This Bike Is Like A Tatoo Because...

I've never had a tatoo, and I probably never will have one. Every once in a while, I see one I like.  However, even seeing such a tatoo has never made me want one.  

It's not that I have any religious or philosophical objection to tatoos.  Nor am I afraid of the needles, at least not anymore:  After all, I have had surgery.  And, even though I grew up in a time when tatoos were associated with outlaw bikers, prisoners and the sorts of military folk who live, work and die by the motto Caedite eos.  Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius, I have never had any fear of, or prejudice against those who have their bodies pricked and painted.  Perhaps my attitude is a result of having two uncles--one of whom is my godfather--with tatoos.

Even when I see a tatoo I like on someone else, I have no wish to get one for myself.  Perhaps it's hypocritical, but I find myself thinking, "Good for him (or her)."

I feel something similar about some of the wild bike finishes and color schemes I see.  I saw an example parked near Columbus Circle today:

I had to go inside a Starbuck's to take the photo because the bike was parked too close to the glass wall for me to take a photo from the outside. Believe it or not, I actually liked the look:  In some strange way, those colors and shapes actually work together.  

Still, I would never make any of my own bikes look anything like that.  And I definitely would not put wheels like those on any bike of mine.  But if that bike makes its owner happy, that's what matters.  Right?

A Golden Gate To A Jersey Joke

Because I've been around bicycles for ever and ever (OK, since the last Ice Age, at least) and because I have a vivid imagination, I can answer all sorts of "What's that?" inquiries.  Sometimes I find myself doing that for customers in bike shops even though I haven't worked in one in years.

But I have to admit that yesterday I saw something that stumped me.  I was in Bicycle Habitat--where I bought three of my four Mercians--and I saw a bike hanging from the ceiling. 

At first glance, I thought it was just another fixie with a weird paint job.  I saw the "Langster" name  and realized it was yet another iteration of what may be Specialized's best-selling bike, at least in certain urban neighborhoods.  

I didn't mind the color scheme, but the graphics were a bit much for my taste.  But I couldn't help but to notice another strange detail:

When I saw it, I thought of all of those bikes I see with the stubs or bases of water bottle cages, the cage having broken off.  Very often, I suspect, the person riding the bike has no idea of what that piece is, as he or she probably inherited the bike from someone or bought it on Craig's List or in a thrift store. The cage had probably broken off before the person bought or inherited it and the bike probably sat around for years, or even decades.

So I wondered why someone would buy a brand-new bike with a broken-off water bottle cage.  One shop employee explained what it is:

"It's a bottle opener," he explained, "shaped like the Golden Gate Bridge."

"Ohh, I see...", which of course I didn't.  

All right, I thought, I can understand that someone would feel the need to have a bottle opener on a bike. Such a person probably doesn't carry a keyring, much less a pocketknife or any other implement that would have a bottle opener on it. (If that person were really in the know, he or she would have a Maillard Helicomatic tool, whether or not he or she has a Maillard Helicomatic hub!)  After all, such things would not fit into the pockets of a hipster's too-tight jeans--and would poke holes in the pockets of a $200 jersey.

Maillard Helicomatic Tool.  The left side is the world's best bottle opener.

As I was making that completely pointless analysis to myself, the Habitat employee said something that really got me scratching my head:  The Golden Gate Bridge bottle opener, he explained "adds about $300 to the base price of the bike".

"And it's a $600 bike".

"Yes, it is. Believe it or not, we just sold one of those--yes, for $900--to a guy from Jersey." 

OK, I won't make any snide remarks about Snooki's home state--and not just because I lived there for ten years!

Don't Forget Your Lycra!

Here's something to give new meaning to the term "fashion police":

In the UK town of Bath (as in Chaucer's "Wife of..."), constables stopped cyclist Tim Burton, who was riding a fixed-gear bike.  That in itself is fairly unusual in that area, as it's fairly hilly, so not many people ride fixies.  

But, as Burton explained, the bike has dropped bars (as, ahem, a real fixed-gear bike should ;-)) and, to a casual observer, might look like a road bike.  Turns out, there'd been a rash of "garage and shed break-ins"in which bikes--mainly road bikes--were taken, according to Officer Keith James.  So what made Officer James think Burton was un voleur de bicyclette?

Sit down before you read the answer:  Burton wasn't wearing any lycra.

Yes, you read that right.  Apparently, Officer James thought Burton wasn't a "real" cyclist and therefore had no business riding as good a bike as his.  "Maybe I didn't look hipster enough," he mused.

After performing a check of the bike's serial number and Burton's background, the constables released Burton with his bike.  Even after his ordeal, he said, "It's nice to see them looking out for pinched bikes.  I told (the officer) I appreciated it."  And he certainly didn't miss the irony:  "It's amusing that I've been stopped for no Lycra!"

Now,if I were to wear Lycra, that would really be a crime!