Good Times with French Toast

You know when you're alone on an elevator with mirrors on opposing walls, and you can just aaaaaaaaaalmost see infinity into the distance, except that your stupid head is in the way? You then try to adjust your body position two or three times before settling on the sad fact that it's simply impossible?Yeah, I do that too.

Well, what you see below is virtually the same situation except you're looking at a blog post about to be posted while reading about a blog post about to be posted while looking at a blog post about to be posted while reading...

I think they call this mysteriously intangible facet of the internet the Twilight Zone.Here I lounge on a pleasantly cloudless Saturday morning preparing to go execute some bicycle practice on the TT rig for three-ish hours. I have some fun tunes bopping, like any bike shop worth it's salt the toasted aroma of coffee wafts through the air, and an amazing batch of French toast (or freedom toast to the ardent patriot in all of us) sopped in New Hampshire's finest maple syrup is moments away from being polished off. Yes, life is good.Aaanyway, I'm writing this particular blog post simply to bring attention to a hilarious blog post written by cycling-writer extraordinaire, Bike Snob NYC, that I just stumbled upon in my morning computer perusing.  Look, I'm no hipster, behemoth cities like NYC intimidate the daylights of me, and I've never actually pedaled a fixed-gear bike, so relating to this article is tough for me, but the fact that I'm so removed from it and that I still find it funny is a testament to how worthy it is.I'm approaching my five-year college reunion, so I emphatically apologize to BSNYC for forgetting the proper MLA style of bibliographical referencing. Therefore I will simply say, What follows are the intellectual property rights in the form of words and photo of Bike Snob NYC. Read. Laugh. Enjoy.

Crossing the Manhattan Bridge and heading into the city yesterday, I was passed by a rider on a brakeless Pista. As the rider began his descent, I noticed he had stopped pedaling, which seemed strange as he had clearly been riding a fixed-gear. He then placed the thin sole of his diminutive canvas boating shoe on the tire of his rear wheel, at which point I realized he had dropped his chain and was now trying to slow his speeding bicycle. Apparently, though, the "footjam" was not as effective as he had hoped, so he then started dragging both feet on the pavement Fred Flinstone-style. Here he is, clearly mashing his "pants yabbies" on his top tube in the process:

Eventually, he managed to finally get off the thing, and as I passed him I simply pointed to my own bicycle and said, "Brakes."

Ah, yes, brakes--those marvels of engineering which manage to function independently of the bicycle's drivetrain. Of course, they do tend to spoil the "clean lines" of your bicycle, and they can also make you look like a "woosie." I'll admit that the rider above looked really cool and elegant as he desperately struggled to save himself by dragging his feet and squashing his genitals --the whole thing was totally "zen." I wonder why he didn't simply use his gigantic empty messenger bag to stop, since it seems to me it would have functioned rather well as a parachute.

Hahahahaaaaa. Love it. Have a great weekend.