BSNYC Product Review: Surly Big Dummy

As I mentioned in my Wednesday Bonus Blog today, having acquired Alberto Contador, Bjarne Riis (known as "Mr. 60%" during his riding days in reference to his hair-to-scalp ratio) announced that his new charge will attempt to pull off the so-called "Grand Slam." This, of course, refers to the feat of winning the Giro d'Italia, the Tour de France, and the Vuelta a España all in the same season, and not to the popular Denny's breakfast special of the same name. It's unclear what Contador himself thinks of all this, though he could be seen in the corner during Riis's interview "fingerbanging" himself nervously. Should Contador succeed in winning a "Grand Slam," he would be the only rider ever to do so. Should he fail, he could redeem himself the following year by winning the Vuelta Ciclista al Pais Vasco, the Critérium du Dauphiné, and the Tour de Pologne all in the same season instead--a somewhat less impressive feat known in cycling circles as the "Moons Over My Hammy."

Moving on, yesterday I rode a Surly Big Dummy to my semi-secret shipping hub and storage area along Brooklyn's "Great Hipster Silk Route," where I rallied all my smugness and retrieved and loaded this unwieldy delivery:

(Note haphazard and dangerous "flesh hook"-style bungee cord attachment technique.)

While the large box contained a Russian mail-order simian bride for my helper monkey Vito (the smaller box contained the beautiful Nadia's elegant Vera Wang wedding gown), that information is only tangentially relevant. More to the point, ever since taking delivery of the Big Dummy in like April-ish, I have intended to share my impressions of this large green bicycle. However, I did not want to do so prematurely. Rather, I wanted to "live with it" awhile instead of simply listing the components, hopping on it for 45 minutes, and then declaring it "vertically stiff yet laterally compliant," as is standard industry practice when it comes to both bicycle reviewing and international Internet monkey dating. (By the way, if you're still wondering about Vito's nuptials, they're already married, but the reception will take place in Rhinebeck on an undisclosed date.) I have now lived with the Big Dummy for almost six months--which I suspect is five months longer than Vito's marriage will last.

Moreover, when Surly asked me if I wanted to try a Big Dummy, I accepted not because I wondered if a bicycle like this would be useful for carrying things (obviously it would be), but because I wondered if a bicycle like this would be viable in New York City, a city of well over eight million people--many of whom live in small apartments accessible only by small elevators or multiple flights of stairs (and some of whom share their small apartments with newlywed monkey couples, an arrangement which I assure you is not conducive to either sleep or good hygiene.) In truth, I'd never really thought seriously of owning such a bicycle, for the simple reason that I had no idea where I would keep it.

However, now that I had the opportunity to try one, I wondered if the bicycle would indeed prove as inconvenient as it seemed, or if its practicality would ultimately outweigh its significant tonnage.

Here is the Obligatory Drive Side Shot (or ODSS) of the Big Dummy, and I had to stand roughly 700 feet away from it to fit it into the frame:

(Yes, this bike needs "wheelbrows.")

Here it is from the front-ish:


And here it is "presenting" itself in almost exactly the same way that Nadia presented herself to Vito when I let her out of that box:

Obviously, the Big Dummy's long wheelbase is what allows it to remain stable while carrying large loads (in the name of good taste, I will refrain from jokes about Nadia's load-bearing ability). Unfortunately, it's also what makes it impossible to fit it into my elevator, very difficult to carry up multiple flights of stairs, and by far the largest item of furniture in my home once I've actually wrestled the thing in there.

Since there was no way I could keep the Big Dummy inside, I realized that I would have to store it outdoors. As it happens, there is a covered area outside my building that has been given over to bicycle parking. It's not totally secure from theft, but it is safer than the street, and it's also protected from the weather. Clearly the Big Dummy (protected by a big lock) would have to take up residence with the Magnas of my neighbors.

Once I'd settled on a home for the Big Dummy, I set about putting it to use. The first thing I learned was that I was now in possession of a bicycle with a "cult following," since as soon as I mentioned it I received helpful emails from people offering Big Dummy advice and insight. I also consulted the "Internet," where I learned of all the exciting things I could do with my Big Dummy. For example, I could install a sound system:


Or I could tow a boat:


Or I could simply strip it down and render it completely useless:

However, I don't want to ride around playing loud music (the San Jose Bike Party was one of the worst experiences of my cycling life), I don't have a boat (are kayaks the "fixies" of the high seas?), and I have no need for an inconveniently long singlespeed.

I do, however, want and need to carry crap, and the Big Dummy immediately proved to be very capable in this regard. In fact, I was surprised to discover that it soon seemed indispensable to me. I used it to procure foodstuffs:

I used it to transport beach-related items:

(That cooler contains a kidney, but I always perform my organ transplants on the beach.)

I used it to "curate" family picnics:

(New York Philharmonic in Prospect Park, otherwise known as "Where the White People Are")

Note I persist in using plastic bags--I need an environmentally insensitive chaser after the cloyingly sweet smugness of cargo bike "palpage." Plus, they often contain delicious takeout.

Speaking of delicious takeout, I've even used it as a mobile dining room table for impromptu burrito feasts:

Most useful of all though is that the Big Dummy has greatly simplified picking up bulky items such as monkey brides and circus peanuts (Vito loves circus peanuts) from my shipping hub:

And thus, to my surprise, did the Big Dummy manage to slot neatly into my "lifestyle" (inasmuch as an existence of producing bicycle-themed wiseassery interspersed with errand-running can be considered a "lifestyle"). I'd simply load or unload it in the lobby and then return it to its place among the Magnas. Unfortunately, though, because it carries so much so easily it's become like a college student's car in that it collects random junk:

For example, while photographing it earlier, I found an entire bottle of tea in there, and I don't even like tea:

Unless it's full of sugar, is served to me in a plastic bag, and is called "Snapple."

Of course, the only thing that makes this decadent orgy of cycling smugness possible is that I have a relatively safe place to store this bicycle at street level, which is not the case for many people in big cities (unless you're a wealthy person with a hyphenated name--even in 21st century bike-friendly New York, smugness is a luxury). Also, while I'm comfortable trawling the streets of Brooklyn with it and even locking it up occasionally, the stock Big Dummy is an expensive bicycle, and it's too lavishly-appointed to leave unattended in a place like Manhattan for long periods of time. For the same functionality (assuming you have the room), you can obviously bolt an Xtracycle to a crappy old mountain bike, or just get the Big Dummy frame if you're one of those people with a bunch of spare parts, since it's got provisions and braze-ons for pretty much everything.

But while it's a bit lavish, it is pretty nimble despite its size and is in no way cumbersome to ride. While the truly smug prefer their "bakfiets," until the entire city is David Byrnified with protected bike lanes I think a cargo bike built on a more "sporting" chassis like the Big Dummy is a better fit in Brooklyn--where you might have to dodge the World's Scariest Car:

("Are you there, Elohim? It's me, Moishe.")

Confronted with that, there's not a cargo bike in existence that could transport my fear.

BSNYC Product Review: Outlier Winterweight OG Pant

(Inconsiderate commuter executes a bare-headed talk-and-salmon.)

Some of you may recall that in the sultry days of last summer--indeed, the day after "Bastille Day," otherwise knows as "Frenchypendence Day"--I hoisted a post onto the Internet about a pair of shorts made by a company called "Outlier." (That's pronounced "OOT-lee-AY.") Well, so pleased were the shortiers at Outlier by my willingness to smear mayonnaise all over myself that this past January they went ahead and sent me a pair of their "Winterweight OG" pants without the slightest bit of solicitation on my part. Here's the description from their webular store:

And here is a more embellished description from their webular site:

Just in time for snow, the Winterweight OGs are back. Made in New York City these pants are designed for life both on and off your bike, all winter long. Yeah you'll see your breath as you cross the bridges and zip past your coworkers trapped in traffic, but you'll wind up at work feeling great and looking better.

The Winterweight fabric is a heavier fleeced back version of our core 4Season fabric with a 3XDry Treatment. Designed to keep you warm and dry no matter where you ride, yet still look good and wear comfortably when you get inside. A four-way stretch ensures you can move freely, handle the repetitive motion of cycling and still look sharp and refined.

The 3XDry treatment is directional. It pushes water in just one direction, away from your body. It wicks away the sweat and moisture, breathes as well as you do, and is seriously water resistant. Most rain, snow or slush just beads up and rolls away. It's a softshell so eventually it will saturate in intense conditions but when it does get wet, you'll find yourself dry in 10-20 minutes when safe from the elements. The doubleweave fabric has Cordura woven towards the outside for durability and a soft fleecy interior for a beautiful warmth and comfort.

Medium lean in cut. Wear it with a sport coat and oxfords or a hoodie with sneakers. More importantly, wear it without thinking, wear it like a second skin, wear it like a classic that works for any occasion. Fits true to size.

Finally, a garment you can wear "without thinking!" I'm so sick of those pants that will only stay up if you constantly do math problems in your head. In any case, while the Outlier pants (or, in fancy-pants parlance, "pant") may have come "Just in time for snow," obviously I'm writing this just in time for spring, so please forgive my lack of punctuality. However, as a great human quote factory once said (I think it was Ralph Waldo Emerson, or maybe Henry David Thoreau), "It takes many months to get to know a pair of pants, though it takes only a few moments to soil them." Also, as it happens, barely a month after I took delivery of the pant(s), I received an intriguing email.

As frequent readers of this blog already know, I employ a helper monkey named Vito, ostensibly to perform the menial tasks with which I can no longer be bothered (such as writing). However, Vito's career has now taken on a life of its own, and more often than not he's off auditioning for film roles (he just landed a supporting part in "Gorillas in the Mist II: Hairy Situations"), doing photo shoots for Smithsonian magazine, or making celebrity appearances for PETA, leaving me to clean the "five Japanese slow-drippers" or pair my own socks. Anyway, the intriguing email I received was from an area high school senior named Spencer Madsen. Spencer (in articulate and sarcastic prose that belied his 17 years) explained that he was feeling generally bored and unfulfilled, and that in some misguided search for meaning he wanted to work as my intern. So, with a pile of unpaired socks sitting beside me as I read this, I agreed to meet with him.

Some time later, I "interviewed" Spencer Madsen in a popular chain coffeehouse. I was impressed with Spencer's intelligence and personable nature, though I was dismayed by the fact that he laughed when I told him I needed somebody to go to the post office and wash bicycles for me. Clearly, as a product of the "Internet generation" Spencer was more interested in an ironic internship than the legitimate sort I performed in my dues-paying years. (I have been yelled at and demeaned by an impressive list of people.) Still, he was undeniably enthusiastic, and he was also demonstrably a good writer. So, after the meeting I filled out the tedious paperwork that is unfortunately becoming an increasingly significant component of "curating" this blog:
As I filled this out, I thought to myself, "If only I had somebody to do this for me," and despite the fact that I was giving Spencer a 2 out of 10 at the time I nonetheless decided to "hire" him. Yes, I now had my very own ironic intern, and I decided the first thing I'd do was make him test out some pants.

(Just in case you're skeptical at this point, I can assure you that, yes, Spencer Madsen does exist, and no, he is not a friend or relative. BSNYC/RTMS Industries Inc. Ltd. LLC strongly disavows the practice of nepotism and is an equal opportunity ironic employer.)

Anyway, back to the Outlier Winter OG pant--which, as you almost certainly noticed already, costs a whopping $188. Obviously, this is a lot of money. In fact, in Outlier's own copy (for a similar garment, the "4Season OG Pant") they say that "you can rock them like Dickies." So, why not just actually "rock" Dickies? They only cost like $20 or $30, depending on where you buy them, and like the Outlier "pant" they can be worn with a dress shirt and shoes in a "business casual" situation, or with sneakers and a t-shirt in a "faux dive bar" situation. This is what I generally do--though I will admit that, depending on your saddle choice, Dickies can be susceptible to "ass wear." Here are a few of my own:

Now, I should say that all of these have seen a fair amount of use, and I'm sure plenty of readers have experience with other relatively inexpensive work pants that hold up better. Still, "ass wear" can be a factor with almost any "pant," and it can also be potentially embarrassing. The pair on the right are particularly worn, and substituting a lemon for my "pants yabbies" illustrates the extreme consequences of the phenomenon:

Of course, I always wear underpants with Dickies, but I do tend to go "commando" when it comes to filling them with citrus fruits.

So what about the Outlier "pant?" Well, after three months of pretty frequent use the posterior portion is in very good shape:

Moreover, they're quite comfortable, and they do handle moisture the way Outlier describes:

Still, is the Outlier pant worth like eight pairs of Dickies? Even if they outlast eight pairs of Dickies, you still only have one pair of pants, whereas with cheap pants you can at least rotate (and you can also make cheap jokes about sitting on Dickies and rotating). Also, commuting to work on a racing-type saddle will certainly wear out your fabric since they're often designed to have a bit of grip when used with lycra shorts as they're intended, whereas a wider, more "comfort"-oriented saddle will be decidedly more pants-friendly. So, in pure economic terms, you're probably just better off changing the saddle on your commuter and simply using the pants you already have.

But there's more to pants than posterior durability; there's also style. Can you "wear it with a sport coat and oxfords or a hoodie with sneakers"? Well, I don't wear a sport coat or dress shoes unless somebody close to me is either getting married or buried and I have to attend the concomitant ceremony. Still, for the purposes of "testing" these out, I got a little "dressed up:"

I call this my "Reservoir Douche" look, and to compliment it I grabbed one of my "test-cycles:"

Here I am riding to my pretend job at a bank, insurance company, or legal firm:

Of course, when you're riding a bike like the Electra Amsterdam, you don't need specially-engineered pants since the drivetrain is totally enclosed and you're sitting bolt-upright on a wide vinyl seat. Really, it's about as hard on your pants as sitting in a Honda Accord or riding the Long Island Railroad--which is why I doubt most of the commuters in Amsterdam or Copenhagen bother to spend $188 on cycling-specific technical dress pants. Really, we only need them in cities like New York, where people who work in fields like advertising and design feel they need to commute to work on designer fixies or "vintage" road bikes with embroidered saddles.

In any case, I felt conflicted about these pants. They were comfortable and they were apparently durable, but they were also $188. It was time to put my new ironic intern to work and see what he would make of them, for even though these are pants designed for going to the office and Spencer is a 17 year-old high school kid with no job I figured his youthful perspective would be helpful somehow. So I had Outlier send him a pair. To give you some background, here's Spencer himself on his own personal dressing and riding style:

Let's keep in mind that although I'm 17 and live in New York, my style isn't exactly 'hip' and while I pull off skinny jeans from time to time, my daily wear pretty standard: A T-shirt and blue jeans. For cycling however, I switch it up, I wear a T-shirt and shorts. No lycra, no spandex, no skin-tight torn black pants that I bought vintage at a thrift shop for eight bucks or something because I don't shop at name-brand stores like you tools. I'm neither a roadie nor fixster, nor a douchily shaved Italian railroad worker with an enormous credit card debt due largely to things like spending $180 on a pair of pants.

So when presented with these chinos, I was unsure of what to think. My first reaction was their comparative likeness to the Dickies pants ubiquitous to my prepubescent skateboarding phase.

As you can see, Spencer is an ideal ironic intern--he's only 17, but he's already dismissively describing the folly of his "prepubescent skateboarding phase."

Anyway, once Spencer had the pants, I instructed him to evaluate them in the following categories: Fit; Style; Peer Response; and Performance. Here are his results:

Fit

The OGs, like all super-complex things made from biologically engineered materials like “The Shoeller Dryskin Extreme Fabric” require ample description. The blurb for this garment epitomizes these pants as the do-it-all of cycling wear, and they do indeed do it all. The fit is very particular, and rather insulting to a guy of 5'7. With a waist size of 27, I've always considered my build average–– My doctor's never commented on my weight/height ratio, though maybe he's just been polite. Insecurities aside I slipped these pants on and the first thought was textural, with the flexibility of a lesser-lycra, the thickness and feel of light sweatpants and the appearance of expensive slacks, these chinos have a truly unique character. Snug around my waist, they felt comfortable. I zipped up the fly and fastened the button above, immediately realizing I was only half done. With a two-fold security system the button-through-a-slit mechanism is just phase one, hook-through-a-hole is what seals the deal. Fears of being 'pantsed' quelled, I took a few steps forward, noticing my feet hidden amongst rolls of “The Shoeller Dryskin Extreme Fabric” I bent over to cuff the hems of each leg. Once, twice, three times before they stopped dragging on the floor. Now I gave both Outlier and my stature the benefit of the doubt and looked at the online-photos to see if these pants were meant to be rolled up, hoping to maintain my notion that 5'7 is a fine height for a male. Much to my dismay, however, the only times a model rocked cuffed pants were to avoid the bicycle chain. So sporting thrice-cuffed pants, I took a gander at the mirror. They looked alright, I thought, and got ready for school.

I think what Spencer's trying to say is that they fit well but were long. I guess kids today don't know how to "hit up" the tailor.

Style

My commute is an hour each way and I normally doze off to my tunes on the train or fall asleep on the shoulder of some stranger beside me. That morning, however, the OGs dominated my thoughts. I have always felt silly wearing sweatpants in public. They offer a little too much freedom for my taste. The OG's gave me a similar sense of nudity, but I knew I looked snazzy. They're not as form fitting as I'd like, and this may just be my personal preference, but in the mirror my legs looked pretty shapeless. As a cyclist I jump at any opportunity to flex my chiseled lower-limbs, and opportunity this was not. For the purposes of the pants though, I understood. Tight pants aren't yet appropriate in the workplace.

I agree that the Outlier pants feel sweatpantsy, though I am concerned about Spencer's tendency to shift the review away from the garment and to his own legs.

Peer Response

The moment I walked into school Wednesday morning, I half-expected looks, comments, even concerns as I made my way to my locker. My usually plain blue denims were now replaced by something that had “self-cleaning nanosphere treatment” technology. I was wearing the brainchild of a mad—yet fashionable—scientist, and no one seemed to notice. I went over to the Hipster posse who had just finished their milk-and-two-sugars coffees and reeked of Cloves. I told them about this company Outlier and pitched the pants to them, as they stared blankly. One of them played with a lighter. I asked if any of them rode track bikes, and two responded, saying they had “Fixies” with “Deep V's.” but they couldn't wrap their mind around $180 for a pair of pants from a brand they didn't recognize.

I proceeded to lunch, which meant loitering in the sixth floor hallways. My friends, who were aware of my wearing these pants prior to the day all said one thing when they saw me: “Where are they?” I guess the cost and science of these pants are not apparent to the untrained eye. I explained “This is it, I'm wearing the pants now,” which was surprising, to all of them. I did get a “Whoa!” or two when they felt the material, though. They didn't expect the feel of “Thick faux-spandex” as one of them put it. “They're meant for cycling as well as the work place,” I told them “So you can ride to work, and everyone thinks you're wearing slacks.” The idea prompted some interest, but the star of the discussion, as usual, was Julian's Extra Cheddar Goldfish. He shares, sometimes.

I guess Outlier have no cachet with the under-21 "hipster" community.

Performance

The only pants I've ever ridden in are my blue jeans. I ride my fixed-gear in jeans all the time, and it's fine, really. It's just on my road bike that pants making riding seem impossible. On my road bike, it's torture wearing jeans, truly. I hate it. I'd rather take my bike on the train, go home and change then spend more than twenty minutes riding in pants. So to put the OG's to the test, I took out my road bike and went for a rather chilly winter ride.

With one leg cuffed to my shoe, and another to my knee (No chain guard, no problem) I rode around, up hills, down hills, up curbs, keeping a steady 15 mph. Five minutes in I experienced no problems, ten minutes in, no fatigue. Twenty minutes in my legs felt fine. I kept going, as I hadn't ridden anything with a freewheel all winter, and enjoyed a 20 mile ride to Manhattan's upper west side and back. Despite my nose running like a faucet, it was an unusually nice ride, and thirty minutes in I completely forgot I was wearing pants. It wasn't until I was back in my neighborhood that I realized why I was riding, and immediately forgave the lesser-lycra feel. It's a sacrifice that's well worth the performance.

The next week it rained, and according to Outlier, the OG's repel drizzle, so off to school I went once more. Half expecting to see rain drops directed towards my legs to veer away from my force-field woven nanospheres, I walked at a leisurely pace to the train station. The drops hit my pants like any other item of clothing, but instead of being absorbed into the fabric they just kinda sat there, on the surface. So while 'repel' may not be the right word, these chinos are water resistant, a brisk shake and all the water fell to the ground.

Spencer has just come up with Outlier's new tagline: "I completely forgot I was wearing pants."

In conclusion, I will say that the Outlier pants do exactly what the makers claim they will do, though they don't do so cheaply. If you absolutely must ride a race bike to a job that requires you to look like you didn't ride a race bike to work, then you may want these pants, and you also may not balk at the price. To me, though, the real revelation is Spencer, who delivered a quality review for free--making him an excellent bargain.

Bottoms Up: Sloganeering and Engineering

I am not what people call a "morning person," by which I simply mean I am not a person in the morning. Rather, in terms of my mental faculties and disposition respectively, I'm a cross between an ottoman and a housecat that's just had a bath. For this reason, upon waking up I depend on three things in order to transition back to humanity, and they are: 1) a bowl of Froot Loops and root beer; 2) Joy Behar's irreverent commentary on "The View;" and 3) emails from readers containing pictures of wacky tattoos. I can't always count on the latter, but thankfully this morning I was lucky enough to receive this:

(All You Haters Scrutinize My Bicep)

This photo was actually sent to me by the wearer himself, and as you can imagine I spat Froot Loops and root beer all over my monochrome computer monitor (monochromatic blogging is totally "zen," like fixed-gear cycling) as soon as I laid eyes on it. It seems like only the summer of 2008 that photographer Tod "Sucka Pants" Seelie sent me a photograph of a lime green rim with the words "All You Haters Suck My Balls" on it, though actually it was the spring of 2008 (time sure does flew), and here is that rim in all its testilingus-demanding glory:

Like Proust's madeleine, this rim sent me on a flight of nostalgia. Back in early 2008 the fixed-gear "scene" was still open, and there still wasn't consensus as to which sex act the "haters" should be forced to perform. Proposals ranged from the relatively benign (handjobs and fingerbangings) to the profane (stuff involving fruit), with a few extremists even advocating for baroque forms of intimacy such as the so-called "rusty trombone." However, slogans such as "All You Haters Pleasure Me With Produce" just weren't catchy enough, so when the AYHSMB rim "dropped" it caught on immediately. The "SMB" part was just dirty enough to be offensive but not so dirty as to be criminal, and while it was obviously phallocentric this did not preclude women from using it ironically. In short, this wheel-stickering was "the rim job heard 'round the world."

Eventually, though, things changed. People experimented with other slogans. The "depth wars" began as companies like H Plus Son and Velocity competed to see who could provide people with the most sidewall surface area for their personal expression. The fixed-gear scene also began to close, and people who had been riding them for upwards of two whole years began to look down on those who foolishly attempted to enjoy the fashions and lifestyle they were espousing. The hated were now becoming the haters, and it was becoming increasingly unclear whose balls needed sucking and why. Once a rallying cry, AYHSMB began to sound a bit hollow, and eventually became the stuff of YouTube parodies:



And then, finally, this happened:

There are a number of ways to interpret this tattoo. On one hand it could represent a point on the phrase's shark-jumping arc that is just past its zenith, meaning there's nowhere to go from here but down. On the other hand, it could be a return to sincerity, since this person apparently believes so strongly in the message that he has placed it mere inches from his armpit. Either way, while he may be taking things a bit far, at least it's just some letters and not an illustration of actual ball-sucking. At worst, in five or ten years when people ask him about his tattoo, he can make up some alternate meaning and save face:

"Oh, that? I'm a member of both the American Youth Hostels and the Society for Mathematical Biology, and I just wanted to show my support for the great work they're doing. If you don't like it, you can give me a 'rusty trombone.'"

"I like the cut of your jib. You're hired!," the manager at Arby's will reply. All You Haters Serve My Burger.

Speaking of jobs and stuff I was pleased to receive, a writer named Gabriel Thompson just sent me a copy of his book, "Working in the Shadows: A year of Doing the Jobs [Most] Americans Won't Do:"

I had assumed that the book was about being a domestique for Lance Armstrong, but it turns out the author actually spent time working at a bunch of jobs that are, to put it impolitely, really crappy. In addition to cutting lettuce (yes, I know this is crappy because I once made a salad) and schlepping chicken guts, he also delivered food by bicycle in Manhattan. I haven't actually read the book yet, but I'm looking forward to it, partially because it looks very interesting but mostly because I'm quoted somewhere in it, which is why he sent me the book in the first place. Also, I understand Gabriel Thompson has a tattoo that says "Do Not Put Anything In My Flower Box," but he assures me this is merely a coincidence. If you're like me and you prefer reading about miserable jobs to actually doing them, feel free to order a copy, and perhaps we can convene some sort of BSNYC Book Club at a later date.


While I'm gloating over stuff people have given me, I'd also like to disclose that I recently received something from Ahrens Bicycles. If you're unfamiliar with Ahrens bikes, they have the enviable distinction of being found underneath Liz Hatch:

As it happens, Ahrens has pioneered a bold new form of integrated headset spacer/bottle opener technology. (This is the sort of stoner toy innovation we've come to expect from California, home of the "epic" burrito and the iPad.) While I've made light of the cycling world's obsession with beer and things that open bottles containing beer, the truth is that even I can be beguiled by the right top-popping contrivance. In fact, one of my prized possessions is my SSWC08 bottle opener, custom etched with my triple-digit finishing place:

That, however, has been retired to a safe deposit box along with my Metallica ticket stub autographed by Glenn Danzig, so when Ahrens offered to send me one of his "WiseCrackers" I gladly accepted. Sure, I realize that you don't need a dedicated bottle opener on your bike, and that you can easily use a popular brand of pedal instead. However, I don't always ride a bike with that popular brand of pedal on it, and even though I've pared my keychain down to the bare essentials I still welcome any opportunity to remove yet another item:

By relocating my bottle opener to my steer tube I can finally remove that pedal, meaning I'll only need to carry around the frame pump, the extra chainring, the 15mm wrench, and the cheese grater. Not only will this configuration be slightly more comfortable in my pocket, but it will also make it that much easier for me to find my single key:

Anyway, I'm pleased to announce that the WiseCracker finally arrived:

Here's a closer look:


I elected to install the WiseCracker aboard my Scattante "test-cycle," on which there was ample room:

By the way, I know what you're thinking: "Who would put a Thomson stem on a Scattante?" I realize it seems a bit indulgent, but rest assured that it is only there for the photo shoot and that I usually "palp" a custom threadless carrot that I "machined" myself with a butter knife. At any rate, after spending 12 hours reading the Park Tools website and posting questions on Bikeforums, I finally felt confident enough to attempt the installation, and here is the result:

In retrospect, I probably should have swapped it with the spacer beneath it, but I figure this way there's more wheel-to-opener clearance for extra-long bottles. Here it is from the front, hiding behind my excessively long cable housings:


From the cockpit, you don't even know it's there:

(Is it in yet?)

Yes, I am now the proud owner of bottle opener with a bike around it. While I haven't actually used it to open a bottle yet, I'm pleased to report that I have used it to hitch myself to moving cars and it's performed admirably. So if you see me parked I encourage you to use my Scattante to open the beverage of your choosing. (Nothing washes down a "meh-pic" New York City burrito like a Jarritos.) As for you haters, feel free to suck my test-cycle.

BSNYC Product Review: Outlier Summer Shorts

Yesterday was an auspicious one for Mark Cavendish, who won yet another Tour de France stage. (This is not a spoiler, as the Spoiler Statute of Limitations expires at midnight on the day the stage has been run.) Furthermore, the "Man Missile from Manx" (otherwise known as "Manxwell Smart," "Manx for the Memories," and, to a select few, "Tickles") reached deep into his Suitcase of Esoteric Victory Salutes and delivered one that made his weird phone call thing look like a good old-fashioned arm-raising. As Cavendish crossed the line he took his glasses off and proceeded to clean the lenses as though they were bifocals and he was a dowager about to peruse the society pages over a cup of tea:

My first thought was that this must be Cavendish's way of saying, "Losing? I don't see it. Maybe there's some schmutz on my glasses. Hmmm, nope, still not there. I guess I'm just awesome." However, after the stage Cavendish explained it was a reference to the colorway of his glasses--that colorway being green and one in which Cavendish hopes to be swaddled in the very near future. Hopefully Cavendish doesn't also have a green chamois in his shorts, because that could make his next victory salute not only extremely awkward but also totally unsafe for work.

Speaking of shorts, the clothing company Outlier recently offered to send me a pair to try. If you're unfamiliar with Outlier, they're "about classically tailored garments made with the best technical fabrics around. Clothing that looks great no matter where you are in the day, riding to work, meeting with clients, or out on the town." At least that's how they put it. The way I put it is that they're sort of a hipster Rapha in that they also make expensive clothes but all of it is meant to be worn both on and off the bike except for just some of it. In any case, here's what the shorts look like when worn by a bunch of guys with an aversion to socks who are having a great time with each-other:


And here's how Outlier describes them:

Shorts for a different sort of triathlete. They may not be made for winning races, but you can run, swim and bike in these shorts with style and grace. The OUTLIER Summer Shorts are a classic short that can double as swim trunks. You can ride to the beach, jump in the ocean and ride back to the city without ever having to change. Like all Outlier garments these are shorts designed so you can look good without thinking or planning. Just toss them on, jump on your bike and let the day happen freely.

For the Pale Gray version we used our Summerweight fabric and for the Black our 4Season. Both fabrics are made by Schoeller in Switzerland and have all the great performance properties discussed elsewhere on our site. Water resistant, quick drying, 4way stretch, abrasion resistance, the list goes on... We added supplex pocketing so everything dries down as fast as any swimsuit in the sun. If you need to take a wave, the side pulls cinch up to hold everything firmly in place. The extra side loops let you clip in your keys. The inseam falls at the lower to mid thigh so that you always look proper even in the most compromising situations those late night pool parties bring.

Fit wise, buy your standard size. If you are in between sizes go for the larger. The side pulls will cinch in tightly to take up any slack. The leg opening is a medium lean and the inseams are 7.5". Like all our garments the Summer Shorts are made in New York City to ensure superior quality and construction.

Now, I should say that, while I own plenty of cycling-specific shorts, I cannot remember the last time I purchased a pair of regular walking-around shorts. Instead, when my pants get old I simply demote them to shorts status via the judicious application of scissors. I never really saw the point of having "nice" shorts since any situation in which you'd need to dress presentably would almost certainly call for pants (or of course a skirt). And as far as cycling goes, if I'm racing or doing a long ride I'll wear cycling shorts, and if I'm just riding around town I'll wear my regular conversion shorts. Maybe in certain rare circumstances, such as racing a Smart, I'll wear cycling shorts under regular shorts (with bibs un-bibbed in case I need to do a Cavendish chamois victory salute). As such, the notion of a pair of plain black shorts that require no less than three paragraphs of explanation struck me as both amazing and amusing.

Still, I decided to try them. Perhaps in limiting myself to either full-on cycling shorts or cheap conversion shorts I'd been depriving myself of a sort of intermediary cycling bliss which would allow me to be comfortable in any situation--whether it's palping my Scattante or standing awkwardly at the periphery of some Impassioned Hipster Dancing. Anyway, here's what the Outlier shorts look like on the BSNYS/RTMS Test Sisal after they've been worn for awhile. This is the front where the genitals go:



And this is the back where the buttocks go:

When I first put them on they seemed comfortable, and while they're shorter than I'd like the fact is I'm also a person of many, many hangups and one of these is that I generally refuse to wear shorts that don't cover my knees (cycling shorts excluded). But the fact is that they just looked like plain black shorts, which is certainly not a bad thing as far as I'm concerned.

Next it was time to actually test them, and at this point you may be asking yourself the same question I was: underwear, or commando? Obviously when I wear cycling I don't wear underwear, but when I wear regular shorts, I do. But as you may have noticed in Outlier's description, these shorts are also supposed to function as "swim trunks." Obviously, on those occasions when I do swim, I don't do so in my conversion shorts--instead I wear something more appropriate. Moreover, if I'm going to the old swimmin' hole by bike, I don't find it particularly troublesome to bring a pair of "trunks" along. However, if these shorts are in fact intended to be used for the "hipster triathlon" of riding, swimming, and shallow social interaction as the marketing copy states, then the implication is that one should go without underwear when rubbing them.

Frankly, I found this daunting. ("Rubbing" was exactly what I was afraid of.) Here is the Outlier crotchal region juxtaposed with the crotchal region of an actual pair of cycling-specific bib shorts:

While the pockets of the Outlier shorts are made of soft fabric, and while the frontal flap protects one's "man missile" (assuming you have one) from the horrors of the zipper, there's also a pronounced taintal seam. I don't know about you, but I know which one I'd rather put between my legs.

Still, I decided I'd go the commando route. And with that, I slipped on my Outliers, saddled up the Scattante, and headed to the beach. The beach I chose was Manhattan Beach, and if you're unfamiliar with Brooklyn here it is in relation to the Fixie Hatchery of Williamsburg:

Of course, Manhattan Beach is well within the Hunting Ground of the Lone Wolf, and I was fortunate enough to see a number of them. Here's a particularly proud example I encountered in Sheepshead Bay:

Yes, in the Fixie Hatchery it's all Frida Bars, but the further away from it you get the wider and more splendid the cockpits become.

Incidentally, while I had been concerned about riding commando in my Outliers, in practice it proved not to be a problem and they were perfectly comfortable. So, emboldened by comfort, we crossed the footbridge and headed to Manhattan Beach:


I should mention at this point that there are two things you should never do in New York with people from California: eat burritos; and go to the beach. In both cases you'll be subjected to constant reminders about how crappy they are here compared to how amazing they are in California. Every Californian seems to have an annoying story about some amazing burrito they had one time that was as big as a baby and only cost 14 cents, and every Californian seems to have out-sized and unreasonable beach expectations. It just so happens I was with a Californian, so predictably the beach-denigration began. Ordinarily I wouldn't have had patience for it, but in this case I had to agree, since it turned out Manhattan Beach was in the throes of a sandstorm:

You can't really tell from the picture, but those flags are thrashing about like a mullet at a Testament concert and the haze around the beach-goers is in fact sand. I only wish I had brought a frame in need of repainting, since I could have gotten it sandblasted for free. Still, the good people of New York, woefully ignorant of the vastly superior beaches on the West Coast, were undaunted:


Like Bedouins we trekked through the gale and picked a spot near the lifeguard just in case I began choking to death on "epic" burrito stories and remorse. I then set down the "hipster survival kit," which consisted of this convertible Knog pannier/shoulder bag I recently found buried under a pile of "hipster cysts," as well as a pair of canvas Vans in the ska colourway I had obtained specifically for the occasion:


Here's our neighbor, plugging her ear lest she inadvertently overhear another burrito story:


Here's my accomplice's bag after like 45 seconds, already getting buried:


Honestly, I don't know how the pair of exposed buttocks in the background could stand it.

At this point our patience was eroding faster than the shoreline, so I knew I had to begin the testing immediately. Since Outlier were billing these shorts as something you can wear all day long in any situation, I knew the first thing I had to test was stain-resistance. After all, no self-respecting person would show up at the après-plage soirée in filthy shorts. As such, I set out to determine how the fabric would react to this cheese sandwich slathered in mayonnaise:

Notice that sand is already accumulating on the cheese.

"Oh no! The sandwich guy used too much mayo!" Better wipe some off on my shorts:


Predictably, my shorts were now covered in mayonnaise:


But would it remain there all day long and cause me much embarrassment later? Or to put it another way, would these shorts "hold the mayo?" Only time would tell.

Next, I set about to determine the moisture-resistance qualities of the shorts by administering the Snapple Test:


After a mouthful of sand and cheese, nothing's more refreshing than a cold, oversweetened iced tea:


"Oh no! I missed my mouth!"



Amazingly, though, the Snapple simply bounced off the shorts like insults bounce off an idiot:



Now that I was covered in mayonnaise and Snapple, I figured I should test the shorts out in swimsuit mode:


The swim would have to be brief, though, since our little encampment was nearly buried already:


I approached the water with trepidation for three reasons:

1) Not too long ago, they weren't letting people in the water at Manhattan Beach due to pollution;
2) It was incredibly windy and the water was cold;
3) This guy:



Nonetheless, I girded my mayo-and-Snapple-covered loins and entered Neptune's briny realm:


The shorts were perfectly comfortable for swimming, and they stayed securely on my body in the tumultuous surf, just as the marketing copy promised. Here's a shot of them in action:

And here's a revealing undersea self-portrait:


Not only that, but when I emerged the water beaded right off and the shorts were as clean and mayo-free as you please:

Unfortunately, in the 10 short minutes it took me to conduct the swim test, my accomplice had disappeared. I assumed that she either took up with the hirsute guy from the water, or else was subsumed completely by sand:


In any case, clearly it was time to leave, as my "hipster survival kit" was taking on sand like an alleycat takes on sponsors:



So we assembled our belongings and headed back to the mainland while we still had some skin left:


While my shorts were still wet, they pretty much dried out by the time we reached Avenue L:


So basically, the shorts did everything Outlier said they would. I must confess I did experience some irritation later on, but that is simply because I was forced to flee the beach under duress; under normal circumstances I would have rinsed myself off in fresh water and taken some time to dry out before leaving. Really, hopping on a bike while wet with seawater is a bad idea in any garment (with the possible exception of actual non-ironic triathlon apparel, which is a bad idea for a whole other set of reasons).The fact is that they're comfortable shorts, they deflect foodstuffs, and you can even swim in them if you're so inclined.

Of course, the metaphorical glop of mayonnaise on these shorts is the price: they're $120. That's a lot of mayo, and vastly more than I am willing to spend for casual shorts, which is zero. However, if you're in the market for a pair of comfortable shorts that are made in New York City, are condiment- and beverage-resistant, are stretchy for riding, and can be swum in, please note that Outlier have generously arranged for a special price for readers of this blog (or at least people who can find their way to this blog and click a link) of $97.

Thanks very much to Outlier for the shorts--I'm guessing you won't be wanting them back.