1. I both hate and won’t do without certain cycling-related things.

2. I’m a whiny, unappreciative bitch.

3. I spend way too much time wishing cycling was like it was in the good old days. You know, “when I was a kid.”

Here is a list of the things I’ve realized that I hate, but also am not willing to do without. Because, in the end, regardless of inconvenience, they have value. and provide conveniences of their own.

Filling tires before every ride.

For instance, I’m sick and tired of having to check my tires every single damn time I take my bike out, else I risk one (or multiple) flats.

Because when I was a kid (Go ahead, roll your eyes. I understand.) if my tire wasn’t flat it was good enough. And how many flats did I get by being completely oblivious to my air pressure? Less than one per year.

Now I get a flat every time I just wish I could ignore it. Which means that I probably have one right this moment.

On the other hand, I love my air pump, it’s cool gauge, and that I don’t have to walk my bike to a gas station to fill my tires.

Cycling Shorts.

When I was a kid I’d ride my bike all day long, every day of the week, all summer break, and never have an buttache.

There were no fookin’ cycling shorts, and if their were I would have scoffed at them.

I do appreciate the added comfort my cycling shorts allow me, and the fact that their skinny little pad actually protects my hinterparts better than any cushioned, springy seat. But it irks me no end that I need them, need to spend money on them, need to take time to put them on, need to wash them separately so they last as long as possible.

Cycling Computers.

Why do I need one of these things? I never cared how far I rode, what the exact percent grade a hill was, my exact speed, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, when I was a kid. I just went.

Now I feel naked if I don’t have my Garmin with me. Or, God forbid, its battery should die while I’m out on a ride. Please, Sweet Baby Jeebus, forbid it.

And it’s worse than that.

When I got my first cycling computer just having it was good enough. Then I obsessed over knowing how fast and how far it’d gone, then about keeping typed logs of my progress. Now, a simple, basic computer is not enough. I. Must. Have. A. Garmin (until there’s some reasonably priced and reliable substitute).

It’s pathetic.

Knowing that it’s pathetic I will continue to obsess over it, and continue to hate that I need it at all.

Oiling Chain and adjusting derailleur cables.

I actually did keep up with oiling my chain when I was a kid, because it helped extend chain life.

But now, instead of grabbing my dad’s oil can, which was full of car oil, and clicking a few drops onto the chain and gears, I need some stupid fookin’ special chain oil. Dry chain oil, wet chain oil. Because the Universe may come to an end if whatever kind of oil is better for whatever type of bike in whatever conditions isn’t used.

But what really irks me about all this is that it isn’t just my chain anymore. Now it’s my derailleurs, too.

Because in oiling the derailleurs I save wear and tear on the cables and increase the amount of time I need between tuneups / cable adjustments.

Ya know what? I never adjusted a derailleur cable when I was a kid. I’d ride my bike till the cable broke (usually 3 or 4 years), my dad would put a new cable on and adjust whatever needed adjusting, and blammy, another few years of riding ahead of me.

Why are cables and derailleurs made to such whimpy-arse standards that they have to be babied like . . . well, like babies? Why?

Which brings me to . . .

Cables and chains.

Modern cables and chains stretch like freakin’ Stretch Armstrong (who I’m pretty sure is no relation to His Deposed Holiness Lance Armstrong).

Yeah, the above mentioned oiling of derailleurs helps keep cables from stretching, but (say it with me), when I was a kid this was never a problem. There was no constant cable adjusting, no oiling of derailleurs because you trembled with fear over the possibility of your cable stretching and you might lose the ability to shift properly in the middle of a long ride.

And when I was a kid you didn’t have to so swap out your chain every year, two years at most, because they’d stretched so far that it affects your derailleur’s ability to adjust and to shift properly.

No, if you had a bike for 10 years, chances were you had the same chain on it the whole time. If it sagged you maybe pulled a link off of it (and cursed what a pain in the behindwards it was to do so, but that’s another story) and threw it back on.

The only time you ever got a new chain was when it snapped. Though they didn’t usually actually snap. They tended to brake on one side of a single link. Yes, due to lack of oiling, which quickly taught you to love your dad’s oil can full of car oil. See above.

Pedals.

There were no “platform pedals,” “clipelss pedals,” yada, yada, yada. It was just pedals.

Toe straps were an abomination.

Now I have these mechanical “clipless” pedals. Sure, they keep my feet from slipping off when it’s wet out or when the road or trail is bumpy, and once you get used to “clipping in” and “clipping out” (idiotic terms, considering that they’re called “clipless” pedals) they’re safer than riding platform pedals (which should just be called “pedals” and left at that).

It isn’t so much the fact of needing them that bothers me. It’s the additional expense, the special shoes (another additional expense).

And guess what? You have to fooking oil them to keep them operating smoothly! MORE oil for another prima donna, prissy, pansy-arse bike part.

Prep time.

But the thing that really gets me steamed is that all of this means that I can’t just roll my bike out the back door, throw my leg over the saddle and take off pedaling.

No, each of these things adds time and effort to the ride, BEFORE THERE EVEN IS A RIDE!

A few minutes to dig out my special cycling shorts and wiggle into them. A few more minutes to wiggle out of them later, and still a few more to hand wash them or to wash them separately on gentle so that I can get the greatest amount of use out of them (because they’re stupidly expensive and I can’t afford to replace them).

A few minutes to check the tire pressure and inflate to whatever PSI is needed.

A few minutes to get the oil out, oil the chain, the derailleurs, the clipless pedals.

A few minutes to get the Garmin off the charger, clip it into its cradle, turn it on, let it cycle through it’s start up and find satellites.

A few minutes to get out my special clipless pedal shoes, change into them, get the laces tucked away so the don’t snag on the chain.

More than the individual items themselves, it’s the time they require in advance of a ride EVERY DAMN RIDE, that really drive me bat guano crazy.

The benefits of all these things – bike shorts, cycling computers, light-weight cables, chains and derailleurs, clipless pedals – once they’re added up, come with a godawful lot of inconvenience and added expense. Yet, they bring enough good, enough of their own types of convenience to the table that I am not willing to do without them.

Instead I just whine and complain about them, while simultaneously being thankful that I have them (kind of).

Why can’t cycling be more simple and less costly? Like when I was a kid.

AG2R

I have a grudging respect for a team who, in the face of universal bitching over their corporate colours, have refused to bow to peer pressure and face 2014 with a raucous ‘Fuck you! MOAR BROWN!’.  This strategy might prove a little dangerous, as none of the riders will be targeting their respective National Championships for fear of ending up riding a season dressed like Mr Hankey the Christmas Poo.

Most likely to be seen:  doing absolutely nothing all year then winning a middle-week stage of the Tour.

Astana

What happens when you take the meanest motherfuckers from the hardest European cycling gulags, and dress them for season upon season in turquoise and lemon?  This is the psychological experiment the Kazakh Mini-Cyc has been conducting sine 2007, with mixed success.  This year they’ve ramped up the turquoise to try and make Nibali really angry.

Most likely to be seen:  frantically deleting emails.

BMC

It looks like the budget for developing a new kit design was blown on Cadel Evans’ HRT and Taylor Phinney’s Brylcream allowance.  The once edgy and stylish BMC get-up is now looking a little tired.  Consider this a written request for a re-boot in 2015.

Most likely to be seen:  very quietly replacing the old guard with a new generation.

Belkin

Although I’m totes over the rake of black ‘wish we wore Rapha’ kits that have cropped up for this year, I like the simple style of this one.  And I like that Belkin are pioneering a brave new ‘Your Name Here’ sponsorship strategy for the major races.  And, because I’m nothing if not contrary, I like the Belkin green with the Bianchi Celeste on the bikes too, so ner*.

Most likely to be seen:  balls deep in a blood feud with Movistar.

*The Cyclist wishes it to be known that he has attempted to point out to me just how utterly wrong I am about this.

Cannondale

Everyone’s favourite bum-pinching, beard-dying, Slovakian mean green biking machine and his henchmen keep their 2013 look.  At least it’s not black.

Most likely to be seen:  with matching collars and cuffs.

Europcar

Very minor changes from the 2013 jersey for Europcar’s step back up to the top ranks, sticking with the dark green ‘n’ black.  Following the sad demise of Euskaltel, I’ll personally be looking to Europcar to take up the mantle of peloton skittles.  And I’m pleased to report they’re already starting well on this track with Voeckler’s Australian collarbone antics.

Most likely to be seen:  wearing spotty shorts in July.

FDJ

It is with a heavy heart I still mourn the loss of the perv-tastic white wet-weather danger kit, with FDJ continuing to opt for MOR mid-bleu.  Quel ennui.

Most likely to be seen:  in a Bastille day breakaway.

Garmin

Last year’s Gar-meh has had a welcome facelift, with a particularly cheeky rear view accessorised with the team’s new spirit animal, the WWF Panda.  We’ll have to wait for 2014’s doping scandals to blow up to see if the patented Vaughters Teflon coating from 2012 and 2013 has been applied to this year’s jerseys.

Most likely to be seen:  accompanied by a man in a panda suit. At all times.

Giant-Shimano

For a rebrand of last year’s most exciting team, this is almost criminally dull.  I am, however, prepared to award points based on the fact that Giant stepped up to title sponsor at short notice.  I expect better in 2015, and by better I mean flames and guns and ninjas and shit.

Most likely to be seen:  on all of the podiums, and most of the podium girls.

Katusha

More white, less red.  Katusha peaked in 2011 with a kit featuring the outline of the spectacular and iconic St Basil’s Cathedral – because why would you not have that on a jersey? It rocks So. Hard. Sadly, now replaced with the Russian letter ‘Oooosh’.  Which does not rock so hard.

Most likely to be seen:  throwing everything behind J-Ro. 

Lampre- Merida

The switch from a sky blue to a navy blue base renders this notably less of a hot mess than last year’s kit.  Lampre, now dangerously below their UCI regulation Italian Team Hot Mess quota, look to have been forced to rectify the situation with a hot mess of a (rumoured) late addition to the team roster.

Most likely to be seen:  a bloody mile off.

Lotto-Belisol

A retro-fabulous complete makeover.  Well-played, you big sexy Belgian bastards.  You’ll still peak too early in the season though.

Most likely to be seen:  Tearing it up at the Tour…. of Qatar.

Movistar

No change, yet again for Movistar.  Can’t say I really blame them, though this is still looking good.  All eyes on the Quintanas (Quintanae?) for 2014.

Most likely to be seen:  climbing the fuck out of shit.

Omega Pharma Quick Step

This is hands down the worst kit of the year, with zero redeeming features.  The blue piping made me do a bit of a sick in my mouth.  I can only assume it’s to encourage Cav over the line in first so he can get the disgusting thing off.  I won’t look at it any more.

Most likely to be seen:  attempting a classic shake-and-bake in the sprints.

Orica Greenedge

Those dirty sweet Aussies keep their green and blue good looks for another year, albeit with a few minor tweaks.  Gorgeous.  I’m pretty sure these bad boys can do no wrong.

Most likely to be seen:  checking the height of their bus.

Sky

Based on the 2014 ‘Black is the new Blue’, the team the others want to look like.  We’ve all seen the stripper skinsuit and it can’t just be me who’s imagining team camp Brazilians and enormous breakfast bust-ups over who has to go behind Stannard in TTT practice.  Given the massive public enthusiasm for the Rapha/Sky hookup, this year the range has been expanded to include a fully poseable My Little Eisel complete with realistic brushable hair and Rapha branded Limited Edition Team Issue Dream Diary*.

Most likely to be seen:  furiously denying team rifts.

*Seriously. I made that up. They’d sell out if they did though.

Tinkoff-Saxo

When banks collide.  Last year’s corporate clusterfuck lives to fight another day, and its still fugly as hell.  Look deep into Alberto’s eyes in the publicity shots and you can hear his desperation.  “Help me. Help me.”

Most likely to be seen:  having a massive social media meltdown

Trek

A kit that literally screams “We are desperate for a headline sponsor!.”  Even the perpetually grinny Fabian Cancellara is struggling to look happy about this.  It’s just so goddamn dreary.

Most likely to be:  Something – Trek this time next year.

* * * * *

Editor’s note: For an excellent reference of what the 2014 peloton will look like, head over to Inrng’s blog post on team jersey fashion that’s a nice companion to this piece.

The child pedaled the bicycle through the small, quiet neighborhood, pleased with the  clicking sound it made: tick, tick, tick, tick. From the little houses that lined the curving streets, no sound came, just the drifting smells of dinner rising into summer’s twilight. Wrapped around the post and handlebars was the chain and lock and it draped to one side slightly, the blue vinyl covering the chain, and the small padlock bumping just a bit. The child carried the chain and lock because the bicycle was precious; it would stand parked for awhile, and must be protected.

Eventually, the route would  find the favorite shortcut—past a limestone wall and a historical marker, down a hill to where mystery lay in the ghost of an event now scraped bare, past the Cock Robin ice cream parlor that sold triple scoops of sherbet, and malteds, up a sidewalk next to fast traffic – to the destination: the library.

The library had been originally built of big squares of local lime rock, and it sat on a small rise back from the main street. The building has seen an awkward addition of steel panels and glass that comprised a meeting room and a reading room, the stacks of art books and Isaac Asimovs; the older building now housed the children’s books and a grandfather clock that would appear in dreams forever.

In front of the library was a sculpture of slots for bicycle parking, and the child dismounted, spun the dial of the padlock and then carefully wound the chain between wheel and a slot. The kickstand hovered above contact, but the child leaned the bicycle a bit in that direction—in case it was bumped, it would not fall into a tangle, a bend, a scrape of paint.

The child would be at a small table, looking at each book in the selected stack—too many to carry under the arm—and be surprised because there stood Father, a small assortment of  books  already curved against his wrist. There was always the flush of joy seeing Father. Father shifted his gaze. It would be dark soon: time to go home, they would ride back together, are you ready? The librarian called softly at the door, “Goodnight, Mr. Dianna”, but Father was a shy man, a gentle man, and did not reply.

There was a headlight on the child’s bicycle, powered by a generator that spun on the front wheel, creating a slight drag. The light would shine more brightly if the bicycle was pedaled faster, but the books under one arm made this difficult. The two bikes clicked along the small streets, the drag from the little generator making a small whine answered by crickets. Father and child did not speak, but the child was filled with warm joy to have this rare ride with Father.

The future would find the sudden death of Father. A decade later, the child sold the bicycle, keeping Father’s bicycle—the only physical memento to carry forward. For a time the child was a young person working as a housepainter, riding Father’s bicycle to work in a city far away from that stone library. Eventually, Father’s bicycle would hang with ripped tires, waiting for the hand of restoration. When that day would come, there would be no vinyl-sleeved chain and padlock, there would be the best of locks for this most precious of bicycles.

They’ve always been part of my life. But, not always in whatever way I want them to be at the time.

Right now it isn’t so much that I always want to ride them.

I want to gather them, but not collect them. I want to clean them up, repair them, give them to people who truly need them.

It’s such a sad thing to me when a perfectly good bike sits in a basement abandoned, or is thrown in the trash.

I also want to write about them. I love writing about bikes. Not about professionals and racing, and carbon fiber and titanium. But about simple people with simple bikes and how they’re connected to each other. About cruisers and skipchains and balloon tires, and prewar and postwar and style and unpretentious elegance.

My job, working a route on the far north side of Chicago, affords me to see a lot of things. Unfortunately, it does not often afford me the time to stop and photograph and interview, or even to just simply talk with and about all that it allows me to see.

Last week I rescued an old, steel-framed Giant Upland from a basement. It’s a beautiful blue, and it has a rack with collapsible cage-style panniers on the back.

Now it sits in my living room, waiting until I can afford to replace the cables, cable housings and pedals, plus maybe the chain, then put some fenders on it, and add a big basket up front. Then give it away.

Lesli Cohen, Editor of Cyclismas, is aware of what I want to achieve with this bike, and others I find. Together we’re hoping to get things rolling and maybe get three to six bikes per year into the hands of Chicago area homeless.

Right now we’re doing it with no money and no help, so the process is getting rolling slowly. But it’s still a dream and it excites me.

In the meantime the old blue Giant Upland sits in my living room, like a guest who I told could stay for a week while they tried getting back on their feet, but who never left.

About a month ago I was driving  in Chicago on Peterson (6000 north), heading east toward Ridge. There, on the north side of the street, was the most fantastic old woman. She was riding a cruiser in the same direction.

She wore an ankle-length, pleated gray skirt, a baggy floral top, and an absolutely enormous, wide-brimmed hat. Around the crown of the hat was a ring of giant flowers.

She rode effortlessly, sitting tall, her back perfectly straight.

The back of the bike had a rack and panniers, the front had a deep basket. There were plastic bags full of only she and God knew what, piled up high at both ends of the bike.

The sight of the glorious creature made my heart race. I had to talk to her!

But there was no safe place to stop and nowhere to park. By the time I drove a half mile down the road, turned around and came back, she was gone. I pulled into the private parking lot of a retirement home, where there was at least a dozen people standing around talking. No one knew her, or what I was talking about.

I drove up and down nearby side streets. She was on none of them.

I’m constantly coming up short in these plans. This leaves me feeling endlessly frustrated and worse, but no less excited about them.

I’ll keep chasing these little bike-related dreams of mine. If I chase them often enough eventually I’ll grab one.

“Cancellara, Cancellara, Cancellara”, that was what I hear an Italian gentlemen saying into his mobile phone that morning. Although I did not plan to watch out for any particular rider, I think that set the motivation (purpose?) for the day – to find out what happens to Cancellara.

I saw a group, with a little Swiss flag sticking out of their backpack, another holding a copy of La Gazetta dello Sport.

“Who are you here for?”

Turns out they are a family from the Flanders region in Belgium.

“Cancellara.” “We hope for Cancellara. If not, Tony Martin.”

The Tour of Flanders (the new parcours) passes in front of their house.

“Do you like the new parcours or the old?”

“Ah, the new, for sure, it passes in front of the house. See you in Flanders next year. In the final 5-6 km, look for the house with the big Swiss flag.”

“Where will you be watching today?”

“At the finish. The Cancellara Fan Club will also be at the finish.”

“Ok. See you there.”

I decided to walk the course near the finish, and then go to the finish line. I wanted pictures of riders as they come to the line, and also the podium. I had never done the podium before. I checked the startlist, and made a mental note of how much time I can spend walking – I wanted to catch certain riders as they start coming in.

I did catch some people from the Cancellara Fan Club out on course. However, the Polish fans were the ones whom were memorable for me. They were visible, and they made their mark – road signs, flags, people.

I was almost a little too late to the finish line because I got too caught up with crowd-watching. I also got a little lost and confused by the barricades. It’s a bit annoying, to be able to see where I want to get to, but not be able to walk to it directly.

I just got to the finish in time to see Bert Grabsch coming in. So, I would get the top 20 finishers. Not too bad. For me, it was interesting to finally see the guys in the timing “hot seat.” It was Kanstantsin Siutsou, Dennis Rohan, and Nicolas Roche in the three provisional places. Their times were good, and held for some time – the top men would be around that level.

I’ve always wondered how training professionally shapes the bodies of cyclists; I was quite fascinated by the size and tone of Roche’s leg muscles. The price for doing their job. Cycling really takes its toll on the riders’ bodies.

Once I started photographing, I switched into working mode and not sightseeing anymore. The riders came in, the times fell, and the tension and excitement rose. Cancellara? Martin? Wiggins? Will he? Won’t he? I also had a moment, when Rasmus Christian Quuade finished and collapsed in front of me. He really gave it all, and timed it just right.

As the tension was building, I was also starting to be nervous about catching the top 3 riders. I got most of who I wanted – Roy, Chavanel, Sergeant, Dowsett, Phinney, Wiggins. So far so good. But, then my shot of Cancellara coming in got blocked! Should I be more aggressive? Should I elbow for a better position? I don’t know, but I keep shooting, waiting for Martin.

The result was already settled well before the line, so I was looking at the other riders instead, and also turned to the crowds again. Tony Martin was having a little private moment, surrounded by photographers and cameramen. Again, should I also fight for the shot? Or just left him have this private moment?

As the riders were being prepared for the podium, I could see that Cancellara was not happy. Body language, facial expressions – not happy at all. It started to get emotional when some of the crowd was shouting “Bye bye, Cancellara.” He responds with a smile, and a wave.

That seemed to make the crowd a little happier. This is the last we will see of Cancellara in a worlds individual time trial. The emotion was strong, and I allowed myself some tears. Being on the ground is so much more intense than watching on the TV. I continue to take photos.

When the riders left the podium, I got a final photo of Cancellara leaving the podium for the press conference, with a minder putting a hand on his back. A small consolation. A poignant moment. Maybe we will get to see Cancellara at his best during road-racing, and the classics? The classics are what he loves the most, aren’t they? “I’ll watch out for you on the road,” I say.

It was Tony Martin’s day. His mom was there, and she looked proud.

Bradley Wiggins got some redemption for his season. But, not sure about this choice of tattoos though. However, it was ‘bye bye’ to a classy Cancellara. Thanks for the memories, Spartacus.

On May 20th, 2010, Floyd Landis’ allegations of extensive doping by Lance Armstrong and others was made public. At the time, Lance was in the middle of the Tour of California. He experienced a rare crash that very same day, which led to an even more rare decision to drop out of the race entirely.

As luck would have it, Bicycling Magazine was riding along in the team car with Johan Bruyneel, filming it all.  Within hours Bicycling had the video up for viewing.  It was a glimpse at a side of Mr. Armstrong that the world had never before seen.

This video showed a worried, nervous, confused, and perhaps even panicky side of Lance.  It seemed surprising to some that this had been posted at all.  Lance was notorious for exerting pressure on the media to make sure he maintained control of the narrative.

Less than two days later, Bicycling removed the video.  At first it seemed possible this was just an error, or that perhaps the content was being rearranged or updated.  But the video never appeared on their site again, and no explanation was ever offered.  For many, this confirmed the authority Lance had over the press.

I was lucky enough to have a cached copy of the web page available, and when I loaded it, the video was still working.  They had removed the link from their video page, but had not yet removed the actual video file, which was a plain mp4 file.  I still wasn’t sure if the removal was an accident or intentional, but I downloaded the file just in case it was about to disappear forever.

I didn’t do anything with the video immediately.  Even when it was clear that Bicycling‘s removal was no accident I sat on the video. Probably more out of laziness than anything. But the story continued.

In May of 2011 (May is not Lance’s month) Tyler Hamilton came out with his allegations on 60 Minutes.  Momentum grew, and a federal case against Lance and others was in the works later in 2011, and in parallel a USADA case against Lance was developed.  The federal case was dropped in early 2012 (although apparently not for lack of evidence), but the USADA case proceeded.  In April of 2012, Lance and Tyler had the unfortunate restaurant incident, and in May of 2012 Lance publicly commented in an Outside Magazine interview that he would not fight the USADA case if it went forward.

I’d been meaning to make this video available in some form for a long time.  With everything heating up, it finally seemed like it was time.  It was really not a decision I undertook lightly.  I did a lot of reading about fair use, and what did and did not qualify.  What I found convinced me that I could publish the entire video and still be protected.

One choice I had was to edit the video, use pieces of it, and add my own interpretations.  This is an approach that I was sure even without any research was standard fair use (although even being well within standard practices doesn’t necessarily prevent a lawsuit).  But (aside from more basic laziness) there was a very good reason why I didn’t want to do that.  In edited form, and with the original video unavailable, anything I did could be questioned for content.  “How do we know that’s what it meant when we can’t see the original?” And perhaps more importantly, I wanted people to consider the question of why the video had been pulled.  Without the entire original video available somewhere, this was impossible.  This is what ultimately convinced me that uploading the entire video was the right choice, and that it was fair use.

On May 14th, 2012 I finally got off my ass and uploaded the video to YouTube.

Fast forward again, to October 20th of this year, when Neil Browne (@neilroad on Twitter, where he is apparently a big deal) wrote an article about Lance’s bad day, and wondered what ever happened to this video.  Twitter was quick to answer, and directed him to my YouTube upload.

Four days later, after the video had been accumulating views for over a year, I received a notice from YouTube that “This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by Bicycling Magazine.” (I didn’t notice this until November 5th).

When YouTube does this, you can either accept the removal and go on with your life (the wise choice if it’s actually copyright infringement), or you can file a counter claim, which says that basically the claim by Bicycling was a mistake and that I had a right to post the video. This is the harder choice, because then Bicycling might be more likely to choose to sue me.  If they don’t, within ten days the video goes back up. But if they do sue me, that’s not going to be a good time.

It’s interesting to me that they’d pursue this right now.  The original removal made some sense.  Yes, you could call it weak, and caving to the apparent power of Lance.  But back then pretty much everyone was doing that to varying degrees.  Even after the Floyd allegations, Lance remained the golden goose for a long time, and everyone still wanted those eggs.

But now that’s all changed.  Lance confessed.  He’s been stripped of his wins, and had the title “disgraced” officially added to his name.  After the confession the chains were off for the media.  Suddenly we had a whole lot of news coverage that looked very different from what we had seen weeks earlier.

So given that, why would Bicycling request the removal of my uploaded copy of their video now?  One possibility is that they just didn’t want to be reminded of their dirty hands in the original removal of the video.  That’s a bit silly because as I said, most news organizations had dirty hands back then.

The other possibility is that Lance is finding ways to exert his influence again.  Indeed, competely independent of this incident, I’ve seen people online say that it seems that Lance is once again trying to control the story. There’s a movie coming out about him that’s not likely to be very flattering, and a little damage control could go a long way.  CyclingNews just did a big exclusive interveiw with him also, and he’s been more active on Twitter again.

So it’s also possible that the timing of this removal is that Lance is still a nice-looking goose, and Bicycling still wants another golden egg or two.

Ultimately this is what helped me make my choice.  I have filed a counter claim with YouTube.  The same media politics that likely caused its original removal might still be at work here, exerting control.  People should be aware of this, and have an opportunity to weigh in on what this means.

Now that I’ve made my choice, Bicycling has some options.  They can sue me.  I don’t think they can win, and I don’t think that’s going to put much polish on their brand.

Or they can do nothing.  My copy of the video will be back up on YouTube in a couple of weeks, and we can all quietly slink back into our corners and pretend it never happened, like a blind date gone bad.

But I’m going to offer a third choice.  Bicycling could put the video back up on their own website, permanently.  If they did this, I’d have no need of getting this video back up on YouTube.  It’d be a great demonstration that first of all they aren’t really interested in suing people for good faith fair usage of news content.  And more importantly it would demonstrate that they are their own master.  Their video would be home again, and they’d get all the credit and glory.

On the one hand, this may seem like just one little stupid video.  And really it is.  Hardly a game changer in the grand scheme of things and probably only of minor interest to even the most hardcore followers of cycling’s dark side.  But to me it seems that the cycling community has to get away from knee-jerk protectionism, and this is as good a place to do that as any.

Update:

I spoke with Peter Flax, managing editor of Bicycling Magazine this evening and he was able to clarify several issues, and squash some of my “conspiracy theories.”  Killjoy.

He said it was the hope that Bicycling Magazine would be able to get this video back up on their own website. This would be a win for everybody. The original creation and subsequent removal happened prior to his term as managing editor, and he hadn’t had a chance to look at the specifics in this case, but was able to offer some insight into reasons for the removals.

The video was produced in a sponsored content deal, in which the video producer (Bicycling Magazine) makes a deal with a sponsor to gain access for filming. Generally a deal like this is for joint ownership of the material so that Bicycling can use the material on their site, and the sponsor can use it for promotional purposes.

As Mr. Flax understood those events in this case, the sponsor (not specified by Mr. Flax) decided that the material was not consistent with the image they had hoped for, and requested that Bicycling take it down, and they complied.  He also told me that since that sponsorship agreement was no longer in place, it was his hope that this meant that they had the right to repost it on the bicycling.com website, but at the time we spoke he still hadn’t had a chance to look at the specifics of this particular agreement.

He also addressed the more recent removal of the video from YouTube.  First let me clarify that, despite some of my earlier comments on Twitter, Bicycling is apparently a copyright holder of this material, and so they did have every right to file their claim of infringement with YouTube.  He said filing the infringement claim was just normal business practice when they discover copyrighted material, which seems perfectly reasonable. While I still maintain that my particular usage is fair use, most cases of using entire unedited copies of material do not fall under fair use.

These are of course perfectly reasonable explanations that don’t require any so-called conspiracy theories with Lance pulling all the strings (although they don’t entirely preclude some influence).  Still, conspiracy theories are just more fun.

He also expressed some dismay that I had not contacted Bicycling staff prior to publishing this.  He’s probably right.  I’m not a journalist, I’m just some hack on the Internet who felt that this needed to be out in the open.  And in this new world, where ordinary citizens participate more and more in media, it isn’t clear to me exactly what my role should be.  But explanations are not the same as excuses.  With hindsight, I see that I should have contacted them first, and for that I’m sorry.

I’m a pretty mediocre bike racer, but this weekend, my name made cycling news. Not, like, a headline, but if you click on the results for this weekend’s NEPCX elite women’s race at Cycle-Smart International in Northampton, there I am on the same page as Crystal Anthony and Laura Van Gilder. I might send it to my grandma.

I’m a cat 3. There are easily 30-50 women racing regularly in the 3/4 fields of the northeast who are decisively better at cyclocross than me. I think they – all of them! you! – should be racing in the elite field at UCI races, too. Here’s why:

First, it’s easy. Somewhere between general and specialized knowledge of cycling regulations is the fact that what makes you “elite” is forking over the cash for an international license. The $90 sounds like a lot, but compared to the bikes and the kits and the travel and the entry fees over the ‘cross season, what’s another $90? You also have to learn how to pin numbers on your arms, which is no small task, but I have faith in the fact that you can find friends to do it for you.

Second, I was, in fact, good enough to do it: Saturday I had mechanical problems and had to run about a kilometer with my bike to get to the pit (n.b. the horrific experience of running/hobbling with your bike for an extended distance while trying not to look like a complete idiot is when you learn who your friends are), so I was pulled after two laps.

But Sunday, I finished on the lead lap, well within the UCI 80% rule – and several people finished behind me. Perhaps I didn’t do well comparatively (I got none of that cash money promised to the top 25), but I beat a few people who I always assumed were better than me because they had been stepping up to the elite start line long before I decided to.

If I can do it, so can everyone who has kicked my butt so far this year.

Third, and perhaps more importantly, it makes a statement. Something really awesome is happening in New England lately: women are showing up. Gloucester had almost 100 women in the 3/4 race on the first day. Providence was pushing 135 on both days. CSI had about 75-80 each day – almost exactly the same number of women that registered for Cross Crusade in Portland, except the latter had twice as many men. This is GREAT. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

But. But but but. When you take a step back and look at the bigger picture, its the elite races that get all of the attention. Those results go in the magazines, get posted on websites, and are more likely to live on into posterity. Those are the ones that the promoters put the most time, money, and effort into. Those are the ones that often pay equally.

Women are starting to carve out a niche for themselves, proving to race promoters and journalists and fans that they deserve the time and attention that they get on the schedule and in the prize money. But registration is still relatively low for the elite races, compared to both the men and the lower category.

What if those of us who are decent enough to pass for elites (and some who are way more than decent – you know who you are) did so? What if the top 25 women from the amateur field in any UCI race this year registered for the elite field? It would be sad for me because I’d get 55th rather than 30th, but overall it would be an excellent, ballsy move. People would notice. It would be Talked About. And it would be incredibly good for women’s cycling.

Or, you know, you could just keep angling for that podium/top 10 in the women’s 3/4 race, and I’ll continue rocking the bicep numbers like a pro.

In many places riding the sidewalk is illegal. The list of towns and cities that prohibit bikes on sidewalks is growing. But, it’s always a questionable choice when you consider the risks for bike vs pedestrian accidents.

Onward . . .

The obvious reasons that cyclists ride on a road are:

3. Because the law says they can.

2. Why not?

1. Because they’re crazy / have a death wish.

We’ll ignore those, and their mental instability.

What about the reasons that are not obvious? And should cyclists ride on the road? Should they be allowed to? Can they be helped via therapy and medication?

Most of those are beyond the scope of what I want to discuss today.

But, another question is implied by the original question: Why do cyclists ride on the road even when there’s a paved trail running right beside it?

To that there are several answers. Some of those answers are understood on a gut level, but without ever having been articulated, or thought out logically, or breaking through the fog of mental illness.

1. All asphalt is not created equal.

By that I don’t mean that some asphalt is an entire asphalt, while other asphalt is only 3/5th of an asphalt.

There are many varying grades and qualities of asphalt. The asphalt on the surface of a road is consistently of a better quality than the asphalt on a paved bike trail. The asphalt road surface is also faster than the asphalt bike trail.

This is not a difference that might be appreciated if you’re being powered along by something with a mechanical engine. But, it’s something very much felt, if not consciously appreciated, if you’re moving along powered by nothing save the muscles in your legs.

A mildly, sometimes even moderately, cracked road surface is almost always faster and more comfortable to ride on than any paved bike trail surface.

Why is it also more comfortable?

2. All asphalt construction is not created equal.

Paved roads are constructed in layers. At a minimum there is a compacted base (often of crushed limestone or, in the south, “soil cement”) a subsurface layer of asphalt, which may be inches thick, and the surface layer.

Each of these layers is constructed for a specific purpose, adds a specific quality to the finished road, and is required to meet or exceed specific standards (for instance a compaction standard for the base).

Roads are built to be fast, to provide a cushion, and to withstand the weight of motorized vehicles.

Bike trails are often constructed to stretch the available dollars. This allows more miles of trail to be paved, but sacrifices several levels of quality.

Bike trails rarely see their base compacted, at least to any standard. More likely it’s been scraped and leveled and called good enough. The only compacting, actually rolling, a bike trail can count on seeing, is to smooth out the surface after its laid down.

This means that something as simple and fragile as as grass root will easily cause bike trail asphalt to bulge and break. It means that bike trails are highly prone to cracking and splitting and that these cracks and splits will quickly become deeper, longer and wider.

This makes for a jarring, energy-sucking ride.

3. You know that little transition area of curbing at every intersection where a sidewalk or trail has an intersection with a road?

While they may look smooth enough, the various surfaces are just mismatched enough that they’ll jam your teeth every time you cross them on a bike.

If you ride on the road you don’t have to deal with that. Every intersection is just a continuation of smooth pavement.

4. The cyclists you see on the road, regardless of what their actual ability may be, are generally interested in going fast (whatever their personal rendition of fast may look like).

Bike trails are not amenable to fast riding, and not only because the surface itself is a slower surface.

• Most bike trail users (not just bike riders) are slow. This means that even in the best of situations a fast cyclist must weave in and out of trail traffic.
• These slower users of the trail tend to be oblivious to any other users of the trail. They meander from side to side, wobbling, zigging, zagging their way along.
• At time they travel in groups and these groups, sharing in the aforementioned oblivion, spread out over the full width of the trail.
• They let their kids ride or walk wherever they like, from one grassy edge all the way to the other, they allow their dogs to trail out far and wide, long leashes stretched out from one end of the world to the other. No consideration is given to the fact that someone may come up fast from behind or even from the other direction.
• A rider will call out to them, “I’m passing on your left,” or “I’m coming by you,” with what should be plenty of time for them to react, then the cyclist calls out again, and again. Yet, the pedestrians (or slower cyclists) remain immersed in their personal fog until they hear the sound of bike brakes grabbing hard. At which point they look indignantly at the cyclist for daring to intrude upon their daydreaming.

5. Bike trails are peppered with places that are dark and narrow and that provide little or no opportunity for escape, making them high risk places for cyclists to be beaten and robbed, or raped and murdered.

Do cyclists belong on the road? Do they contribute their “fair share” to road upkeep?

Yes. But, that’s for another article. One I’ll write maybe after my medication kicks in.

The particular padlock securing the mountain bike was an easy pick. Hit it with a hammer, just so, on both sides at the same time, and it would pop.

D hit it once. The lock twisted and didn’t give. Again. Not hard enough. Brace, swing. Pop.

A couple more seconds and the round-steel chain the lock had secured was pulled through the bike’s frame and tossed on the ground.

Then D was on top of the bike, pedaling jerkily toward a friend’s place. He for damn sure wasn’t taking it to his own digs.

For tonight he’d stash it inside the apartment. His friend would bitch about bringing stolen shit to his place. But this guy was easily shut up. Angry words up in his face, a shove, a smack, and he’d be cool with it all. Cool enough to stop his crying, at least.

In the morning D would ride the bike down the back alley to a Pakistani grocery where he could secret it in the basement. The store’s owner ran a lot of shit out of that place. A lot of shit. He’d pretend to not even see D roll in with the bike and disappear down the stairs with it, then tell him to help himself to a soda or something on his way out.

It’d chill down there for a year or longer.

* * * * *

They called him Maymay, but his name was something else. Something most people didn’t even remember and that somedays he wasn’t sure of, himself. He was in his later thirties, but looked like his later fifties and felt like a hard-worn later sixties.

His guts hurt all the time and he puked up blood at least half a dozen times every day.

The sun was high and bright and hot that day. It hurt his eyes and  made the slow, steady ache in his head turn into a low, sharp throbbing. He needed a drink. He was broke.

He hobbled out of the alley, hungry, weak, aching from another night sleeping on pavement with nothing but a ripped and filthy sleeping bag. He’d work his way down to McDonald’s and do some panhandling. His sleeping bag was rolled up and stowed in a heavyduty lawn and leaf trash bag that was beginning to wear out. He kind of carried it, kind of dragged it along with him.

D rolled up from behind him and startled the piss out of him. The dark spreading stain was hardly noticeable.

“Maymay! You just the man I’s lookin’ fo’.”

“No I ain’t. I got nothin’ you want. Ain’t got nothin’ at all.”

Maymay kept moving toward McDonald’s. D rolled along beside him.

“I got somethin’ YOU want, M. I got this bike, right here.”

Maymay looked at the bike. Someone, probably D, had halfassed painted it baby-puke yellow, but only in places. The places where there’d been any kind of identification.

Maymay could imagine that bike with a rack and a basket and a milk crate, piled high with all his stuff. That is, all the stuff he could collect if he had himself a bike with a rack and a basket and a milk crate, instead of a shitty garbage bag. Then again, he could come up with a milk crate, but where the hell would he get a rack and a basket.

“I told you I got nothin’. And that bike ain’t got no place to keep stuff.”

“We can work it all out, Maymay. We can work it allllll out.”

* * * * *

D forced Maymay into the next alley, then about halfway down it.

“I’m gonna work you a deal, M. You gonna thank me.”

Maymay was scared. His shaking was more than just hunger and withdraws.

D said, “You gonna suck some dick, M. Then I gonna give you this old bike and you gonna go off and find yo’sef a nice milk crate to tie on to the front and make the whole thing good as new. You cool with that? I ain’t hearing you answer me, Maymay? I said, you cool with that?”

D tossed in an ass-beating, because he didn’t think he’d gotten fair value and you can’t let these fucking bums think they got one up on you.

Maymay found himself a milk crate, a length of chain and a padlock. He never talked about where he’d gotten the bike.

* * * * *

Maymay had a habit of dropping the bike on its side first thing when he dismounted. He’d drunk crashed it more times than he remembered, and a few more times when he wasn’t drunk but was wishing he could be.

The bike was old already, and not in the best shape. He managed to replace the tires once, though the “new” ones were cracked on the sides. He’d replaced the tubes a couple times but didn’t get the stems lined up very well with the stem holes in the wheels.

The seat came loose, then fell off. He tied it back on with an scrap of towel he’d found.

Over time the baby-puke yellow paint mostly wore off, along with the decals it had hidden. A brake arm broke off on the front, another snapped in half on the back.

The back tire wasn’t holding air. It was going flat every day and the guys at the gas station had stopped letting him fill it for free. He tried to get a new tube for it but couldn’t, at least not without spending some of his vodka money on it.

Wednesday came and it was as good a day to give up as any. Maymay chained his bike to the bike stand outside of McDonalds, that one on Clark just north of Southport. He begged some lunch and some cash and when he was all done he cut the milk crate off the front and walked away.

I’ve ridden track all summer, the local league and the National Masters Championships, everyone races hard, and I mean HARD (18min 15km scratch race at Nationals!) But everyone is laid back, chatty, relaxed, and helpful – sharing rollers, helping my trying to get 160psi in my tubs, etc.

I’ve just started my ‘cross season, and the first race was just like a big ‘boys club’ hangout, chatting, joking and laughing, but the racing was just as hard as on the track. I lost by five minutes so it must have been really really fast…

So after a year back racing, the track season is about to end and the cross season about to get into full swing and I am left wanting more from both. Sadly road racing has left me wondering why I entered any.

I waiting until mid-summer to start racing, so I was fit enough to get round, then entered two 40/50 mile road races and two open crits. In the first crit, the last corner was carnage and there were riders spread across the pavement after one rider decided that dive bombing up the inside on the last corner would get him the win ‘at all costs’ to other. In one of the road races we got the commissaires briefing on the start line, and were given the strict instruction not to litter the roads and villages with gel wrappers etc., put them in your pocket (isn’t this just common sense anyway?!), and also there was a car parked right on a corner that they were trying to move but we had to race around and be careful of. This was a fifty-mile race, and I kid you not, two miles from the start line (and still in the neutralised zone) I watched a rider pull out a gel, gulp it down, then drop the packet on the road in the middle of the village.

I’m proud to say a couple of my local chain gang guys got in the break and got 2nd and 6th so it worked out nicely, while I got 3rd or 4th in the bunch sprint. After the race I watched from the changing rooms as once of the other riders put his bike in the ‘dangerously parked car’ and drove off… no honestly I am not making this up!

In my final crit of the season, and we’ll see if I ride any next year, I sat on the back of the bunch all race. I’d had food poisoning the night before but felt better so started, I just had no power, so I jumped from wheel to wheel as the bunch split and whittled down to six men. In the mean time at the front there was a break of three and another group of three riders chasing them. Sadly the second half of the race was spent listening to a rider shouting at the group to ‘get through’ or ‘go harder’ and other such motivational quotes.

After a while I decided to offer some assistance, in the form of “Shut up, for God’s sake,” which wasn’t too well received, so I decided to venture forward a few places in the bunch and offer my overview of the situation, which went as follows: “Hey ‘mate’, don’t try and blame us for you not being in the break. The only reason you’re not there is you, try pressing the pedals harder next time. Plus, no one else in the bunch is whinging about being here, I’m actually quite happy to be here the way I feel today.” This message seemed to get through and the guy decided to finish the race quietly and save his frustrations for his next race.

So the point of this ramble is that as bike riders we all have a nation-wide group of friends that we meet every weekend and race against all over the country, and if cross and track riders can smash each other to bits between the gun and flag and be friendly off it, why can’t road riders???

Sure everyone wants to be Chris Froome or Philip GIlbert, but to be them, but need some results like theirs, not just an ego and an attitude. I guess the old adage is still true – let your legs do the talking, others can manage it easily enough.