DOD reports recumbant version is being tested in Afghanistan by 10th Mountain as we speak.
Happy Halloween.

Posted by Machine Wilkins at 09:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Because today is just about the best holiday slapped together, we're going to be offering FREE SHIPPING on any and all Swobo goods today. It's Halloween...so offers like this don't come that often. In fact, it may not come again till next year. Who knows....depends on how scotchy things get around here. Here's how you do it... Go to swobo.com and put some stuff into your cart. When you're in "Step 2 of 2" of the checkout process, there's a box called "Coupon Code" in that box put this number: 66687. Then...you must click on the "update" button right next to that box. We don't go back and give discounts to people who don't enter this stuff right. Think of it like a test of sorts. If you fail....go directly back to amazon.com and begin all over again. Come back in 1 year. This offer is only available to people who choose to avoid the bummer life. All those who create it, are not eligible.....you know who you are.

Offer will self destruct on November 1st.

Posted by Tim Parr at 04:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Posted by Halston at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Listen up folks, you might think you know bike racing and pure unadulterated athleticism, but nobody knows it like the Northern California Cross scene. These people have blood in their eyes, and make no mistake about it- you get in their way, and theyll make minced meat out of you. Before yesterday, I thought racing for 25th in the Cs was like being the one of the smartest kids on the short bus, but now Im a believer. Serious as a heart attack ATHELETES! Yup, every last one of them.

I raced in the master As. Yeah, thats how bad ass I am. In the second corner of the first lap, I gleefully cruised past a huge pile up which took E out of the running, but then a short time later I ass-over-tea-kettled into the snow fence. 2nd lap, I tackled Willie, and he stole my bike. 3rd lap, I was looking for the beer feed. 4th lap, I was still looking for the beer feed. I had a primadonna melt down as I was finally offered a can of Tecate. I demand Budweiser, and believe you, me, my support staff was all subsequently fired. 5th lap, which was the toughest, found the nearby DJ playing Bob Marley. I fired him too. That run up was LONG and dusty. The only thing that could have made it worse was reggae. And it did. After I got lapped, I was kindof in 3rd for a second, and then the race was over. I made more enemies then I did friends.

Team Hunter unveiled its new, hand tailored wool kit, and rumor has it that it will come with some old timey aviator goggles. Im totally on the team now. Gay with an R got a beer spray in the face on two back to back laps, dollar premes were in abundance, and Barry Wicks raced with a broken carbon seat post, though there wasnt much post visible. Lastly, I cant get away without mentioning the eye of the storm, death spiral in the middle of this mess. It was easily one of the most dizzyingly sadistic features Ive ever encountered in cross.
Somebody won the races, but most people lost. Some folks crashed, and some didnt. Arguably, I pretty much did all four. Lots of folks were dressed to impress, and eventually the races ended.

In conclusion, Mistress Dukes and her army of Bellas (Velo Bellarmy?) know how to throw a hell of a party, and this is the only race in the country where you stand a good chance of getting your ass handed to you by a guy in a bumble bee fairy costume.
The end.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 12:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Last week Burned heart and I went out on a little scouting mission to find a good place to have a mid-week camp out. What we found was a cool little hollow that looked as though it had been bedded upon by a small pack of deer. In the back of my mind I figured that deer wouldnt sleep any place that predators would roam, so that place was marked and plans were laid.
Well, I showed up at work Thursday ready for an all nighter and my team had all flaked so I opted to head out alone. I had a bag of chili lemon pistachios, a flask of cheap whisky, and an 18 pack of beer. I was ready for anything.

Of course I wouldnt have brought all of that if Id known I was going out alone, but better over prepared than under, as my mom always says. Hightower and Burned heart trekked out with me, and shared some drinks as we watched the sun set, and I prepared for what may turn out to be ether a cold night fighting off the Big Foot, or a restful night of staring at the stars. After unloading my Bob I realized that during the bumpy single track accent, Id punctured a can of beer, half of which was now absorbed by my sleeping bag. Were off to a good start.
I set up camp and just as I was falling to sleep, I heard foot fall in the nearby brush. I shined my pen light in that direction and saw the glint of eyes looking at me. It was ether a small deer, a big cat, or a coyote. At what I guessed to be midnight, I stood a greater chance of getting run over by a drunk redneck on my way home, than I did getting eaten by a woodland creature, so I stayed put.
I woke up again at sunrise and engaged in an un-winable wrestling match with my Ridgerest getting it in its sorely undersized stuff sack, and then began my journey back to work for another day toiling for The Man.

Im going back for more of this, and as the winter continues to build steam, Im sure Ill have an even more difficult time finding folks to accompany me out there, but as long as I have the pistachios, and the hootch, Ill be just fine.

(A broken flashlight, bungee chord, space blanket, and a leaky can of beer. What else do you need?
Im the survivalists envy.)

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 06:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Click .....HERE to check them out. Waxed cotton is really neat stuff. It's old school water repellent fabric. These should last you the better part of your lifetime. The internal sleeve system is a nice touch that keeps cold air from racing up into your innards.

Posted by Halston at 06:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

In the timeless words of San Diegos late, great Tanner-"It takes one part fire, two parts gas."

Listen folks, all day long Ive mulled the last few days over and over again in my head. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so the assortment of pictures Ive got here should be worth millions, but they probably couldnt make any sense to someone who wasnt present at this years Homey Fall Fest anyhow.

Read on ifin you got a sec.

I feel as though Im an individual who lived through the largest, most destructive plane crash in history, and now Im in the unenviable position of having to recount a flawless blow by blow version of every catastrophic detail in as few words as possible. So lets give it a shot. Friday evening found us at Oneonone Studio in the heart of Minneapolis' warehouse district, where by the way, the new shipment of Swobo goods just arrived. Geno, Complayna, Demonika, and The Doughnut Queen got to installing and merchandising, and I fell back into the shop to partake in long over due hand slaps, and hugs with some of the Mafia, Big Zeke as well as Nate and an assortment of the crew from Lincolns Monkey Wrench Cycles whod arrived earlier in the day. Drinks were drank, tiny bikes were ridden, stories were swapped, and after a trip to Pizza Luche, slices were consumed with ferocity.We had to get home, and rest up for what promised to be a couple of days of debauchery of Caligulan preportions
Waking up at Hurls after a nights drunken sleep, we made our way to Liquor Lyles to sign up, and see what kinds of new booze could be forced down our gullets. As Hurl said upon looking at the happy hour schedule, 'youd have to work really hard NOT to be here for happy hour.' Seriously, at almost any hour of the day, you order a drink, you get a free drink. You order breakfast, you get a free drink. Im not entirely sure, but I think if you go to the bathroom, use 'and' in a sentence, or even wear pants, and theres a free drink in there somewhere. Shortly after the surprise arrival of Wakeman, all 114 or so of us stepped out into the brisk Minneapolis day to begin the adventure. Geno led us out, and Sov, the damn instigator of this whole train wreck, brought up the rear as we swerved through the cities side streets and back alley ways on our way to the tracks, which are more or less the gateway to the single track trails which we would find ourselves ripping through, bobbing over, derbying across, and falling down on all of the way to the infamous Hobo Camp. There were a few 'feats of strength' along the way, one of which was riding both ways across a janky skinny which Id last ridden at the Singlespeed Worlds the Mafia had thrown back in 2000. Somewhere during the hubbub, Sov caught a Kenda to the face, and effectively postponed his modeling career. Once we wrapped up business there, we were on our way to The Hobo Camp. This is where the chaos was really unleashed. A big fire was started in the pit, Surly Nick got the home brew and the hot wine flowing, and the relay race began. I feel as though I should mention at some point in this mess, there were bacon, peanut butter doughnuts served, but I had to retreat to Hurls with Fiona, Ron, and Demonika to see if I could find a bike that wasnt a rolling mechanical, which as it turned out was generously loaned to me by Ron. His limited edition Salsa 29er was now mine, and he got stuck with another one of Hurls frankenbikes, which he spent most of the rest of the afternoon crashing. I think I remember letting Ron know that there was a good chance his bike wasnt going to come back in very good shape, and there most likely was going to be blood on it. Both of which ended up being true. Now then, back to the relay race. The best description I can offer is this; if any of you are old enough to remember what slam dancing was like before the metal heads, and the jocks got ahold of it, you know, when youd go down, folks would help you up again, well it was like that, except there were 100 or more people involved, and bikes were everywhere. Every time one of your six team members would get upon a bike, ten people were attempting to pull them off, while ten more were attempting to keep them on. Once you got away from the ruckus, youd complete a single track hot lap, and then the madness would start all over again. I saw a video this morning of a mob, while attempting to free me, or hold me down, actually ended up catapulting me into a tree, and a crowd of bystanders. This might explain why my entire right butt cheek is now a brilliant shade of black. This kind of activity went well into the night.
Right around midnight, we finally retreated back to the welcome safety of Hurls, but not before Geno and I piled into a bloody heap on the side of the bike path in some bleak attempt at one final two man derby.
Upon waking up the next day, bruised and battered, we once again foolishly returned to Liquor Lyles for breakfast, and more drink specials. There was a cross race on Sunday that I had every intention of winning, so we had to make a quick break to the scene of my imminent victory. What ensued was a colder, and less orange '50 yards of hell', and we tried with all of our might to break the spirits of every hapless soul to cross our paths. Dollar premes were in abundance, and usually tucked into open flys, or an occasional ass crack. Without a doubt, every serious-as-a-heart-attack ATHLETE soon developed a healthy loathing for our ilk, but had no problem taking our money from us. Ill go on record here and say that verbal abuse comes cheap these days. After kabobs and beer were generously provided across the street, we made our way back home, and prepared for our departure away from the scenic village of Drunkingham.
Im home now, and it all seems like a boozy dream. Honest to god, do yourself a huge favor and dont miss this fiasco next year. Simply remember to avoid loaning out your brand new 29er to anyone with a falling down, and bleeding problem.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Why yes, El Corpo, I will send a note and tell you how The Homey Fall Fest went, and as matter of fact, I just may have been the one to throw up as well. Now check this out though, I just got off a 100 hour flight from Minneapolis, via Chicago and I aint much in the mood to wax poetic about the RETARDED amount of booze the Mafia made me drink, or for that matter, how much they themselves are capable of putting away, or even how I now have scar tissue on my scar tissue cause Tito couldnt get his trailer out of my way..So for now I leave you with this. Geno Pissing.
Hold tight folks, I was taking notes, and I think Ive pieced the whole debauched weekend together. For now though, I sleep.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 04:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This just came is from "Marian"...we only hope that she likes scotch as much as we do....

Ok, so I don't know if you all want bike specific rants. If you do want cycling specific rants, save yourself some time and elete this email now.

Begin rant:

So. Fucking 18 year old straightedgers. I'm sorry, I don't buy it. You can't be straightedge at 18, the only option you have is to be stupid. Ok, so maybe by proclaiming loudly and self-rightously to the whole world how straightedge maximum extreme you are is just a subset of stupidity, but for fucks sake, get the hell out of my face. If I wanted a sermon, I'd go to church.

Ohhh, you're a vegan straightedge fixie riding skinny black pants wearing assfuck. Oh, you've got a sketchy fixed gear conversion! Ohhhh, that's so original. Ohhhh, you've got a self-rightous attitude about how you're so maximum extreme. You actually just sound like an elitist fuck looking for a club to be part of.

Now go. Get the hell out.

This is not to say that I hate straightedgers, because I don't. There are a couple of straightedgers that I really like, but the reason I really like them is because they don't get all self-righteous and they don't try to proselytize my ass.

End rant.

Ahh. much better now.
happy, happy, joy, joy,
marian

Do you get the impression Marian hangs out with Rush?

Posted by Halston at 02:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

This came in from Eric while we were gone..and we didn't get it up in time. My fault. I did think it was appropriate enough to put it up anyway just to let people know how Eric can in fact put on an event. Somebody send him flowers and tell him that we're sorry....we'll do better next time.
Somebody send us a note to tell us how it went.....Anyone barf?

Posted by Tim Parr at 02:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Halloween's a-comin' so it's high time to send this spooky poem I've been working on out into the world. Feel free to recite it at the local pumpkin patch next week.

Zombies

They don’t pay the tuition of the snake or sweat gasoline
While pushing their wheelbarrows down Mouse Lane

They don’t gamble with your round pillow-mirrors or
Garden with brand new barber’s shears

Sometimes an eyeball falls out—so what?

They wander around Guilford Forest checking out shadows
The arc lamps throw down around the snack shop

If your bicycle has white-walled tires they’ll strike a match
Across a brick then sing Jimmy Reed songs until
The moon comes out with used guitars and shopping cart drums

Sure they knock over café chairs and such but the rolled
Bandages dragging behind them sweep up pretzel bags and dust

If you want to watch them grump around the ferry dock
Cut a hole in the toes of a good pair of boots
And paddle into the mist alone

Sing along when they sing
Then see if you get home

Posted by Machine Wilkins at 06:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dated- October 19th, 2006.

Duncan Davidson has recently penned one of the funnier articles about the track bike phenomenon thats swept urban centers world wide. Personally, Im nether here nor there on the issue as I believe more folks on bicycles, no matter what kind, is a great thing.. What I do enjoy however, is boat rocking, and judging on the vast, and generally scathing responses Sir Davidson has received, the boat is sufficiently rocked.
The panties that have been bunched by this piece Im sure will soon be numbered in the thousands.
Thats a creepy visual.

Firing off at fixed-gears.
I'm all for the current bicycle renaissance in San Francisco. As the Indian summer heats up, you'll notice the bike lanes will be nose to tail with bikers — like a line of baby elephants. This is a good thing. Maybe the notoriously free-form, Tijuana driving style of SF residents will ease up a notch and they'll return to mowing down pedestrians exclusively. There's safety in numbers.
Of course, every revolution has its drawbacks. There's always going to be that crew that wants to convince the world they're that much more revolutionary, devoted, and pure than everyone else. And as the rubber hits the roads in San Francisco, a clan of tight-trousered, mullet-headed, vintage-T-shirt-clad Robespierres has coalesced around the fixed-gear bicycle, or as it's called in its proponents' cutesy parlance, the "fixie."

What's a fixed-gear? Imagine yourself cruising down the street on your bike. You get tired and so you stop pedaling and coast. The freewheel mechanism in your hub disengages the drive train and lets the back wheel continue to spin while the cranks and pedals are still. On a fixed-gear the rear cog is bolted directly to the hub. There is no freewheel or cassette mechanism, so if the hub is moving, the cog is moving. Which means if the chain is moving, the pedals are moving, and if the bike is moving, you're pedaling. There is no coasting.

Sounds like a pain in the ass. If you're like me, the first question that comes to mind is "why?" Well, the modern SF two-wheeled steel, aluminum, and rubber hipster fashion accessory has its roots in racing, like other wheeled vehicles that don't really translate to street usage. They were — and still are — used on banked, velodrome-style tracks during races that employ all manner of strategies, including slowing down to a stop or near stop and doing a "track stand" — balancing at a standstill without putting your feet down — so your opponent can pass you and you can ride in the draft.

Since you're not likely to be drafting anyone on city streets, a track bike is a highly impractical choice of wheels. What’s more impractical is that fixed-gears often appear to lack brakes. The bike's speed is controlled by the rider's pedaling cadence — slow the pedaling, you slow the bike. Stop pedaling, stop the bike. This effect can be augmented by adding a front caliper brake, but that's frowned upon by fixie fashionistas who do things like cut their handlebars down to a foot and don't run bar tape or grips. The problem with using pedal cadence as a braking mechanism is that stopping is dependent on rider skill.

Now there's the rub. Like trucker hats and PBR, what started as a bike messenger thing has become a fashion statement and status symbol. You've got kids in the Mission with the left leg of their jeans rolled up, a little biker hat on crooked, slip-on Vans, and a brand-new fixed-gear Bianchi; and they don't know their ass from a light socket. Cadence? You may as well be talking astrophysics. They just know that it looks cool. It looks less cool, however, when one of these lemmings comes screaming down the Haight Street hill unable to keep up with the speed of the pedals and wrecks in the middle of Divisadero. A friend was riding down Stanyan with a box in his hand when some goon on a fixed-gear, unable to slow down, ran into his back wheel and crashed him in the middle of the street. He didn't even stop to see if my friend was OK.

So what was the original draw that caused the person I'll call "Biker Zero" — to crib epidemiological lingo — to ride a track bike on the street? The people I know who ride them talk about being at one with the bike, feeling part of it, in the bike instead of on the bike. I'll go with that. But this human-bike-cyborg crap has reached the level of "I like the East Coast because I like to see the seasons change" tripe. Respect to the old-school heads who've been riding them since way back, but as someone who's done way gnarlier things on wheels, it's just not all that impressive. The Bicycle Film Festival had scheduled a screening of M.A.S.H., an unfinished fixed-gear documentary by Mike Martin and Gabe Morford, until it got pulled at the last minute. It was shot here in San Francisco and showcased the "skills and beauty of these riders." Beauty, no doubt — as in perfect hair. So you can ride down a hill and lift up your back wheel and do little skids to slow down. So what?

Riding a fixed-gear is like handicapping yourself. The bikes are so awkward to ride that not looking like an idiot while riding one is an accomplishment. It's like riding a three-legged horse in the Kentucky Derby. To do that well, you'd have to be an excellent jockey. At the same time, why not be in it to win it and ride a horse with four legs? To me, it takes the choices — and therefore some creativity — out of riding. I don't ride a fixed-gear for the same reason I won't drive an automatic: no car is telling me when to shift, and no bike is going to tell me when I can pedal. If you've got bike skills, why not take them to a higher level? Go home and search for "Steven Hamilton" or "World Cup Downhill" on YouTube and see what can really be done on a bike that has the capabilities to be pushed. (There is a whole European tradition of flatland tricks on fixed-gears that takes serious skills, but it doesn't seem to be a part of the current SF scenester fixie explosion.)

Not everyone is riding a bike to push limits. Still, the fixie cabal sticks in my craw, and it's not because I'm unimpressed with the virtuosity. It's not the misuse of a track-racing bike on city streets that bugs me. BMX bikes came about through the misuse of Schwinn Stingrays in dirt lots, and mountain bikes were the result of chopped-up road bikes on dirt. Misuse can mean progress. What kills me is the sinking feeling I get when I ride down Valencia and think, "Does anyone in this town ever do anything original?"

Now there's even fixed-gear graffiti, Krylon line art of single-speed bikes with bullhorn handlebars, and the dubious slogan of "gears are for queers." The fact of the matter is, the popularity of these bikes has nothing to do with the bikes themselves or the few people who actually have the chops to ride them with style. The fixed-gear is to 2006 what the Razor scooter was to 1996: a wheeled freak show for wannabes. Test it: send the right guy with the right clothes and the right haircut out around town on one of those old-timey bikes with the enormous front wheel with the cranks mounted directly to it like a tricycle. You know, the ones you need a ladder to get on and off of. Just see how many giant-wheeled ladder bikes are locked up in front of Ritual Coffee Roasters next week.

Do what makes you happy, but also do some soul-searching, champ: does riding a fixed-gear make you happy or does fitting in make you happy? Ask yourself, what bike was I riding last year? Was I riding one at all?

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 01:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (54)

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 01:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Not often does one meet a young man like JMac. Hes gifted in many facets of life, and once in a single gesture posed the query 'if a fat lady falls down in the woods, and nobody is there to see it, is it still funny?' and then moments later taught my dad the finer points of shot-gunning a can of beer.
His insight, and talent knows no bounds.
Well, nether here nor there, but Minneapolis' own Homie Fall Fest is right around the corner, and what with the dumping of snow that the Midwest is seeing right now, Id imagine it will be pretty nippy. On one particular visit a few years ago, my (Hurls) Surly Crosscheck suffered some damage during one derby or another. If I promise to keep the steed from harms way, perhaps hell be kind and loan me another. Complayna, Demonika and myself will be representing the Northern Republic of the Californias, while the spirit of E will be guiding us. You can count on a full report, or at least a couple of photos in the next next spell or so.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 05:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Everybody, prepare to waste some time.

Seriously, with my OCD, this could be the death of me.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 02:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

(Mike from toeclip.com sits WAY on the other side of the street.)

I was just sitting in my studio working on some things when this thought crossed my brain. Years ago, while living in Oakland, there was a coffee shop that my friends and I would meet at. Sometimes You could piss away a few hours as individuals would come and go, and youd just sit there and watch the world go by. There was always someone you knew there, and occasionally, there would be folks you only knew from there. Anyway, we would always sit across the street and watch the dog and pony show. All of the fancy pants roadies would meet up for group rides, as would every other ilk of cyclist, motorcycle nerds would be motorcycle nerds, folks would drive by and show off their new cars, or some would sit and play music, hipsters making the scene.. It was the cheapest entertainment by far. One day some of us walked into a nearby brew pub, and I saw one of the aforementioned roadies sitting with some friends. On my way by, I said hello, and as I passed, I heard one of his friends ask, "who is that?" to which he replied "oh.. at coffee they sit on the other side of the street." Over the years, the more I thought about that statement, the more I realized thats kind of how my life has always been. The community around me, the bottom dwelling segment of the industry that Ive consistently found myself in, (remember, bottom feeding is for pousers. We live down here), the folks I call the dearest of friends, and now, most importantly, you.. The more time that passes, the more of us I realize that there are. I feel lucky to be one of the people 'on the other side of the street', and you know? I wouldnt have it any other way.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 01:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I just found this while taking a break from my online gaming addiction and porn. Some good stuff happening for my home state peeps. Now lets get one here in California please.. I might even get a cell phone for this very purpose.

State Patrol’s “Star CSP” Cracks Down on Unsafe Drivers
Bicyclists have a new tool to help make Colorado’s roads friendlier to bicycling.
The Colorado State Patrol (CSP) confirmed that its hotline to report aggressive driving is available to bicyclists if they see a motorist putting a bicyclist at risk.

The phone number is Star CSP (*277) when dialed from a mobile phone. Thanks to a State Patrol partnership with mobile phone companies calls to this hotline are free.
This is not like a normal phone number; you do not need to dial an area code. Simply press the * key (usually the lowest left key on a phone pad) and then 277. This number only works on mobile phones. If you are calling from a non-mobile phone dial 303-239-4518 or any State Patrol Communication Center. In the case of an emergency dial 911.

Bicycle Colorado confirmed bicyclists' use of this hotline during discussions with the State Patrol to remove the cap on bicycling events.

When dialing Star CSP bicyclists should be prepared to communicate:

Vehicle license plate number - this is mandatory
Location and direction of travel
Vehicle and driver description, if possible
The aggressive driving behavior being demonstrated
The license plate number is the key. This allows the State Patrol to identify the vehicle owner’s name, driving record, and address. Without the license plate number, identifying the vehicle is impossible.

According to the State Patrol website, they enter this information into an aggressive driver database and send a warning letter after receiving three complaints. If the State Patrol receives additional complaints they send a trooper to make personal contact with the registered owner of the vehicle to take appropriate enforcement action.

Bicyclists can report aggressive driving from any road in Colorado, not just a state highway.

We applaud the State Patrol for its work keeping roads safe. Star CSP is an important tool for bicycling safety and helping to ensure aggressive drivers are held accountable for their actions. Colorado State Patrol’s Star CSP website is: http://www.csp.state.co.us/dialstar.cfm

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I get a crafty hair up my butt from time to time. The most recent instance was yesterday, as I realized mid mechanical, that Id poached the binder bolt off of my geared bike, and put it on my one speed, leaving my geared bike hobbled. So out in the woods I sat with my buddies heckling me to the Nth degree for not leaving myself a post-it note or something reminding me that I had a floppy lever. Well never one to go very far from home without an assortment of toe straps, I bound my brake lever to my shifter, and was on my way. I swear by these things. Never, ever will I leave home without a few.
To date, Ive fixed more things then I care to remember with these little beauties. They work so well in fact, Im relatively sure that most of my truck is being held together with them as I sit here expressing their usefulness..
And I might as well ad this little gem, not that it really has anything to do with using toe straps in creative ways, but I recently came across www.toeclip.com. Man oh man, could a kid get lost in there.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 11:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If you're in Northern California tonight, try and get tickets to go see Klunkerz over at the Mill Valley Film Festival. It's a documentary that traces the birth of mountain biking, and it reveals some funny stuff about a great moment in cycling's history. We went last night to the opener, which was then followed up with a party across the street. It's a rare thing when you're able to spend time with people who are credited with starting an entire sport/culture.

As a wee lad, I raced for Team Otis Guy. Otis helped me with just about everything I had going on in life. He helped me race bikes. He taught me how to properly poach singletrack on Mt. Tam. He's responsible for introducing me to guys like Joe Breeze, Gary Fisher, Jacquie Phelan, Bob Roll, and a long list of other people that have been an inspiration to breaking rules. It was after the second year of racing for Otis that lead me to start Swobo in 1993. From my bedroom in Mill Valley, I began to build this brand....one knucklehead at a time. We started in the dirt, and then made our way over to the city (SF). I can only wish that we continue to grow bike culture the way that these guys did 30 years ago.

I feel like I owe these guys. They paved a way by building a type of bike into an industry that allowed other bike scenes to flourish. Swobo wouldn't be around if it wasn't for them.

Many, many thanks.

Tim Parr

Posted by Tim Parr at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

You know, I used to have this ability to come up with kinda elaborate and funny rhymes for birthday cards. I even wrote one to my dad on his birthday last year where during one part I was able to rhyme something with 'fornicate', as in 'lets all celebrate on this day your parents chose to fornicate," kindof a deal. Dad was touched, and mom just kind of cringed..
Well Ive been racking my brain to come up with a poem for El Corpos birthday, but I had a pretty serious sugar crash yesterday, and I have barely been able to finish a complete sentence since. So anyway, heres to you my friend. I hope you had a great day, and please allow me to present to you a picture of a department store bike with a crap load of bar ends on it.
Oh, and lest I forget, we have a bunch of new goods up on the site. Remember everyones old favorite stretchy wool knickers? Yeah, buddy.. those are back, as well as the tights, and a slew of other stuff. Check it.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 03:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Ive been seeing this graphic popping up alot over the last year, and Id like to take the opportunity to explain its origin. Back in our lords year of 1990, a bike messenger in Denver Colorado by the name of Dave Strunk, messenger number 685, haphazardly scribbled this little graphic on the inside flap of his messenger bag. Much later, Evan started Pentabike.com, and began to spread the word. Ill be damned if that innocent little scribble hasnt started appearing everywhere from stencils in Boston, to tattoos in Austin. Just remember, 685 is the new number of the beast.

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 04:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 01:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Recycled architecture and messenger bags made from truck tarps.

The FREITAG SHOP ZURICH is completely built from rusty, recycled freight-containers. Lovingly they were gutted, reinforced, piled up and secured. Zurich’s first Bonsaiwolkenkratze: Low enough not to violate the city’s restriction on high-rise buildings. High enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine.

Posted by at 02:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by at 01:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So we had a mess of folks guessing all kinds of answers...lots of small bus comments, which makes me think that a guy can't wear a funny, small helmet in public anymore. But the contest is over, and there were 5 people that busted out the right answer. It's a photo of the Weathermen. A radical bunch of young folks that took the bull by the horns. Not to mention that they were the group responsible for getting Dr. Timothy Leary out of state prison, and then moved him down to Tunisia for some more mind expansion. On a similar note...check out this movie. It's a great documentary about when youth gave a damn. Let me know what you think after you check it out...

tp

Posted by Tim Parr at 01:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I rode my bike to work today, did you? I stopped by one of the places that was serving coffee and bagels to many day-glow wrapped newbies, as well as some weathered bike commuting vets, and loudly exclaimed to Richter, "I usually drive on Thursdays. I almost did, I mean have you seen how cheap gas is?!", and everyone around me looked at me as though I just spit in their free juice.. I did enjoy the free coffee though. And you know another cool thing about riding your bike to the store/ work/ movie theatre, etc, is you can actually meet some cool folks. Case in point, just now, on my ride home, I met Troy, who just happens to be responsible for bringing this to the world.www.bio-lube.com. Youre never gonna make a friend driving home from work. How cool is that? And I was just riding along....

Posted by Stevil Kinevil at 12:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Posted by Tim Parr at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Was the trade show sweet this year, or was it weak?
Evidently El Pirata Grande has an axe to grind, and some wisdom to spit. So sit back, cock your hat, make your butt comfy, and prepare for the onslaught.

I've never heard so much bitching about Vegas/Interbike from the
Exhibitor side. I guess they've all reached a tipping point. It's not even
déjà vu. It's literally the same exact thing as last year and the year
before that and.... I haven't had to man a booth since 2001 (not including
last year's SOPWAMTOS booth, which was fun) but I remember well the pain of
it all. Back slaps from people telling you how much they dig your stuff and
how they appreciate what you do and how they hope it's all going great for
you and they would love to sell your stuff but "you know, it's tough", and
then they turn around and go over to the booth selling jerseys with Sponge
Bob and the Pillsbury Dough Boy on them and place a $3k order. Now anyone
whose seen me in a lycra jersey lately knows full well that I'm a fan of the
Dough Boy and my nephew has turned me into a Sponge Bob fan, but that sort
of thing gets old year after year. Wheels Manufacturing (Boulder CO) had
stickers promoting a change of venue to Denver (20 mi from Boulder, what
selfish pricks). I'm in. If for no other reason than the companies with
nothing to offer will have a much harder time hiring "local talent" to
entice people into their booths. They will be forced to compete on a
"level" playing field as opposed to an "augmented" one. My feeling is that
it has gotten "stale" but it's as much the responsibility of the exhibitors
as it is the organizers to breath some life back into the show.
29r's! 29r's! Shut the fuck up please! While I'm a fan, I don't recall
ever getting a foot massage or a my house painted by a 29r bike so why the
religious fury? It's about money. Wes Williams (and before him Bruce
Gordon) beat their collective heads against the proverbial wall for years
without any interest from anyone. Not until people saw they could make a
little money off the deal without sticking their neck out did they jump on
board. It's hard to see companies making their 29r's overseas while the
true trailblazers struggle along. If I was forced to choose a 29r or 26r to
ride for the rest of my life, I wouldn't care. They both are bicycles and I
like to bicycle so....
Pogo sticks. I never saw an actual demo but there were a couple
booths pushing them. The last time I tried a pogo stick was at a Paragon
Machine Works party in the mid nineties. The thing was made out of VW drive
shafts and a rear axle coil spring and must have weighed 100 lbs. I watched
as people tried to manage the beast and as I drank more, I became more
confident that I would be the one to tame the thing. I managed 2 really
solid hops(?) that were the highest so far, then landed off kilter and shot
myself 10 ft to the side at a 45' angle, landing in a heap on the pavement.
I got up trying to act cool while at the same time reminding people, as they
were pissing themselves with laughter, that just before my launch I had
managed the two highest hops of the night. Somehow I don't think that's
what they remember. Anyway, there were pogo sticks at the bike show. Enough
said.
"I didn't see anything revolutionary". I heard that a lot. So what?
Is that what makes the world go round? While I agree there wasn't anything
that blew my mind at the show, it didn't bother me. But then again I've
never been the "target customer" for many of the companies there. If you
browse the chat boards of some of the cycling/gear websites you will see the
"target customer". Hungry for gear and wanting more and "better" (whatever
that means) all the time. You hear that at every booth; "What's new?".
I've been at the receiving end of this question many times and people will
actually get offended if you don't have something new. It's as though you
haven't been doing your job or something. It all revolves around the fact
that the industry sees a "pie" that isn't getting any bigger so they have to
figure out how to sell more shit to people who already have the "shit". In
the Show Daily I read a very interesting bit that speaks to this. Shimano
(the company everyone loves to hate) has been doing trail studies for over a
decade to see what effect mountain bikes are having on trails. They want to
know if the industry they're in is sustainable or if something needs to
change in terms of the bikes or their usage etc. Very few companies are
looking that far into the future. I also remember hearing ads on the radio
paid for by Shimano for Bike To Work Week basically letting people know
about the event and encouraging them to get out of their cars. That's
what's going to grow the pie. Not pink parts. Not more travel. Not
"women's specific". More people riding bikes. Oh, the "Fuel Freedom"
buttons from Breezer bikes were cool. Also the Shimano "Coasting" group.
Make no mistake, I'm a bike geek and love parts, but until they invent
something that gets my ass off the couch and onto the bike, there isn't a
part made that's going to make my experience all that much better. Please
save the comments about index shifting, suspension, disc brakes, etc. My
smile was just as big when I was riding (and still ride) without all that
stuff...
For me and many that I know, it’s the people who make Interbike
worth going too. Sure, I could do without the guys bumping me out of the
way to get a free .00001 OZ bottle of t