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Further to yesterday’s post, a reader forwarded me this video of the World’s Worst Bicyclist:

He makes Singing Bike Lane Guy Who Hit A Little Girl seem endearing in comparison:

Actually, that’s not true, they’re both terrible.

I’ve made plenty of fun of Lucas Brunelle over the years, but I’ll take him over these two any day:

That’s a hell of a title, I gotta hand it to him.

As for me, I tend to be more cooperative with old age than Mr. Brunelle, and I’m not so much “Finger Fucking Death’s Clit” as I am tickling the taint of middle age. Of course, in order to do so you need the appropriate bike, and I’m pleased to announce the crown jewel of my taint-tickling fleet has officially turned two years old!

Sadly, I don’t think Rivendell will be incorporating “taint-tickler” into their copy for the A. Homer Hilsen, though it’s a great source of pride for me that they did use my evocative description of its ride quality:

While my Jones LWB (and the Marin Pine Mountain that preceded it) helped set me on a less Fredly and more rambling path, the Homer is the bike that really carried me across the retrogrouchical Rubicon; my clipless pedal use dropped off precipitously, as did my grooming. Certainly not everybody’s ready to be liberated from the deceptively stretchy-yet-secure bounds of Lycra, so caveat emptor, but in my case I’d say extraction was long overdue. I’ve also changed almost nothing about the bike since taking delivery of it, save for adding an accessory here and there, changing the tires, and adding the rapid-rise derailleur Grant Petersen sent me:

As far as stuff I would change, there’s not much, but if I were ever to dispense with my road bike altogether (which I don’t think I would), I could see fitting it with drop bars and adding a large ring to the crank at some point. However, I find the current bars extremely comfortable, and they offer plenty of hand positions, so I don’t see it happening anytime soon:

They’re even good for climbing if you grip them at the bend and ahead of the brake levers, which is important when you’re conquering the mighty peaks of Yonkers:

Note the commanding view of the Palisades:

Meanwhile, in what I can only assume is a sign, not too long after expressing a desire for a cheap small-displacement motorcycle did I pass the smoldering remains of one:

Judging from the smell of things I suspect the conflagration had taken place in the wee hours of the morning, and judging from the motor that’s pretty much exactly the bike I mentioned in my post:

Then again, it’s not necessarily a sign–I mean by that logic I should never ride a Citi Bike again, either:

Trashed Citi Bikes aren’t unusual around these parts, but this was the scene of a double murder:

Certain boutique models aside, when was the last time you even saw a broken crank arm?

There’s a fine line between vandalism and Bike Kill:

I guess the difference is whether or not it’s hipsters doing it:

I know where they can find a few more Citi Bikes.

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