Can You Describe the Ruckus, Sir?

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As my friends and ‘constituents’ make the sojourn to the Nevada desert, I am sadly at home missing out on the fun that is Interbike. I decided not to go this year, and I am sad for that decision, but I figured since I’m heading to Denver this weekend, one long distance trip is plenty for one week. Alas, I am saddened that I will miss out on the booze, the boobs, the bikes, the beer, and the blackjack.

Instead, I am working.

I am recording a song for the first time in a few years.

I am heading into the final stretch of the novel I’m writing (number five…fantastically unpublished).

I am heading to Denver to scope the place out.

I am anticipating a bike ride sometime this week (if I’m lucky).

I am reading Dostoyevsky, for some reason…interspersed with Lovecraft. Not as strange a combo as you might think.

I am fixing bikes. And fixing bikes. And fixing bikes.

What I’m saying is, life is good, despite the fact that I have full-on realized a transition has taken place in my life. This transition essentially boils down to the fact that the almighty bicycle is no longer the dictator of my life, but rather a companion, an old friend, a guest sitting shotgun while I go about living my life. We love each other, me and my bike(s). But, dear Bicycle, you no longer tell me what to do, where to live, how to act…I am me now.  It took a long time.

I say all this because I just spent eight hours at the bike shop and I never want to pull apart another goddamn suspension fork for the rest of my life, even though I know there are two overhauls on the docket for tomorrow. Makes a brotha think about shit, ya’ll know what I mean?

The hipsters are killing me, too. They’re always polite, but they seem to be forgetful.

HIPSTER: Bro, you guys got any fixie hubs/handlebars/pink tires/pink seats/pink anything?

ME: Of course. That’ll be twenty dollars.

HIPSTER: (smacks himself on gritty forehead just above ridiculously oversized glasses): Ah, weak, bro. I only have five bucks. Will that cover it?

ME: I hate you and everything you stand for. You’re fake, your glasses are fake, your cycling cap/top hat/chin hair/sweater vest are all fake. If you were genuine and unique, you wouldn’t be wasting your time at Goodwill looking for just the right tight pants to go with your lame ass pink saddle. Have an original thought, fucko. The world is changing, but you can’t see it because it’s all new to you. No need to look back. No need to read a book or do the research or work hard for something. T.V. and your enabling parents will take care of everything for you, you trust-fund dumpster-diving fartbox.

HIPSTER: I think I have five and change. Will that do?

ME: I think I hate myself now, too.

That exchange was dramatized for effect.

I bought some silkscreening supplies a few weeks ago to document my struggle with hipsters, and I note, without much irony, that I, too, rode a fixie for a long time and for a brief time thought it might be cool to have pink components and a goofy sweater vest. I have since graduated from high school and college, so now I make fun of hipsters, many of whom are my friends. I could be a politician with all this hypocrisy.

Anyway, like I said, I bought silkscreening supplies and I made up some t-shirts, one in favor of the ubiquitous hipsters here in Flagtard, AZ, and two poking slight fun. They are for sale for the low low price of $15 a shirt, should anyone want to purchase one from me. Just drop a comment in this here ol’ post.

Let’s start lighthearted:

Notice the butt crack.
Notice the butt crack.

The essentials of this graphic:

A) one gear, most likely fixed.

B) Tight pants showcasing tight butt crack.

C) Sweet oversized glasses stolen from unsuspecting granny.

D) Killer throwback hat yoinked from Goodwill for two dollars.

E) Lack of awareness of the road in front of him.

Next, we have a simple message for my hipster brethren across the aisle. I mean this in the most sincere and helpful way I can possibly convey the message. The t-shirt simply reads:

A Friendly Reminder From Your Neighborhood Bike Mechanic
A Friendly Reminder From Your Neighborhood Bike Mechanic

Haha, the joke’s on you, hipster! You ain’t got no derillas!

Now, I am not without my sympathy for the fixie hipster crowd. Thus, I have created a t-shirt that captures both the essence of a wicked pissah fixie (my own, in fact, though I have since parted ways with the old Raleigh), and the pithy dialogue of eighties teen movies:

Can You Describe The Ruckus, Sir?
Can You Describe The Ruckus, Sir?

I’m just bitter because I’m not in Vegas getting shitty drunk at the trade show, then taking a stretch hummer limousine to the Spearmint Rhino only to throw up in the bathroom (through the stripper’s legs) shortly before being kicked out and walking the several miles back to the strip where I rally, bet a hundred on black, lose, play three hands of blackjack and win it back, piss on something moving (preferably a person), stumble into the hotel room, pass out somewhere I shouldn’t be (your wife’s pants?) and wake up the next afternoon around three to sit by the pool long enough to rally for day/night two.

Or something like that.

Have fun at Interbike, all ye who attend. Drink some for me. Get me some free schwag. Grab an Azonic girl and take a photo of her promiscuous outfit. I’ll just represent here at home…

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About D2

I am a writer and a photographer. I never killed a man in Reno, but I once rode a bike through a casino in Vegas. Bikes are cool, huevos rancheros are for breakfast, whiskey is for dinner. Denver, Colorado, USA

17 Replies to “Can You Describe the Ruckus, Sir?”

  1. d2, im bummed for you too. this shit is a fucking blast. you have lots of exciting things going on right now too. the book, that’s very cool. you write well. it flows. you need to post MORE.

  2. Hey D2, I’m interested in a shirt with the second design if it actually says “A Friendly Remind from Your Neighborhood Bike Mechanic” on the back. Maybe even if it doesn’t.

  3. @Dan: I don’t have a screen for that, but maybe I’ll have one made next. The applications for that statement are boundless.

    In the meantime, if you want that shirt without the pithy saying, let me know.

  4. See, here’s what gets me about the whole tarck biek thing-I came to fixed gear through the articles of the late and revered Sheldon Brown, long before I even knew what a hipster was. Built my own bikes, learned to set them up and work on them, never had a clue that they were “cool” in any sebnse of the word beyond the fact that they work supremely well for my cycling needs. And a fixed drivetrain is my overwhelming favorite-yes, even here in hilly Western Maryland/Pennsylvania/West Virginia.

    So beyond the fact that I find hipsters to be supremely annoying, my long-held choice of drivetrain causes me to be tarred with the same brush when one who knows dick about fixed gear* decides to give that lot a well-deserved lampooning.

    *Not calling you out, D2. I’m sure you’re the real deal. And even if you ain’t, it’s none of my business. Just sayin’ it happens.

  5. I have evidence that proves hipsters are ridiculous. Cheap little cycling caps that advertise Hamms, PBR, and other cheap beers. If it was ‘cool’ and ‘different’ – – they wouldn’t be produced en masse.

    How far are you going to ride in wrestling shoes or chuck taylors?

  6. @joetheelectrician:

    I don’t feel called out. Like I said, I rode fixies for a long time. Liked them a lot…just not my thing anymore.

    The shirts are mostly to make fun of the hipster fad. It’s unfortunate, but fixies become a casualty of war here. It’s sort of like tea with the tea party. I love tea. Why can’t I throw tea into Boston Harbor anymore? Now I can’t misspell things on signs anymore or ignore blatant lies from politicians.

    Okay, that was a little off point. Just sayin’ fixies are closely associated with a dumb fad, so in order to correctly identify my target audience, fixies have to be included…

  7. There are, at last count, three fixies in my garage. One may become a single speed, as coasting is cool sometimes. I’ll keep a fixed in the armada just ‘cuz. But, still, a hipster harsh’s my rainbow as a matter of course.

  8. I’ll be 60, Jonny. More and more I’m looking at my geared bikes. Arthritis, bursitis and a coupla other -itises the doc and I ain’t got around to talking about. But as sure as I feel that giving in to gears would amount to capitulating to the reaper, I know that riding the fixed gear not only postpones that inevitable meeting; it is tantamount to flipping said reaper the bird. How’d that French guy say a hundred years ago? “As for me, give me a fixed gear.” Yeah, that’s how it feels.

  9. Ain’t it the truth. But I don’t ride “fixies”. I ride properly sized and fitted road, cross and mountain bikes with sensible componentry. And hey, it could be worse. I could be a MAMIL.

  10. The streets of Boise…and my favorite bar have been overrun with hipsters with fixies. It’s still a newish thing here, as we’re several years behind the rest of the country….just wish we had more hills, I like watching them walk. Shift fixie, shift.

  11. I just now got around to reading this, and fuck yea I can feel your pain man. Someday, I’m going to miss seeing you in this hoodlum, but until then, see you at the shop. Nice work.