some Schwalbe's I'd had sitting about the house. I poured a few ounces of latex into these, and snapped them onto the rim. With my handy-dandy Silca Pista, I pressed the plunger down and the whole dream clicked together. My new custom wheel-set is at this very moment regretting ever having met me, and we are pressing forward with an undiscussed agenda, whereby I do the deed over some of the rougher roads my fair city has to offer. (We have the shittiest roads North of Nicaragua).
I spun the discs off my Roval's and checked the indexing, before setting out on a deliberate tear down by the abandon foundry. My new wheels are built from DT180's, 32 Berd UHMW String Spokes, and 32c Atomic Carbon Road Hoops. They are both bizarrely competent looking, (if a bit inelegant), and brilliantly lightweight. All tolled, as compared to my Roval CLX's, These Custom Berd wheels are a flat 1200 grams, and appear to be up to the task. My Current Roval wheels are a bit of a Magic Carpet Ride, because they are flat out the fastest wheel I've ever strode upon. They are wicked light, punchy, bomber strong, and wind-up like a fighter jet. Incidentally the Roval Alpinist CLX weigh about 1255g. So... It is my opinion that I can only be disappointed with my first test-ride, Right? Should the folkloric claim to comfort by Berd owners, prove false, I will be the first to say. As Prophesy goes, those who believe, shall be saved. So today as traffic subsided I set about to beat these wheels about the worst roads my fair city has to offer, and to see how they Koncede the Kush. It is fair to clarify two points... One, is that I'm a lightweight, so the punishment is not coming from Clubber Lang the Clydesdale. Two, is that I am just like the rest of you indelicate fuckers, who have tried to punish someone-else's gear, without regard for life or liberty. These are my wheels and I promised them I'd do my best to gauge their singular advantage as compared to my benchmark wheelset; The Roval Alpinist CLX. Are they Lighter? -- Not Much. Are they More Aero? -- Not at all. Are they cheaper? A bit. Are they faster...? Well -- We will find that out.
I spun the discs off my Roval's and checked the indexing, before setting out on a deliberate tear down by the abandon foundry. My new wheels are built from DT180's, 32 Berd UHMW String Spokes, and 32c Atomic Carbon Road Hoops. They are both bizarrely competent looking, (if a bit inelegant), and brilliantly lightweight. All tolled, as compared to my Roval CLX's, These Custom Berd wheels are a flat 1200 grams, and appear to be up to the task. My Current Roval wheels are a bit of a Magic Carpet Ride, because they are flat out the fastest wheel I've ever strode upon. They are wicked light, punchy, bomber strong, and wind-up like a fighter jet. Incidentally the Roval Alpinist CLX weigh about 1255g. So... It is my opinion that I can only be disappointed with my first test-ride, Right? Should the folkloric claim to comfort by Berd owners, prove false, I will be the first to say. As Prophesy goes, those who believe, shall be saved. So today as traffic subsided I set about to beat these wheels about the worst roads my fair city has to offer, and to see how they Koncede the Kush. It is fair to clarify two points... One, is that I'm a lightweight, so the punishment is not coming from Clubber Lang the Clydesdale. Two, is that I am just like the rest of you indelicate fuckers, who have tried to punish someone-else's gear, without regard for life or liberty. These are my wheels and I promised them I'd do my best to gauge their singular advantage as compared to my benchmark wheelset; The Roval Alpinist CLX. Are they Lighter? -- Not Much. Are they More Aero? -- Not at all. Are they cheaper? A bit. Are they faster...? Well -- We will find that out.
Out the door I felt the gears, and brakes, and ran through them to be sure no harm may come. Pursuing a course through a few washboard areas, where crucible train tracks crossed the road over and again to carry hot steel from foundry to prep areas in a space which was once a Stainless Foundry, This crumbling causeway allowed me to cruise through a quick patch of obstacles. After a few bunny hops, and perhaps not paying close enough attention, I can say that my headwind was strong, and yet at about 18 mph, most of what I noticed was not memorable at all. In essence, my ride through what is generally quite taxing on my hands, forearms, and ass, were not much to mention. This conspicuous missing data, where I really didn't feel beat up, was perhaps the special sauce I was looking to confirm. I checked myself, and thought as I hit a straight-away, "Was I just not paying attention?, or" was that not a big deal?" Maybe I should have paid more attention to the washboard, and the tracks, as well as those cracks and potholes, and so I vowed to focus when I hit the park. As the perfect sunny day released many varied people from their habitats..., Their strolling-about forced me to go off-road. through the park by Grass and Gravel. I hit some roots, ruts, and branches, as well as a few ledges. What again happened was this strange sensation that something was missing. I calculated that I should very well have perceived more shake, more shimmy, and more fatigue, but it just wasn't coming. Was this confirmation bias? Am I fooling myself? What the hell is happening here? There is a claim from some wheel builders who lace with these $8. string spokes that their wheels impart 20% more comfort. This of course is nearly impossible to quantify, unless by creating a custom dynamic testing rig in a laboratory, or by placing one's frail ass upon a road bike with a hard carbon seat. Problem: Rough Ride - Solution: Levitate.
I continued with a paved route, using the occasional dodging to grass and gravel maneuver off tarmac, and onto the shoulder. I rode like this for about 6 miles and then hit some parkland. Again offroad I was missing the general gentle jarring of a rigid wheel. Wait! what's my tire pressure? Is it leaking? Are they getting splashy? No. They were still at 80 psi, about 16-18 lbs. harder than my Roval reference. So now I soldiered onward, then turned around to hit the same terrain on the way back to make more notes. It's not unusual for me to not be passed at this time of day, as I swam amongst the minnows, but I was going quite fast both directions and felt none of it.
On the technical side the Berd Spokes are basically a high molecular weight Polyethylene rope. They have a threaded tip held on like a Chinese Finger trap, and a knot that stops them at the hub. They wind-up like a typical spoke, but require a few tensioning phases to ensure they are devoid of slack, They play a bit like a ukulele, and they are reparable the same as any spoke, albeit easier to pack. The spokes float on water, but won't allow you to ride upon it. Berd spokes are protected by US Patents 10,150,332 B2, 10,661,598 B2, and patents pending.
I continued with a paved route, using the occasional dodging to grass and gravel maneuver off tarmac, and onto the shoulder. I rode like this for about 6 miles and then hit some parkland. Again offroad I was missing the general gentle jarring of a rigid wheel. Wait! what's my tire pressure? Is it leaking? Are they getting splashy? No. They were still at 80 psi, about 16-18 lbs. harder than my Roval reference. So now I soldiered onward, then turned around to hit the same terrain on the way back to make more notes. It's not unusual for me to not be passed at this time of day, as I swam amongst the minnows, but I was going quite fast both directions and felt none of it.
On the technical side the Berd Spokes are basically a high molecular weight Polyethylene rope. They have a threaded tip held on like a Chinese Finger trap, and a knot that stops them at the hub. They wind-up like a typical spoke, but require a few tensioning phases to ensure they are devoid of slack, They play a bit like a ukulele, and they are reparable the same as any spoke, albeit easier to pack. The spokes float on water, but won't allow you to ride upon it. Berd spokes are protected by US Patents 10,150,332 B2, 10,661,598 B2, and patents pending.
When returning i had a tail wind and so I hit the same terrain at about double the speed. Through each distinct obstacle, I rode with what appeared to be less impact to my otherwise pansy-assed constitution. I'm not getting any younger, but this new recipe of a bike lover's bike with a wheel lover's wheel seemed to be doing what's advertised. I cannot quantify with a percent sign what modicum of squish factor is being applied through this initial test-drive, but we will certainly revisit, the present fantasy, that my new Berd Wheels were legitimate contenders for my Sofa Seat fantasy. What will become of me with a wheel-set that allows me the freedom to ride it like I stole it? I trust that having faith in one's deity, whether a gadget, totem, or plain fantasy may very well be enough magic to sustain the faithful. I have ridden upon what appears at first blush to be a marvelous set of wheels, and hope to live to tell about it.
We will revisit this string-wheel review after a few hundred miles, and then again after a few thousand, and I hope the news is as good. Today, my new custom Berd wheels are magnificent. I was not initially mesmerized by the retro aesthetic as I changed from 24 spokes back to 32, but once I get over fat shaming my spokes, I will settle on these as my preferred go-to all-rounder.
Let's see how they climb next.
Peace.
My wheels and all reviewed gear is paid for in full and all reviews here are without influence of $chwag.
Phone: (612) 308-8740
Email: sales@berdspokes.com
Address: 401 11th Ave S Ste 300, Hopkins, MN 55343
Hours: Monday - Friday, 8:30 am - 4:30 pm Central US Time
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My Motor, served on the side like Guacamole. Pay extra when you want more zip?
"My intentions are good and earnest and true
But under my hood is internal combustion power
...And Satan is my motor" -Cake
But under my hood is internal combustion power
...And Satan is my motor" -Cake
Fazua's Self contained removable Downtube Motor / Battery combo.
What type of motor does your bicycle have? Class 1? Class 2? Class 3? Pedal Assist?, or do you have a throttle? How fast does the whirring assist take you?
Mine is "Class Nil"... I have no motor to speak of installed in my bicycle. The principle reason is this -- Because batteries shoved into my frame are stupid. This will always be stupid. It was stupid, and remains ...well, Stupid! I'm a fan of getting everyone on bikes; even motorized bikes. I love e-bike riding? I've rented and long considered purchase. I have helped with E-bike companys & retail start-ups, and I've helped other's purchase, and rent E-Bikes.
So you would think that I would know exactly why most bike makers build a battery pack deep within the frames of their E-Bikes. It's almost like their are smuggling a shit-ton of button cells through customs. The question is a bit like asking why a Twinkie has cream filling rather than frosting. What is the technical benefit of concealing the battery cells deep within the frame? I have some theories, and they may not sit too well with you, nor their manufacturers.
An "E-bike" is initially a "bike" correct? Meaning that the bike is the place where the motor and batteries get attached, No? Yes... This is true, but what is an e-bike when the battery is detachable? It's still an e-bike. What is it then when the motor AND the Battery come off? It's a huge competitor to the fashion of selling
e-bikes for stratospheric prices. THIS is why e-bike makers shoe-horn li-poly cells into the frame.
You see, that a Fazua Motor is a self contained concept where the motor-battery assembly can be detached. This clever invention clicks into the downtube, connecting to the bottom bracket and cranks -- viola!, you have an e-bike. Take it out and what do you have?, well... It's still an e-bike, if a bit lighter. This design gets startlingly close to an acceptable form, but not quite. The concave downtube which houses the motor/battery looks a bit like a cargo helicopter, sans container. The bike comes quite close to riding like a normal bicycle would, but without attachments -- So with the motor detached is it still an e-bike?
Mine is "Class Nil"... I have no motor to speak of installed in my bicycle. The principle reason is this -- Because batteries shoved into my frame are stupid. This will always be stupid. It was stupid, and remains ...well, Stupid! I'm a fan of getting everyone on bikes; even motorized bikes. I love e-bike riding? I've rented and long considered purchase. I have helped with E-bike companys & retail start-ups, and I've helped other's purchase, and rent E-Bikes.
So you would think that I would know exactly why most bike makers build a battery pack deep within the frames of their E-Bikes. It's almost like their are smuggling a shit-ton of button cells through customs. The question is a bit like asking why a Twinkie has cream filling rather than frosting. What is the technical benefit of concealing the battery cells deep within the frame? I have some theories, and they may not sit too well with you, nor their manufacturers.
An "E-bike" is initially a "bike" correct? Meaning that the bike is the place where the motor and batteries get attached, No? Yes... This is true, but what is an e-bike when the battery is detachable? It's still an e-bike. What is it then when the motor AND the Battery come off? It's a huge competitor to the fashion of selling
e-bikes for stratospheric prices. THIS is why e-bike makers shoe-horn li-poly cells into the frame.
You see, that a Fazua Motor is a self contained concept where the motor-battery assembly can be detached. This clever invention clicks into the downtube, connecting to the bottom bracket and cranks -- viola!, you have an e-bike. Take it out and what do you have?, well... It's still an e-bike, if a bit lighter. This design gets startlingly close to an acceptable form, but not quite. The concave downtube which houses the motor/battery looks a bit like a cargo helicopter, sans container. The bike comes quite close to riding like a normal bicycle would, but without attachments -- So with the motor detached is it still an e-bike?
Boardman Advanced with Evation Motor Removed
I would prefer to believe in the magic of this Helicopter being powered by four VW beetles, but that is not the case here, however this illustrates how a cargo copter looks without it's payload. Yep..., basically like the Fazua Bike does without it's tiny genius motor and battery payload. It rides well either way, but I'm still wondering why the battery for most if all popular brand e-bikes is crammed in their belly. Why could these bikes not just have an attached battery-pack below the downtube, or even a bottle-style battery in a standard bottle-cage, to power a hub motor?
Because Satan is my Motor, I don't much care how you get your e-bike fix, but if left up to the marketing team -- one can draw some quick lines between Dolby Labs, and enumerable down-tube laden battery packs. Dolby created 90 different surround sound modes, to help sell a gazillion speakers over time. There was AC-3, 3.1, 5.1, 5.2, 7.2. 9.2, Atomos, and any manner of excessive speaker combinations -- then the world said, "Fuck It" I'll just buy a pissy little sound-bar. It was a great ride for retail while it lasted, but they spoiled it for everyone, by jumping a shark with a fuck-ton of speakers on their back. People now stream their music and movies through a speaker the size of their palm, and they want their bike to charge their speakers, and pedal for them as well.
Today nearly all my friends have shitty sound-bars for their party tunes. Casting aside any complexity, in favor of a single cylinder. These sound like shit, but I don't mention it. So E-Bikes play this game of slow evolution selling a different form factor every single year, expiring last years design without support for last year. Sure the Bosch motors are generally BB loaded, and yes the battery being held down low will best center the COG (center of gravity), but engineering a frame with a shitload of tiny Li-Poly cells in it like a pregnant fish, is merely done to maintain propriety over a "System". For Trek it seems to preclude compatibility with another brand, and for Giant and Specialized the same seems true, but the core design of the Bosch and or any system is an architecture where the motor maker gets paid and hands you a set of specs, and even some skeletal carcass, like a rib-cage and you slap carbon plies around it like papier mache'. "Here, Build your bike around this thing".
So if you cannot travel on the airlines with your e-bike it is because of two things which could have been different: One is that the battery cannot be removed for travel, preventing air travel adventures, and also preventing Fedex and other Express curriers from moving it around for you. Two is that the Bike is not modular and hence it weighs a Metric Ton, and none of that weight can be removed and divided for travel.
OK, so I know what you are thinking..., you say, "well on many the battery is removable from the downtube"; Which is true. But you cannot get around the fact that the bike was shaped around the battery pack, and THAT is the issue, My issue with e-bikes.
The only good reason to shape the battery du jour within a sculpted frame is to make it proprietary, and hence you see a "System" because as soon as the Mahle Motor and a Bottle battery are sold separately, why in the fuck would you buy an $8500.-$12,000. e-bike from Specialized, Trek, Giant etc...? You wouldn't. Those who wanted an e-bike would simply buy a 'Class X' kit, (Likely from Mahle) and drop a battery or two in their bottle cage, and off they roll.
Here is another con against the con for integrated Batteries in your downtube; When Trek stopped asking their Taiwanese OEM to build you a Domane-E, and the following year they pencil a new plan, that is the very moment that the Battery and parts for your precious e-bike become obsolete. Add to that the Charger, with proprietary connector, and the silly glowing buttons on the top-tube. If you trash a battery with the wrong charger, get it wet, or short it out, then you now have a pedal bike like mine, with 30 spare pounds to lug about, that nobody wants to buy from you.
Why do e-bikes have a large doorbell button glowing on their top-tube? This is a throwback to electric skateboards from 1997. Can't the "controls" be a wireless button, or wired mount for the stem or handlebar? Yes..., yes they could, but they have to integrate these things to keep you aligned with the cult of integration. This makes it look like they are delivering to you (a system) something other than a bike with someone else's motor and battery attached. This is not intended to bash a brand, but for crissakes, let's move this slow evolution forward a bit faster.
I'd like an e-bike which has a bottle battery, and a rear wheel motor, and nothing more. Heck, I may even want a two wheel drive e-bike with two wheel motors, which can pull me through the snow or sloppy mud, but that would ONLY require a new set of wheels, and a battery. A' la-fucking-carte is my future e-bike. It's OK to sell me a proprietary system, but I really don't need to encase my nuts and such in carbonite to make it go. You could say that my e-bike wouldn't be much of an e-bike at all... Mine would only be my bike, but faster (bought and paid for with a few grand into the conversion). I'd have a modular and versatile, shippable airline-ready e-bike for those days that I feel flu-like symptoms, or feign an injury. If I were to feel lazy and wish to, "roll like me, only faster", I could slap that kit on any one of my bikes, and have a go.
So the "e-bike thing" today, is betwixt between a beguiling bafoonery of glacial evol., and poncy proprietary piss-me-off integration. Your e-bike will sport a bewitching button beset upon the top-tube -- This glowing cyclops door-bell, is wired into 'Brand-X' motor but this will be obsolete next season, along with it's custom painted battery. We've all been taught that our "ON Button" is somewhere near our crotch, but for a bike the position of that bionic button is bunk. I want to look down and scratch whilst charging forward at 22mph?
You can see the evolution happen so fast that last years e-bikes are being sold beside this year's models for different prices, with essentially the same feature set, only today's are smarter. You can also see the evolution toward any relevant standard of retrofit, as glacial. Today, if they cannot find owners to adopt last years tech, these surplus e-bikes will soon dwell in a land of misfit toys. This is obvious when visiting any brand retailer, who is completely out of regular bikes but is sitting on a half dozen of last year's over-thought pregnant down-tubes.
When you say, "...just maybe, he is getting carried away with his rant" -- I have no reasonable retort, except to say that, "it's MY rant". Today when i wish to be wisked away with a whoosh, I will likely do so under my own power, thank you... Because well, "Satan is My Motor".
Hear my motor purr
Satan is my motor
Hear my motor purr
Satan is the only one who seems to understand
Satan is my motor -Cake
Moving? Going Someplace?, May the Fourth Be With You.
- Published on
I have mixed feelings about plagiarism. Not ethically, per se' because I may have copied someone's Math and English assignments in the pre-google period. (B.G. Before Google). Criticizing 'copy-cats' would make me a hypocrite, but I do believe in intellectual property rights, and more loosely in Trade Marks. How does that saying go?... Plagiarism is the fondest form of flattery? Nah... And as insulting idioms go, we all know the feeling when the new guy starts -- And the smug fucker, (barely out of school), projects airs of superiority, and innate wisdom -- which could not possibly be merited, right?
Born back when there was something called "the school of hard knocks", I was run through the grinder with every attempt, advance, and shift in position. This fo course sucks as much as it evolves stronger character, thicker skin, and better equipped humans. But what of the copycat, who observes and makes a copy without fully understanding how it works? Can this be hazardous? I dreamt last night of inexperienced youthful self-assured snowflakes being ground into a fine powder by those with actual experience, and expertise. Alas, (sigh) above all we seem to stamp-out freshly minted "New Kids" with ZERO experience, and even less grace, while we coddle them as creative 'fresh talent'. They will, "help us connect with our market", we older crew recite. But what do copy-cats, and these un-formed babies have in common? Perhaps they have a desire to play out a fraud, amongst the genuine. Swimming in the pool of doers, where larger sharks lurk until the wee ones, and the fakers slam their heads squarely against the ladder, they should have grasped. Drawing a line between authenticity-and-clones, as with capability-and-clowns, can be a useful skillset. But when the information appears legit, and nothing bounces back in the background check -- Then you have to take a leap of faith when buying that generic brand of cat food, a knock-off toddler toy, or cheap kite-board. The rub is, just how much do you trust the one trillion positive reviews, before you pull the rip-cord, and assume your life will be saved by a Brand "X" Parachute. When drawing a line between inventiveness and copy-cats, it may prove a critical boundary, to assert some rules, before someone gets hurt. ...And so we have laws. Copyright laws, Patent Laws, Import Laws, and Property rights Laws, amongst other's. When Brand "X" makes a Bottle of glass cleaner to look exactly like Windex for the Dollar Store, a trademark boundary is traversed, and the agreed upon norms, and laws which protect brand rights are broken. Owing to a corrosive vortex called the internet, and with ancient US Postal legislations, anyone abroad can copy your product and sell it into your market for less than you can. In fact this is now so simple that what you thought was the "Next Big thing", gets rubbed out by some crap-tastic brand like "Shinoma".
Quick Question: Why even change the name?, why not just make fakes?
When moving two letters around to create a "me too" brand using the same font-type, do the Makers of Shinoma, or Shinano know how close their Product's brand name cuts against the pejorative word for a shoe polish, feces, or a bad TV band?
So there is this brand called Shimano, who have been innovating many industries with intricate machining and blissfully brilliant functionality for nearly 70 years. Then along comes some Chinese knock-off, who moves two vowels around, and begins selling into the US market with, well basically shit.
Have Shimano made crappy devices in the past?, not really, even a bike wrench will tell you that when setting up their worst derailleur, 'Tourney SIS', "it basically needs nothing but lube or occasional cable for a decade or more of riding".
Any Internet inducement can advertise similar specifications, with similar weights, and one can even instantly create credibility by buying 10,000 positive comments, with links to all sorts of fake reviews, (thank you social media, you greedy whore). One can pay Yelp, Google, or Fake Book to leverage your new clone brand to the middle top of the food chain, by equal parts mimesis, fraud, & false marketing. I can now buy any fare of junk on Amazon, which look (from a distance) just like the "real thing". Your newly minted clone falls far short of it's performance, and safety threshold, because there is no expectation for function, durability, and authenticity. We perpetuate the fraud with a fake Louis Vuitton, bag, but that of course will only hurt the brand, and not the user. So what of a Bicycle, featuring real Shinoma Parts? Will you love it? Will your new toy bring joy, and many years of fond outings. To induce your online purchase of the latest gadget today, requires a whole new lexicon of promises such as, "Designed in California", "Free Delivery & Free Returns", "Guaranteed Highest Quality", "Just Like the Real Thing", You are possibly purchasing something which will fulfill your wildest dreams. Or, Perhaps you are procuring a total piece of crap which was engineered to imitate, forged from faulty parts, with inferior standards. To the unwitting consumer we have but one caution; Buyer Beware. The makers of fake shit are laughing when they sell you truly crappy stuff. They mock your disposable lifestyle -- Your empty life full of cheap broken shit filling your garage and basement. Tisk tisk for walking out of your local bike shop saying, "C'mon, we can just find one on Amazon/Ebay". If the vendor knocks off something great, can you guarantee it will be even good? When they make something crappy and then move two syllables around: swapping 'ma' for 'no' exchanging 'mano' for 'noma', you go from Shimano to Shinoma, you don't have to present too much to the judge to see that this is about as graceless a grab as they come. But fear not because there IS a sucker born every minute, and they just left the qualified and helpful staff of the local family owned bicycle retailer, to endeavor to buy five bikes through the lifespan of the one they didn't buy today from the local bike shop. Searching their smart-phone while speaking with the salesperson.
"Oh well, He can't tell Shit from Shinoma!", they may mock.
Born back when there was something called "the school of hard knocks", I was run through the grinder with every attempt, advance, and shift in position. This fo course sucks as much as it evolves stronger character, thicker skin, and better equipped humans. But what of the copycat, who observes and makes a copy without fully understanding how it works? Can this be hazardous? I dreamt last night of inexperienced youthful self-assured snowflakes being ground into a fine powder by those with actual experience, and expertise. Alas, (sigh) above all we seem to stamp-out freshly minted "New Kids" with ZERO experience, and even less grace, while we coddle them as creative 'fresh talent'. They will, "help us connect with our market", we older crew recite. But what do copy-cats, and these un-formed babies have in common? Perhaps they have a desire to play out a fraud, amongst the genuine. Swimming in the pool of doers, where larger sharks lurk until the wee ones, and the fakers slam their heads squarely against the ladder, they should have grasped. Drawing a line between authenticity-and-clones, as with capability-and-clowns, can be a useful skillset. But when the information appears legit, and nothing bounces back in the background check -- Then you have to take a leap of faith when buying that generic brand of cat food, a knock-off toddler toy, or cheap kite-board. The rub is, just how much do you trust the one trillion positive reviews, before you pull the rip-cord, and assume your life will be saved by a Brand "X" Parachute. When drawing a line between inventiveness and copy-cats, it may prove a critical boundary, to assert some rules, before someone gets hurt. ...And so we have laws. Copyright laws, Patent Laws, Import Laws, and Property rights Laws, amongst other's. When Brand "X" makes a Bottle of glass cleaner to look exactly like Windex for the Dollar Store, a trademark boundary is traversed, and the agreed upon norms, and laws which protect brand rights are broken. Owing to a corrosive vortex called the internet, and with ancient US Postal legislations, anyone abroad can copy your product and sell it into your market for less than you can. In fact this is now so simple that what you thought was the "Next Big thing", gets rubbed out by some crap-tastic brand like "Shinoma".
Quick Question: Why even change the name?, why not just make fakes?
When moving two letters around to create a "me too" brand using the same font-type, do the Makers of Shinoma, or Shinano know how close their Product's brand name cuts against the pejorative word for a shoe polish, feces, or a bad TV band?
So there is this brand called Shimano, who have been innovating many industries with intricate machining and blissfully brilliant functionality for nearly 70 years. Then along comes some Chinese knock-off, who moves two vowels around, and begins selling into the US market with, well basically shit.
Have Shimano made crappy devices in the past?, not really, even a bike wrench will tell you that when setting up their worst derailleur, 'Tourney SIS', "it basically needs nothing but lube or occasional cable for a decade or more of riding".
Any Internet inducement can advertise similar specifications, with similar weights, and one can even instantly create credibility by buying 10,000 positive comments, with links to all sorts of fake reviews, (thank you social media, you greedy whore). One can pay Yelp, Google, or Fake Book to leverage your new clone brand to the middle top of the food chain, by equal parts mimesis, fraud, & false marketing. I can now buy any fare of junk on Amazon, which look (from a distance) just like the "real thing". Your newly minted clone falls far short of it's performance, and safety threshold, because there is no expectation for function, durability, and authenticity. We perpetuate the fraud with a fake Louis Vuitton, bag, but that of course will only hurt the brand, and not the user. So what of a Bicycle, featuring real Shinoma Parts? Will you love it? Will your new toy bring joy, and many years of fond outings. To induce your online purchase of the latest gadget today, requires a whole new lexicon of promises such as, "Designed in California", "Free Delivery & Free Returns", "Guaranteed Highest Quality", "Just Like the Real Thing", You are possibly purchasing something which will fulfill your wildest dreams. Or, Perhaps you are procuring a total piece of crap which was engineered to imitate, forged from faulty parts, with inferior standards. To the unwitting consumer we have but one caution; Buyer Beware. The makers of fake shit are laughing when they sell you truly crappy stuff. They mock your disposable lifestyle -- Your empty life full of cheap broken shit filling your garage and basement. Tisk tisk for walking out of your local bike shop saying, "C'mon, we can just find one on Amazon/Ebay". If the vendor knocks off something great, can you guarantee it will be even good? When they make something crappy and then move two syllables around: swapping 'ma' for 'no' exchanging 'mano' for 'noma', you go from Shimano to Shinoma, you don't have to present too much to the judge to see that this is about as graceless a grab as they come. But fear not because there IS a sucker born every minute, and they just left the qualified and helpful staff of the local family owned bicycle retailer, to endeavor to buy five bikes through the lifespan of the one they didn't buy today from the local bike shop. Searching their smart-phone while speaking with the salesperson.
"Oh well, He can't tell Shit from Shinoma!", they may mock.
So what could be wrong with saving a little money, If it looks like a duck and sounds like Shimano?, right?
So what's wrong with knock-offs, if they save me money? What's wrong with blatantly copying other people's stuff, and selling stuff under the guise of a conspicuously similar moniker? What harm can come to anyone if the free market will leverage down the cost of similar products cloned from the original? Millions of people get to save when they exchange their soul and freedom for cheap junk, right?. Everyone has one product in their lives which simply has not failed them. They may revere and covet their wallet, money-clip, pocket knife, turntable, camp-stove, hiking boots -- a backpack, chair, press-pot, or an ashtray, as precious... Some things, be they simple inelegant tokens, express innate worth. These are simple intrinsically valuable objects by their quality. Whatever that one coveted object is for you..., The fact remains that you stagger upon a plank above cheap gratifications holding one thing of intrinsic value. You have some things which always produce a smile or cozy satisfaction, but daily you may piss money away upon junk which fleetingly fills only a gap in your own self-worth. A new piece of junk cannot be ascribed to measure against your confidential consumerist void -- Only quality and utility will steady this journey.
Can't tell shit from Shinola: rude slang; To be exceptionally naïve, unworldly, ignorant, or undiscerning.
This definition is concise, and needs nothing added to be wholly understood. Shimano, and SunRace, have built a reputation upon quality products. Whether it is the revered Deore from the 80's or a cogset on your trainer, you know what to expect when you exchange money for parts. Trying to locate the source of fakes, and knock-offs has proven elusive for this article, but the truth is that Shimano and SunRace have been vigilant since the 80's to quash fakery.
Yet for fakes to exist and constantly flow into the consumer eco-system, means that there is indeed a sucker born every minute, and as Tom Waites says, "You just happen to be coming along at the right time".
Our best defense against being bamboozled to buy junk, is of course research, but when the factoids come slamming against the back-side of your LCD screen as dishonest photons, it is best to seek professional help. You are far better served by a dishonest sales-person, than a dishonest internet. The shopkeeper stakes their livelihood upon honest advice and quality, which is innately not the case for the cowardly internet. The internet nearly singlehandedly invented conformation bias. Good luck with an honest opinion there.
So why not case your local camping store, when you want a tent, Peruse your local wine store for a Pinot, and shop your neighborhood bicycle store for a bike? Call a friend for advice on something which they remain passionate about?.. Friends don't let friends buy shit. To shop outside of a wealth of sound opinion is to live outside of the very society which brought you up. The only thing worse than buying junk, is buying it twice from the internet. And the only thing worse than that is to be the dickhead who sold it to you -- And the only thing worse than being that dickhead is being fooled by that dickhead.
So what's wrong with knock-offs, if they save me money? What's wrong with blatantly copying other people's stuff, and selling stuff under the guise of a conspicuously similar moniker? What harm can come to anyone if the free market will leverage down the cost of similar products cloned from the original? Millions of people get to save when they exchange their soul and freedom for cheap junk, right?. Everyone has one product in their lives which simply has not failed them. They may revere and covet their wallet, money-clip, pocket knife, turntable, camp-stove, hiking boots -- a backpack, chair, press-pot, or an ashtray, as precious... Some things, be they simple inelegant tokens, express innate worth. These are simple intrinsically valuable objects by their quality. Whatever that one coveted object is for you..., The fact remains that you stagger upon a plank above cheap gratifications holding one thing of intrinsic value. You have some things which always produce a smile or cozy satisfaction, but daily you may piss money away upon junk which fleetingly fills only a gap in your own self-worth. A new piece of junk cannot be ascribed to measure against your confidential consumerist void -- Only quality and utility will steady this journey.
Can't tell shit from Shinola: rude slang; To be exceptionally naïve, unworldly, ignorant, or undiscerning.
This definition is concise, and needs nothing added to be wholly understood. Shimano, and SunRace, have built a reputation upon quality products. Whether it is the revered Deore from the 80's or a cogset on your trainer, you know what to expect when you exchange money for parts. Trying to locate the source of fakes, and knock-offs has proven elusive for this article, but the truth is that Shimano and SunRace have been vigilant since the 80's to quash fakery.
Yet for fakes to exist and constantly flow into the consumer eco-system, means that there is indeed a sucker born every minute, and as Tom Waites says, "You just happen to be coming along at the right time".
Our best defense against being bamboozled to buy junk, is of course research, but when the factoids come slamming against the back-side of your LCD screen as dishonest photons, it is best to seek professional help. You are far better served by a dishonest sales-person, than a dishonest internet. The shopkeeper stakes their livelihood upon honest advice and quality, which is innately not the case for the cowardly internet. The internet nearly singlehandedly invented conformation bias. Good luck with an honest opinion there.
So why not case your local camping store, when you want a tent, Peruse your local wine store for a Pinot, and shop your neighborhood bicycle store for a bike? Call a friend for advice on something which they remain passionate about?.. Friends don't let friends buy shit. To shop outside of a wealth of sound opinion is to live outside of the very society which brought you up. The only thing worse than buying junk, is buying it twice from the internet. And the only thing worse than that is to be the dickhead who sold it to you -- And the only thing worse than being that dickhead is being fooled by that dickhead.
Full Shinoma equipped Bicycle, which will sit in this very spot until loaded on a truck and scrapped.
- Published on
Since 1887 When Dunlop invented the pneumatic tire, Cyclists have been more or less happy creatures. Evolution, periodic even glacial -- improved upon the same basic butyl bounce... With the Clincher wheel came the fresh thinking of a far simpler road-side repair. From World wars to World Cup racing -- humankind's ability to mend a flat mid-route has made the difference between being stranded, exposed to the elements and the enemy -- And completing one's mission. So, today we can bring a book of matches, some glue, or a 3M plaster, to make a mid-route repair. It goes without saying that flats never come in a "super convenient place and time". It is always on the hottest, driest, wettest, coldest, muddiest, buggiest, most infectious, most desolate stretch of road. With that hiss, comes the sinking feeling, in one of two ways: One is the intuition that one is working far harder, or that cornering feeling a bit 'Splashy'. The Second, comes without that slow sucking hiss -- But as an immediate surprise burst, often with a "BLAM!!". Whether one senses the splashy bounce, and squishy control, giving way, to safe deceleration; Or the dreadful rim to pavement grinding stop, what follows is damage management, followed by whatever triage your inventiveness can muster. A folded dollar as a boot..., chewing gum melded to latex, a Bad Patch resuscitated to work with pine sap, even a folded tube, can limp you homeward.
Mustering the head-space we contemplate pertinent questions: "Did I bring a spare tube", "Is my spare any good", "Is this the spare I pledged to patch when I finally got home the last miserable time I flatted"? "Do I have a Patch"? "Are my patches wet..., any good, dried out, expired"? And so we dismount uncertain about our outcome. One may have to swat Mosquitos, or fend off a wild animal or rabid cat, but this is certainly preferred to fixing a flat while being shot at, or shelled. The Bicycle has served in every war since invented, and it is a near perfect methodology when fossil fuels go dry. Is a Tubeless tyre without air a good idea? Is air necessary for my happiness?
Luckily, like fishing -- every flat comes with a story. We embellish everything, because this minor set-back stirs the soul, and sharpens the mind. Saga is far too often the locomotion of change. ...And nearly ANY Flat-tire, is preferred to pedaling on a stationary rig -- ...Of course it is.
Mustering the head-space we contemplate pertinent questions: "Did I bring a spare tube", "Is my spare any good", "Is this the spare I pledged to patch when I finally got home the last miserable time I flatted"? "Do I have a Patch"? "Are my patches wet..., any good, dried out, expired"? And so we dismount uncertain about our outcome. One may have to swat Mosquitos, or fend off a wild animal or rabid cat, but this is certainly preferred to fixing a flat while being shot at, or shelled. The Bicycle has served in every war since invented, and it is a near perfect methodology when fossil fuels go dry. Is a Tubeless tyre without air a good idea? Is air necessary for my happiness?
Luckily, like fishing -- every flat comes with a story. We embellish everything, because this minor set-back stirs the soul, and sharpens the mind. Saga is far too often the locomotion of change. ...And nearly ANY Flat-tire, is preferred to pedaling on a stationary rig -- ...Of course it is.
But to whom should we credit the cushy ride of our beloved air filled doughnuts? The Patent for these "Pneu" Inventions belongs to Robert William Thomson, another Scotsman, who filed his patents in both the U.S., (1847) and in France, (1846). Thomson also invented the Fountain Pen, which changed another category most completely, untethering the writer from dipping a pen every few words. Each clever stroke of genius has saved the modern world decades of time, travel, and effort to correspond. Imagine The Bronte Sisters, or Bukowski putting pen to paper with a chisel, or a feather. Incidentally Jane Eyre was published the same year as the fountain Pen was patented. Soon, where and how deftly one could pen a novel would be eased.
Thomson's tyre consisted of a hollow belt of India-rubber inflated with air so that the wheels presented "a cushion of air to the ground, rail or track on which they run". This elastic belt of rubberised canvas was enclosed within a strong outer casing of leather which was bolted to the wheel. Thomson's "Aerial Wheels" were demonstrated in London's Regent's Park in March 1847 and were fitted to several horse-drawn carriages, thereafter, greatly improving the comfort of travel and reducing it's noise. One set of these ran for 1200 miles without sign of deterioration. (Source: Wikipedia) The Below Patent Illustration shows that most exquisite soft sponginess compressing below your carriage.
We are now barely beyond the event horizon for the next phase of innovation, which seems to be fairly infantile, considering "Tubeless", and "Airless". These technologies are not new to the automobile, but for Bikes are rather disparate if sluggish innovations struggling toward a standard. What merits do these new strategies proffer. It's fair to say that "Tubeless" technology is "not all that". In fact if you have left your home this year at all... an honest person, will admit to many irreparable punctures. A friend of mine gets a flat or destroys a wheel with each adventure. For me, I consistently stare forlorn at flatted or leaky wheels, whether mine or someone else's. By this, I mean that the sluggish advancement of any standards for airless tires, has led to many mornings demanding more time to fill, or service a tire, valve, or tube. Amongst a plethora of bikes, at any given moment, the bikes with Tubes seem to retain air, (Thank you Dunlop) whilst my Fat Bike, My 650b Gravel Knobbies, and my 28c Road hoops require air, or repair, because of Leaky Valves, Poor Tubeless tape, or expired Sealant. What is true, is that with tubes, I've generally never had as many disappointing Mornings, nor postponed outings from finding a flat, or slow leak. What forces a last minute course correction, bike swap, or delay is the reliability of compatible systems? So... are Tubeless combos "all that"? For me, they are not. An honest person will concede the same.
It merits mention that I have personally repaired more than 2500 flats, and in a single evening ride support, replaced or repaired 72 flats (this owing to a saboteur tossing tacks along the service course.)
It is not without experience nor acumen that I criticize the status quo. It is simply true that flats are not preventable, and your favorite brands are to blame for a conspicuous lack of cooperation.
Alas with all things "bike", it is true that if Dunlop's valve, were not adopted early -- cyclists would likely have as many air valves as Bottom Brackets. While innovation burns like a brush-fire, "Standards" are a unicorn mired in a sticky pudding of Latex, and glue... Cooperation is ever elusive in cycling.
It is not without experience nor acumen that I criticize the status quo. It is simply true that flats are not preventable, and your favorite brands are to blame for a conspicuous lack of cooperation.
Alas with all things "bike", it is true that if Dunlop's valve, were not adopted early -- cyclists would likely have as many air valves as Bottom Brackets. While innovation burns like a brush-fire, "Standards" are a unicorn mired in a sticky pudding of Latex, and glue... Cooperation is ever elusive in cycling.
While collaboration is nearly always a myth in the cycling industry, Innovation seems to be unfettered. More competition yields more creative work-arounds. Brilliance often emerges from tireless work to circumvent patent boundaries. Unlike the technology industry, cycling may suffer from far too much pride to either concede to pay a royalty, or to offer a collaborative olive branch. Exhibits abound from Chain-ring teeth, to rim profiles, spoke patterns to shift buttons.
A short list of bicycle bottom brackets follows:
BSA Threaded
TREK BB90
TREK BB95
PF24 (Chris King)
PF41 (Hope)
PF86
PF92 (Trek)
BB107/PF107
BB121
PF121 (Trek)
BB132
BB30
Specialized Alloy OSBB
BBRight (Direct Fit)
Cannondale BB30a
PF30
BBRight (Press Fit)
Specialized OSBB Carbon (Road)
Cannondale PF30a
Cannondale Asymmetric Integration (Ai)
T47
386EVO
392EVO
Colnago ThreadFit82.5
Look BB95
Wilier BB94
Truvativ ISIS Overdrive
and...
Italian
These are simply the cups and/or bearings which hold ones rotating cranks to the bike.
Why we have any flats at all, is equal parts karma, and conditions. For nearly 60 years the square taper BB spindle was perhaps the last agreed upon "standard system" used universally. This leads me to believe that if the technology can outlast the patent, then we are all happier, paying less, and enjoying more free time.
Tubeless Tyre leaks should equally be blamed upon bad karma, and adversarial brands, who cannot or will not concede that "Brand X" simply has a far better design. Instead, innovation follows stubbornness to constantly re-invent the wheel. While Punctures are rightfully blamed upon saboteurs, and the slobs who litter -- That slow hissing sound is not your tube, but every vendor conspiring to suck money from your pockets. Fitment between a tyre, and the hoop it clings to is anything but standardized, and while Mavic, and a few others work to make combinations of tyre and rim, this bicycle industry seems destined to march in distinct directions, and to different music. It should be noted that one can shod a car with new tires for less than their race bike, and it is no surprise that nearly any rim measured to match it's car tyre will run until bald without a tube nor fickle servicing. Just like when bikes used inner-tubes, I have a 1956 Schwinn with one original tire, and it seldom requires that we bond over a pump.
If you are riding A RACE DAY TIRE out for coffee and flat..., then you can take solace that this is far preferred to flatting nearly any place else. While inconvenient and not any less hazardous, the inevitable outcome is preferable to the calamity of a high-speed corner descent.
Many hope for a "Tyre Standard" (for rim and tire beads to at last match perfectly), but the best we have to offer today, are clogged valves, tight fits, and that bubbling hissing geyser of latex which is your cushy "pneu" lifestyle. One thing is certain, keeping air in your tire is fundamental for a good ride, and however you manage, it is certain that when you hop on your bike it would be swell that you didn't look down to see a splashy tire. For people with less time to fuck around with fickle systems, perhaps keeping a few inner tubes around the house is a good idea.
Thank you.
Perhaps the best, fastest, lightest, and most costly inner tube, Aerothan from Schwalbe
- Published on
Hushhhh!... Can you hear that?, the silvery slow hissing hush of nothing whatsoever?
In times like these..., a silence is surreal. When it lifts, will we return to straight-talk? honesty?, bringing more people into the conversation, using plain language? Cognizant, of how unprecedented things are -- Perhaps the most irritating thing is not our collective CoVid dread, nor the outgoing fascist's half-baked insurrection, What is most irritating to me of late, is our abuse of the word "cognizant". In what context will the word "aware" not suffice? While we are at it... Can we please dispense with the term "unprecedented"?, at least through the inauguration? Everything we are witnessing today, has precedent. If you cannot find precedent for autocracy, racism, classism, and even hapless rebellion, then any compendium of white-washed 8th grade world history, should suffice. Finally, can we please dispose of the excruciating phrase, "...In times like these"? What the fuck other times did you have in mind? These are of course "times like these".
cog•ni•zant kŏg′nĭ-zənt
What I've learned from the recent well-precedented melee, is that we were all 'aware' (cognizant) of what was going to happen at Trump's final Tea Party. But, let's not use such fancy words around common folks, because it's precisely this "fancy smart-talk" that makes 'them' hate fancy-talking democrats. It is precisely the collective's lack of straight-talk, and not calling-out fascism, that tossed the keys to an adolescent autocrat.
It appears that -- As soon as said President realized the party he'd missed was actually for him he got dropped from Twitter, dang!!! Apparently Chump violated Twitter's official terms of use - Which quite clearly preclude "using it's platform for E-vites"... So he got dropped from Twitter, alas! He used an illicit e-vite on their platform... Nothing unprecedented here. Earth to Meekus; There is a different internet app for that, duh! He, The President (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe),"should have known better".
The fact that it took this long for him to break Twitter's cardinal rule of "No e-vites on our platform", "...whether it be for birthdays, cross-burnings, or lynchings" Quoting Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey, when interviewed about share value tanking after removing Trump, Dorsey continued ..." Our policy is plainly stated in this-here cryptic EULA agreement", "This President (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe), and half a billion other plain folks willingly click our EULA daily..."
"It's so easy to do, We make it simple for our users". But this too is neither unprecedented, nor unique. From the insidious EULA, I'm sure I owe Apple my first Born, and my 401K, because you see... it is plainly stated in their terms of use. It sure feels that we all know by now, that this (but another day in a time-line of complacent embedded fandom, and white-pride exuberance), current rules just seem too stodgy, and traditional for progress to be made, which is why I'm gladly counting down the silent days until we can all exhale what haunted us for 4 plus years -- Simple Meteoric populism, crashing and burning. The fact that Twitter chose now to dump Trump, merely means that it now is ultra-convenient, because -- Like the first "Lorde" record, popularity peaks, and then ratings wane, and well Trump, (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe), used Twitter for the Evite. Poor chap missed his own party of GOP bigots and hicks, as they trashed the house, while the Adults were off to dinner somewhere. This trenchant Tea Party was apparently so loud that someone finally called the cops. Bummer, that the cops stayed for a few beers, before asking the kids to "Please keep it down", and, "Oh hey, could you Lock up and turn off the lights when you leave..." "...Thanks."
As for Twitter, when the Democrats put these fans on trial in February for their loose rules and anti-trust violations, and shine a light on Social Media for complicity in the coup-party, they can say, much like Betsy De Vos, "...As soon as I noticed the party was out of control, and the dickhead was an autocrat, I left".
Alas, cosmic justice for this historic (Mr.) Precedent. And, peace for the rest of us.
But what comes next, Now?... Bedlam? Revolution?, nah... What comes next is real work, the sound of progress like a 6th grade study-hall.
Silence comes now. All conceivable oxygen stolen from a raging media fire. As the embers cool to black charcoal, grab a chunk to draw some new boundaries, and the factual history upon your cave wall.
As the lights come up, these bugs will skitter into the shadows, We'll grab a mop, and begin cleaning house. It will be quiet, for a spell. A short-lived holiday from hideous scowls, flash grenades, and tear gas.
Until their next charismatic leader leads them by the hand, lured out of the shadows... -- for now, it's quiet.
It should remain calm without: Cognizant, Unprecedented, and the phrase, 'In times like these'. Life was far simpler without such fancy talk.
A year from Now, as the new holiday emerges, to commemorate January 6th -- May I suggest, January 7th 2021, remain as ("Insurrection Observed Day"), where we celebrate the silencing of America's first true Autocrat?
Can you hear it? Nothing at all sounds perfect right about now. Soon a new warm wave will crash against this shore, This new hushed wave looks like every other, but this one will change us. Be ready for a complete easing of your tensions. Roll your shoulders back and stretch your neck up toward the sun. You will not be alone basking in this new conspicuous quiet. What's about to wash over this great country will feel like a heavy silent wave. Your most comfortable bed, a dark room in which to rest, and recover. We will repair as this gentle tide consumes us, softness and solitude washing over, our ears fill with warm white-noise, our heads become softly submerged, our hair loosely floating, lolling about to the sound of absolutely nothing at all. This, our first warm bath after a miserable unshakable flu... We will remember this hushed moment above all else most conspicuously. This, our first real holiday during the plague years. This numbness will subside gently, and we will return to the work before us. Queue some Marvin Gaye, for some quality 'alone time'.
...But for the next few days, turn off the netflix, the news, give your thumbs a break, and have a walk outside in your fairy garden, to enjoy the hush.
In times like these..., a silence is surreal. When it lifts, will we return to straight-talk? honesty?, bringing more people into the conversation, using plain language? Cognizant, of how unprecedented things are -- Perhaps the most irritating thing is not our collective CoVid dread, nor the outgoing fascist's half-baked insurrection, What is most irritating to me of late, is our abuse of the word "cognizant". In what context will the word "aware" not suffice? While we are at it... Can we please dispense with the term "unprecedented"?, at least through the inauguration? Everything we are witnessing today, has precedent. If you cannot find precedent for autocracy, racism, classism, and even hapless rebellion, then any compendium of white-washed 8th grade world history, should suffice. Finally, can we please dispose of the excruciating phrase, "...In times like these"? What the fuck other times did you have in mind? These are of course "times like these".
cog•ni•zant kŏg′nĭ-zənt
- adj.
Fully informed; conscious. synonym: aware. Yep! Aware... - Having cognizance or knowledge: with of.
- In law, competent to take legal or judicial notice, as of a cause or a crime.
What I've learned from the recent well-precedented melee, is that we were all 'aware' (cognizant) of what was going to happen at Trump's final Tea Party. But, let's not use such fancy words around common folks, because it's precisely this "fancy smart-talk" that makes 'them' hate fancy-talking democrats. It is precisely the collective's lack of straight-talk, and not calling-out fascism, that tossed the keys to an adolescent autocrat.
It appears that -- As soon as said President realized the party he'd missed was actually for him he got dropped from Twitter, dang!!! Apparently Chump violated Twitter's official terms of use - Which quite clearly preclude "using it's platform for E-vites"... So he got dropped from Twitter, alas! He used an illicit e-vite on their platform... Nothing unprecedented here. Earth to Meekus; There is a different internet app for that, duh! He, The President (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe),"should have known better".
The fact that it took this long for him to break Twitter's cardinal rule of "No e-vites on our platform", "...whether it be for birthdays, cross-burnings, or lynchings" Quoting Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey, when interviewed about share value tanking after removing Trump, Dorsey continued ..." Our policy is plainly stated in this-here cryptic EULA agreement", "This President (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe), and half a billion other plain folks willingly click our EULA daily..."
"It's so easy to do, We make it simple for our users". But this too is neither unprecedented, nor unique. From the insidious EULA, I'm sure I owe Apple my first Born, and my 401K, because you see... it is plainly stated in their terms of use. It sure feels that we all know by now, that this (but another day in a time-line of complacent embedded fandom, and white-pride exuberance), current rules just seem too stodgy, and traditional for progress to be made, which is why I'm gladly counting down the silent days until we can all exhale what haunted us for 4 plus years -- Simple Meteoric populism, crashing and burning. The fact that Twitter chose now to dump Trump, merely means that it now is ultra-convenient, because -- Like the first "Lorde" record, popularity peaks, and then ratings wane, and well Trump, (a blatant narcissist sexist racist fascist homophobe), used Twitter for the Evite. Poor chap missed his own party of GOP bigots and hicks, as they trashed the house, while the Adults were off to dinner somewhere. This trenchant Tea Party was apparently so loud that someone finally called the cops. Bummer, that the cops stayed for a few beers, before asking the kids to "Please keep it down", and, "Oh hey, could you Lock up and turn off the lights when you leave..." "...Thanks."
As for Twitter, when the Democrats put these fans on trial in February for their loose rules and anti-trust violations, and shine a light on Social Media for complicity in the coup-party, they can say, much like Betsy De Vos, "...As soon as I noticed the party was out of control, and the dickhead was an autocrat, I left".
Alas, cosmic justice for this historic (Mr.) Precedent. And, peace for the rest of us.
But what comes next, Now?... Bedlam? Revolution?, nah... What comes next is real work, the sound of progress like a 6th grade study-hall.
Silence comes now. All conceivable oxygen stolen from a raging media fire. As the embers cool to black charcoal, grab a chunk to draw some new boundaries, and the factual history upon your cave wall.
As the lights come up, these bugs will skitter into the shadows, We'll grab a mop, and begin cleaning house. It will be quiet, for a spell. A short-lived holiday from hideous scowls, flash grenades, and tear gas.
Until their next charismatic leader leads them by the hand, lured out of the shadows... -- for now, it's quiet.
It should remain calm without: Cognizant, Unprecedented, and the phrase, 'In times like these'. Life was far simpler without such fancy talk.
A year from Now, as the new holiday emerges, to commemorate January 6th -- May I suggest, January 7th 2021, remain as ("Insurrection Observed Day"), where we celebrate the silencing of America's first true Autocrat?
Can you hear it? Nothing at all sounds perfect right about now. Soon a new warm wave will crash against this shore, This new hushed wave looks like every other, but this one will change us. Be ready for a complete easing of your tensions. Roll your shoulders back and stretch your neck up toward the sun. You will not be alone basking in this new conspicuous quiet. What's about to wash over this great country will feel like a heavy silent wave. Your most comfortable bed, a dark room in which to rest, and recover. We will repair as this gentle tide consumes us, softness and solitude washing over, our ears fill with warm white-noise, our heads become softly submerged, our hair loosely floating, lolling about to the sound of absolutely nothing at all. This, our first warm bath after a miserable unshakable flu... We will remember this hushed moment above all else most conspicuously. This, our first real holiday during the plague years. This numbness will subside gently, and we will return to the work before us. Queue some Marvin Gaye, for some quality 'alone time'.
...But for the next few days, turn off the netflix, the news, give your thumbs a break, and have a walk outside in your fairy garden, to enjoy the hush.
- Published on
To be dissuaded by inclement weather is no longer a thing. This is simply because, to remain indoors for a solid year, cannot be one's destiny. Living through adversity means braving some of it's sharpest edges, and being brave really is not the point. Bragging rights do often come to those who struggle, true -- But as everyone does so now, it's not a badge of courage.
Rule Number 5: Harden the Fuck Up.
Just get your ass outside, and if you happen to stumble upon a shelled out building burnt down the evening before, or a carcass in the road eviscerated by coyotes... Then may it serve as a reminder that you have it far better than some.
Velominati state that riding outside in the cold makes you a badass. This is a stretch of course, but doing so does give you something to bitch about during and later. Those who remain silent, returning from an epic winter ride with ice beset upon their brow, edge closer to doing it for the right reasons.
Rule Number 9: If you are out riding in bad weather, it means you are a badass. Period.Fair-weather riding is a luxury reserved for Sunday afternoons and wide boulevards. Those who ride in foul weather – be it cold, wet, or inordinately hot – are members of a special club of riders who, on the morning of a big ride, pull back the curtain to check the weather and, upon seeing rain falling from the skies, allow a wry smile to spread across their face. This is a rider who loves the work.
So perhaps now is the ideal time to work on your character, welcome winter, and get away from it all, if only for a few frigid hours. As they say..., "A bad day riding outside is far better than a great day on a fucking Peloton". This will serve you well when the weather breaks and your milk-toast friend with bad balance and wobbly legs drags you out hungover on a sunny Morning before 8 AM.
Rule Number 10: It never gets easier, you just go faster.As this famous quote by Greg LeMan tells us, training, climbing, and racing is hard. It stays hard. To put it another way, per Greg Henderson: “Training is like fighting with a gorilla. You don’t stop when you’re tired. You stop when the gorilla is tired.” Sur la Plaque, fucktards.4
Rule Number 5: Harden the Fuck Up.
Just get your ass outside, and if you happen to stumble upon a shelled out building burnt down the evening before, or a carcass in the road eviscerated by coyotes... Then may it serve as a reminder that you have it far better than some.
Velominati state that riding outside in the cold makes you a badass. This is a stretch of course, but doing so does give you something to bitch about during and later. Those who remain silent, returning from an epic winter ride with ice beset upon their brow, edge closer to doing it for the right reasons.
Rule Number 9: If you are out riding in bad weather, it means you are a badass. Period.Fair-weather riding is a luxury reserved for Sunday afternoons and wide boulevards. Those who ride in foul weather – be it cold, wet, or inordinately hot – are members of a special club of riders who, on the morning of a big ride, pull back the curtain to check the weather and, upon seeing rain falling from the skies, allow a wry smile to spread across their face. This is a rider who loves the work.
So perhaps now is the ideal time to work on your character, welcome winter, and get away from it all, if only for a few frigid hours. As they say..., "A bad day riding outside is far better than a great day on a fucking Peloton". This will serve you well when the weather breaks and your milk-toast friend with bad balance and wobbly legs drags you out hungover on a sunny Morning before 8 AM.
Rule Number 10: It never gets easier, you just go faster.As this famous quote by Greg LeMan tells us, training, climbing, and racing is hard. It stays hard. To put it another way, per Greg Henderson: “Training is like fighting with a gorilla. You don’t stop when you’re tired. You stop when the gorilla is tired.” Sur la Plaque, fucktards.4
- Published on
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from France and from London.
But I was there.I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the Internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.To all the kids in Tokyo and Berlin.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Brooklynites in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered eighties.
But I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge, but I was there.
I was there.
But I was there.I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody. Every great song by the Beach Boys. All the underground hits. All the Modern Lovers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal Detroit techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your computer out the window because you want to make something real.
You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitars and bought turntables.
I hear that you and your band have sold your turntables and bought guitars.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records? This Heat, Pere Ubu, Outsiders, Nation of Ulysses, Mars, The Trojans, The Black Dice, Todd Terry, the Germs, Section 25, Althea and Donna, Sexual Harrassment, a-ha, Pere Ubu, Dorothy Ashby, PIL, the Fania All-Stars, the Bar-Kays, the Human League, the Normal, Lou Reed, Scott Walker, Monks, Niagra,Joy Division, Lower 48, the Association, Sun Ra,
Scientists, Royal Trux, 10cc,Eric B. and Rakim, Index, Basic Channel, Soulsonic Force ("just hit me"!), Juan Atkins, David Axelrod, Electric Prunes, Gil! Scott! Heron!, the Slits, Faust, Mantronix, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, the Swans, the Soft Cell, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
All of these awesome Lyrics are the copyright of LCD SoundSystem.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from France and from London.
But I was there.I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the Internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.To all the kids in Tokyo and Berlin.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Brooklynites in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered eighties.
But I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge, but I was there.
I was there.
But I was there.I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1974 at the first Suicide practices in a loft in New York City.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody. Every great song by the Beach Boys. All the underground hits. All the Modern Lovers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal Detroit techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your computer out the window because you want to make something real.
You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitars and bought turntables.
I hear that you and your band have sold your turntables and bought guitars.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records? This Heat, Pere Ubu, Outsiders, Nation of Ulysses, Mars, The Trojans, The Black Dice, Todd Terry, the Germs, Section 25, Althea and Donna, Sexual Harrassment, a-ha, Pere Ubu, Dorothy Ashby, PIL, the Fania All-Stars, the Bar-Kays, the Human League, the Normal, Lou Reed, Scott Walker, Monks, Niagra,Joy Division, Lower 48, the Association, Sun Ra,
Scientists, Royal Trux, 10cc,Eric B. and Rakim, Index, Basic Channel, Soulsonic Force ("just hit me"!), Juan Atkins, David Axelrod, Electric Prunes, Gil! Scott! Heron!, the Slits, Faust, Mantronix, Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines, the Swans, the Soft Cell, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics, the Sonics.
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
You don't know what you really want
All of these awesome Lyrics are the copyright of LCD SoundSystem.
Bowie as "The Man Who Fell to Earth" 1976 Courtesy of British Lion Films
It has truly been stranger than Fiction of late, and as such, science fiction and music may be two of the best releases to/for this macabre moment. Both of these medicines could be consumed in "The Man Who Fell to Earth".
So what of falling to this earth, at this moment?
I was thinking about the new term applied to Children conceived during COVID, and their auspicious birthdates coming up in September & October. I was thinking about the advantage of not knowing a world before this shit hit the fan. Being uniquely well equipped (Naive) to the boundless disappointment of generations, They won't be missing what once was, as we now all seem to lament, and wander, and wonder about the future. We now circle the drain at the feet of a mad wet naked emperor, as never before, wondering if one maligned evil man-child's ego will come to remake this word in ash and ruin like Adolph did. Will this September be remembered relatively well, as a good time just before a firestorm. This, our awkward look-back generation's self image is now reflected in pictures & papers which comprise nothing important to the new COVID Kids. As 'WE' cling to a ledge, yearning to restore our Reagan year's -- We weak ones crane our necks back for inspiration, and truth?, with blatant disregard for what's coming up ahead. As our future edges ever closer to an apparent abyss. Do we dance to some Disco Tracks, Some Synth, and even a Yaz Record, and say... Fuck -- it, it was fun, right...? The new kids will not know any better. But we will. The New Kids will know only what we tell them. And we will. And they may not care.
Will these final weeks hosting garage sales... weigh at all to the COVID Babies?, as we hide-out, holding onto fond memories, eating our final packs of smack-ramen, making clever protest signs, our fears beset upon our record collections, and memorabilia. We are betrayed only because we know better. Things were once a bit better. As we collect condiment packages, squirl-away social-welfare checks, and as we restock canned goods and ammo, can we project to know the soundtrack of the 2020 Generation. Will there be LCD Soundsystem after the revolution? These days -- Will these days be recalled as good, and solid, at all? Will that Kid born this month buy their first record in 16 years, and simply not give a shit about your war stories? ...Or will they recall their parent's waxing Reagan-esque nostalgia, of "Happy Days", The 1950's, Blatant Racism, and White Insecurity. Will the new gen only vaguely glean through re-written history this moment as significant in time?, or scoff at your lamentations, and your misplaced nostalgia? Will this moment be tangible at all as the Big War was to a generation? If THESE are/were to become "the good old days", (again), then what will the new ironic chubby iconic bands play to celebrate their lives just before tipping over that Seussian Precipice? When the sleigh begins to tilt downward upon it's boundless snowy descent down the mountain, will "Gen 2020" play this track?
If the next gen comes forth through this storm, and they rifle through my record collection, without the nostalgic baggage of Trump, COVID, and our collective of visceral loathing, will they cue the needle to this track "Losing My Edge", and revel in the same ironic lyrics, that which we celebrate as a universal fond reflection point for that 'post-peak', moment where we still felt sovereign? Now that we distinctly hear, see, and feel ourselves begin to grind down the other side -- Is this the moment where we all lose our collective edge? ...If we even had one, then yes perhaps mine has left.
Will the COVID Kids play The Cold War Kids, and ask where that name came from? Will there be ironic music when they are Teens?
Yes, I think so. "This will all blow over in time..."
So what of falling to this earth, at this moment?
I was thinking about the new term applied to Children conceived during COVID, and their auspicious birthdates coming up in September & October. I was thinking about the advantage of not knowing a world before this shit hit the fan. Being uniquely well equipped (Naive) to the boundless disappointment of generations, They won't be missing what once was, as we now all seem to lament, and wander, and wonder about the future. We now circle the drain at the feet of a mad wet naked emperor, as never before, wondering if one maligned evil man-child's ego will come to remake this word in ash and ruin like Adolph did. Will this September be remembered relatively well, as a good time just before a firestorm. This, our awkward look-back generation's self image is now reflected in pictures & papers which comprise nothing important to the new COVID Kids. As 'WE' cling to a ledge, yearning to restore our Reagan year's -- We weak ones crane our necks back for inspiration, and truth?, with blatant disregard for what's coming up ahead. As our future edges ever closer to an apparent abyss. Do we dance to some Disco Tracks, Some Synth, and even a Yaz Record, and say... Fuck -- it, it was fun, right...? The new kids will not know any better. But we will. The New Kids will know only what we tell them. And we will. And they may not care.
Will these final weeks hosting garage sales... weigh at all to the COVID Babies?, as we hide-out, holding onto fond memories, eating our final packs of smack-ramen, making clever protest signs, our fears beset upon our record collections, and memorabilia. We are betrayed only because we know better. Things were once a bit better. As we collect condiment packages, squirl-away social-welfare checks, and as we restock canned goods and ammo, can we project to know the soundtrack of the 2020 Generation. Will there be LCD Soundsystem after the revolution? These days -- Will these days be recalled as good, and solid, at all? Will that Kid born this month buy their first record in 16 years, and simply not give a shit about your war stories? ...Or will they recall their parent's waxing Reagan-esque nostalgia, of "Happy Days", The 1950's, Blatant Racism, and White Insecurity. Will the new gen only vaguely glean through re-written history this moment as significant in time?, or scoff at your lamentations, and your misplaced nostalgia? Will this moment be tangible at all as the Big War was to a generation? If THESE are/were to become "the good old days", (again), then what will the new ironic chubby iconic bands play to celebrate their lives just before tipping over that Seussian Precipice? When the sleigh begins to tilt downward upon it's boundless snowy descent down the mountain, will "Gen 2020" play this track?
If the next gen comes forth through this storm, and they rifle through my record collection, without the nostalgic baggage of Trump, COVID, and our collective of visceral loathing, will they cue the needle to this track "Losing My Edge", and revel in the same ironic lyrics, that which we celebrate as a universal fond reflection point for that 'post-peak', moment where we still felt sovereign? Now that we distinctly hear, see, and feel ourselves begin to grind down the other side -- Is this the moment where we all lose our collective edge? ...If we even had one, then yes perhaps mine has left.
Will the COVID Kids play The Cold War Kids, and ask where that name came from? Will there be ironic music when they are Teens?
Yes, I think so. "This will all blow over in time..."
- Published on
Deep Thoughts or Nothing Much by Gregory Corso
Quick Question... Do I love my country enough to try to save it?, or do I move on? I recall in college reading all sorts of Beat Poets, and embracing the common mythology that where they were headed to, was some fixed place with perfect days, plenty of rest, golden sunsets, and perhaps a soul mate. I recall the Book "Elegiac Feelings American" by Gregory Corso, and I recall that it didn't impress me that much, but thematically, It swam about in the same soup of warm sand, rustic breakfasts, glamorous cigarettes, and stoic half empty bottle of whisky next to a Smith Corona. Corso did serve up a nice nod to Kerouac, He scribbled in the margins, and further complained about the American Mythology, The same American Myth that we stalk today, like a varmint rooting through our trash. He was exploring a bit about where America was bound. He was miffed that everything was not coming up roses, but did he really have the same context as we today?
The Myth that the Beats were selling was one of disobedience framed by American exceptionalism, from the perspective that success could be measured through it's poets, artists, and their suffrage, (however not too much, because well, we need enough for beer, whisky, and weed) and so surviving Beats somehow surfaced on the other side with a book deal or honorary professorship. (If the heroin doesn't kill you, you could be a regent).
Nevertheless, one could get on board with the idea that somewhere in this great land exceptional adults lived out of a shoe-box, but with enough beer, sex, and manuscripts, to feel connected, float a plane of existence where one is always engaged, entertained, and in love with something.
The trouble with leaving college is the let-down. The party ends and the music stops, and you bandy about looking for meaningful relationships that never seem to approach the deep stare of some tramp, or bum you once partied with. You deflate as you unpack all of your new things into a new larger space, with more things, nicer things, and even a bed-frame. How bad can this be? Lest we unpack being furloughed from scholasticism (college) itself, we must now leave campus, even before messing around with gender roles and re-inventing oneself. So the future gen is doomed, unless we start to hand out subversive paperbacks on the street once more.
...And that's the rub. Right there! Who the fuck are we to become, without the promise of America?
Have you read the Book "Fantasyland" by Kurt Anderson. If you answered no... Then stop right here and buy this book.
We begin building the mountain of shit post college, where exquisitely loose fitting relationships served over beans, rice, chicken wings, ramen, and perhaps a joint, washed down with some flat beer, are exchanged with and for, stuff, that makes no difference whatsoever. Stuff made from particle-board, and a Keurig no less replace your Chemex; Comfort-food, swapped in where your soul once stood, you vacate the 'YOU' from whence you were cool, where you were engaged, and sloppy, and completely imperfect, for the polished person that does not give a shit nor stand for anything. So it begins that you box up the Beat-Poets, and move into a house, (finally), and that box never emerges again, because well... design wise your weak collection of filthy paper-backs which frame perfectly who you were are aesthetically not aligned with your new shitty self. Welcome to the ice age of your Kindle Book Club. We are weened on Bullshit, paisley mythologies, and ironic facial hair, true --But the clown-car doors have come off, and we take turns driving this jalopy, until alas we need to give up the steering wheel to the next inductee. "Click Here", and then swap your squalid masonry block shelving lined with cutout LP's and used Paperbacks for hollow hallowed halls where Alexa picks your literature. It's so simple, I wonder if the devil now inks deals at the crossroads with a tablet. Inducted sans signature, once we click "agree to the terms".
Here is where you have landed, This!, and it's all rainbows and unicorns, and then
and then Ampersand, and Hashtag.
addict
and then ....It's not!
(fingers snapping, click, click, click...)
So the thing I'm seeing is that that one interesting person that you used to be, is lusting after Douche-bag Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson for scoring citizenship to Greece. I've been to Greece... A few times, and even when they were facing the worst austerity since The two world wars, sometimes worse; But the Greeks, were not dickheads, they were not spiteful, and they were certainly not divided. And Man, I can tell you that I've never liked Tom Hanks since that stupid Shrimp Franchise. Not since "Bosom Buddies", has he held anything for me, But that fucker now has me seeking an invite... Antiparos of all places. It is magical. I now like at least what he represents now more than ever because he has accomplished the one key thing that I dream about every night. G'ingTFO
So that one fictional helmet under which the Beats, and and later Hunter Thompson roamed the west to a soundtrack of Eric Burden, Jim and Van Morrison, Mo Tucker, Lou and JC -- Is, or seemed to be that complete place where even though the adults in the room were behaving badly..., The rest of we dreamers, deadheads, yuppies, rock climbers, and their Sherpas, could find air. From Astronauts, to their spouse's casseroles, we were OK. WE, the rest of us, were gonna make it through.
The beauty of the cold war was that upon matriculation from Elementary school, One knew that tomorrow may be the end, and that sat well right next to the La Choy Chow Mein, and one drifted off to sleep to dream about Fantasy Island, Gilligan's Island or even a Greek Island such as Antiparos. Your Meal kit of conflict, and pending doom, in Cold War USA, was fictionalized enough because it was so innately possible to evaporate, that we all simply kept it frozen in that floor freezer in the basement. We just floated on. Today ... Today I don't have that childish optimism. Today I find myself like many more millions, looking for fiction to fill the void, while we endure an uncivil discourse, and a civil war.
You may recall William F Burrow's "Naked Lunch". You may recall this novel fondly and still have no real idea what his lit-up mind was fetching toward, but you will recall that from the Beats to Waites, From Springsteen to Supertramp's Breakfast in America... we all used "America" in ALL writing fondly. We always suppressed our gripes, and doodled in the margins what we'd wished the truth to be, but we always revered our republic as sound. It was seen, witnessed, and proven to be a fractured but solid America, and yet today "American" becomes a pejorative worldwide. So, as I reflect over the good ol' Days when a Thermo-Nuclear War was imminent, but we more or less agreed... -- Where today is your sentiment headed?
Scribbling in the margins, whilst stoned?
The Myth that the Beats were selling was one of disobedience framed by American exceptionalism, from the perspective that success could be measured through it's poets, artists, and their suffrage, (however not too much, because well, we need enough for beer, whisky, and weed) and so surviving Beats somehow surfaced on the other side with a book deal or honorary professorship. (If the heroin doesn't kill you, you could be a regent).
Nevertheless, one could get on board with the idea that somewhere in this great land exceptional adults lived out of a shoe-box, but with enough beer, sex, and manuscripts, to feel connected, float a plane of existence where one is always engaged, entertained, and in love with something.
The trouble with leaving college is the let-down. The party ends and the music stops, and you bandy about looking for meaningful relationships that never seem to approach the deep stare of some tramp, or bum you once partied with. You deflate as you unpack all of your new things into a new larger space, with more things, nicer things, and even a bed-frame. How bad can this be? Lest we unpack being furloughed from scholasticism (college) itself, we must now leave campus, even before messing around with gender roles and re-inventing oneself. So the future gen is doomed, unless we start to hand out subversive paperbacks on the street once more.
...And that's the rub. Right there! Who the fuck are we to become, without the promise of America?
Have you read the Book "Fantasyland" by Kurt Anderson. If you answered no... Then stop right here and buy this book.
We begin building the mountain of shit post college, where exquisitely loose fitting relationships served over beans, rice, chicken wings, ramen, and perhaps a joint, washed down with some flat beer, are exchanged with and for, stuff, that makes no difference whatsoever. Stuff made from particle-board, and a Keurig no less replace your Chemex; Comfort-food, swapped in where your soul once stood, you vacate the 'YOU' from whence you were cool, where you were engaged, and sloppy, and completely imperfect, for the polished person that does not give a shit nor stand for anything. So it begins that you box up the Beat-Poets, and move into a house, (finally), and that box never emerges again, because well... design wise your weak collection of filthy paper-backs which frame perfectly who you were are aesthetically not aligned with your new shitty self. Welcome to the ice age of your Kindle Book Club. We are weened on Bullshit, paisley mythologies, and ironic facial hair, true --But the clown-car doors have come off, and we take turns driving this jalopy, until alas we need to give up the steering wheel to the next inductee. "Click Here", and then swap your squalid masonry block shelving lined with cutout LP's and used Paperbacks for hollow hallowed halls where Alexa picks your literature. It's so simple, I wonder if the devil now inks deals at the crossroads with a tablet. Inducted sans signature, once we click "agree to the terms".
Here is where you have landed, This!, and it's all rainbows and unicorns, and then
and then Ampersand, and Hashtag.
addict
and then ....It's not!
(fingers snapping, click, click, click...)
So the thing I'm seeing is that that one interesting person that you used to be, is lusting after Douche-bag Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson for scoring citizenship to Greece. I've been to Greece... A few times, and even when they were facing the worst austerity since The two world wars, sometimes worse; But the Greeks, were not dickheads, they were not spiteful, and they were certainly not divided. And Man, I can tell you that I've never liked Tom Hanks since that stupid Shrimp Franchise. Not since "Bosom Buddies", has he held anything for me, But that fucker now has me seeking an invite... Antiparos of all places. It is magical. I now like at least what he represents now more than ever because he has accomplished the one key thing that I dream about every night. G'ingTFO
So that one fictional helmet under which the Beats, and and later Hunter Thompson roamed the west to a soundtrack of Eric Burden, Jim and Van Morrison, Mo Tucker, Lou and JC -- Is, or seemed to be that complete place where even though the adults in the room were behaving badly..., The rest of we dreamers, deadheads, yuppies, rock climbers, and their Sherpas, could find air. From Astronauts, to their spouse's casseroles, we were OK. WE, the rest of us, were gonna make it through.
The beauty of the cold war was that upon matriculation from Elementary school, One knew that tomorrow may be the end, and that sat well right next to the La Choy Chow Mein, and one drifted off to sleep to dream about Fantasy Island, Gilligan's Island or even a Greek Island such as Antiparos. Your Meal kit of conflict, and pending doom, in Cold War USA, was fictionalized enough because it was so innately possible to evaporate, that we all simply kept it frozen in that floor freezer in the basement. We just floated on. Today ... Today I don't have that childish optimism. Today I find myself like many more millions, looking for fiction to fill the void, while we endure an uncivil discourse, and a civil war.
You may recall William F Burrow's "Naked Lunch". You may recall this novel fondly and still have no real idea what his lit-up mind was fetching toward, but you will recall that from the Beats to Waites, From Springsteen to Supertramp's Breakfast in America... we all used "America" in ALL writing fondly. We always suppressed our gripes, and doodled in the margins what we'd wished the truth to be, but we always revered our republic as sound. It was seen, witnessed, and proven to be a fractured but solid America, and yet today "American" becomes a pejorative worldwide. So, as I reflect over the good ol' Days when a Thermo-Nuclear War was imminent, but we more or less agreed... -- Where today is your sentiment headed?
Scribbling in the margins, whilst stoned?
A Greek Island for sure. What now of your republic?, "If we can keep it".
For me, I see such a snowstorm of divisiveness in the USA, that I wonder if kindness, and daily sunshine can melt it, even in Mid-July.
So it brings me around to that "novel" idea again... Do you work to fix this shit?, or do you buy a boat?
The lonesome "Ampersand", which is survived by it's popular sibling the "Hashtag", (AKA The artist formerly known as "Pound") Have sliced us all up in a bit of a magic act in which we the audience secretly hope the trick backfires. The Owners of this stage show set a kind and lovely lady in a box, and begin sliding swords through the box, until what remains is a box, and well a macerated pulp of what it once was. So the trick backfires, and we cant get enough as gawkers. This Internet, News-Feed, and Celebrity Shit-show, is enough to drive one mad, but sprinkle in some hatred, a plague, and landing upon your ass squarely as the laughing stock of the developed and undeveloped world, and you now face a moral crisis.
GTFO?
So, do we fix this shit? Do we run up there and triage what we recall it was supposed to look like? Storm the Bastille, and perhaps die trying to resuscitate this train-wreck; Or do we simply find another place to emigrate to? Is there a patch large enough to cover the puncture in this thing? "America" which has given me so much... I think I wont get stoned tonight, Instead, I'll just sit quietly listening to that hissing sound of my country as it exhales for it's last time.
Fucking Tom Hanks.
For me, I see such a snowstorm of divisiveness in the USA, that I wonder if kindness, and daily sunshine can melt it, even in Mid-July.
So it brings me around to that "novel" idea again... Do you work to fix this shit?, or do you buy a boat?
The lonesome "Ampersand", which is survived by it's popular sibling the "Hashtag", (AKA The artist formerly known as "Pound") Have sliced us all up in a bit of a magic act in which we the audience secretly hope the trick backfires. The Owners of this stage show set a kind and lovely lady in a box, and begin sliding swords through the box, until what remains is a box, and well a macerated pulp of what it once was. So the trick backfires, and we cant get enough as gawkers. This Internet, News-Feed, and Celebrity Shit-show, is enough to drive one mad, but sprinkle in some hatred, a plague, and landing upon your ass squarely as the laughing stock of the developed and undeveloped world, and you now face a moral crisis.
GTFO?
So, do we fix this shit? Do we run up there and triage what we recall it was supposed to look like? Storm the Bastille, and perhaps die trying to resuscitate this train-wreck; Or do we simply find another place to emigrate to? Is there a patch large enough to cover the puncture in this thing? "America" which has given me so much... I think I wont get stoned tonight, Instead, I'll just sit quietly listening to that hissing sound of my country as it exhales for it's last time.
Fucking Tom Hanks.
Nearly to Antiparos
- Published on
Nostalgia has it's own gravity.
Nobody ever happens upon a wad of cash, dropped by someone else. It may of course have happened once or twice, but when this occurs it is so rare as to be nearly improbable, and hence we can just agree that stumbling upon wealth simply doesn't happen. So it goes that if you were to find some money in an awkward or obvious place, the first reaction may be a bit like discovering a baby floating down a river. Hmm... What Tha!?... Then we look about us for the hidden camera, or someone who has a twisted sense of humor. Of course there will always be the case where someone else says, "I saw that first!." and swoops in, cause hey, "Free Baby!"
In all cases this context notwithstanding, the prankster, or the poor sap who pulled something out of their pocket and dropped the wad of cash will soon discover it missing, and become upset. But "wealth" can be something else.
One time in Paris, a gypsy street hustler played the wedding ring game with my brother and I and we decided to go along with it for a moment, and once the person pointed the 14K stamp in the ring, for the second time, we simply pocketed the ring and ditched him. So whereas the scam which nearly always works on the right foreign mark, conscribes a tourist to split the money with the gypsy, we simply took the ring, and the con ended.
It is normal to be skeptical of others, and their pranks. It is desirable to have the good sense to anticipate their moves steer around the pitfall, and work the scenario forward to its logical conclusion to wiggle out of the set-up before becoming trapped in the game.
So what I'm about to say may appear to conflict with a Critical rule. Rule Number 25: The bikes on top of your car should be worth more than the car -- Or at least be relatively more expensive.
...And so You do not immediately persecute me for outlandish blaspheme, remember that this rule operatively states "Worth", more than your car. "Worth", like beauty, is value weighed by it's beholder. (this is not always a Dollar, Pound, Euro, Peso equivalence scale).
If you are lucky enough to have a bike then you are lucky enough; And if you have several bikes then you are a bit obsessed. Bearing in mind that many people agree that the correct amount of bikes one should own is 3, there is another way to look at this equation, and it is well foot-noted in The Rules.
Rule Number 12 // The correct number of bikes to own is n+1.
Keeping the N+1 equation in check, is a daily struggle. Where "N" is the current 'allowable' Number of Bikes to be brought home, and "+1", the quantitative tipping-point. As an equation and a cautionary pitfall, "N+1" is well recorded in Bike lore, and is heretofore subscribed to as Rule #12 in the Velominati Rules, otherwise referred to simply as "The Rules", This equation is best also written as S-1, whereas "S" is the number of bikes owned, that would result in separation from your partner.
So it goes that we often need to thin the herd, or merely be mindful that both relationships and mental health are crucial considerations when considering such logical problems.
So, here is a great, if futile way to save 10K today.
Imagine a day in the past when lean men, with wholly unscientific diets worked in factories, making shoes, or as a plumber. The same lean citizens entered a challenge a few times a year to prove themselves to their neighbors and family. These black and white peasants climbed aboard equally thin steel diamond-shaped contraptions amidst other wiry men dodging and lunging up and down hills as if fish schooling in a pen to trick a predator.
After a lengthy but indeterminate amount of time and exhaustion, they'd each stop for a big fat lunch, sipping a few glasses of Bordeaux , before a cigar, then coffee, and then remount their ordinary single geared bikes to endure an extended afternoon of punishment amongst their peers. Over snowy passes they rode on crappy crushed gravel and piss-poor pavements sun-stroked, frost-bit and exhausted, they'd close the day after dark with a dinner similar to lunch, but perhaps with a whisky, and they'd count sheep. By the next dawn, they'd gather again and continue the ritual for the rest of the week, likely collapsing, crashing, or dropping out, but always doing their best.
Whether the winner or one of many many losers, they'd return to work as Brick-layers, Chimney-sweeps, and the like and use the same bicycles to deliver and fetch groceries, Fuel, and tools. Their bikes were unremarkable, their spirits doused, but their resolve unfettered.
"Next Year...", they would say.
Amidst a Grand Tour, Short Chase, or a Fondo, A rider reluctantly becomes one with their bike. For a short while these riders were not riding bikes to deliver firewood, coal, or feed, but they were floating above their bikes, their ordinary lives like phantoms, majestic, mock champions. Pressing into that envelope of prickly air, to stab forward. It is unclear whether the feeling of riding at this pace is otherworldly, or merely a brief disentanglement from the plane of the ordinary, but one never forgets their first experience of floating locomotion. Alas, "Coming down", as they say, is always the hardest thing. But if the next day someone were to ride that very same bike to work, or church, they will assuredly recall fondly the "Almost" moments when the race, and it's victory were within sight. For most of us, that is before the gun-shot, and we know how this typically devolves.
In the unremarkable lives of so many spectacular people who rode hard in all weather and all conditions to savor the pipe-dream of the podium, only to pedal the same bike to church the next day and reflect... It is poignant that 3 Bikes is two more than so many champions who came and went.
To be a great rider, as with a skilled Carpenter, Mason, or Smith, is to do the work well, and to maintain and respect the tools of one's trade. For this, we rejoice in the mere opportunity to have a ride, and that feeling, above the tools, where the skillset is planning pace, timing, and breath, but never the tool. The tool in the work-day of a race is independent of the craft. Once the motor winds-up one floats seemingly above the bike straining and coasting. breathing and spitting. Today will be a far better day if you bank the money for a new bike and air up some neglected friends for a spin as if for the first time. Celebrate the opportunity to ride them, wipe them down, and consider your luck. When you have another steed sitting in a cart, and you are a click away from people on the other side of the planet rushing about to dispatch it to you, consider your fortune, your time, and your collection, and if nothing else consider it's use. Considering the supply-chain shortage... if you are the fortunate person at the bloody threshold of S-1, then maybe take a pass.
We hold these truths to be self evident:
If you are lucky enough to ride a bike, then you are lucky enough. If you have 3 or more bikes, then you are surely winning, -- But if you ride none of these sexy bikes, and your legs are not broken... then -- I'm afraid you are a simply a dickhead!
Make Space.
Nobody ever happens upon a wad of cash, dropped by someone else. It may of course have happened once or twice, but when this occurs it is so rare as to be nearly improbable, and hence we can just agree that stumbling upon wealth simply doesn't happen. So it goes that if you were to find some money in an awkward or obvious place, the first reaction may be a bit like discovering a baby floating down a river. Hmm... What Tha!?... Then we look about us for the hidden camera, or someone who has a twisted sense of humor. Of course there will always be the case where someone else says, "I saw that first!." and swoops in, cause hey, "Free Baby!"
In all cases this context notwithstanding, the prankster, or the poor sap who pulled something out of their pocket and dropped the wad of cash will soon discover it missing, and become upset. But "wealth" can be something else.
One time in Paris, a gypsy street hustler played the wedding ring game with my brother and I and we decided to go along with it for a moment, and once the person pointed the 14K stamp in the ring, for the second time, we simply pocketed the ring and ditched him. So whereas the scam which nearly always works on the right foreign mark, conscribes a tourist to split the money with the gypsy, we simply took the ring, and the con ended.
It is normal to be skeptical of others, and their pranks. It is desirable to have the good sense to anticipate their moves steer around the pitfall, and work the scenario forward to its logical conclusion to wiggle out of the set-up before becoming trapped in the game.
So what I'm about to say may appear to conflict with a Critical rule. Rule Number 25: The bikes on top of your car should be worth more than the car -- Or at least be relatively more expensive.
...And so You do not immediately persecute me for outlandish blaspheme, remember that this rule operatively states "Worth", more than your car. "Worth", like beauty, is value weighed by it's beholder. (this is not always a Dollar, Pound, Euro, Peso equivalence scale).
If you are lucky enough to have a bike then you are lucky enough; And if you have several bikes then you are a bit obsessed. Bearing in mind that many people agree that the correct amount of bikes one should own is 3, there is another way to look at this equation, and it is well foot-noted in The Rules.
Rule Number 12 // The correct number of bikes to own is n+1.
Keeping the N+1 equation in check, is a daily struggle. Where "N" is the current 'allowable' Number of Bikes to be brought home, and "+1", the quantitative tipping-point. As an equation and a cautionary pitfall, "N+1" is well recorded in Bike lore, and is heretofore subscribed to as Rule #12 in the Velominati Rules, otherwise referred to simply as "The Rules", This equation is best also written as S-1, whereas "S" is the number of bikes owned, that would result in separation from your partner.
So it goes that we often need to thin the herd, or merely be mindful that both relationships and mental health are crucial considerations when considering such logical problems.
So, here is a great, if futile way to save 10K today.
Imagine a day in the past when lean men, with wholly unscientific diets worked in factories, making shoes, or as a plumber. The same lean citizens entered a challenge a few times a year to prove themselves to their neighbors and family. These black and white peasants climbed aboard equally thin steel diamond-shaped contraptions amidst other wiry men dodging and lunging up and down hills as if fish schooling in a pen to trick a predator.
After a lengthy but indeterminate amount of time and exhaustion, they'd each stop for a big fat lunch, sipping a few glasses of Bordeaux , before a cigar, then coffee, and then remount their ordinary single geared bikes to endure an extended afternoon of punishment amongst their peers. Over snowy passes they rode on crappy crushed gravel and piss-poor pavements sun-stroked, frost-bit and exhausted, they'd close the day after dark with a dinner similar to lunch, but perhaps with a whisky, and they'd count sheep. By the next dawn, they'd gather again and continue the ritual for the rest of the week, likely collapsing, crashing, or dropping out, but always doing their best.
Whether the winner or one of many many losers, they'd return to work as Brick-layers, Chimney-sweeps, and the like and use the same bicycles to deliver and fetch groceries, Fuel, and tools. Their bikes were unremarkable, their spirits doused, but their resolve unfettered.
"Next Year...", they would say.
Amidst a Grand Tour, Short Chase, or a Fondo, A rider reluctantly becomes one with their bike. For a short while these riders were not riding bikes to deliver firewood, coal, or feed, but they were floating above their bikes, their ordinary lives like phantoms, majestic, mock champions. Pressing into that envelope of prickly air, to stab forward. It is unclear whether the feeling of riding at this pace is otherworldly, or merely a brief disentanglement from the plane of the ordinary, but one never forgets their first experience of floating locomotion. Alas, "Coming down", as they say, is always the hardest thing. But if the next day someone were to ride that very same bike to work, or church, they will assuredly recall fondly the "Almost" moments when the race, and it's victory were within sight. For most of us, that is before the gun-shot, and we know how this typically devolves.
In the unremarkable lives of so many spectacular people who rode hard in all weather and all conditions to savor the pipe-dream of the podium, only to pedal the same bike to church the next day and reflect... It is poignant that 3 Bikes is two more than so many champions who came and went.
To be a great rider, as with a skilled Carpenter, Mason, or Smith, is to do the work well, and to maintain and respect the tools of one's trade. For this, we rejoice in the mere opportunity to have a ride, and that feeling, above the tools, where the skillset is planning pace, timing, and breath, but never the tool. The tool in the work-day of a race is independent of the craft. Once the motor winds-up one floats seemingly above the bike straining and coasting. breathing and spitting. Today will be a far better day if you bank the money for a new bike and air up some neglected friends for a spin as if for the first time. Celebrate the opportunity to ride them, wipe them down, and consider your luck. When you have another steed sitting in a cart, and you are a click away from people on the other side of the planet rushing about to dispatch it to you, consider your fortune, your time, and your collection, and if nothing else consider it's use. Considering the supply-chain shortage... if you are the fortunate person at the bloody threshold of S-1, then maybe take a pass.
We hold these truths to be self evident:
If you are lucky enough to ride a bike, then you are lucky enough. If you have 3 or more bikes, then you are surely winning, -- But if you ride none of these sexy bikes, and your legs are not broken... then -- I'm afraid you are a simply a dickhead!
Make Space.
