BSNYC No Friday Fun Quiz Again Because I'm On Tour and Live to Disappoint You!

Yesterday, in the section of this blog where the comments go, a reader inserted the following words:

Anonymous said...

This is bullshit. I've been putting up with your book plugging for at least two weeks, and you can't even manage to put up satisfactory blog posts while on the road.

You need to get your priorities straight. I'm looking forward to a half decent post tomorrow.

March 29, 2012 1:27 PM

I agree that it is, like, totally bullshit, but what am I to do?  For the time being, touring is my reality.  The road has become my bride.  I am stripped of all but pride.  So in her I do confide.  And she keeps me satisfied.  Gives me all I need.  Wherever I may roam.  Woah.  Yeah!  Wherever I may wander, wander, wander.  Yeah, yeah, wherever I may roam.  Yeah, yeah.  Whoaoaoaoaoah!

Sweet Lob, that song is ridiculous.


Anyway, rest assured that it won't be long before my tour is behind me, at which point this blog will revert from its current state of sucking to its usual state of sucking.  In the meantime, I'll add a gratuitous and self-serving reminder that I'll be in the following places this weekend:

Saturday, March 31
1:30pm ride/3:00pm talk and booksigning
Mellow Johnny's 
400 Nueces
Austin, Texas 78701
(512) 473-0222

Sunday, April 1
2:00pm ride
1833 Pearl Street
Boulder, Colorado 80302
(303) 440-3535

3:00pm talk and booksigning
Boulder Book Store
1107 Pearl Street
Boulder, Colorado 80302
(303) 447-2074
Cost: $5.00 (good for $5 off The Enlightened Cyclist at any time, or $5 off any purchase the day of the event)

With regard to the $5 thing in Boulder, I did receive at least one irate "Tweet" about it, and in fact was quite surprised myself.  However, when I balked, my publisher explained to me that this is the bookstore's policy, and the $5 simply goes towards the purchase of my book or indeed any book if you don't want to buy mine, and that purchasing something from the store obviously offsets the time and effort the staff puts into hosting wiseass bloggers from New York City who track mud into the store and fail to put the toilet seat down after using it.  Once I looked at it in this light, I agreed that there are far worse things than supporting your local bookseller.  I hope you'll agree as well, and if not you can always just join the ride and then give me "the finger" and leave once we get to the bookstore.

Moving on, from time to time I receive emails from people or businesses asking me to help them promote their products.  Far more often than not, I either decline or ignore these requests.  However, once in a great while I come across a product I feel I should share with my readers, and when I received the an email that contained both the phrases "Burning Man" and "beautiful dust masks" I knew right away that this was one of those products:

I am a designer from the skateboarding industry in Santa Cruz California. I have done the artwork for many famous skateboards and surfboards. A few years ago I started going to Burning Man and I noticed that there were no beautiful dust masks in the world. I decided to make them myself and this adventure took me to the far east where I found a manufacturer who could put vibrant colors and designs onto dust masks. 

And thus, the Vogmask was born: I have created vogmask - the world's first designer dust, allergy, particle masks. They are very soft and comfortable and my friends and I wear them while cycling, traveling on airplanes, working with lathes and spraypaint, cleaning out the chicken coop and doing other things where we'd rather not breathe all the contaminants in the air.

Inspiration is like lighting, or herpes, or a rabid monkey on PCP, and we never know when or where it is going to strike.  Alexander Fleming was messing around with some fungus and he discovered Penicillin.  Two idiots crashed into each other and invented the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.  And the inventor of the Vogmask apparently went to Burning Man, "wigged out" on some bad acid, and strapped a pair of panties on his face:

Vogmask is poised to become the face mask of choice for the discriminating germaphobe, though the first thing I thought of when I saw the above image was this song:

And then I saw this image:

Which will no doubt result in thousands of Vogmask orders from Japanese perverts who are into that whole "pantyface gardening" thing.

In any case, I sincerely with the inventor the best of luck with his venture, and if you lead a lifestyle that requires you to look fabulous while being exposed to dangerous particles or fumes I hope you will consider the Vogmask.  (As a semi-professional blogger my own vocation does not require a face mask, unless I've consumed a particularly "epic" burrito before going to "work.")  Indeed, there's no reason that the Vogmask shouldn't become all the rage among the artisanal bicycle craftspeople of Portland.

Speaking of Portland, I previously believed it to be the mostest bike-friendliest city in which to bicycle cycle for transportation in the United States.  But then I visited the midwest, and I daresay that Minneapolis and Madison may be even more rideable than "The Artisanal 'P'."  In particular, riding in Madison was like riding a cotton candy bicycle while being tickled with buttercups, and my commute from my quarters in Middleton to downtown Madison looked mostly like this:

Sure, Madison's a much smaller town than Portland, but that doesn't mean Portland can't feel the Midwest breathing down its neck hair dreadlocks.  This could be why Portland's bike-related endeavors increasingly seem to be born not of exuberance but of desperation.  For example, having already done wooden bikes, they're now moving on to wooden helments:

(Yes, I realize Corvallis isn't Portland, but I'm sure it's close enough that the Smugness Cloud rolls in if the wind direction is right.)

It would make me exceedingly happy if, by the time I get there for my BRA, half of Portland is riding around on wooden bikes while wearing wooden helments and SPD-compatible clogs:

Of course, the danger there is that they might all catch fire, but don't worry, because help is on the way in the form of an emergency "bake feets" squad:

I can certainly see bicycles being useful in a disaster, but the main problem with them is that they're ridden by cyclists.  And if you've ever set out with a group of cyclists you know there's that inevitable ten or fifteen minutes during which the two or three biggest know-it-alls in the bunch have to settle on a route.  "Scranus to Frumunda then through the park and onto South Grundle?"  "No, South Grundle's gonna be a mess this time of day, let's go around to Vulvanus."  "Vulvanus is being resurfaced, let's take the Vas Deferens."  And so forth.  It's like a People's Front of Judea meeting.  You can even see them doing it in the photo above, and that period of deliberation is going to mean the difference between life and death.

But don't worry, at least there's going to be a disaster theme ride:

"There's even a cargo bike/disaster-themed Pedalpalooza ride in the works."

Presumably it will happen after the Allergy Pride Parade, and of course they'll all be wearing Vogmasks.

Yes, feeling more prepared than everyone else in the event of Apocalypse is the ultimate expression of smugness, just as the Bridgestone X0-1 is the ultimate platform for the sporting retrogrouch, and if you've ever dreamed of owning one a reader has forwarded me the following Craigslist ad:

Bridgestone XO-1 - $600 (Olympia)
Date: 2012-03-29, 9:43PM PDT
Reply to: [deleted]

In the beginning...

9 bikes were given to Man to race and crash and make a mess of things.
7 bikes were forged for the Dwarves who kept their bikes forever in the garage.
3 bikes were given to the elves who turned them quickly into fixies and were never seen from again.
But one bike was made by the Master Grant Peterson...One bike to Rule Them All!

That bike is the XO-1 It is the one bike that is truly designed to do it all. At home on the road as the trail, this bike is designed to take you to Middle Earth and beyond. 

This is a Purple 1993 bike that is small, not large: no, you crank-apes cannot ride this bike. This bike measures 43 cm (yes they made them that small) 
I will provide pictures of the bike to people who request it. Only the worthy are able to gaze upon greatness. 

The bike is getting ready to be rebuilt. It has non-standard handbar and shifters. I have the Moustash bar and Suntour Barcon shifters to make it right. With this bike, many people wish it to be set up to their needs and not mine. 

I will ship this bike if you need me to. Shipping will be extra. This is the real deal. Of course, you need to be the height of Frodo to ride it!

It's too small for me, but I think it would fit my helper monkey, Vito.

This Just In: BSNYC In Transit!

Unfortunately, my travel itinerary precludes the curation of a complete blogging post today, and I am currently en route to Chicago, where I hope to see you later today at the following places and times:

6:00pm ride
TATI Cycles
1013 E 53rd St
Chicago, IL 60615
(773) 598-8284

7:30pm talk and booksigning with The Book Cellar and 57th Street Books
On The Route
2338 W Lawrence Ave
Chicago, IL 60625
(773) 989-2453

I do intend to conclude the week tomorrow with a more fuller post, but in the meantime I will say that Madison, WI (the city from which I am now departing) is an exceedingly pleasant place to ride a bicycle, and I want to thank everybody who joined me during my brief visit.  In fact, between Madison and Minneapolis, I'm not sure Portland has all that much to be smug about.  Our BRA ride even became "epic," owing to the inclusion of this very short unpaved sector:

Also, I was wearing the new Rapha perforated yak leather underpants.

Lastly, I apologize for the early hour of this brief post, and if you're having trouble waking up you should watch this video which was forwarded to me by a reader:

Apparently this video is meant to promote the Nagoya Keirin Association, though I didn't see a single bicycle.  (Unless they are being secreted in her cartoon cleavage.)

In any case, now that you're awake I wish you a productive day, and I'll be back tomorrow with a regular update.

Yoars treely,

--Wildcat Rock Machine

Goodbye Minneapolis, Hello Madison!

Owing to the rigorosities of my grueling (pronounced "groo-ELLING") touring schedule, the blog post into which I am typing words at this very moment will be brief, for I have aeroplanes to catch and BRAs to unhook and no time for the adding of any additional extraneous superfluous excessive verbiage.

I also don't have the luxury of thematic tangents and meanderings and need to keep to the point, which reminds me of this time many years ago when I was at the very first Lollapalooza festival at SPAC, and I left my seat to get a falafel.  When I returned, security wouldn't let me bring the falafel back to my seat with me.  Therefore, I was forced to consume the falafel in great haste so as not to miss the plaintive squealing and rhythmic gyrations of Perry Farrell or whoever was on stage at the time.  However, in so doing, I accidentally consumed my ticket stub along with the falafel (it's easier than you'd think to eat a rain- and tahini-soaked ticket stub without noticing it), and it took a great deal of cajoling on my part to convince the security person to authorize my return.

So, right, this guy:

To cyclists everywhere, he is the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork, and his ubiquitous likeness is used to promote everything from charity rides to Canadian bread:

(Fred bread)

But did you know he also has a unicycling doppelganger?  It's true, and I know this because I spotted him while wandering around Minneapolis yesterday:

By the way, it was quite a blustery day yesterday, and I should point out that he's unicycling into a pretty strong headwind:

That will probably compromise his time on Strava, or it's unicycling equivalent.

In any case, this preternaturally upright apparition in yellow has led me to advance a theory, which is this:

Somewhere in the world, each and every bicyclist has a unicycling doppelganger.

Think about it.

Immediately after experiencing this revelation, I crossed the Mississippi River:

Which was immediately familiar to me because I saw it in a movie once:

After crossing it, I descended a long staircase:

And then I kneeled at its bank and drank deeply to slake my thirst, and to experience communion with this legendary river that separates East from West:

I can't describe the spiritual sensation of imbibing the mystical waters of America's sweat rivulet, but I can describe the severe cramping, fever, and vomiting that came afterward.  Fortunately for you, I won't.  I will, however, boast about my own resiliency, for shortly thereafter I was burying my face in an enormous falafel sandwich:

I didn't eat any ticket stubs, but I am having trouble finding my cellphone.

Ultimately, this falafel was sufficient to fuel yesterday's ride, organized by Freewheel Bike Shop, as well as my BRA at the University of Minnesota Bookstore.  Thanks very much to everybody involved and all who attended, and I'm now off to Madison where I hope to see some of you here:

Wednesday, March 28
5:30pm ride
Machinery Row
601 Williamson Street
Madison, WI 53703
(608) 442-5974

Barnes & Noble 
7433 Mineral Point Road
Madison, WI 53717
(608) 827-0809

Yours truely,

Wildcat Rock Machine


cc: David Byrne

Conquests: Another Notch in the Belt

I have a recurring nightmare in which I wake up in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  So you can imagine my horror this morning when I awoke and discovered that it had come true.

Stumbling outside, I resolved to make the best of it, and so far things really don't seem all that bad.  For example, the gigantic liquor store has a bike rack that's cleverly shaped like a bike:

Also, the retail establishments are full of that Midwestern "can-do" spirit:

Old Man Roberts confirmed that he could indeed fit my foot, but when I told him I wanted shoes of the finest perforated yak leather he told me to "get the fuck out."

And there's even a gun store right next to a "New York style" Chinese restaurant:

I am completely ignorant of "gun culture" and thus have no idea what a "conceal carry class" entails, though I assume it covers how to shove a pistol into your waistband without shooting off your "pants yabbies."  In any case, it's comforting to know that if I'm overcome with homesickness I can drown my sorrows in a quart or two of wonton soup and then cry myself to sleep while clutching an egg roll.

Oh, and there's even what appears to be some sort of bicycle superhighway:

Long shadows of dorky bloggers fall upon this highway, and across it blow high winds--which, if you listen closely, also carry the soporific murmurings of Garrison Keillor.  It's also flanked by a forlorn simian bike rack that made me feel like Charlton Heston in the Forbidden Zone:

As well as by Freewheel Bikes:

This is where we'll be meeting at 4:00 today for a ride over to the University of Minnesota Bookstore for my BRA, and I hope you will come out and join me.  (Please leave your guns at home, unless it's more dangerous around here than I think it is, in which case please bring your guns with you and protect me.)

Moving on, yesterday I mentioned the Gent-Wevelwhatever bike race, and I'm sorry I didn't actually watch it because Klaus of Cycling Inquisition has informed me that if I had watched it I might have seen this:

  Image hosting by
(You have to click on it.)

Speaking of women in cycling, how to get more women on bikes is a popular subject among the advocacy set.  Now, I'm not a woman, but I've met a few, and I've come to the conclusion that besides the various glands and stuff men and women really aren't all that different.  Sure, men love manly stuff like guns and cinderblocks, whereas women love womanly stuff like pretty guns and cinderblocks upholstered in velvet, but when it comes down to it we mostly have the same needs.  In particular, we are all born with a strong desire to not get hurt or killed.  For this reason, I believe that the less likely it is you'll get hurt or killed on a bike, the more likely it is people will ride one, regardless of genitalway.  Therefore, we should just make the streets safer and be done with it, right?

The only problem is that this solution does ignore one crucial difference between men and women, which is that men are far more likely than women to come up with dumb ideas--especially when those ideas involve anything mechanical.  That's why the latest phase of the Gates Belt Drive Anti-Bicycle Chain Conspiracy involves foisting them on women, as I've learned from their latest press release:

For Immediate Release

Gates Carbon Drive™ Reaches out to Women with Videos that Highlight the Clean, Low-Maintenance Advantages of Belt Drive Bikes
Marketing initiative aimed at recruiting new cyclists seeking bikes they can jump on and ride, minus the grease

(Denver, March 26, 2012) – To encourage more women and non-cyclists to ride bicycles, Gates Carbon Drive™ has launched a “Get Belted” video campaign that highlights the clean and low-maintenance advantages of belt drive bikes.

The videos, which can be seen at the Gates Carbon Drive channel on YouTube, show the lifestyle benefits of riding a bike with Gates Carbon Drive. The first video, “High Maintenance Boyfriend,” pokes fun at the greasy mess of chains and features a female cyclist who comes home to find a trail of grime left by her filthy bike mechanic boyfriend.

The second video, “Built to Last,” highlights the longevity of belt drives (they typically last twice as long as chains) and shows a young mother taking her toddler, who transforms into an adolescent, for a spin in a tow-trailer.

The message:  thanks to its cleanliness and longevity, Gates Carbon Drive makes cycling easier and more appealing. “Gates hopes to eliminate some of the barriers to cycling by helping to create low-maintenance bikes that people can just jump on and ride, with no pre-ride lube or work required,” says Frank Scurlock, global business development director for Gates Carbon Drive Systems.

“Belt drives offer distinct advantages for time-stressed people,” says Todd Sellden, global director of Gates Carbon Drive Systems. “We believe that Carbon Drive is a technology that can get more people riding bikes for health, fitness, and environmental benefits.”

Will this automotive accessory manufacturing concern stop at nothing to take over our tiny little human-powered industry?  First they tried the "high performance" thing with singlespeed mountain bikes and the NAHBS sponsorship, and now they're trying the whole anti-performance "we love women thing" thing.  Yes, only a man could come up with the idea that the one thing standing between women and bikes is a piece of cycling equipment.  Sure, women don't want to get their pretty guns and velvet cinderblocks dirty when they ride, but that's why the Almighty Lobster on High created chainguards.  Still, it's a highly entertaining piece of anti-chain propaganda:

I particularly enjoyed the squeaky chain sounds they added to the scene in which the doofus with the mustache is cleaning his chainrings:

Gender issues aside, in what universe does a bicycle remain clean, with or without a chain?  If you work on a dirty bike you're going to get dirty no matter what kind of drivetrain it has.  Even performing maintenance on one of these will make you look like a Victorian chimney sweep if it's ridden often and never cleaned.

But while people may argue about how to get more women into cycling, there's one sure way to drive them out of it, and that's by exposing them to Mario Cipollini.  Many people have informed me that Cipollini is now working with a women's cycling team, and the resulting video is filthier than a chain drive on a messenger bike in a Minneapolis winter.  This team will be on MCipollini bikes, so naturally the great man was magnanimous enough to give them a chance to be on Mario Cipollini himself, but what he does to these poor women is nothing short of disgraceful:

There's a real lack of explanation in this video, and what you miss are some of the ethnographic subtleties of the mating rituals of the Cipollini alpha male.  In Italy, the summoning of a woman of age to the Cipollini domicile is a rite of passage that is cause for both celebration and mourning.  While parents are quite proud and send their daughters off with great fanfare, they also know the loss of innocence that awaits her, and so once she departs they wear all black and pray for a month.  It is also not uncommon for neighbors and relatives to visit and bring gifts at this time, for they know the daughter will return great with child.

As for the daughters themselves, when a group of women greets the Cipollini, it is customary for them to receive him in an orderly "V" formation:

While the Cipollini himself prepares by performing shirtless index finger warm-up exercises:

Once introduced, the ensuing interactions are highly ritualized.  First there is the Supplication:

Then there is the Inspection:

And then, finally, the Selection:

That shoulder tap means only one thing.  I shouldn't have to explain what that thing is, but it's very oily, and nine months later there's a child with a full mane of hair and a set of teeth like a whale's baleen.

Of course, modern social conventions require that this primitive ritual takes place under the guise of a team training camp, but it's around this point that some of the more savvy women on the team begin to suspect that Mario Cipollini is not in fact a trained physical therapist:

(Cipollini manipulating the leg during the Inspection phase in order to obtain an optimal line of sight.)

Nevertheless, he keeps up the ruse.  "Cycling comes from the primal rhythmic pulsations of the groin," explains Cipo below:

It sounds much better in Italian.  (Actually, pretty much everything sounds better in Italian, including the words, "My team's bike sponsor gave me an STD.")

Here, Cipollini's hands wander to parts of the body that have little or nothing to do with pedal stroke analysis:

Speaking of stroke analysis, here's Cipollini showing exactly how he likes to be stroked:

Whereas this part actually looks worse than it is:

Sure, it may look they're in the process of mating, but Cipollini is merely working out the optimal position for the obligatory "Cipo Was Here" team "tramp stamp."

In any case, once the coupling is complete, Cipollini then mimes the Caressing of the Imaginary Body Parts:

And then they go for a ride during which Cipollini beats them all in a sprint:

Judge if you must, but you only reveal your ethnocentrism.

Cubicles and Cockpits: When Every Day is Bring Your Toys to Work Day

Do you live in or around Minneapolis, Minnesota?  Do you have little or nothing to do tomorrow afternoon?  Would you like an opportunity to tell some smartass bike blogger from New York exactly where he can shove his new book, which Janet Maslin of The New York Times has already called "fucking awesome"?  Well, if you answered, "I can't hear you, I was cleaning my ears with a mini-pump and it got stuck" to any of the following questions, then come here tomorrow and I'll try and help you extract it:

Tuesday, March 27
4:00pm ride
Midtown Bike Center by Freewheel Bike
2834 10th Avenue South
Minneapolis, MN 55407
(612) 238-4447

Then it's on to these places on these days, and you can find additional details here:

Wednesday, March 28th:

Madison, WI

Thursday, March 29th:

Chicago, IL

Saturday, March 31st:

Austin, TX

Sunday, April 1st:

Boulder, CO

After that I visit the west coast as well as the New Amsterdam Bike Show, but we can deal with that all later.  And while I'm on the subject of book tours, I should also mention I now have the details concerning my visit to London, and my first transatlantic BRA will take place on Thursday, May 10th starting at 5:30pm (or 17:30 if you're pretentious, European, or in the military) at the following location:

49 Old Street 
London EC1V 9HX
020 7253 1025

And then finally I'll be in Italy for this:

Whew!  I get tired just cutting and pasting it all.  In any case, my tour is generously sponsored in part by Brooks England LTD., and for those of you who have asked the answer is, "Yes, Brooks saddles are in fact edible."  (Assuming of course your name is Bear Grylls.)  Also, I apologize for all the self-promotion, and I can assure you that once all of this is over this blog will revert to its normal and preferred state of being a disembodied presence with no discernible author floating languidly in cyberspace.

Moving on, this past weekend was the Red Hook Crit, and I visited the race for the first time since its inception.  Despite having been misquoted on the matter by some stupid online magazine, I've always liked the Red Hook Crit, and the only reason I'd never actually gone was because it takes place late in the evening.  Sure, I only live a short bike ride away, but the only place I like to be after 9:00pm is on a couch in front of a television.  Of course, now that I have a bakfiets with both a couch and a television on it, I'm finally able to partake in all this "nighlife" I've been hearing so much about.

The race was very well-attended and enjoyable to watch, even if the outcome was decided pretty early in the race.  (Local racer Dan Chabanov rode away by himself for an emphatic win, despite the presence of something like six MASH guys, who are evidently less adept at chasing than they are at branding.)  I will not molest you with pictures of the race because: A) I'm a really crappy photographer; and 2) there are already like a million other pictures on the Internet; but I will say that it basically looked like a whole lot of young white people standing around a cruise ship terminal at night, and it also didn't look anything like this:

In any case, my visit to the races was marred by only one incident.  Right near the venue, we were riding through an intersection with the right-of-way, when an oncoming car ran a stop sign and drove right into our path.  Then, the driver of the car pulled up next to me and rolled down his window.  I was expecting some sort of misguided insult, but amazingly he smiled and asked me directions to the bike race.

Before I knew what I was doing I found myself answering him, and astoundingly he kept pressing me for more details.  ("So, like, is it actually inside the cruise ship terminal?")  Then I remembered he was a complete asshole, and so I cut him off and told him, "You know, next time stop at the stop sign."

You can probably guess his indignant reply: "I did stop at the stop sign."

If you ride a bicycle in America you've almost certainly encountered this sort of brazen dissembly, and while it's stunning to be lied to by the person who just almost ran you over, it's even more disturbing when you stop and think that they have total license to do so.  This is because, if they actually do run you over, they will then tell the police and the insurance company that of course they stopped at the stop sign, and that they didn't see you, and that you "came out of nowhere," and that you were probably riding the wrong way down a one way street because like who do these "bikers" think they are anyway?  And if you're lucky enough to be able to speak after an "accident" like this, good luck trying to get anybody to believe anything to the contrary.  I mean, who do these bikers think they are anyway?

Nevertheless, I remained civil throughout this encounter, but he was wearing some stupid aging hipster fedora hat and I hope it's a vintage 19th century job that's slowly giving him mercury poisoning.

Speaking of bicycle cycle racing, this past weekend was the mellifluously-titled Ghent-Wevelgem, and once again Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish totally Sky-ed it:

A nine-rider group stayed away much of the race, but the real story was a split in the field with about 35 km to go. World champion Mark Cavendish (Sky) was left behind in a chasing group and tried to bridge the gap on his own, but never saw the front of the race again.

Oy.  Next thing you know he's going to have Bradley Wiggins hair:

(Bradley Wiggins models his look on the band Oasis, who have also made a highly successful career of falling well short of people's expectations.)

By the way, if you enjoy following professional bicycle cycling then you probably also enjoy "bike porn," and a reader has recently informed me of a new bike porn subgenre, which is called "workplace bike porn:"

Yes, that's right, it's pictures of awesome bikes in awesome workspaces:

The idea of The Work Cycle is to share showcases of various workspaces to demonstrate how the Work Cycle is being successfully integrated into the daily office grind, both as a form of inspiration, as much as it is a celebration. It’s not just about clever and innovative storage solutions though: bikes propped up wherever they'll fit is just as interesting and arguably an even bigger embrace! We want to see a focus on the whole space and how the Work Cycle fits in. And nothing says we’re bicyclists and proud like a couple of VĂ©los propped up in the meeting room!

Or, if you prefer, it's an entire website dedicated to the joy of riding a designer bicycle to a designer job.

Now, I'm a strong believer that riding your bike to work can improve not only your day but your life.  In the case of this particular website though I find claims like this to be highly spurious:

Work cyclists rave about good health, freeing up time and the development of the social culture that comes with it. 

Really, is this why the people who work for the companies featured in this site are so happy?  Or could it also have something to do with the fact that they make lots of money working in sun-drenched loft spaces in fashionable neighborhoods making pretty pictures with Apple products all day?  I'd be willing to bet that, at most of the offices pictured here, the guy who rides his vintage road bike to work and his co-worker who commutes via classic Porsche are both equally happy and sickeningly-self-satisfied.  Consider Weiden + Kennedy, the advertising firm in Portland:

Yes, your workday can be this great, too.  All you need is a big salary, a high-end race bike, and an employer who encourages you to work in flip-flops:

But this lifestyle isn't limited to make-believe cities like Portland, OR.  It's also readily available to people in the real world.  For example, you could go to work for Zago in New York City:

I had no idea what Zago was, so I visited their website and I still don't know:

In our interconnected world,branding is the means to bring vision to reality, to communicate and shape meaning, to nurture and preserve interactions. Companies and organizations need to consider the myriad options and shifting array of opportunities that confront their audience. 

Unceasing competition for attention requires choices and behaviors that transform the very nature of communication itself.

In a world where consumption merges with activism and content becomes commitment, our economy is no longer ruled by isolated transactions but is ever more subject to the impact of interactivity.
In this ever-changing environment branding is how relationships are fostered, transformed and improved.

Though I'm assuming what it means is that you show up to a Tribeca loft at about 10:30-ish and lean your vintage bike against an exposed-brick wall:

After which you spend the rest of the day alternately drinking $8 coffees and masturbating in an open-plan workspace.

Oh, and if you work for a company like this in Amsterdam you should have the decency to keep it to yourself.

Dutch people do not get to brag about riding their bikes to work.  That's just sandbagging.

When The Work Cycle features a Subway franchise or a local post office then I'll be impressed.  Until then, it's just another designer circle jerk.  One thing's for sure, though, which is that if we do see some everyday "workplace bike porn" it's sure to include some sweet "cockpit porn," like this example spotted by a reader in Oshkosh, WI:

It's tough to see the details due to the size of the picture, but this appears to be a variation on the famous "puppeteer" setup:

(A Fred who rides a "puppeteer" setup is actually called a "Geppetto.")

And if "cockpit porn" isn't hard enough for you, how about some "freak bike porn?"

(Forwarded by yet another reader.)

How do you sell a piece of history?