Bike Snob Page 5
The Cyclocrosser
Cyclocross is a strange, painful, and addictive form of racing involving dismounting and carrying your bike over obstacles on courses consisting of both dirt and pavement. In a way racing cyclocross is like freebasing cycling, since the races are short but incredibly intense, and they manage to distill pretty much every element of cycling into forty-five minutes. Consequently, like crack in the eighties, it becomes more and more popular in this country every year.
While cyclocross has deep roots in European cycling, in recent years it has also become a demilitarized zone for Roadies and Mountain Bikers in that it involves dirt and mud but you can use carbon wheels and wear skinsuits. Cyclocrossers range from the dedicated competitor with two identical bikes (an “A” bike and a pit bike) and an endless variety of tires for different conditions, to the rudimentarily equipped minimalist who’s just out to have a good time. However, the one thing all passionate Cyclocrossers share regardless of their age, gender, and approach to the sport is an affinity for all things Belgian. Believe it or not, in the bizarre alternate universe that is Belgium (a land where both disco and mullets are still considered cutting-edge), cyclocross is an extremely popular sport. It’s sort of like curling is to Canada, only it’s much faster. As such, Cyclocrossers here cultivate irritating affectations like calling french fries “frites,” getting deeply into Belgian beer, and pretending to understand Flemish. If you’ve ever seen Breaking Away, they’re exactly like that kid, except instead of speaking Italian they make lots of guttural throat-clearing sounds. When not racing behind a mask of pain, Cyclocrossers can be found standing in mud while wearing knee-high rubber boots, ringing cowbells, munching on pretentious french fries, and drinking $9 bottles of beer they’ve been keeping warm in the hatchbacks of their Subarus.
Why other cyclists don’t like them:
Few cyclists actively hate Cyclocrossers, since cyclocross is something cyclists are supposed to appreciate, and even if they don’t like Cyclocrossers they’re generally afraid to admit it. In this sense Cyclocrossers are the cycling equivalent of Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys.
Compatibility with other cyclists:
Compatible with all types of cyclists except Righteous Cyclists, since cyclocross almost always requires driving.
The Triathlete
While the Roadie generally holds the Triathlete in contempt, the truth is they share common DNA. Actually, that may explain the contempt—Jews, Christians, and Muslims share both monotheism and a bunch of prophets, but that has certainly not stopped them from having their share of disagreements over the years. Specifically, the area in which the Triathlete and the Roadie are most similar is in their ability to reduce cycling to a fitness-building exercise, suck the joy from it, and discard it so all that is left is a desiccated Lycra shell.
But first, it’s essential to take a look at the Triathlete (which, given their predilection for bikinis—particularly the men—can be difficult). The Triathlete is one who partakes in triathlons—timed “races” in which the competitors swim, then “bike,” then run. (You should always be suspicious of people who use the word “bike” as a verb.) Many people even argue that it is inappropriate to consider a Triathlete a cyclist, since in some cases they are merely incidental cyclists who only ride because cycling happens to be part of a triathlon. If they changed the cycling leg to something else, like bowling, they’d probably all be buying bowling balls instead of bicycles. Many cyclists also believe that Triathletes are bad bike handlers, and criticize them for being middling at three disciplines instead of exceptional at one. (If triathlons involved bowling instead of cycling, Triathletes would probably roll their balls in the wrong direction and take out half the snack bar.) As such, Triathletes are regarded with general mistrust, since their amphibious nature leads other cyclists to view them as slimy interlopers.
Which leads me to their aversion to fun. One does not ride, one “trains.” If one can train more effectively on a computrainer indoors than out in the great, beautiful outdoors, then one trains indoors. Also, like the Roadie, the Triathlete will adopt any technique, practice, or equipment option that promises an advantage. But unlike the Roadie, the Triathlete will gladly pay full retail for it. Also, the Triathlete will not use it properly. Just like they’re always rushing to the next thing in their races (swimming to ride, riding to run, running to stand still), they also purchase their equipment according to a checklist. The Roadie will at least use that $500 carbon crank with a state-of-the-art clipless pedal and perhaps a pair of handmade shoes. The Triathlete, on the other hand, will simply have the shop install some flat pedals on that crank and stick with the Reeboks. Nobody is certain as to why Triathletes aren’t cheating freeloaders like their Roadie cousins, but my theory is that it’s because many triathlons don’t allow drafting.
Why other cyclists don’t like them:
They’re the turduckens of the cycling world.
Compatibility with other cyclists:
Can occasionally mix with Roadies, like when you see a couple of pigeons hanging out with a bunch of seagulls.
The Urban Cyclist
First of all, the Urban Cyclist is a distinct entity from the person who simply lives and rides a bicycle in the city, in the same way that somebody who listens to metal occasionally is not necessarily a metalhead. Also, the Urban Cyclist is not a new phenomenon by any means. However, unlike other phyla such as the Roadie and the Triathlete, the Urban Cyclist’s look and attire don’t evolve according to innovations in equipment. Instead, the Urban Cyclist undergoes a complete aesthetic reinvention every decade or so depending on the Zeitgeist, just like David Bowie used to do.
Back in the late eighties and early nineties, mountain bikes were cool, so that’s what Urban Cyclists used to ride. But since the cycling Zeitgeist is currently track bikes and fixed-gears, that’s what Urban Cyclists are riding now. Of course, it’s not quite as simple as that—Urban Cyclists on track bikes are continuing to break apart into increasingly specialized subgroups. Some like to ride fast, some like to look like they ride fast, and some like to do tricks. Naturally, clothing and equipment vary. But the majority of Urban Cyclists still share certain characteristics:
—While often in their twenties, Urban Cyclists can survive well into their forties before either finally accepting other types of cycling or moving on to some other trendy form of transportation, such as Vespas or café racer motorcycles.
—Urban Cyclists generally laugh at people who wear brightly colored Lycra, though they fail to find equal humor in their own color-coordinated bicycles, boutique clothing, or the fact that riding for more than a few hours in jeans is liable to turn your crotch into a microcosm of the Everglades.
—The Urban Cyclist professes a great love of and respect for track racing, despite the fact that track racers all wear brightly colored Lycra. Also, the Urban Cyclist generally has a long list of reasons why he or she can’t make it to the velodrome with his or her $4,000 track bike, though they’re “totally dying” to do so.
—The Urban Cyclist is one of the very few groups of cyclists among whom cigarette smoking is not only acceptable but considered “cool,” which is sort of like being really into performance cars but driving around with rags shoved up your tailpipe.
—The Urban Cyclist is extremely sensitive to cold or, perhaps more accurately, will always use cold as an excuse to put on more boutique clothing (did I mention they love clothes?) and will actually wear a bandana on his or her face cowboy-style in temperatures as high as sixty degrees.
—Urban Cyclists endlessly seek “authenticity,” and are often fond of “vintage” bicycle frames. While their track bikes do not necessarily need to be vintage, they will only ride non—fixed- gear bicycles that are vintage. They will also make fun of other riders on brand-new, off-the-rack track bikes. However, since most Urban Cyclists are roughly half the age of their vintage bikes, they’re clearly not the original owners. So really, this means they’re actually less a
uthentic and more contrived than the riders of off-the-rack bikes.
In terms of appearance, the Urban Cyclist look is evolving, but presently it is still an appropriation of three distinct subcultures:
1. Eighties “peace punks” or “squatter punks” (also called “crusties”). From this group, the Urban Cyclist appropriated the tight black jeans, the canvas sneakers, the ratty sweatshirt, the sleeve tattoos, and the studded belt and/or exposed keys.
2. Bicycle messengers, whose lifestyle (and consequently appearance) often overlapped with the peace punks. From the messengers, the Urban Cyclist took the giant messenger bag, the track bike, the chopped handlebars, and the frame stickers.
3. Ironic preppy. Since so few Urban Cyclists actually have roots in any of these lifestyles, there’s generally a neatly pressed polo-esque undercurrent to their look. This is manifest in such elements as snug sweaters, close-fitting dark blue jeans or capris cuffed Audrey Hepburn—style, and slip-on canvas sneakers.
Also, the newer breed of Urban Cyclist is increasingly interested in performing tricks. This enables them to socialize and enjoy their bikes without having to ride them all that much. The fixed-gear freestyler takes his or her cues less from the above and more from “streetwear” and haute hip-hop fashion. They say things like “holla,” they “peep” things instead of looking at them, and they call colors “colorways.”
It should also be noted that, unlike earlier Urban Cyclists (or in fact almost every other type of cyclist), the average age of the fixed-gear freestyler is decreasing instead of increasing. Because it is well suited to driveways and suburban cul-de-sacs, fixed-gear freestyling is becoming a teenage pursuit. Indeed, fixed-gear freestyling is one of the fastest-growing cultures in the United States—as long as by “culture” you mean “sneaker market.”
Why other cyclists don’t like them:
They’re trendy.
Compatibility with other cyclists:
Will sometimes mingle with Roadies, track racers, or Righteous Cyclists.
The Messenger
Like cobblers, blacksmiths, cowboys, and Luke Wilson, bicycle messengers continue to exist despite increasing irrelevance and a constantly shrinking demand for their labors. Even though the rapid disappearance of paper means they have less and less to deliver, no other cyclist is as romanticized as the Messenger, especially outside of the cycling world. They have even been immortalized in the 1986 film Quicksilver starring Kevin Bacon. (Quicksilver is the greatest bicycle messenger movie ever made, inasmuch as it is the only bicycle messenger movie ever made, and it does for messengers what Disorderlies starring the Fat Boys did for hip-hop, which is make it look embarrassingly cartoonish.) Interestingly, despite being on the wane, Messengers are at the peak of their stylistic importance, as evidenced by their influence on Urban Cyclists all over the world.
Of course, people aren’t taken with all messengers—they’re just taken with the “cool” ones. These aren’t the ones who deliver things on bicycles because it is the only type of work available to them; rather, they’re the ones with expensive college degrees who scoff at Quicksilver even though it’s probably the movie that made them want to be Messengers in the first place. In this sense, being a Messenger is less a job than it is a lifestyle choice, and they’re sort of a cross between surfers and stylish mail carriers. Still, the fact that they shuttle pieces of paper from one office to another completely by choice does not prevent them from acting like a downtrodden segment of society, nor does it prevent Urban Cyclists from lionizing them.
Most importantly, unlike other cyclists who will try to recruit new prospects, Messengers often discourage aspiring Messengers. This is because the mystique of the Messenger depends on people thinking it’s hard, and if people discover that riding around the city all day is actually pretty easy and also a lot of fun they might start running their own errands and the entire house of spoke cards may topple.
Why other cyclists don’t like them:
They act as though they’re performing a public service, despite the fact that they’re the only ones out of all of us who are actually getting paid.
Compatibility with other cyclists:
Will allow Urban Cyclists to look at them and drink near them at bars. They hate monied interlopers, yet they will also model articles of clothing that cost more than their monthly salary for purveyors of Urban Cycling gear.
The Beautiful Godzilla
The Beautiful Godzilla is a particular kind of urban female cyclist who rides as though the rest of the world were created simply to yield to her. She’s generally young, good-looking, and clad in expensive clothes. She also rides an old three-speed or perhaps a ten-speed or Dutch city bike, carries her handbag on the edge of her handlebars, and if she has a basket it usually contains a small dog or perhaps a baguette. She’s on her cell phone at all times, and her approach to cycling in a densely populated city is a combination of self-entitlement and Mr. Magoo—type dumb luck. Like any self-entitled person, she can’t imagine a car would possibly hit her, even if she’s riding against traffic and it’s coming right at her. Actually, you sort of find yourself disappointed when it doesn’t. And just like Mr. Magoo would wander into a construction site and a girder would materialize right as he was about to walk off the scaffolding, the Beautiful Godzilla blithely rides through red lights and busy intersections, emerging on the other side unscathed and just as photogenic as she was when she entered it.
There’s also a male counterpart to the Beautiful Godzilla. Everything above applies, except he sports a fauxhawk, wears loafers without socks, and looks like the Sacha Baron Cohen character Bruno, or something out of Zoolander.
Why other cyclists don’t like them:
They should be dead but aren’t.
Compatibility with other cyclists:
Will accept deliveries from Messengers; will develop crushes on Messengers.
Retro-Grouches
Unlike the Urban Cyclist, who simultaneously seeks to marry the newest and trendiest to the oldest and most authentic, the Retro-Grouch always dwells approximately fifteen to twenty years in the past. This is because the Retro-Grouch has a passionate respect for the tried and true, as well as a profound disdain for anything that is either gimmicky or obsolete. Yes—older is not necessarily better for the Retro-Grouch. He has as little patience for yesterday’s tubular tires as he does for today’s fragile carbon fiber—spoked race wheel. The Retro-Grouch likes only what has proven itself over long periods of time yet has not yet been replaced by something better—though when it is replaced by something better, he won’t adopt it for at least ten to fifteen years to make sure that it is better.
Furthermore, you will find Retro-Grouches in virtually every area of cycling, though some areas inherently exclude Retro-Grouches. For example, you will never find a Retro-Grouch Triathlete (just like you’ll never find a vegetarian whaler). Similarly, you won’t see any Retro-Grouch Urban Cyclists, either. (Retro-Grouch Urban Cyclists are called “adults.”) You will, however, find Retro-Grouches on the road, on mountain bikes, at the track, and certainly randonneuring and touring. (Randonneuring and touring is Retro-Grouchery in action—they’re what pilgrimages to the Bodhi Tree are to Buddhists, or what Star Trek conventions are to nerds.) Retro-Grouches often have engineering degrees, know people who have engineering degrees, or have read many Internet forum postings written by people with engineering degrees. Also, much of their reasoning is sound, if irritating. Hallmarks of the Retro-Grouch include:
A Hatred of “Boutique” Wheelsets
Bicycle wheels are a lot like Tom Hanks movies. Back in the old days, Tom Hanks was an integral part of strong, reliable, entertaining ensemble comedies such as Splash, The Money Pit, and even The ‘Burbs. But then, something happened. People liked Tom Hanks so much they were willing to pay for All Hanks, All the Time. Hence, we had the turning point, which was Forrest Gump. And while people enjoyed Forrest Gump, and Castaway, and even The Road To Perdition, by the time we got
to that unfortunate movie The Terminal where Tom Hanks lives in an airport, it got to be a bit too much.
Similarly, bicycle wheels used to be built by hand from an assortment of rims, spokes, and hubs from different manufacturers. These were chosen by the builder to best suit the rider’s use. The hub was Hanks, the rim was John Candy, and the spokes were Daryl Hannah. But around the time that Forrest Gump came out (coincidence? I think not!) manufacturers realized they could make a whole wheel instead of selling someone just a rim, or a hub. Furthermore, it would be a uniform color, have branding all over it so it popped in photos, and be ready to ride right out of the box. Of course, shops loved that (pre-built equals no labor), and people did too—they cost a lot, but they looked really cool. However, these wheels (often called “boutique” wheels) were and are often less durable than traditional “ensemble” wheels, and also require proprietary parts. (Tom Hanks won’t act with just anybody anymore—you better have the right management and representation, and Hanks better get a producing credit!) The Mavic Ksyrium is sort of the Terminal of boutique wheels in that it is fraught with problems yet still nobody seems to want to force Mavic to address them—they just buy it anyway. Does that make me a Retro-Grouch? I don’t know. But I do miss early Tom Hanks.