Just one bike

April 29, 2017 § 26 Comments

A friend came over today and took a quick tour of the apartment. “Where are the rest of your bikes?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I see your road bike, parked next to your bed. Nice. But where do you keep your other bikes?”

I had to tell her that’s all I got. No ‘cross bike in the storage locker, no MTB, no beach cruiser, no cool bike from back in the day.

Just one bike.

Mostly it’s because I’ve never been able to figure out how to ride more than one bike at a time, and also because of Scott Dickson, he of Paris-Brest-Paris fame. We were riding one day east of I-35 between San Marcos and Austin and I was well into my third bonk and according to Scott we were “almost home” and were “just going” to take a “little detour” right here to “get a couple of extra miles.”

Scott opined that it made no sense to have two bikes because all that meant is that neither one of them would be working perfectly.

That’s not to say I don’t like bikes or admire bikes or secretly wish I had a bunch of them. My friend Deb has a bunch of them. A whole bunch. She has a bicycle problem, in my estimation, one that she’s tried to remedy with a giant garage, to no avail.

Today I was almost overwhelmed with the urge to buy a second bike. Dave W. came by and showed off one cool bike, his Follis, made in 1392 or thereabouts. It has the coolest thing I’ve ever ridden: A hand-operated front derailleur.

follis1

You want to feel like the world’s baddest badass? When it gets time make the big meat sing, you don’t click no button or whack no handlebar shifter or even flip a lever on your down tube. Nah, you drop your entire fuggin’ arm down to the big chain ring and grab a big steel handle and prize your chain up onto the 53.

And when you go uphill, you reach down and manhandle it back.

It was surprising how smoothly it shifted. The bike had super narrow bars with cloth tape, just like the Nishiki International that Uncle Phil sold me back in October of 1982. The water bottle cage was up on the bars and the big, leather Brooks saddle was behind. It had a big, beefy Simplex derailleur and five — that’s the whole number between four and six — cogs on the freewheel. Yes, freewheel. Not “cassette.”

Spaghetti cables coming out of the brake hoods. Big goofy brakes that didn’t stop very well.

But it rode so smoothly, and wasn’t afraid of cracks, bumps, or deformities in the pavement. Rolled over that shit like a tank.

But what I really loved about that bike was the smile that came with it.

END

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Coffee cream cruise

April 1, 2017 § 26 Comments

Special Ops and I went for a coffee cruise today. We did the Super Wanky Power Loop with Kickerz, hopped the chain link fence at La Venta Inn, went down VdM, on down to Haggerty’s, up the Cove Climb, back up VdM, up Highridge, and up Whitley Collins.

Or as Joann Z. would say, “Just turn left.”

Then we descended Monaco to Hawthorne to PV South to Sea Beans. It was sunny and warm. Some dude was pulling up for valet service in his $200,000 BMW sporty car thingy wearing a matching jogging suit. Michael and I looked at all that money and quietly got free refills of our $1.87 small coffees.

Many years ago Johnny C. had told me about tubeless tars. They were, according to him, “Way better than clincher tars.”

“How come?” I had asked.

“Because no tubes. Just like a car.”

“Cars don’t have tubes?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Not since about 1938.”

“So what happens when you flat?”

“You never flat. That’s the beauty of them.”

I thought about all the times my Dad’s Galaxie 500 had flatted and all the curse words I’d learned watching him work a tire iron on a bunch of bolts that had been put on with an impact wrench. “Never?”

“Never.”

“What about when you roll over a cake filled with razor blades or ride through a glass field?”

“Oh, sure, sometimes you flat. If you’re doing something way crazy, sure, they’re rubber, they’ll slice. But basically it never happens.”

“Never?”

“Mine only flatted once.”

“Then what happened?”

“You just stick a tube in there like it was a regular tar and you’re good to go.”

“So it’s a tubeless tar that takes a tube?”

“If you want it to. But it never flats. Unless you are doing something way crazy.”

“How can it hold air if there’s no tube?”

“Just like a car tar.”

This stumped me because I had no idea how a car tar held air. In fact I had wondered about it since I was a little kid but was always too afraid to ask because I didn’t want people to think I was dumb. Er.

“How does a car tar hold air?” I asked.

Johnny C. looked at me like I was really dumb. “The edge of the tar makes a perfect seal against the rim. No air can get out.”

“How does it do that?”

“You put some sealant in it.”

“Some what?”

“Sealant.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this liquid that sloshes around in the tar and when you put air in it the pressure forces the bead against the rim and the sealant closes off the infinitesimal gap and makes a complete seal so no air gets out.”

“What happens to the sealant when you get one of those flats that never happens?”

“They never flat, I’m telling you.”

“I know. But what happened that one time you got that flat that never flatted?”

“I just put a tube in.”

“With all the sealant?”

“You just kind of wipe it away. It doesn’t make that big a mess or anything. It’s not like your tar is filled with a gallon of white paint. Anyway, they’re the wave of the future. Five years from now no one will be riding tubes. They’ll all be tubeless tars. They never flat, and when they puncture the sealant fills the hole and seals it up, and if once in a million years you flat then you pop in a tube and you’re good to go.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. I only switched to clinchers from sew-ups back in 2006 and am just now getting the hang of putting in the inner tube. I don’t want to have to learn how to change a tubeless.”

“But they never flat. There’s nothing to change.”

“Except that one time.”

“One time in three years. Think of all the money you’ll save on tubes.”

“Mostly I’m thinking about that one time every three years like clockwork I’ll be 50 miles from home covered in white paint.”

So anyway it was five years later and everyone hadn’t switched over to tubeless tars but a whole bunch of people had, especially ‘cross and gravel types, and Special Ops was one of those types.

We were feeling pretty good after the coffee and the jokes about the jogging suit and the car that cost $200,000 but had probably never been driven over 45 mph, and we were pedaling slowly along Crest, a nicely paved, smooth piece of asphalt that looked like it had been polished that morning with Kiwi shoe wax and buffed with a horsehair brush, so fine it was, and I was on the inside and am pretty sure neither of us was doing anything crazy or even mildly neurotic when pow! There was an explosion louder than a Trump tweet at 3:00 AM and it was followed by the sound of carbon scraping asphalt and how I didn’t fall off my bike from fright I’ll never know.

Special Ops his foot down and looked back at his rear tar which had blown off the rim and the road and his leg, which was covered in what looked like a gallon of white paint.

“What happened?” I said, trembling with much fear.

“Darned if I know.” He took off the rear wheel which was a major operation because these new bikes are all equipped with a slow release and the derailleur falls off when you take off the wheel which itself gave me an aneurysm but he had it under control except for the gallon of white paint that now covered everything, everything meaning his hands, legs, feet, bike, the shrubbery … it looked like Local 157 of the Painters Union had thrown a white paint party.

Special Ops did some surgery on the wheel but the tar wasn’t going to work even though we couldn’t find a hole in it. He shot it up with a couple of C02s and more white paint spewed everywhere.

“Are you going to put a tube in it now?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was really dumb. “It’s tubeless,” he said. “There is no tube.”

“Right,” I said. “I was just testing you.”

Luckily my apartment was nearby so I rode home and Ubered him to work. I think I am going to keep using my clincher tars for a while yet.

END

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The uselessness of data

February 20, 2017 § 14 Comments

You own a Fitbit, admit it. And after the first month, the only thing it measures is the fitness of the socks in the bottom of the drawer, where it permanently lives now. Right?

But wait. Fitbit and other fitness trackers, also known as sock drawer weights, are supposed to provide “real-time feedback that may be particularly useful to enhance lifestyle changes that promote weight loss in sedentary overweight or obese adults.” In other words … data!

Unfortunately, after billions were spent on the false promise of changing the way America eats through Apple Watches, Fitbits and etcetera, some skeptic, probably related to Billy Stone, decided to do an actual study using science and numbers and shit to see if the sock drawer weights actually work.

One such study started off by “recruiting 197 sedentary overweight or obese adults from the greater Columbia, South Carolina area.” I bet that was pretty easy to do. What would have been a challenge is “recruiting four non-obese adults from the American South.” But I progress.

So they took these poor folks, literally, and put them into four groups.

  1. Standard Care Group. Participants received a self-directed weight loss manual based on two evidence-based programs, Active Living Every Day and Healthy Eating Every Day. The manual’s focus was to help individuals adopt a healthful eating pattern and increase their physical activity levels through the use of cognitive and behavioral strategies consistent with the Transtheoretical Model and Social Cognitive Theory. Now I don’t know what that manual or model or theory are, but they sound a lot like Coach Castoria’s 7th Grade gym class at Jane Long Junior High back in August of 1979, where a rabid and sadistic football coach would spread a class of weaklings out on a 110-degree asphalt slab and scream at us to do leg lifts until we puked, which was about twice.
  2. Intervention Group: Same manual as above, along with a diary for participants to record daily meal and lifestyle activity, emotion, or mood. The mood section was pre-filled in with “hungry and pissed off about it.”
  3. Peer Weight Loss Group: 14 sessions with a facilitator using the manuals, with a weekly weigh-in and greater emphasis on weight loss than in the original programs. One-on-one telephone counseling sessions to provide continued support and enhance weight loss maintenance.
  4. Fitness Tracker Wearers: You know who you are.
  5. Peer Weight Loss Group + Fitness Tracker: Lecturing/scolding along with a fitness tracker.

Now before we get to the results and how it affects your cycling pro masters career, a couple of key facts. First, a bunch of people quit, which tells you all you need to know about fitness and weight loss. To recap: PEOPLE MOSTLY QUIT. Get it? No matter what you buy or how many power meters you own or how studiously you learn the CdA, most people quit.

THIS PROBABLY MEANS YOU. So, save your money and go buy some socks or some super stylish underwear. I recommend products by Stance:

m201c17oce_mul

Moving on, what the study found is that when you do a study there are a lot of numbers. And making sense of those numbers isn’t possible because the only number that matters was previously discussed and indicates that you are going to give up, which your sock drawer weight proves you already have. More importantly, the study found — and this is truly amazing — that doing something is better than doing nothing.

And unhappily for the Fitbitters out there, it didn’t matter whether you read a manual, got counseled, or did both in tandem. As compared to doing nothing, doing something was better.

I know, I know, let’s call up the Nobel Prize committee now. However, there were a few sad qualifiers that seemed to throw the entire study into doubt, raising the awful specter that doing nothing may be just as good as doing something.

To wit: The study noted that if your participants are university students, they are pretty much worthless at doing anything: “Students were the most unreliable group in this study, and their adherence was especially poor for homework assignments and other assignments.” Parents, time to start asking for some tuition refunds from those deadbeat kids! Also, we learned that since so many people quit, weight loss is hard.

Finally, we learned that the study was conducted by one “Dr. Blair,” who receives book royalties from Human Kinetics and honoraria for service on the Scientific/Medical Advisory Boards for Alere, Technogym, Santech, and Jenny Craig. In other words, this study, which so conclusively shows that your sock drawer weight is no better than Coach Castoria, also conclusively shows that even that flimsy conclusion is dubious at best. Because, industry bias and university students.

But back to your data driven cycling career. Tell me again how all those numbers are going to make you faster? Because first we’ll need to get together a control group, and I’m not planning on going to Columbia any time soon.

END

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Good bike

February 4, 2017 § 31 Comments

Last year I got a Cannondale Super Evo 6, or maybe it is an Evo Super 6, or maybe it is a Super Motel 6, I’m bad with names.

What it is, is carbon. Full carbon. It has so much carbon in it that if it had any more you’d have to spell it “carbone.” Which is Italian for “carbon,” only more so.

The reason I started riding this bike is because it was time to start riding a new bike. You will know when this time happens. It is different for every man, like menopause. But you suddenly don’t feel right on your current ride and you need a new one.

This is usually because your bike loses carbon as it ages. Bicycles are made from a special kind of carbon called carbon-14, which is radioactive and decays over time. You can actually date your bike frame by analyzing its carbon-14 radioactive isotopes. The fewer the isotopes, the older the bike. A typical full carbon bike that is made of all carbon, 100% hugely big carbon, the best, loses about half its carbon every two years.

That’s why you’ll be pedaling on the stiffest frame known to man one year, and the next year you’ll be pedaling around without a front fork. Which is awkward. Or maybe it’s because Boozy P. gave you a tune-up. Either way you need a lot of new 100% carbon.

The best solution is twofold: Get a new carbon-14 frame immediately and all new carbon parts. Or get disc brakes.

Disc brakes have revolutionized cycling since they were first used in 1982. Bicycling has never been the same. Now, the revolution that changed everything is something that you need to buy (a lot of) so that you can be part of The Spirit of ’82. Disc brakes are important because you can stop real quick on them.

Think of all the times you need to stop quick! There you are, pedaling to the porncery store, and a giraffe crosses your path. Bam! Grab a handful of front brake and fall on your head, causing permanent brain injury! Disaster averted!

Now, with full 100% all-carbon disc brakes you can stop a lot faster and you can slam yourself on your head even if a giraffe is nowhere in sight. Trust me, what’s good for a high performance motorcycle is even better for a recreational hobby bicycle. Plus, you can never have too much front braking power. Super good for fast, wet, downhill, off-camber turns. Trust Wanky on this.

But back to my Cannondale Motel 6.

It is the best bike I have ever had. Why? Because it’s all carbon? Nope. Because it handles great? Nope. Because it is more aero than Strava Jr. after a month of fasting? Nope.

It is the best bike ever because it is black. Fact is, Cannondale Super Motel 6 makes one of the best black bikes anywhere. It is better than ALL the black bikes Stern-O has ever had, and Stern-O only rides black. In fact, the Cannondale Motel 6 has blackness comparable to deep space. No light is reflected whatsoever from the Cannondale Super 6 Flags.

But just because it has the best black color, that doesn’t mean you should buy one.

It means you should buy TWO. Three if you can afford it or if you get the special Wanky discount (coupon code is #fullcarbonMotel6).

Still, it is possible that you are a comparison shopper, truly a despicable creature. And it is also possible that you really do like your hand-lugged Pegoretti with that unique Italian flavor that only comes from having a sweaty old man with garlicky breath and cauliflower farts lovingly join the lugs to the handlebars with a rubber hammer and pliers handed down from his great-grandfather, who died in prison due to his connections with the Mafia.

But whatever. We both know that your Pegoretti lives on the wall because no one rides art. Ever seen the French president gallop around town on the Mona Lisa? Of course not.

When it comes to stomping dicks, you’ll need carbon, and you’ll need a black Cannondale Super Motel 6 Stomper of Dicks.

Here are some things I’ve achieved this past year with my Cannondale Dick-6 Stomper that I could never have achieved on a much worse-black-painted Giant.

  1. Won the 50+ CBR rain crit, decisively beating Chris Lotts who was so weak he flatted, that dude who started late and wasn’t eligible to sprint, that other 66-year-old dude who had won the previous race in a one-hour solo break, that dude with the one knee pointing to Rome and the other to Beijing, and that dude who was racing in a different category. Not possible without the Dick Six.
  2. Had a natural way to chat up local Cannondale pro riders Krista Doebel-Hickock and Phil G. “Hey y’all, I ride a Cannondale too!” They think you are really cool when you do that.
  3. Set over 500 PRs this year on Strava. (*I deleted my account a couple of years ago and started a new one in 2016 but that has nothing to do with the plethora of new PRs.)
  4. Put on new handlebar tape.

Anyway, I hope you run out and get a Cannondale Super Evo Motel Dickstomper 6, black model only. You can get a great deal on them at Helen’s Cycles in Santa Monica, Marina del Rey, or Manhattan Beach. You can also hang around outside the shop and wait for someone to leave one unattended and borrow it. That’s what I would do. Did.

END

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Laboring day

September 5, 2016 § 25 Comments

My off season started in earnest on Tuesday, so I didn’t ride on Wednesday, Thursday, or even Friday. On Saturday I went down with some L.A. riders to San Diego, where they got a taste of what they call “fun” in North County.

I rode my bike to a few coffee shops but that was it, and in preparation for the San Diego trip I took off my cameras and lights and removed my tool box thingy that fits in the rear water bottle cage. I set it on the top of the cheap Ikea storage thing next to the bed, where I keep my bicycle tool.

On Sunday night, the last day of my off season, I began reassembling my bike for the Holiday Ride 18-minute beatdown. After bolting on all the cameras and strapping on the lights and filling up the water bottle I went to put the tool kit thingy in the bottle cage, but it was gone.

My apartment is pretty small and I don’t own much stuff so it was easy to search it from top to bottom. Nothing. We couldn’t even blame it on the grandbaby because it was too high for him to reach and too big to hold. We tried anyway. Nothing.

I did the Holiday Ride certain that I would have a flat because even though it’s been a year since my last puncture, we all know that the one time a flat is guaranteed is the time you don’t have a spare. Luckily, I didn’t flat, but Special Ops did. He blew out his entire tire. He’s a good friend and we had ridden out together, so I abandoned him immediately.

I felt a little guilty about it until EA Sports, Inc. helped me out. “Do the math, Wanky. Former Special Ops. Flats bicycle in city of 10 million people. Bike shop five minutes away. Has phone. Has money. Knows the natives and even speaks their dialect. I think he’s gonna survive.”

After the ride I tore up the apartment some more but no toolkit thingy. So I made an inventory of the important stuff and started thinking about replacing it.

  1. Tube with a stem that is too short for the rim.
  2. Multi-tool which I don’t know how to use but maybe someone in need someday will.
  3. Old CO2 inflation head that doesn’t work.
  4. Empty CO2 cartridge.
  5. Flimsy plastic tire lever.
  6. Boot.
  7. 10% discount coffee card at Peet’s.

Obviously the only thing that mattered was the coffee card.

The first bike shop I went to was closed. Then I went to Sprocket Cycles on PCH, which is owned by Paul Che. Paul has built a thriving business out of nothing in what has to be the world’s toughest market, the local bike shop.

They were open and fully staffed with three people. In a matter of minutes they had loaded me up with everything I needed, including a fancy pair of screw-in handlebar plugs to replace the ones that kept falling out.

Was it more expensive than if I’d bought it all on the Internet? I don’t know and don’t care. What I know is that they were there with great service and good products at a time when they were needed. Keep that in mind the next time you buy online. You may (or may not) save a couple of bucks, but Mr. Internet won’t be there on Labor Day to make sure you’re back on the road by Tuesday.

sprocket_stuff

END

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10 ways to get worse on a bike

August 31, 2016 § 22 Comments

There is a whole industry devoted to making you a better cyclist. Whether it’s coaching, tips from Bicycling Magazine, or tech web sites that tell you which component has how many extra milligrams of weight, everyone knows how to make you better.

Yet, you aren’t.

This is mostly because although there a billion ways to improve, the marginal gains for any one item are minuscule and the mental effort to do any one of them consistently is harder than doing five push-ups every morning. Sure, everyone knows that five push-ups only take a few seconds. So? The day I start my morning off with a push-up is the day I start my morning with a bullet in the forehead. My day begins with coffee, period, so GTF out of my way.

Unlike improvement tips, deprovement tips number only ten, and each one of them has a catastrophic effect on riding, and chances are you do most of them. If you never did a single improvement tip and cut out a mere one or two deprovement items, you’d probably win the Tour.

Here they are:

  1. Diets. Please stop dieting now. It doesn’t work. If you’re really overweight, dropping a few pounds might make you go faster, but you’ll be so weak and cranky and angry and hair-trigger-ready-to-kill (otherwise known as “hungry”) that you won’t be on your bike. You’ll be roaming the sample aisles at Costco with lust in your heart and there’s no fitness to be found there.
  2. Equipment. With the exception of carbon, the more bike stuff you have, the worse you ride. Take Shirtless Keith. He owns one old, rusted-out hybrid bike with fat tires. He has one chain ring (a 55). He rides in work boots. HE STILL STOMPS THE SHIT OUT OF 84.2% OF THE PEOPLE ON THE DONUT RIDE.
  3. Race clothing. Race clothing is aero but it shows your multiple tummy rolls and pinches tender places, which makes you not want to ride. You are never going to get better not riding.
  4. Riding. If you have to choose between riding and not riding, always choose the latter. Riding a lot will initially make you a better cyclist, then it will make you broke, then it will give you a weird physique, and finally you will only know people who talk about bicycle topics = LIFE FAIL. One day you’ll wake up and go, “This is dumb,” and quit riding completely, which will in turn really make you a bad rider. So mostly don’t ride if you want to ride better. Knoll rides to the guitar shop to pick up new strings once every six weeks and he does just fine, thank you.
  5. Coaches.
  6. Cyclocross. Do you know why they wear face masks and stuff when sparring? It’s to prevent getting beaten to shit so badly in practice that you can’t do the actual fight. Cyclocross is like sparring with brass knuckles and no protective gear. It will first make you tough, then unconscious, then a tube-feeder.
  7. Group rides. These are fun. So is heroin. Neither is banned by USADA because neither one makes you any good.
  8. Anything that comes in a big plastic tub. Magical elixirs that replace crucial fill-in-the-blanks operate on the proven scientific principle that there’s one born every minute.
  9. Crossfit, running, weights, stairs, anything that requires a membership or is trademarked. If you want to improve, get out there and ride your bike a little, then treat yourself to a Twinkie. Ignore everything else.
  10. Bed. That place you lie in? It’s killing your performance gains.
  11. Internet cycling blogs. If any of those clowns knew anything worth knowing, they wouldn’t be giving it away for free.

END

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Lighten up, dummy

August 28, 2016 § 48 Comments

Dear Wife of Cyclist:

Your husband is a dummy. Not a bleeding idiot or a complete maroon, but a dummy. That’s actually a good thing because dummy is repairable. Dummy can be taught. To be sure, he can’t be taught much, but a few simple tricks are within his feeble mental range.

And this trick will keep him alive.

Wife, I’m writing you because he has read this lecture a bunch of times but it hasn’t sunk in because after scanning the first couple of paragraphs and seeing that he’s not mentioned, he goes back to http://www.allcarbonstuff.carbon.com. This inability to focus is related to that thick layer of concrete surrounding the somewhat smooth cerebral cortex which in turn covers his pea-sized brain.

Wife, here’s what happened yesterday, and it’s the same thing that happens every day. I showed up for a bike ride and I was the only one with headlights and taillights. That probably doesn’t mean a lot to you because it was, you know, daytime, and we know that no one ever gets hit during the day.

But consider this: Among the countless cyclists I’ve represented for being hit by cars, only two were ever hit while Christmas treed. That’s right. Except for two people, all the others were hit while riding without lights.

That’s an ersatz stat, I know. Personal experience. Anecdotal. But it is common knowledge that most bikers get hit because the cager doesn’t see them. And you know what? It’s a lot easier to be seen when you’re riding a Christmas tree. Please don’t send me links to lit-up riders who’ve been hit and killed. This is a question of probability. Just like you’re more likely to smash into something when drunk, you’re more likely to get creamed when the cager doesn’t see you until the last second, i.e. the moment your head is coming through the windshield.

If your hubby drank a fifth of bourbon and then asked for his car keys, would you let him drive? If he loaded his 2nd Amendment Accident Device and suggested that the family sit down for a fun game of Russian roulette, would you agree?

But that’s what happens on practically every ride I’m on. Your husband shows up without lights. What’s worse, he gives me shit for having them.

What’s worsty-worst, when pressed he admits he actually owns lights!

“I use them when I ride to work,” he proudly but stupidly says.

“I use them when it’s dark,” he explains, even though he only rides during the day and even though he ignores the fact that dusk and dawn are notoriously dangerous times to be cycling.

Why is your husband such a dummy? It’s simple. He doesn’t ride with lights at all times for these reasons:

  1. He is cheap. He’d rather buy $2,000 wheels for the races he’s never going to do than spend $500 on something that will keep him unmaimed, alive, and able to waste the day watching football.
  2. He is lazy. Lights require charging. He can barely keep gas in the car. How’s a dummy like that supposed to keep a front AND back light powered for bike rides? He’s almost always late to the ride anyway, scurrying around like a crazy person trying to find the other matching armwarmer and skidmark-free chamois.
  3. He is a sheep. The people he admires and fears don’t ride Christmas trees. Why should he?
  4. He is an aero nut. Lights aren’t aero.
  5. He is a weight weenie. Lights add precious grams and he’s already pouring out his water bottles at the base of all the climbs.
  6. He is vain and lights look goofy. (Remind him that feeding tubes and wheelchairs are even less fashionable.)
  7. He is a dummy. Dummies would always rather pay a lot more later than a little bit now.

Wife, can you help me in this endeavor? Before Dummy leaves the house can you please say, “Hey, Dummy, where are your lights?”

When he retorts with “It’s daytime,” tell him to either lighten up or he’s not going.

Better yet, the night before can you please say, “Hey, Dummy, are your lights charged?”

Best, can you please put your foot down and refuse to let him out the door unlit? He may be smelly, talk too much about bikes, be inconsiderate, drink a bit too much, be occasionally impecunious, etc., but he’s your dummy and he deserves to live. More importantly, you deserve to not have to spend the next year rehabbing him out of a fucking wheelchair and teaching him how to walk again and not having to carry his turds out of the bedroom on a tray.

In the event that he really doesn’t own any lights, make the next birthday the equivalent of receiving socks and a tie. Buy for him:

  1. The Diablo headlight, made by Exposure.
  2. The Serfas Orion taillight, made by Serfas.

Lights work, honey. So help a brother out, willya?

END

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