The Indignities of Blogging by Ripping Someone Off: Sour Grapes

I believe that my attempts to woo Bike Snob through the sincerest form of flattery may be fruitless. Direct communication from manufacturers and BMX evangelists will certainly trump my measly copycat snark.

(BTW, if Ernesto does write, please ask him to explain the paint jobs on some of his bikes.)

Besides, I prolly offended him by making fun of the Tokyo Langster.

There is good news for my just cause, though. Apparently, all I need is a BMX bike!

The Indignity of Commuting by Bicycle: Embracing Your Inner Fred

For better or worse, Los Angeles is a center of culture. Movies, TV, music, literature, art,  architecture, even dance all flourish here. Fashion, however, does not. At least not in the same way. Sure, some local designers have become notorious throughout the world, and others have even attempted to bridge their aesthetic with my beloved sport of cycling. Still, it is no Paris, no Milan, and no one would ever think to do something crazy at a runway show here. What we know how to do here is look around us and steal other peoples' ideas, re-synthesizing them into some kind of marketable trend that we can then sell as our own.

It's kind of like blogging.

Bike commuters are no different. All the way to work this yesterday, I exchanged glances and occasional greetings with my fellow cyclists--each of us assessing the others using a variety of criteria, categorizing, comparing, judging, but no one leading the way, no common destination.

In general, cyclists tend to be quite fashion-conscious. Especially roadies. Even I succumb to this tendency with my shaven legs, Italian bibs, and glasses worn outside my helmet straps. At this point, my hair has gotten so long it almost even qualifies as a euro-mullet.

Commuting is an altogether different beast, innately practical in nature, and on the mean streets of Los Angeles, so contrary to the pulse of the city that there is no time for fashion. I wear my old, holey bike shorts under regular shorts with baggy technical tees and a bevisored helmet. Look, the holes are bigger offering better ventilation while I wait at lights. At least I don't have top mounted shifters. I will not, however, be featured in the Sartorialist any time soon, but thankfully, not the New York Times either.

LA bike fashion is no different than clothing. New York, Tokyo, Vegas, they have it all over us. In LA the only thing that looks like a cab but sucks that bad is a Jimmy Fallon vehicle.

Anyway, here's my road bike.

It's a few seasons out of date by now, but clearly a sleek, chic, French road racer with classic lines and modern simplicity. Kind of like the little black dress of bicycles. I can ride it a lot of places and in a lot of ways, but it doesn't have pockets, offer much protection from the elements, or look good dirty. The truth is, putting a backpack on full of computer and change of clothes makes riding her feel like moving a mattress on top of a hatchback.

For that reason, I had the guys at Hollywood Pro Bikes build me something specific to commuting.

Some would call this a Frankenstein (you should see the schwanzstücke!), but despite the combination of track crank, pursuit bars, and rear rack (not pictured), the unified whole is actually quite practical and, IMHO, attractive. The most important thing is that it gets me there comfortably and at a reasonable speed so that two or three days a week I can be one less car.

(Yes, I know I am copying him. I'm going to keep doing it until he notices and links back. Besides, he totally ripped off Joel McHale yesterday.)