Of Pin-ups and Pomegranates

Last night, I happened upon a story about the bike Mark Cavendish used to win several of the sprint stages at last year's Tour.  The folks at Scott bicycles had a special bike painted for Cav called the "Sprint Air Force" complete with WWII era paintjob of a pin-up girl wearing a Union Jack kilt and faux rivets to make it look like an old bomber.

The site of this conjured up a memory that I hadn't thought upon in quite some time.  It involved a rare but inspired moment of vandalism when I was in undergrad.  I was studying in the Biology school's library on a Sunday afternoon and felt a sudden call of nature that only the ingesion of two dozen Pizza Express breadsticks and cheese sauce the night before can bring.  I made a mad dash to the men's room (the remote one on the third floor - not the one closest to the library) thus ensuring sweet solitude and privacy.  I jumped into the last stall and as I was sitting there, I noticed that the plaster on the wall adjacent to the toilet had a smooth, matte finish, and was this brilliant, off-white color - almost like a bleached parchment.  In a moment that was likely to be my closest experience to divine intervention, much like Handel's inspiration to write the Messiah, or Mozart's motivation to pen the Requiem for Mass in D minor, I grabbed a No. 2 Ticonderoga pencil and began to draw a reclining nude woman on the plaster wall.  To this day, I have no idea why at that moment, I had to draw a naked woman, but I did.  However, I tried to draw her in the style of the classic WWII era pin-up girls - just like the one found on Cav's bike.

Never before, nor since, had I partaken in such a blatent act of seemingly quasi-perverse graffiti.  As I admitted this to the COMO CYCO Good Eggette and Editor in Chief (GEEC) last night, I did so initially with tremendous zeal as the memory of drawing my Venus of the Bathroom Stall flooded back, but was quickly overtaken with some trepidation, as I worried what she might think of me.  She asked what became of the drawing.  I told her that I had left it in place and returned to check on it a week later.  What I saw amazed me.  Not only had the custodians left the Venus in place, but there were a string of comments written below....Most were positive and encouraging.  The GEEC then said quite non-chalantly, "It was your first blog."  And indeed, perhaps it was.  I had offered something up that I found interesting rather anonymously for the approval or disapproval of the masses - and then watched the response.  This is, after all, the point of blogging - isn't it?  Well, that and getting free shit....

Speaking of which, several weeks ago, I received an email from Ryan at POM Wonderful, makers of all things pomegranate, asking if I would be interested in trying some pomegranate juice since I had provided some recent commentary on the Garmin-Transition Team for which POM Wonderful is now a sponsor.  I said absolutely and a couple weeks later, on my doorstep arrived a case of 100% Pomegranate juice to try.

Aside from my in-depth knowledge of cheese, I am in no way, shape or form, a food or beverage critic.  Neither am I a nutrionist.  And prior to the white box labelled Mr. PooBah showing up on my doorstep, the grand total of my experience with pomegranates had consisted of my high school French teacher bringing one to class as a demonstration of French fruit. It was during that same class that Pat Todaro stole it from Madame Moser's desk before we could eat it and threw it at Mark Hendershot's head.  So other than the flight dynamics and bursting strength of pomegranates, I know precious little.  As such, any comments I make about POM wonderful should be taken with a grain of salt the size of, well, a pomegranate.  When I opened the box, the first thing I encountered was a note from Ryan detailing all of the wonderful attributes regarding this misunderstood fruit.  I will not go into excruciating detail here, except to mention one of the most interesting things I learned from the data sheet.  Did you know that "Many scholars now suggest that it was the pomegranate, not an apple, depicted in the biblical Garden of Eden?" 

So here in my hand was the juice of the forbidden fruit of biblical proportions that was experienced first in the Garden of Eden?  Having never tasted a pomegranate, I decided the only way to enjoy this loss of fruit virginity appropriately would be to do a biblical re-enactment.  Thus, I stripped down completely naked in my kitchen and after girding my loins with a lettuce leaf, I shotgunned an entire bottle, and then shouted "Damn you, EVE!"  I then read the label which said that it was supposed to be refrigerated and shaken prior to drinking.  Still....pretty damned tasty.  Oddly enough, I did actually then start to feel a sense of shame at my nakedness....but that might have just been because my dog was staring at me.

And not to flog a flaccid penis, but look what else I discovered:

This article, published in the International Journal of Impotence Research (2007) by Forest et al documents that although statistical significance wasn't quite acheived, there was a general trend for men who suffered with mild to moderate erectile dysfunction to have improved marks on some erectile functional scoring systems after drinking pomegranate juice for 4 weeks versus a placebo.  These effects are attributed to the antioxidants contained within which rival and may even surpass the quantity found in red wine.  These same antioxidants have a host of other potentially positive physiologic effects on the cardiovascular system. While reading this paper, I came across a note made regarding adverse events experienced by those study participants:

"The following adverse events were reported while on POM: diarrhea, flatulence, hyperlipidemia, nasal congesion and hypertesion.  One patient reported anxiety while on placebo."

Well I can say with all honesty that other than my naked shame, I experienced no adverse events in the form of diarrhea, hyperlipidemia, nasal congestion or hypertension....and the flatulence may have been entirely attributable to the burrito I had for lunch.  Good stuff, that POM!  Thanks again Ryan - and good luck with the Garmin-Transition partnership.

Pedal on!

Cars are hard, Cyclists are not, Part II...in pursuit of the happy medium

Yesterday we discussed why the statement "Cars are hard, cyclists are not" might be more poignant than what the anti-cyclist Facebook group which uses the slogan realizes.  Doing a little reading on the subject makes me realize that this classic Klein ad might be at risk for losing its amusement altogether.

I poked a little fun at an article entitled "Cutting off the nose to save the penis" which refers to the fact that in a number of different studies, the use of noseless bicycle saddles has resulted in decreased frequency of genital and perineal numbness and erectile dysfunction.  I was excited (and afraid) to see Dr. Shrader, lead investigator of the referenced study, respond to the post, correct my errors in interpretation and provide some more information on his research ensuring the following things:

1.  The cops they studied were in pretty good shape.
2. Each cop served as their own control - in other words, there was no possibility to have one group of cops that possessed a confounding variable which artifically diminished their penile sensitivity.
3.  The penile tactile tester isn't really that much fun to use.

The relationship between cycling and sexual dysfunction has seen a surge of interest in the last several years, a decade after a leading expert in urogenital health, Dr. Irwin Goldstein, originally made headlines by writing an article for Bicycling magazine titled, "Men Should Never Ride Bicycles."  Despite controversy, Dr. Goldstein is still at it and in 2008 published an editorial in the same issue of the Journal of Sexual Medicine in which Dr. Shrader published his article:

But men are not alone in the potential impact of traditional bike saddles on sexual function. In 2006, the first paper assessing the potential impact of female cyclists on genital sensation and sexual function was completed.

In this study, female cyclists were compared with female runners with respect to genital sensitivity, sexual function and sexually related distress.  The subjects were all volunteers recruited from racing events, flyers and online solicitations.  When the test subjects were age-matched and examined, it was determined that cyclists had less sensitivity than runners at all genitally-oriented anatomic sites examined.  Despite this, sexual function appeared to be similar between the two groups.

So what are we to make of this?  As with many things in life, we make choices and concessions with most everything we do.  Everything has a risk/benefit ratio. Yes, I know eating an entire block of asiago cheese is not good for me, but the benefit of my immediate enjoyment of it makes it worthwhile.  But perhaps I only need to eat half the block, and thus find a happy medium. Could the happy medium with respect to bicycle saddles lie in the noseless variety? 

Among the complaints with noseless saddles includes inability to adequately steer and the constant feeling of falling forward.  And there is no possible way to "Ride the Rivet" if there is no 'rivet'.

Yet another alternative I discovered is called the Manta Saddle.  This is a multi-ribbed platform which moves and articulates with the cyclist's ass and resembles...., I guess, a manta ray swimming.

Going to the manufacturer's website, one will find a plethora of photographs, animations and testimonials on this little number.  My favorite of which is this one...

...which shows a cyclist who is sitting on the edge of a reflecting pool, pondering why he has ridden his Specialized fixie into the water, and moreso, why his hair is styled in a fashion reminiscent of what one would find in the pubic region.  Perhaps he is trying to lure a manta ray to the surface for more prototyping work.

But maybe Alberto Contador is on to the answer.  As I looked in my new VeloNews, which arrived yesterday, I stumbled upon this advertisement for the new Selle Italia SLR Team Edition.  He too is sitting close to water and acting contemplative regarding his saddle.

As the advertisement states, it possesses the "The Bearable" Lightness of Being, as apparently so too does AC, levitating above the dock in his Astana kit, draped in the fashion of a Buddhist monk, in an enlightened state.

Of course there might be other ways to achieve a happy medium regarding bicycle saddles which will both encourage perineal blood flow while proving adequate saddle support....

More tomorrow!

Pedal on!

Cars are hard, Cyclists are not: Part I

In the world of cycling, a polarizing divisiveness seems to be expanding.  No, I'm not speaking of the ever deepening rift between Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador, nor between the left and right lobes of Cadel Evans' chin.

I'm speaking of the dispute between motorists and cyclists.  In my opinion, this dispute has now raised itself to the ridiculousness level of the city of South Beach, Florida which is trying to evict a chicken, named Mr. Clucky, to prevent it from riding around town on his owner's bicycle.

More specifically, I'm speaking of the Facebook group that has emerged recently entitled, "There's a perfectly good path right next to the road you stupid cyclist!"  On their page, the group features this photo with the slogan "Cars are hard, cyclists are not."

If there is one thing that the digital age of telecommunications has proven to us, it's that disputes can be fought entirely in the ether that we have now dubbed 'cyber space.'  Thus, not to be outdone by the supposed cyclist-loathing drivers of motorized vehicles, another Facebook group has been formed called "I prefer to ride my bike in the street so deal with it you stupid motorist."  In the same way that digital communications have put much of the US Postal service out of business with email, allowed us the convenience of assembling business meetings via teleconferencing, permitted us the speed of sharing medical diagnostic information via telemedicine, and offer the opportunity to chat with 50 year old fat men calling themselves "Kitten" via cybersex chat rooms, so too are Twitter, and Facebook allowing us to now CyberCatFight. 

CyberCatFighting should come naturally to yellow-braceleted, amateur roadies as they learned the appropriate tacticts from Lance Armstrong's flurry of words regarding Contador on Twitter immediately following the Tour de France last year.  At the peak of the ridiculousness is that nearly all cyclists are motorists as well, and I would be willing to bet that nearly all motorists at one time in their life rode a bike, and probably still retain those skills, to some degree. 

Despite a number of attempts in trying to petition Facebook operators to remove the anti-cyclist group from the site, they have refused to do so because in the words of Facebook's Simon Axten, "We've reviewed this group and determined that it doesn't violate our policies" regarding "how one interprets the phrase actionable threats of violence," for which, he contends, the group poses no risk. 

But what Axten perhaps should find concern with is the anti-cyclist's slogan "Cars are hard, cyclists are not." Of course, I'm speaking euphamistically now and weakly attempting to make a double entendre with the word 'hard.'  Several months ago, we discussed the impacts of a noseless bike saddle on erectile dysfunction with some interesting results.  Recently, another interesting paper has been published on this topic titled, "Cutting off the nose to save the penis," by Schrader SM et al. published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine (Vol 5, Issue 8, p 1932-1940.)  In this article, 212 121 male bicycle police officers in 5 major U.S. cities were asked to ride on a traditional saddle with long nose for 6 months, and then a noseless saddle for 6 months, after which they had their penile sensitivity tested.  One of the methods by which this was completed was via vibrotactile sensitivity thresholds....or how well does the old tallywhacker feel light vibrations.  For purposes of discussion of this methodology in the scientific paper, they demonstrated the device used to test penile vibrotactility with a rubber model shown here:

Essentially, the cop would go into a bathroom with the machine (named Inga) and place his favorite appendage into a little trough which then would start to vibrate.  At the moment he actually felt the vibration, he would push a button to stop it, and the time to sensation perception was recorded.  The shorter the time, the more sensitive his John Thomas was.  The results of the study were concerning.  Essentially, the researchers found that after cycling for 6 months on a noseless saddle, penile tactile sensation significantly improved.  That said, this, like all studies, has flaws. 

The first of which is demonstrated in the rubber model pictured above.  Anyone else notice the slight paunch acting like an awning over the little man?  This model may reflect what the paper fails to mention.  How many of these cops were spending an inordinate amount of time at the donut shop while on duty?  In other words, what was the body weight of the cops used in the study?  My guess is that a fat cop is going to put more pressure on his pudendal artery than a skinny cop, which is what would lead to more penile numbness.  This isn't mentioned at all.

The second flaw with the study was that there was likely a natural tendency to NOT push the stop button on the vibrating penis trough very quickly because....well......because it's a vibrating penis trough!

Researcher says, "Mr. PooBah, have you felt the vibrations yet?"

PooBah: "Ye....err...I mean...nope - not yet."

Resercher: "Because when you feel them, you are supposed to hit the STOP button - OK?"

PooBah:  "Yup - I understand....nothing yet."

Researcher: "Ok....because it's been like 15 minutes now....."

PooBah: "Wow - time flies - eh?  Nope not a thing yet.....maybe we need to increase the intensity?"

But male cyclists have nothing to fear.  There is an all-natural remedy on the way. No, no, no - I'm talking about Liz Hatch or Niki Gudex....

I'm talking about the pomegranate!  More tomorrow....

Pedal on!

Dear PooBah: Reader Mail

The Tour Down Under is just around the corner as hard as that is to believe.  It kicks off on January 19th in Clare, South Australia.  In light of this, I thought I should try to answer some questions about the boys in the pro-peloton and thus offer a bit of a rundown on the top contenders for not only this year's Aussie Tour, but also for the entire season. 

---

Dear PooBah,
I read with great interest your commentary on LA's new body temperature recording technology.  Are others following the Team RadioShack lead on this and using these internal gastrointestinal sensors?


Thanks!
Frank A.

Frank -
I know Tom Boonen was interested in monitoring his core body temperature more closely, but I don't think that QuickStep had the money for the tiny internal sensors that LA is using.  Instead, they've been exploring a much more low-tech and incredibly less expensive solution involving live pufferfish.  Team QuickStep's physiologist discovered that if you perch one between the cheeks of your ass and it inflates, then you're body temp is just right.

---

Dear PooBah,

In some recent interviews, it sounds like David Millar of Garmin-Transitions is really pissed about how Wiggo bailed on them last minute.  Do you think Millar would try any kind of retaliation tactics?  If so - what kind of things are up his sleeve?

George H.

George -

Well, we do know that Millar is well-armed after winning the ceremonial sword at the Vuelta last year.  But I think his real hidden weapon of choice is not up his sleeve so to speak - but rather in his chamois.  To be more specific, if I were Wiggo, I would be worried about his chamois camel-toe of death.  I've heard tales of him being able to pinch the nose off a SanMarco with that thing. 

---

Hey PooBah:

I'm totally pumped to see the new World Champion, Cadel Evans race in his home country on a new squad.  I know that his attitude can be a little touchy now and then - but I think that having the rainbow jersey on his back will have him right as rain.  What are your thoughts?

Thanks!

Mick J.

Hey Mick-

I think you are right.  As far as I can tell, I think all the whining has come to a complete stop.....

He practically has to sit on his hands to keep himself from clapping he seems so happy lately....

---

PooBah

Is there any proper etiquette as to how a stage or race winner should open a bottle of champagne while on stage?

Jenn G.

Jenn-

Every cyclist adopts their own technique for the climactic champagne ceremony, which probably ultimately reflects something about themselves.  Let's face it, after a long day in the saddle, every racer is looking forward to the release that popping the proverbial cork will bring.  Here's Sastre enjoying the big moment and playfully spraying down the press in the front row at the Giro.  Notice how he holds the bottle low, and after giving it a couple of good shakes, lets it loose.

This kind of pop-shot seems to be fairly-well accepted.  There are some modifications, of course.  Take Mr. DeezNuts himself, Zabriskie, also at the Giro letting the foam fly.

Here we note that instead of a pleasant smile, his mouth is agape as he thrusts his pelvis into the shot with a little more intensity.  Again. it seems that all are having fun, so I would say this too, is acceptable.  I think where the line is crossed is when innocent, and certainly well-dressed, bystanders, like say, the podium girls, get doused, as we see here with former Giro champ, Paolo Savoldelli.  However, despite her arms raised in protest, I think I may see a grin under there somewhere - so perhaps there's no harm done.  I'm sure she's just hoping that the Giro will pick up her dry cleaning bill, as that one is going to leave a mark.

And words can't even describe what is going on here with Bozic at the Vuelta......but this just ain't right.

---

Dear PooBah-

What is to be the fate of Alberto Contador? His entire team went belly up on him and bailed, and the American media seems hell-bent on vilifying him.  Does he have any friends left?

Thanks!

Sarah M.

Sarah -

I think he's made one friend since the Tour this year - but he doesn't look to excited about it.

---

Stay warm everyone - and have a great weekend.

Pedal on!

Let it snow!

With the forecast of 3-5 inches of snow on the way, I thought I would reminisce about another particularly snowy day in 1988.  The story has been told and retold countless times in countless places, but it still goes down as one epic day in cycling history.  There are many iconic photographs in the rich culture of European road racing, but relatively few from the 80's involve an American.  This is certainly one of them:

Of course this is Andy Hampsten on the Passo di Gavia, stage 14 of the Giro d'Italia.  The date was June 5, 1988 and the morning was grey.  The forecast was for freezing rain over the pass which sits at 8600 feet.  But it was already snowing in the valley before the start....and it got just a little bit worse.

With vaseline slathered over his uncovered legs, and a pair of neoprene driving gloves, Andy attacked the field in the midst of a mountaintop blizzard on a dirt road.  He finished 2nd that day to Erik Breukink who passed him on the descent, but he ended up in the maglia rosa.

If you've never seen footage of this stage, the following is a must see.  Also - watch closely at the 6:44 mark for a nearly unconscious Bob Roll being revived by the crowds:

Andy remains the only American to have ever won the Giro.

Be careful out there today...

Pedal on!

Dropping the hammer: A tale of two temperatures.

I'm aware that some of you out there may not live in Columbia, Missouri (midwestern Mecca of the bicycle), so I thought I would update those non-COMO residents with a few things we here in mid-Missouri are dealing with.  First, the current weather situation.

If you follow the green arrow to its tip, you will see a rough estimation of current wind chill factors for COMO.  Makes for some tough cycling to be sure.  But does it?  Standardly, if one braved this weather on their bike, say, to commute into work for example, it was only a subjective guess of how 'epic' the ride really was...or how much 'suffering' truly was incurred when one was bragging about said ride with their office mates around the proverbial water cooler.  But this problem has now been solved by a handy chart provided by the good folks at cyclocosm.com which allows you to calculate, and thus objectively determine your cycling commitment and level of suffering in cold weather taking into account both sustained wind speed and temperature.  The weather conditions are stratified into "Jens Factor" units and range from 1 to HC (hors categorie).

For your benefit, I calculated what the Jens Factor would be if you rode in to work this morning and marked it on the chart with a green 'X'.  We are definitely in the midst of Jens Factor HC territory which states:
Overview - suicidal heroism.  Apparel required:  Spacesuit.  Conditions: Apocalyptic, biblical, hardcore.

Secondly, non-COMO residents may also be unfamiliar with the regular column in the Columbia Tribune newspaper called 'Trib Talk' which allows COMO citizens to rant and rave about whatever they like.  On Sunday, Tribune editor Jim Robertson assembled the best-of-the-best Trib Talk comments for 2009, and  not surprisingly, many had to do with cyclists.

May 2:  "Do we have two diametrically opposed ideas going on here? We've got $23 million or whatever for the pedal group, and now we've got a $15 million parking ramp going up for cars.  Now, which do you want? Do you want me to ride my bike or drive my car, or should I just do both?

July 30: "I am tired of all this ranting and raving about bicyclists when it's pedestrians who are the real problem.  Nothing gets on my nerves more than when I'm driving downtown and have to wait for some gawking walker yakking into a cell phone and dawdling across the crosswalk when I have places to go.  Even families, no doubt groggy from a heavy meal of macaroni and cheese and hamburgers, can't get the lead out and get across the dang street.  Don't they see my signal?  It's even worse when you're two cars back and some tramp slows to a crawl while scoping Elly's Couture at 100 yards and you know you're not going to get through the light.  Don't get me started on the handicapped.  Don't they have buses to take those people where they need to go?"

Nov 18: "I have a question.  Us drivers can't honk at bike riders, we can't honk at pedestrians or grandmas in wheelchairs.  Can I honk at a deer looming at my headlights when driving?"

The last one I've chosen for you today has absolutely nothing to do with cycling.  I just couldn't resist.

April 24:  "This is for all you anti-gun, bleeding-heart liberal Democrats: I don't know about gun lovers, but mine is for self-preservation, be it human or animal.  I'm not going to be a statistic for anyone.  Six things I believe in:  I'm a Christian, I'm an American, I'm heterosexual, I'm pro-gun and I'm a conservative.  When the hammer drops, the bullshit stops.  Any questions?"

To which Robertson replies:  "That's five things."

So what are we to learn from this?  If these comments represent the sentiments of the average COMO citizen then people here seem to be generally frustrated that they (in order)

1) do not have access to parking ramps for their bikes,

2) are not allowed to run over the handicapped with their cars

3) are unclear about the civil rights of Cervidae

4) are having difficulties counting to six

That said, they do appear to be quite certain that when the proverbial hammer drops, the bullshit, indeed will stop.  Speaking of dropping the hammer and then stopping to shit, I thought it was time for a Lance update.  Aside from getting to winter train in Hawai'i (which, incidentally, has a Jens Factor of minus 10), one of the many other perks of being Lance Armstrong is that you have access to state of the art equipment in virtually every area of cycling.  Take for example a new direction of physiologic monitoring that he and Allen Lim are exploring involving the regular examination of his core body temperature.  Now if either you or I or members of say, Team Astana, wanted to monitor our body temperature during training, we'd be forced to go old-school and pop a thermometer under our tongue - or maybe use one of those ear probes.  Not Lance.  Lance is going inside on this job by swallowing a sensor in pill-form which will travel deep into his intestines and send back the vital data to a receiver.  Here's Lance about to pop the pill.

But the pill is only as good as the receiver reading the results, so they called in exercise physiologist, Dr. Stacy Sims to do the honors.  Now, one would think that with all of this fancy technology, the data would be able to be uploaded to a satellite and  fired around the planet so they could read the results back at RadioShack headquarters on the mainland.  Not so, and in fact, poor Dr. Sims still has to go backside.

Ok, so maybe she didn't have to go all the way backside, but still....

So I'm left with two questions...

First - Does another PhD have to fish the little pill out of the toilet when it's made its way through LA? Second - If the little pill had a camera on it - what would it reveal inside LA's stomach?  Perhaps a tiny, half-digested action figure of AC that Lance uses like a dog's chew toy for inspiration?

And out of curiosity, I contacted the people at Cyclocosm.com who have provided me with the information for training in Hawai'i at a Jens Factor of minus 10:  Overview: Sheer delight.  Apparel:  Board shorts or bikini, flip flops.  Conditions: Chance of warm, sunny day=95% - don't forget your sunglasses.

The boys over at Team Sky are also dropping the hammer on some new technology of their own which they revealed yesterday at the team launch party.  For 2010, they will be testing an alternative to current bicycle helmets.  It comes in the form of a new kind of hair shellac which forms their own hair into a protective shell, stronger than currently produced bicycle helmets, thus obviating their use entirely.  Here's a picture of Wiggins, Lovkvist and Boasson Hagen demonstrating them at the party, courtesy of Cyclingnews.

Stay warm everyone...

Pedal on!

Underwhelmed: Hari-kiri and the survival of the dumbest.

As I stepped outside this morning and felt the sting of cold air in my nostrils, I was reminded of an incident that occured during the bitterly cold winter of 1985, when I was on the 8th grade basketball team.  It was Christmas break, so the school was closed, however we had an early Saturday morning basketball practice scheduled.  The temperature was -4 degrees that morning.  I threw on my practice uniform, then layered heavy sweatpants, sweatshirt and jacket over top to keep warm on my way to the gym.  My father drove me over to the junior high, and upon entering the gymnasium, my teammates and I were quite surprised that we could actually see our breath.  It seems that the boilers had been shut off over the holiday break, leaving the interior of the gym frigidly cold.  As coach Dillon headed off to the boiler room, the assistant coach started us off running suicide drills - the typical, and much dreaded way every practice began.  For those of you not educated in the way of the suicide, permit me a few lines to enlighten you.  The suicide (also known as a hara-kiri, so named for being a form of ritual suicide) is a sprint drill in which you start at the baseline underneath the basket at one end of the court, run to the foul line, squat to touch it, then return to the baseline from whence you came, squat and touch it, then sprint to the midcourt line, squat and touch it, return to the baseline, touch, sprint to the opposite foul line, touch, return to the base line, touch, sprint to the opposite base line, touch, then sprint all the way back to the original starting point.  Not to overstate the obvious, but suicides are named 'suicides' and not 'jaunty-jaunts' or 'lolly-gags' because they hurt like hell.

The team was split into three groups, so that as group 1 dry heaved from completing one suicide, groups 2 and 3 would run theirs.  Then group 1 was back up again to run another.  And the cycle continued.  A typical practice session started with us running suicides for about 30 minutes, with the hallitotic Coach Dillon screaming at us incessantly that he would "Make us run these all f***ing day long if we didn't speed up."  And now, just a moment on 1980's era basketball apparel.  For those that never got to experience playing basketball in the mid 80's, the shorts were very appropriately named, as they barely covered one's thighs.  As such, providing warmth was not one of their features. 

Therefore, as we began to run our suicides that particular January morning, we all did so still heavily garbed in sweatpants, sweatshirts and jackets over our practice shorts and jerseys because of the near-freezing temperature in the building.  Soon, though, we heard the hiss of steam coming through the radiators, and combined with the increasing body heat attributed to the suicide drills, each of us began to warm up and thus started to shed our outerwear piecemeal. 

It was about this time that the 7th and 8th grade girls' basketball teams showed up for their practice on the other court.  I paid little notice to them, as I was busy trying to coordinate both refraining from vomiting after my last suicide and simultaneously unsticking the zipper on my jacket.  After much struggling, I finally pulled the jacket off over my head along with the sweatshirt, leaving me in my t-shirt and sweat pants only.  My group was then back at the line - and we took off on our next suicide.  During this drill, I became noticeably more warm as the radiators were now in full force and this was my 10th or 11th run.  As I completed the drill and started waiting for my turn again, I decided to shed my sweatpants.  I pulled each leg of heavy material off over my hightops just in time to start the next drill.  As Coach Dillon's whistle blew signaling us to to sprint to the foul line, I instantly sensed something was awry.  I squatted and touched the foul line and began my sprint back to the baseline at which I point I squatted again to touch it.  As I headed back toward the half-court line, I, again, began to sense a bizarre sensation of being hot, and yet at the same time very cool.  It was then I noticed some snickering coming from the girl's basketball teams who were gathered at the edge of our court and looking at us and laughing.  I squatted and touched the half-court line and began my return sprint to the base court line when I heard Dillon scream my name.  At this point, I noticeably sensed a coolness on my ass which made me look down.  Below my T-shirt, and above my high tops, all that was covering my nether region was a stretched out jock strap.  Somehow, in the early delerium of a Saturday morning, I had forgotton to put on my shorts under my sweatpants, and was now bare-assing it down the basketball court in front of the entire 7th and 8th grade girls' teams, my own team and my prick of a coach.  I didn't stop to touch the basecourt line, but rather ran right over it and out of the gym, into the men's locker room.

Why do I bother telling you all of this?  Because 'fitting in' is a struggle that I've had my whole life.  The jockstrap incident could have been perceived as an incredible daring act of bravado, if I had played it off correctly, but instead, made me the butt of a neverending series of jokes....pun entirely intended...as I was soon refered to as the 'ass-man.'  What could have been a defining moment for my adolescence, setting the stage for the perception of possessing a reckless, devil-may-care attitude in high school, was instead replaced by ridicule for the "skinniest, whitest ass" anyone had ever seen.  If only I had taken a lap around the gym and feigned defiance at my coach, while waving at everyone, once I realized both cheeks of my ass were being held only by two flimsy straps and my pre-pubescent genitalia was covered only with a thin piece of ribbed, white cotton, instead of bolting out of the room like a spastic, wild animal fearing capture.  Sure - I may have spent the rest of the week doing suicide drills and riding the bench for the next 5 games, but that was going to happen anyway.  The line between incredible stunt and buffoonery was much too fine for my 12 year old brain to discern and comprehend in the heat of the moment.   But clearly, such fine lines are not always detected, and many fall into the side of favor by merely dumb luck.

Thus, I am baffled by how some people slide effortlessly into success and acceptance, and are respected and revered for doing little to nothing to earn it, while other talented and hardworking people go largely unnoticed.  More specifically, how do some in the world of cycling find themselves as "favorite sons" while other countless cyclists never find their place in the spotlight.  I would submit that recently, the cycling community has introduced into the culture an antithesis to Darwinism.  The fittest are not surviving, the dumbest are.

Take 'Wonka.'  Actually his name is Edward LaForte, but his personna is "Wonka."  He is the new rider and spokesman for GOrilla Bikes, and as such gets flown to the headquarters in Zurich for consultion during testing, and then throughout Italy for promo tours and design development.  He is given any bike and any equipment he asks for, at any time.  Should he bend a fork - he gets a new one immediately.  Need a new toe strap?  It's in the mail.  One might think that Edward, errr...Wonka...has a degree in mechanical engineering and can thus contribute intellectually to the novel frame designs.  Or perhaps he has studied marketing to better assess sales strategies for yet another brand of fixed gear bike. 

Maybe we could ask Wonka himself?

He seems a little confused at the moment.  This photo was taken from a video promo for GOrilla bicycles which is rapidly working its way through the cycling blogosphere and has been labeled as being both 'sick' and 'dope' with Wonka himself being labeled as a trickster genius.  The video consists of Wonka jumping his GOrilla fixed gear over a burning palette. Period.  I refuse to post the video, but will share the link here, in case you are craving some serious underwhelm-ment - which I know is not a word, and yet describes the state I'm left in perfectly.

What I will show you, however, is another "teaser trailer' for GOrilla bikes in which Wonka describes his new European life style.

It appears as though each new fixie sold today comes with a video camera and vimeo account so that the ever-growing population of fixie cyclists can document the development of their 'dope skillz'.  All claim to be working on a "new cycling documentary" to give the public a glimpse into the urban cycling community.  As such, the videos are labeled as 'trailers' because, certainly, a larger feature film comprised of this fascinating material is sure to follow.  By in large, cycling itself can be rather boring as a spectator sport. Pair with it a lack of anything meaningful as far as competition, strategy or objective and videos of this sort become more boring to watch than this. 

However, what makes the videos slightly more entertaining is if one of them puts the cyclist in situations where irradication from not only the cycling community, but also from the global community at large is imminent.  Take the 'trailer' entitled No Cassettes by FonsecaFilms.

Perhaps this cyclist is trying his own version of hara-kiri.   Or perhaps this is just the quickest way for a cyclist (and I use the term loosely to descibe him) to find himself in the hands of good favor these days.  No doubt there is a major Hollywood studio madly sending tweets to his Twitter account, and his endorsment deals are waiting for him as we speak, with offers from bicycle companies to fly him to Zurich and Italy for frame building consultation. 

I'd rather go out in an underwhelming and anonymous blaze of glory in my jock strap.

Pedal on!