Fingered

Who loves ya, baby?

I seem to inspire this kind of behavior without even trying. It's like I have a gift. Or a camera.

I get The Finger a lot. It's often because I'm pointing a camera at someone while he or she rides a bicycle. My friends sometimes appear to grow tired of having their pictures taken. Don't these people realize I have a blog to fill?

You'd think they'd consider my needs. But noooooo. A few little clicks of the camera, and sproiiiiiing, the ol' Finger pops up like a jack-in-the-box. Except in the case of John, who sometimes chooses to keep it on the down low. But high or low, The Finger is The Finger no matter how you slice or dice it.

Come to think of it, it happens more often when I’m riding with one of these two, and usually after we’ve climbed a hill or three. Hmm. Maybe there’s a pattern there.

I’m not sure how to solve this problem on road rides, but maybe singletrack can help: This summer, I’ll set up for pictures in the hairy, technical sections where both hands have to stay on the bar.

Can’t hurt to try, anyway. At least if I keep getting The Finger, it might be in the middle of a really cool crash shot.

Lighten up and wave

I spent 18 years riding exclusively mountain bikes, so I got really familiar with the often-discussed issue of bike riders who refuse to wave at their fellow cyclists. As mountain bikers, we always wrote them off as “roadie snobs.”

Then I bought a road bike.

Now, I sometimes find myself tossing a friendly wave at mountain bikers, only to get the same aloof, I’m-too-cool-to-wave-back response. So what’s the deal? Are they assuming I’m a roadie snob, so they’re caught off guard? Do I not look as hip or stylish on a bike as I’m supposed to, and therefore I’m beneath contempt? More likely, many of them are probably simply lost in their own thoughts, or they’re pricks who take themselves and the world too seriously.

Except for the high-speed, crotch-rocket crowd, motorcyclists wave at me with at least the same regularity as fellow bicyclists. They seem to be into the whole two-wheel brotherhood thing.

Bicyclists are the only people I’ve ever known who ponder the existentialist dilemma of why we don’t wave at each other. As far as I can tell, if a golfer, fisherman, Frisbee player or dog walker waves at someone who ignores him, he simply mutters “jackass” and forgets about it. But we cyclists debate it, publish magazine stories about it, or write about it on our blogs.

Maybe that’s because we draw social lines between types of cyclists: road, mountain, etc. That’s pretty silly, since we’re all doing basically the same thing.

Dave Moulton recently wrote on his blog, “I wave to everybody when I am riding; not just people who look like me, other people on any kind of a bike, those walking, running, or on skateboards; even ladies pushing babies in strollers. They are all people like me, out getting some fresh air, and exercise.”

I think that’s a good policy: Be nice, and all that random-act-of-kindness bullshit. I don’t wave at every rider I meet, but I generally try, and I’ll keep doing it.

Hell, I’ll even wave at those free-rider types with their body armor and 45-pound, Kawasaki-wannabe bikes. One of them might even occasionally raise his cigarette into the air and wave back.

That’d be nice.

And on the subject of waving, don't forget to take advantage of the opportunity to wave at me with one finger. After my recent "Fingered" post, George suggested giving me The Finger online, so let 'em rip, folks. The Grillmeister has already provided a bird-flippin' picture and Jeff has said he'll take the challenge.

I'll do a photo collage or something. The most creative shot that contains both a middle finger and a bicycle will get special attention. Who knows? Maybe I'll come up with a prize or something. Just send them to the e-mail address from the link on this page.

Desert bird

Giving his wife one more reason to be proud.

Our latest installment in the infamous Finger Series comes courtesy of local shop czar Jon, who did the big flip-off while riding Tucson’s sunny Fantasy Island last month while the rest of us were listening to our studs clattering on icy pavement. Somehow, it feels like we should be giving him the bird.

Spongebob: From Frigid Bits Ice Crit icon to
Fantasy Island fetish, he’s bad. He’s nationwide.

Spongebob, one of the talismans that guard the trail, would surely have raised a finger for the cause as well, if only he’d had some flexible digits.

In a sad first for the Bicycles & Icicles blog, I must publish a correction. Last weekend’s post about the Frigid Bits scavenger hunt referred to a “brownie-chasing Viking chick.” As I was bluntly told at an election-night party, that rider was not a Viking, she was a tampon.

Never mess with a rag when she’s on the gorilla.

This disturbing fact was confirmed by Deb—the woman in the costume—who questioned the volume of my post-ride beer consumption. I was sober, but I have to admit that a Viking typically bears little resemblance to a tampon except in the aftermath of pillaging raid halted by unusually violent resistance.

Catching a brownie in your mouth, in the dark,
is harder than you might think, even when
your entire reason for being is to absorb and consume.

In hindsight, I have no idea how this happened. And I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone who dresses as a tampon would question the volume of MY drinking, but that’s another story.

Regardless, the entire staff here at B&I World Headquarters (OK, that’s just me) regrets the error and wishes to set the record straight.

(Thanks to Akdeluxe for the Arizona pics, and to Deb for the others.)

Fingered again!

The first two Finger Photos are in! Inspired by my recent post about friends who sometimes can't resist flipping the bird when they see my camera, other friends and readers of the blog decided it was only fair that they get to give me The Finger, too. (Hey, they've been reading this thing for a long time, so they've been waiting for a chance like this.)

The Grillmeister exercised a little modesty (and this is a man who rides all over Anchorage wearing Spongebob Squarepants underwear on the outside) by declining to deploy his own fingers. He posed his Joe Bender dude in the snow, when we still had some.

Jeff and the rest of the crew over at Bike Carson took it all the way and gave me The Finger en masse all the way from Nevada. Seriously, click on the pic for a larger version, because it's a thing of beauty. Never before have I been Fingered by so many from so far. It brings a tear to my eye, I'm tellin' ya.

Thanks, guys, and you, too, T.K.

If anyone else wants to flip me off, c'mon and get to it.

Between a rock and a ...

Trivia question: What do I have in common with Lance Armstrong? Seven Tour de France victories? Nope. Dated Sheryl Crow? Nope. One nut? Nope. Admired by millions? Hell no. Hated by ... nevermind, I'll stop there.

The only thing I have in common with the winningest soon-to-be-(possibly)-indicted cyclist in the history of the world's greatest bike race is being flipped off by people all over the world. Hell, I bet I could even top Armstrong in the category of being flipped off in more countries than I've actually visited.

(Click the pic to see the larger version in all its glory.)

The latest, greatest addition to the World-famous Fabulous Finger Gallery is a stellar showing of disrespectful digits from a whole gaggle of mountaineers who were led into this mess by my friend Harter. That's him on the ground out front, during the crew's rock-climbing trip in Penticton, British Columbia.

Even with some conscientious objectors in the crowd, they managed to get 27 people to let it rip, and that's damn impressive. In fact, I think it's a flippin' record! This is the best mass flip-off since that international incident at Refugio Monte Bianco back in '09.

If you'll excuse me a minute, I think I have something in my eye.

Good job, Harter. And thank you, Bellingham climbers!

(Note: For those of you who are new to the Finger Gallery, don't forget to keep clicking "Older Posts" when you get to the bottom of the screen, because this thing has become a monster.)

When the going gets weird, Part II

Our man Carlos is really taking us to the dark side. Not only is the Frigid Bits going nocturnal this month (and becoming The Slippery Stud Pucker), but he's adding singletrack with "assorted surfaces" to the icy course. Darkness, costumes and singletrack on a frozen lake. I think I'm startin' to want my mommy.

Looks like I'll be heading up to the lake one night this week for a little practice time. DaveIT, if you're interested in a little recon ride, drop me a note.

Not much else happening in my dark and cold little corner of the bike world. I bagged Sunday's outdoor ride due to wind and laziness, and racked up a trainer ride while watching The Boondock Saints on DVD.

I was happy to read that South Dakota is moving to exempt bikes from DUI laws. There are enough drunks in cars and trucks to keep the cops busy, so why not leave the rest of us alone when we pedal home with a buzz? We aren't the ones killing carloads of people. Besides, it's a rather nice way to travel, especially if one sticks to trails and bike paths.

Speaking of riding our bikes and not being hassled by The Man, I remember coming across a police vehicle set up with photo-radar equipment years ago when I was on a weekend ride with my old friend Chris back in Arizona. I stood up and sprinted like Mario Cippolini (well, except that I'm ugly and slow, and he's handsome and fast; other than that . . . ) in hopes of triggering the damned thing to take my picture. As I cruised by, I flew the big one-finger salute just before I noticed a big, hairy arm sticking out of the driver-side window.

Oops.

Either the guy was napping, really into his box of doughnuts, or he just didn't care about some dumbass on a bike, because he didn't bother to follow me and pull me over. This motorist wasn't so lucky.

Ticketing a guy for giving a Big Brother camera the finger? That's just wrong.

Maybe he should have mooned it.

The Devil's in the Details

Oscar near Devil's Pass

There’s nothing like an overdue to trail ride to improve my outlook on life, so Saturday was a good day. Oscar the Grouch and I motored down to the Kenai Peninsula and then pedaled up to Devil’s Pass. My original plan was to ride all the way to Cooper Landing, but a one-way ride with the resulting car shuttle didn’t hold much appeal with only two riders, and the rest of our group chose to stay home and vaccum the rugs, or grout the tub, or some such shit.

That’s OK. By the time we finished the 10-mile climb and then tacked on an extra mile or two on the Resurrection Pass trail, I was satisfied, and my legs were feeling cooked after my biggest week of bike commuting in years. Aiming the front wheel downhill and enjoying the descent didn’t bother me at all.

The weather was dry and the ride was sweet. And when we got back to town, the tub grouters made me dinner, and we shot the shit over wine for a few hours.

In other news, today we have a fine new entry into the Fabulous Finger Gallery, courtesy of Dann and his buddy Matt, who flipped the bird during the recent OWL ride, a fund-raiser event in Omaha. Dann said 2,000 riders lit up their bikes and rolled through town for 16 miles. Sounds like a hoot. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Thanks for the pic, Dann.

And in a sad bit of news, several teenage hikers taking part in a NOLS course were attacked and mauled by a brown bear in the wilderness northeast of Talkeetna this weekend. Two of them suffered life-threatening injuries. Keep ’em in your thoughts and wish them a full recovery.

When stuff like this happens, it doesn’t matter who is a hiker, runner or mountain biker. All of us who find our fun in Alaska’s woods and backcountry face the same danger. It could happen to any of us.

May they heal quickly, and grow old with a story to tell.

International Incident

Jeff in Carson City was the first to round up a crowd for The Great Bicycle & Icicle Finger Series, and Anthony from Whitehorse, Yukon, was the first to take it international. But the Anchorage crew riding in Europe this month has raised the bar with a record number of people and nationalities represented.

From Refugio Monte Bianco we have a crowd of 23—count ’em 23—people flyin’ the bird high and proud. Brits, Welsh, Italians, Americans and French. And knowing the French, those guys probably meant it.

The Alaskans are there in the back row, encouraging the global community to personally insult me. Today’s post has a bonus picture of the Anchorage riders in the same area. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about them spending so much of their vacation flipping me off. There’s a disturbing amount of enthusiasm on display here, folks. (By the way, for those keeping track, Sunday's shot was from Mont Blanc.)

Meanwhile, those of us stuck spending Labor Day here at home were left to ride local trails instead of the Swiss Alps, so The Grouch, The Monkee and I spent the holiday afternoon goofing around on the new Singletrack Advocates trail network. And da Monkee seems to be ready for Moab. He was catching air all over the place, and he didn’t even break any bike parts. It was like he knew what he was doin’ or something.

I can’t wait to see him do this shit on the Snow Ho this winter:

Get up offa that thing

The body of an alien in Area 51.

John Prine was right—it’s a big ol’ goofy world. Anchorage finally has enough snow to kick off fat-biking season, and my friend Deb the Crazy Cat Lady is sending me flip-off photos from trails where the weather is so warm, she can still smile after failing to make it through a stream.

She made it into the Fabulous Finger Gallery—again—but we get the last laugh, because she’s down there wearing shorts and riding in the woods where men are banjo-playing men, and the canoeists are nervous. Meanwhile, those of us in Alaska may be wearing a few extra layers, but the snowy trails are gettin’ sweet.

The only question is, where the hell is everybody? It seems like you can’t swing one of Deb’s dead cats in this town without hitting somebody who recently bought a fat bike, but the singletrack is shaping up slowly after snowstorms, because few people seem to be venturing out.

What the shit, people? The main advantage to having so many snow bikers in Anchorage is that when more of us hit the trails, they get buffed out faster. Hell, a few years ago it took at least a week for trails to get decent after a significant snow dump. The past couple of winters, while snow bikes were flying off the shelves like ugly underwear in Salt Lake City, the trails got so much fat-tire traffic they were routinely in great shape only a couple of days after a storm.

Are you having trouble accepting the arrival of winter? Are you spending your weekends watching football? Did you take up knitting? Have you been too busy watching that bitch Nancy Grace do drunken cow imitations on Dancing With the Stars?

OK, if it’s that last thing, do whatever you want. I have no use for you. Otherwise, dust off your fat bikes and go outside. It’s a big ol’ snowy world, and you're missing it.

Fall fingers

It's time for another installment of Fabulous Finger Gallery Fotos from people who are flying around with their bikes and having way more fun than I am. Damn them. I don't get a bike trip this fall. Fortunately, there's a plan simmering on the back burner for next year. Meanwhile, I'm living vicariously through friends with vacation time and air miles.

Our first new photo comes from Gina and Tony, who did the Big Flip-off atop Col du Galibier. That's the classic Tour de France climb where skinny people ride in thin air and slap Bicycles & Icicles stickers on the famous summit sign before giving the finger to the guy who was kind enough to send a sticker and give their vacation a purpose.

Without that sticker assignment, the whole thing would have simply been shallow, two-wheeled hedonism with no more meaning than a one night stand with a solid "10." You're freakin' welcome, Gina.

Next we have Rose and her crew, who are doing what October was made for—riding mountain bikes in southern Utah. There is only one thing that can lure me to that Mormon-infested state, and that's sunny, high-desert singletrack. That shit's so fun, I get a little bitter whenever I see pics of someone enjoying a vacation there while I watch leaves fall in Anchorage.

At least they sent a flip-off photo to take the edge off my jealousy. Thanks to Lori, Bev, Rose, Fixie Dave Nice and, of course, Dan, who managed to take the photo and still get his own finger in it. (That's what she said.)

Go ahead and soak up that sun, Rose, but remember: Tans are temporary. Winters seem to last forever.

Soggy fingers

Some may have meant it more than others.
(Thanks to Maura for the photo)

The Finger Movement lives on!

Just before the start of Saturday's Soggy Bottom 100, event organizer Carlos Lozano asked the entire field to flip me the bird. Not everyone fit in this photo but, trust me, it was the greatest Mass Flip-off I've ever seen. (And it took some doing to match Jeff's effort earlier this summer.)

Most riders didn't even know why they were flipping me off. I mean, it's not like this is a request one hears every day. When Carlos first told them to turn around and let me have it, they weren't sure what to do. Oscar The Grouch, who was straddling his bike nearby, had to say, "He's serious."

But if anyone knows how to give The Finger, it's bicyclists, so next thing I knew, a new record had been set.

Several times this year, I've mentioned my friend Heather and heard someone reply, "Is that the chick who's always flippin' you off on your blog?"

Now I'm waiting to meet someone who says, "Hey, are you the guy I flipped off in Hope?"

Finger Festival

The Fingers are back but, for the first time ever, today's post has two photos without bikes in them. Why? Well, for one thing, the weather in Anchorage sucks ass. Seriously. I actually miss the subzero cold of two weeks ago, when at least we had good riding surfaces. This mid-winter thaw has reduced everything to rotten snow and crummy ice.

I set up the trainer today for the first time all winter. The results weren't pretty. I've gotta start suckin' up some pain now, or I'll suck worse this summer than I did last year.

On the way to the Beer & Barleywine Festival on Friday night, Notorious H tried to downplay her role in starting the Flip-off phenomenon that is almost a year old now. But what'd she do when the camera came out? She led the charge, baby.

And from Colorado, where he's enjoying riding temps in the 50s and 60s while training for the Susitna 100, the one and only Grill Meister sends a shot of his wife and a friend during one of those walks people do outside when they don't have bikes handy. I think they call them "hikes." It's always good to hear from The Man. In a couple more weeks, I hope to be riding with him again while he's in town for the race.

Hopefully, winter will return before he does.

99

Today is a time to celebrate. We have finally entered double digits in the number of days left in the Bush presidency. It’s been a long time coming.

But it’s also a day to remember a lost opportunity. For the first time, we had a president who liked to spend his free time mountain biking . But he didn’t do a damned thing for us. Didn’t lift a finger to further our cause. No funding for new trails. No defense of our rights to access of public lands. Nothin’. A big, fat zero. To be fair, I doubt he knows there are millions of other people who love mountain biking. I mean, he took up the sport after becoming president, and he lives in a high-security bubble. I’m pretty damned sure he’s not going to learn about the rest of us by reading.

I once saw something from IMBA about how we need mountain bikers on municipal committees and in state legislatures, Congress, etc., to give us a louder voice and greater legitimacy in the public eye. To have a mountain biking president should be the ultimate way to advance our cause but, with Bush, it has only inspired frequent jabs from Maureen Dowd at the New York Times, who likes to point out that when this or that major event occurred, the president was "out riding his bike" instead of doing his job.

Considering how he wrecked everything else he touched, we should probably be glad he made no attempt to help mountain bikers. With his record, any effort to help would probably have been a nail in the sport's coffin.

But I’ve often found myself how different things would be today if Dubya hadn’t become our first court-appointed president despite the majority of Americans voting for Al Gore in 2000. Or what if so many voters hadn’t been in a coma four years ago, and we’d elected John Kerry, the guy who rode a custom Serotta Ottrott? Now there was a guy with brains and good taste in bikes.

I wouldn’t expect any president to make bicycling a big priority when it comes to domestic policy, but a little effort to encourage bike commuting, or trail building, or something, would help.

After all the presidents we’ve had who liked golf, jogging, tennis, etc., it would have been nice if the first one to enjoy mountain biking could have enhanced the sport’s image, instead of making it the butt of jokes.

Vote for Obama. And let's send him a bike.

Happy Finger Friday

It has been a busy week at Bicycles & Icicles, but what better way to end it than with two new entries in the Fabulous Finger Gallery? And fine additions they are.

The first comes from the guy Anchorage riders know as “Super Al” Mitchell (right) and his buddy Kim Kittredge during their 500-mile ride across Iowa in this summer’s 39th edition of the Register’s Annual Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. Most people refer to it as RAGBRAI. Super Al calls it “a frat party for grown-ups on bikes.”

Thanks for the pic, Al. Double thanks for shooting it before you ate corn on the cob through that mustache! And it should go without saying that we're also grateful you didn't show us what you did to earn those Mardi Gras beads.

Our second shot comes from Acadia National Park in Maine, and a repeat offender in the rogue’s gallery of finger flippers—my nephew Brendon, from Kansas City. I believe when we last saw Brendon, he was risking disciplinary measures by posing for flip-off pictures during a school trip to China. (Don’t blame me, I think he gets it from his mother’s side.)

Brendon heads off to college next week so I’ll be counting on a creative new shot from campus this fall. Good luck, Brendon. Have a great freshman year.

As for the rest of you hosers, have a great weekend. To help yourself remember how good you feel, just remember: you’re not riding the Soggy Bottom!

Turnagain fingers

Road season has begun. For me, this is the time of purgatory between snow biking and mountain biking. My road bike is mainly just a sanity saver for the times when I can’t ride trails. Still, even a road ride can be damn fun.

Saturday’s first ride of the season was the Arctic Bicycle Club’s annual Turnagain Arm Metric Century, a 66-mile ride from Anchorage to Girdwood, and back. The weather was perfect: Clear skies, little to no wind, and nice spring temps. It’s a shame that only 10 riders got in on the fun. (Though, even in a small crowd, I got The Finger a few times.)

The shoulders of the highway were amazingly clear for this time of year. Well, except for two-wheeled obstacles, one of which left me with a mangled front brake and two swollen fingers that guarantee this post will remain short.

But all’s well that ends well, and in the future I will follow my new rules of the road. I have been advised by both my attorney and my neuropsychologist that I am to keep my upper body out of the lane of traffic on the Seward Highway.

Sounds like good advice.

Headin' home after a tasty lunch in Girdwood.

Fingers around the fire

You can always count on a Frigid Bits event to be great when the burn barrel is involved. After a fun two-hour ride with a bunch of tight singletrack, the beer and dead animals tasted damn good. After the crowd thinned a bit, the holdouts even sang Happy Birthday for me, and posed for a one-finger salute. I love winter mountain bikers.

The night also marked the inaugural ride of Scarlett—my friend Amber's new Fatback with a custom paint job. A skull on the head tube, lightning bolts, a flame-covered fork, and a purple-to-pink fade with her name on the chainstays. It's definitely one of a kind, and will keep a shit-eatin' grin on her face for a good long while. Speedway did its usual nice job on the build. (Click on the detail shot for a closer look.)

And speaking of shops, thanks to Speedway, Paramount, Chain Reaction and The Bicycle Shop for generously donating some nice swag for last night's ride, which was a fundraiser for Singletrack Advocates.

Don't forget to click on the right side of this page to vote for your favorite slogan to be placed on the frame stickers I plan to order this week. But don't give Jules any sympathy votes after her earlier comment that she never wins anything, because she won the finest piece of swag last night: a nice new Camelbak donated by Greg over at Speedway.

“I didn’t know it was about to turn!”

This is Julie. Julie writes a blog and climbs frozen waterfalls. She’s the demon who pulled me and Huber into last summer’s Soggy Bottom Sufferfest, and the saint who lives with the Bike Monkee.

She’s also a great person to ride bikes with because she’s cheerful even when things turn to suckage, and after hearing me grumble about missing a photo recently, she actually offered to go back and re-ride the same section of trail. I was so shocked that I declined her offer. I immediately regretted doing so, because I missed a good shot and the opportunity to encourage such offers in the future.

But I fear she’s learning bad habits from my less well-behaved friends, i.e. the finger flippers. As we I rode The Hive tonight, she couldn't flip me The Bird because she was too busy steering the Snow Ho, but she mugged it up with a tongue wag. Fortunately, such aberrant behavior was discouraged when she turned her attention back to the trail and realized that she was entering a tight, downhill switchback, prompting her make a quick adjustment before uttering the title of this post. I hope such a close call will motivate her to be a more disciplined model in the future.

Focus, Julie. Focus.

It’s all about my needs. What, you didn't know that?

Digital Divas

Holy friggin' flip-offs, boys and girls, business is booming in the Fabulous Finger Gallery! With three great new photos in my inbox, I figured it's time for an All-finger Day here at Bicycles & Icicles. Before we begin, let's pause for a moment of silence in recognition of the woman who helped start it all nearly three years ago ... my good friend Heather.

Heather's so proud of her role in this fine use of the Internet that I think she lists it on her resume, as well she should. And with that formality behind us, let's get to the goodies:

Today's first shot comes from Miner's Rock in Lake Leatherwood, Arkansas, courtesy of my brother Matt and his Midwestern crew during their recent trip into the Ozarks. Their rides included places like Slaughter Pen Hollow. In other words, you might not want to ask too many questions.

And next we have the first of two pics from the White Rim Trail. This one's courtesy of Mountain Bike Anchorage author Rose Austin, who recently completed her usual fall tour of great riding destinations in the Southwest. Welcome back to the land of ice, Rose.

And last today—but far from least—we have the pleasure of a whole bevy of mountain-biking babes lettin' the birds fly during their White Rim ride. It's Anchorage's own Dirt Divas on tour. Divas, a desert sunset and Fat Tire ale ... damn good combination, if you ask me.

Fingers for Liberty

The local crew that rides the Smithville Lake trails near Liberty, Missouri, are damned fine citizens. They build and maintain trails, they provide employment opportunities for illiterate sign makers who would otherwise be rendered unemployable by their inability to correctly spell “smokin’,” and they are keeping the Finger Movement alive here at Bicycles and Icicles with 15 participants in the Great Spring Flipoff of 2009. This is a number exceeded only by the entire lineup at the start line of last year's Soggy Bottom 100.

It’s a stunning display, indeed. Fortunately, it was kept somewhat family friendly because the photo was taken shortly before that wee lad in the middle got his kilt high enough to show us his Smokin’ Davey.

Bikes, beers and fingers. It’s a beautiful thing.

Speaking of which, keep an eye on the blog this week for some tales and photos from the Denali Classic. As soon as I get my tired ass back in gear and sort through the memory banks and the memory card, there’s bound to be some shit worth posting.

Made in China

That young man on the left makes me proud to be an American ... and his uncle.

Yep, that incognito dude with the dark glasses actually shares some DNA with me, but he manages to overcome it. He also manages to come up with fine ideas like getting three friends to join him in a group flip-off on the city wall of Xi'an, China, during a recent trip I'm not allowed to describe in any detail, lest he end up in deep shit with educational authorities who may or may not have had anything to do his recent travel abroad—and who may lack the taste and humor to appreciate the beauty of the Finest Finger Gallery on the interwebs.

Maybe that's why he decided to dress like a G-Man on Secret Service Casual Friday. All the better to throw Mr. Hand off your trail if the excrement hits the air conditioning at Ridgemont High. And, just to make sure we keep it bike-related on this here bike blog, he threw in a photo of himself on the rig he rented for a ride around Xi'an.

The next time you find yourself on an ill-fitting rental, dear bike friends, just imagine what it feels like to be a six-foot-five dude on a bike built for the average Chinese commuter.

Stay tuned this week for the best flip-offs from a week in Whitehorse.