Sean Kelly

The 1986 Paris Roubaix. A race for the 'hard men'.

The toughest riders in the whole peleton, probably the toughest riders in the whole world. And there was none harder and tougher than Sean Kelly, the farmer's son from Tipperary.

Sean Kelly was the ultimate journeyman rider who would win all the tough working-class one day races called the classics. He particularly excelled at the Paris Roubaix and the Liege-Bastogne-Liege, both marked by their treacherous sections of 'Pave' or massive cobblestones.

In this video clip you see the riders hit the cobble stones and their arms gather up like insect legs to absorb the shock. Hard men like Sean Kelly could take the hits better than the weak armed, limp wristed little bitches like Greg Lemond, heard whining like the spoiled little Minnesotan brat he is. That said, Lemond has more class in his pinky than most of today's American riders (Lance Armstrong)

Try to attack those lines a little more aggressively, hit those cobbles just a little harder, jump a median to get around some cars. Duwutchyulike - be like Sean Kelly.

I Know I Am An Idiot But...

As I write this, I've lost all will to go out on a Friday night. It's because it's sleeting outside and riding on a sheet of ice doesn't appeal to me right now. I will ride in the morning, probably to prove something to my self that begins with "I know I'm an idiot but..."

Sometimes, its a good idea to lower your tire pressure when the conditions are foreboding. Its also a good idea to take the train and have a coffee as you have your face pressed into some stranger's armpit.

I always wear as many layers as I can; firstly, for warmth and secondly for padding against the inevitable tumble. However, there's something addictive about the feeling of losing grip with the pavement. An 'oh shit' moment of exhilaration that seems to go on forever and is, especially on ice, not as bad as you thought it was- good for a small black and blue mark. Which, at all times, is better than riding the train.

The Mighty Van Halen Rocks Jeff's Butt

It's a snowy Sunday--be careful out there!--so my commuting note is a look back at Van Halen's triumphant reunion show this past October in Philadelphia.

Dudes and dudettes, I cannot tell a lie: it was fucking awesome. Eddie really is the man, a bona fide mega rock star, a dude bigger than you and me, a man who can write a deceptively tasty hook, a stone cold shredder (but not wanker) and a suprisingly spry 50something who still does those really awesome split leg jump things (see: left; dig the pants!) that are a lot harder to do than you'd think--trust me, I've tried. ok, fine: I am gay for Eddie.

Van Freaking Hagar, Gary FuckMe Cherone and all Eddie's tipple tantrums were forgotten the moment VH hit the stage. Yes, his kid is chunky and doesn't dry hump a novelty Jack Daniels bass a la Michael Anthony and yes, Dave has morphed from SoCalJewLionStud to a charming-ish sorta ickypervy Jew uncle and good gravy, 150 is a lotta moolah for a show..but yknow what? I DID NOT GIVE A SHIT! They seemed to mean it and I really meant it and it was good.

Soooooooooo, in honor of the rock event of the year (decade? century?), I am posting a true VH gem: Little Guitars. Besides reviving my, um, admiration for Eddie, the show was a reminder that back in the day, the Halen brought the goods: melodies, crunch, groove and full on rock awesome. And that awesome doesn't get much awesomer than Little Guitars. Trust me.

Speaking of trusting me (and Harry), a note about the songs we post. It may be presumptuous to ask you to download our fave stuff, but...fuck it! Trust us! We listen to tasty shit, for real! Just bury our tracks on your ipod or mpwhathaveyou and let 'em come up one day as a surprise and trust me you will be a happy pappy because our posts will fucking rock.

Popping Our Cherries

So the song is 'predator' by Ice Cube. It's an old commuting favorite.
It's approproiate to begin Jeffie and my blog with a little burst of aggression because that's what commuting is all about.
But like a samurai, the commuter always must hold his aggression in check, releasing it at opportune moments; much like
Ice Cube must have had to do during the filming of 'Are we There Yet'.

As fall approaches and there is a distinct nip in the air, the commmuters thoughts turn to an elusive goal-
That of being warm and dry on the bicycle while also arriving at a destination with suitable style and grace.
These are obtainable goals, reachable with a sartorial flare at your nearest thrift store, a utilitaarian choice for clothing that is sure to be rendered grease spotted and mystery-stained.

The trick is to wear wool. And lots of it.

I know, alot of douchebags roil around on douchy bikes with douchey leather carry alls that look like a good storage spot for anal lube like to wear wool and fetishize ancient wool jerseys.

I'm here to say that every douchebag must have begun with the kernel of a good idea. People can't be that stupid. I'm an optimist.

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Okee dokee folks, the first entry...ack! Fortunately, I have a tasty subject: the steel-framed, commuting-love machine that is my brand new bike, the Surly Cross Check. With all apologies to my lovely fiancé KT, if my Surly came equipped with a pair of tits, I’d gladly spend my days dry humping it.

Why the Cross Check? Well, I know twit and diddly bout bikes…so I take my counsel from Harry, who has the hot and bothereds for the Surly Long Haul Trucker, a lovely sounding bike, but one that no ny shop seems to have built and ready to test. I am a wee man and would like to fit on my $1000 toys.

Now, the Cross Check happened to be built up and test-ready at a few Shamhattan shops...and it sounded swell for my bike needs: I commute, I take the sporadic outer-city toodle and even the stray long-distance tour. I took a test ride and was mightily tempted: sturdy but not sluggish; not exactly zippy, but hardly sluggish.

Ever the careful consumer, I dropped the good folks at Surly a line to ask about the LHT vs. CC; they kindly replied with a fair but fairly spoogy take on the Cross Check. Add it all up and I was a deeper shade of convinced: I bought the damn thing!

Since I am prattling and have barely ridden the bike, I will spare you a full review. But so far, I am deeply dippy. DEEPLY.