I know that some of you are tired of living in fear and you'd rather read about something else. Fortunately, the internet is a vast litterbox of soiled sand in which you can bury your head, full of product reviews, ride reports, training tips, and perverse bicycle pornography. But I'd rather be hated for speaking the truth than live with the guilt I'd feel if I simply contributed to the lies. Others of you think you're safe. Like the mountain bikers. But don't delude yourselves, because you will not be spared. You sit around, arguing about frivolous things like wheel size. But no size can save you! Your diminutive 26-inch wheels will get hopelessly stuck in the ruts of the post-apocalyptic wasteland, and your bloated 29-inch wheels will accelerate too slowly to allow you to escape the flames. Even the 650B-ers are doomed, as they shall be punished for their waffly, bet-hedging ways, and the air will be ripe with the stench of burning leg hair, CamelBak, and tire slime.
I realize this all may sound a bit overzealous, but you'd be agitated too if one of the first things you heard this morning was this. I'd heard this before, but a reader was unkind enough to email it to me again. It appears to be a fixed-gear appropriation of the Chamillionaire song "Ridin' Dirty." (I'm not sure what a Chamillionaire is, but I'm guessing it's someone who's much richer than a regular millionaire.)
Bad? Yes. Apocalyptically bad? Also yes. Set your house on fire, grab a firearm, and run naked into the street bad? Not by itself. But then there's this, which has been making the rounds lately.
Here, the song and the tedious footage combine to form a world-class tour de dorkitude. If the Nada Surf video and the Robin Thicke video were first cousins this would be their mentally-challenged offspring. Watching someone riding around in overcast weather is marginally less interesting than watching someone tape a pair of handlebars, and if I wanted to watch someone delivering packages slowly I'd just follow a postal worker around. Worst of all, if you can bear to wait for the parts where he actually gets off the bike and goes into his bag, it's clear that the video has been speeded up. It looks like old Babe Ruth footage. So he hasn't just been riding slowly; he's actually been riding very slowly.
And if you're looking for the missing ingredient to crystallize this miserable melange of rap and riding, here it is, via BSNYC gadfly, fixed-gear freestylist, and street culture enthusiast Prolly:

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The only thing that allowed me to keep my cool here was the fact that this bike is in Fairfield, Connecticut and is clearly owned by someone who is not using it for fixed-gear freestyling purposes. Surely some trendy young urban citydweller will Mapquest Fairfield, convince a friend to drive him up there in a hand-me-down Volvo with Vermont plates, and bring it back to Brooklyn. He'll then try to sell it shortly thereafter for something with more street cred, and the PistaDex will correct itself.Reply to: [deleted]
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After a few readers emailed me about this I was watching the auction carefully, as I knew the eventual winner would probably be a demon, horseman, or at least a harbinger of some kind. But someone--or some thing--has stopped it. And we probably owe that entity our lives.










And these high-heeled Chucks, perfect both on and off the bike. 













One of the first things you learn when you start riding, just after how to fix a flat and not to wear underwear with your cycling shorts, is that it’s extremely dorky to wear pro team kit, grand tour leader’s jerseys, or World Champion stripes while you’re riding. (Unless of course you’re on a pro team, are leading a grand tour, or are a World Champion, in which case it’s only mildly dorky.) It would follow then that wearing 






















