More Boring Bike Crap

First off, I wanted to show this pic from Metrodigital, called "Pick a Bike". I really like this picture, for some reason. Probably cuz it's of me with other dork-bikers.

On Friday, I took the Chopsky out to visit Al the Pal, a local bike freak who seems to be known by every bicyclist in town. I was checking out his collection of nerd-bikes, including "Big Poppa" (a kid's bike with a 27-inch front wheel and a 12-inch back wheel- my favorite), Wild Child, his kiddie-bike-extended-to-grownup-size (aka a clownbike), and "The Humpsicle", which is absolutely hilarious- it's a regular 10-speed with a 16-inch back wheel and those pedals that you clip your shoes onto- both pointing in the same direction, so riding the bike requires a humping motion. Silly looks aside, the bike can move, because you're stomping on both pedals with your full weight and then pulling them back up. I was rolling on the ground watching him hump his way up and down the street. I tried it, it's hard as hell. Then some neighbor kid wandered over, asked to try it, and got on the thing and tried to pop a wheelie, ending up flat on his ass. It's always hard not to laugh when you see someone do something intentionally that results in their injury (like in college when a woman was waiting for a very important phone call and yanked the receiver off the base so hard that she whacked herself in the eye and gave herself a shiner). Hint: If your feet are attached to the pedals, don't pop wheelies.

Al lives at frickenfracken 6400 west. Y'see, Chicago is unlike cities like NYC. In New York, the boundaries of the city are clear. You're on Manhattan or you're not. In Chicago, the whole city just sort of fades west, south, and north... miles and miles of check cashing places and laundromats, all looking the same. Chicago is like a creamy downtown surrounded by fifteen miles of boring cake-donut. Eight hundred addresses to the mile, so I know that Al is eight miles out. Remember when I went to Cicero (5200 west) and the cabbie was yelling at me "Too far west! You go too far west!"? 6400 is even too further west.

On my way out, I noticed that the cops were towing the cars parked along either side of Belmont. I got to Al's house and he wasn't home yet (turns out one of his homemade bikes broke and he had to take the bus, which was stuck in the parade mentioned below). So I headed to a local Stop-N-Rob for a soda, when I see Al cruising around looking for me. I take off after him when...

"Hey buddy! That's a pretty neat bike you got there!" Shit. A herd of cops, overseeing the clearing of the street. I can't exactly blow off a cop, since they're the gang that controls all territory except the ghetto. So I have to stop and bullshit with this cop about my wheels "Hey, Frankie, check it out, he carries a spare inner tube because of all the broken glass!" "I seen it, I seen it" "Hey buddy, you make that thing yourself?" Meanwhile Al's fading in the distance. Fortunately the cops didn't know about the local statute that prohibits modification of the front fork of a bicycle. Eventually they let me go with a "ride safely" and I went back to Al's.

So afterwards we're coming down Belmont, and it's Polish Constitution Day. Apparently, if you're Polish, this is how you celebrate Polish Constitution Day:

1) Get a Polish Flag.
2) Drive down Belmont.
3) Lay on your horn the entire time
4) Wave to every other Pole in the city, who is doing the same thing.

So coming back we're basically in the Polish Constitution Day parade. The noise is unbearable. Whenever people honk in other languages, I always think they're honking at me ;) We take the lane, our weird bikes getting lots of laughs from the Poles, who aren't exactly as inclusive as the Mexicans, who say that "Cinco de Mayo is the day that everyone is Mexican!" Everyone was not Polish in this parade: Three dorks on bikes are taking up one of the honking lanes.

A moment of distraction causes me to jerk my wheel sharply to the right. This puts tremendous torque on the front drop-outs, and they twist, sending the wheel flying. Forks into the street, and Johnny over the handlebars.

Now, folks who make their own bikes are used to them breaking. This was my first breakage on the Chopsky, and what does not scrap it, makes it stronger. The fact that I wrecked in front of a huge party, who found it very amusing, didn't help, but... such is the price you pay when you ride a bike that is nigh impossible to ride. It was my first Walk of Shame (carrying the two pieces of your bike back to base).

Fortunately, Singular had a good sense of humor about driving out to the boonies to rescue me (Al's mockery: "*sob sob*... I broke my crappy bike that I made, can you come pick me up?"). The reinforcements made to the front fork will result in an even cooler bike. I spent the rest of the weekend in Singular's company, which I will say is much more enjoyable than chewing gravel on Belmont Avenue.