A few days ago, I reported on the Lance-ification of swimming following the success of Michael Phelps. Well, the swimming world was rocked today by an announcement from Gary Fisher. Here is the press release in its entirety:
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Gary Fisher Does It Again!
Long known as a pioneering figure in sport, Gary Fisher -- inventor of the mountain bike, in case you hadn't noticed -- announced today that he is also responsible for the latest athletic endeavor to take America by storm: Swimming.
"I was there when it started," Fisher said. "God created the heavens and the earth, and I said to Him, hey, Big Fella, that's going to work out great for this other thing I'm working on -- it's called a Mountain Bike (copyright Gary Fisher, year zero) -- but what say You add something, I don't know, more wet, maybe? So He made the seas and the oceans and the rivers and the streams, and I figured, yeah, I can work with that. I dove in, but the idea didn't hit me right away. I guess you could say I invented drowning too! (laughs) But then I did this sort of arm-flapping, leg-kicking thing, and there you go: Swimming."
Additional notebooks from the early years of Gary Fisher's prodigious career have recently come to light, revealing his pioneering work on the pneumatic tire, the cotton gin, walking upright, and fire.
What will this creative juggernaut come up with next? Only time will tell.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
LimpStrong 2.0: On The Books!
Avid readers (all four of you) will note that the Second Annual LimpStrong Ride for the Femorally-Challenged didn't quite get the media coverage of last year's inaugural LimpStrong. Frankly, I was feeling a bit undertrained, so I wasn't quite sure there would even be a Second Annual LimpStrong. But, undertrained or not, I took advantage of astonishingly good weather yesterday and gave it a shot. (Full disclosure: What little media coverage there was for LS 2.0 had mentioned the possibility that it would be on a fixed-gear. Those reports were entirely false, and I'm not sure what the reporter was smoking.)
Our intrepid hero rolls out at 9:30 in the morning, bathed in a heavenly glow. Yes, that's my garage back there, proving that all bicycle-related photography must have a garage door in it somewhere:
Had a nice cat-mouse game with someone as I warmed up on the curvy Greenbelt trail. On each straightaway, I could sense her coming up on my wheel, then I would pull ahead again on the curves. The surface of the trail is pretty choppy, so I'm assuming my fat tires provided a little advantage in the serpentine parts. I could actually hear her getting on the brakes in the curves. Once we turned off on the Raccoon River trail and broke out into the long straight stretch before Waukee, she dropped me like I wasn't moving.
An impaled Yugo on the outskirts of Waukee warns all who come near: "Tiny foreign cars are not welcome here! Begone!" I suspect the ghost of this car prowls the nearby Chevrolet dealer, mocking the rows of unsold SUVs. Yes, that's an official Iowa cornfield in the foreground. I hate to encourage the flyover cliche, but that's our scenery.
Trusty steed, ready to get the "real ride" underway at the trailhead outside Waukee. I did drop my $2 into the "trail pass" tube (confession: I don't always), and it was a good thing I did. They were checking today. Alert readers will note the blue coffee recycling center in the background. I believe those are also soybeans back there, proving that we do have some variety in our scenery.
Old railroad signs don't lie: Yes, this is a converted railbed, and yes, I made it to Adel:
And then there was Redfield. The name of the town didn't turn out in the photo of its co-op, but trust me, it's there:
Lunch break in lovely Panora:
And here's where things turned ugly, as evidenced by the full stop of photos in the SpongeBob mini-cam. To get 100, I needed to push past Panora for about six miles. Next town out there was Yale, 12 miles away. In other words, I was headed into a long mid-day slog in no-person's-land. I gamely pushed out of Panora a couple miles, got pummeled by both wind and sun, and decided to heck with it, LimpStrong 2.0 would be a 90-miler.
Of course, after catching a brief second wind (thanks to a tailwind) getting back home, 90 seemed extremely lame, so I ended up riding some very slow loops around town for the last 10 to make it an official century. I looked (and felt) pretty rough by the time it was all said and done, but I did it. A little over 7 hours ride time and 9 hours "real time." Had every intention of seeing a friend's band play at a nearby street festival, but after a shower and an "eat everything in sight" meal, I just couldn't motivate myself off the couch. Sorry about that, Timm (no typo, two M's) and the rest of Faculty Lounge!
Our intrepid hero rolls out at 9:30 in the morning, bathed in a heavenly glow. Yes, that's my garage back there, proving that all bicycle-related photography must have a garage door in it somewhere:
Had a nice cat-mouse game with someone as I warmed up on the curvy Greenbelt trail. On each straightaway, I could sense her coming up on my wheel, then I would pull ahead again on the curves. The surface of the trail is pretty choppy, so I'm assuming my fat tires provided a little advantage in the serpentine parts. I could actually hear her getting on the brakes in the curves. Once we turned off on the Raccoon River trail and broke out into the long straight stretch before Waukee, she dropped me like I wasn't moving.
An impaled Yugo on the outskirts of Waukee warns all who come near: "Tiny foreign cars are not welcome here! Begone!" I suspect the ghost of this car prowls the nearby Chevrolet dealer, mocking the rows of unsold SUVs. Yes, that's an official Iowa cornfield in the foreground. I hate to encourage the flyover cliche, but that's our scenery.
Trusty steed, ready to get the "real ride" underway at the trailhead outside Waukee. I did drop my $2 into the "trail pass" tube (confession: I don't always), and it was a good thing I did. They were checking today. Alert readers will note the blue coffee recycling center in the background. I believe those are also soybeans back there, proving that we do have some variety in our scenery.
Old railroad signs don't lie: Yes, this is a converted railbed, and yes, I made it to Adel:
And then there was Redfield. The name of the town didn't turn out in the photo of its co-op, but trust me, it's there:
Lunch break in lovely Panora:
And here's where things turned ugly, as evidenced by the full stop of photos in the SpongeBob mini-cam. To get 100, I needed to push past Panora for about six miles. Next town out there was Yale, 12 miles away. In other words, I was headed into a long mid-day slog in no-person's-land. I gamely pushed out of Panora a couple miles, got pummeled by both wind and sun, and decided to heck with it, LimpStrong 2.0 would be a 90-miler.
Of course, after catching a brief second wind (thanks to a tailwind) getting back home, 90 seemed extremely lame, so I ended up riding some very slow loops around town for the last 10 to make it an official century. I looked (and felt) pretty rough by the time it was all said and done, but I did it. A little over 7 hours ride time and 9 hours "real time." Had every intention of seeing a friend's band play at a nearby street festival, but after a shower and an "eat everything in sight" meal, I just couldn't motivate myself off the couch. Sorry about that, Timm (no typo, two M's) and the rest of Faculty Lounge!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Michael Phelps: The Lance Armstrong of Swimming?
Hang with the analogy for a minute: You take a relatively obscure sport (in terms of American mainstream awareness), add an American athlete who soundly whups the world in a way nobody's ever done before, and throw in a heaping helping of hero-worship media hype. Granted, Phelps loses points for not reaching his astounding achievement after battling back from almost-certain death, but other than that little detail, it's a pretty similar narrative.
Assuming the Phelps/Armstrong parallel holds, here's what I predict for swimming in America over the next few years based on what Lance did for American cycling:
Assuming the Phelps/Armstrong parallel holds, here's what I predict for swimming in America over the next few years based on what Lance did for American cycling:
- LSS (Local Swimming Shops) will be overrun by pudgy guys in their 40s with too much disposable income trying to wedge themselves into those American flag neck-to-ankle swimsuits, convinced that wearing Michael's suit will help them beat their buddies to the other end of the pool at the Y. To capitalize on this trend, the maker of these suits will come out with a special "Gold" version that features eight Olympic gold medals silkscreened across the front -- the "faux Maillot Jaune" of swimming.
- Pools across the nation will be packed to capacity with people who can't swim a stroke to save their lives. Diehard swimmers who once had the water to themselves now won't be able to swing an arm without getting kicked in the head by three Phelps-wannabes who can't stay in one half of the pool, much less one lane.
- Phelps will want to use his newfound stardom to benefit a cause. However, with all the good diseases, genocides, and natural disasters already spoken for (damn you, Bono, snagging Darfur!), Phelps will have to aim a little lower. Still, his light-blue "Swimstrong" rubber bracelets (with proceeds benefiting MPFPSE: the Michael Phelps Foundation to Prevent Swimmer's Ear) will take the worlds of sports and fashion by storm.
- Ever the contrarian, Grant Petersen will expand his Rivendell retro-empire into the world of swimming. His "underswimming" concept will be based on the style of Mark Spitz: banana-hammock trunks, no cap, and no goggles (because the burning sensation of chlorine in your eyes keeps you "more connected to the water"). Petersen will also prototype a Spitz-style fake mustache, made in the USA of hand-woven, 100% Merino wool. However, he takes so long to come up with a cutesy name for it (the "Splashy 'Stachey") that Surly is able to produce and sell thousands of its Taiwanese knockoff (the "Lip Tickler") before one Rivendell mustache goes to market.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Class, Grade-School Style
As I watch even more of the Olympics I swore I wouldn't watch, I can't help but remember my elementary school principal and old friend, Phil Hunsberger.
Phil was (and is) a force of nature, perpetually smiling behind his thick beard, guitar always at the ready, prowling the lunchroom in search of unattended Cheetos, and known for spontaneous attacks of "happy feet." Imagine a 60s idealist turned public educator and administrator who never lost one iota of that idealism. That's Phil.
At any sort of performance -- music, sports, guest speakers, plays -- Franklin School students were expected to follow one simple rule:
"You may choose not to clap, but you do not boo."
As a 10-year-old, I just knew that a violation of this rule was one of the few things that would make Phil upset. With a few decades of hindsight, it shows itself to be such a perfect expression of the Phil Way. Franklin School was no dictatorship. If you didn't like what you saw, you didn't have to clap for it. That was your choice. But an outward expression of displeasure, of hostility toward the performer, that was unacceptable. You could choose to elevate the other person or not, but to lessen that person was taboo.
Call me the idealist if you will, but that's a pretty good rule to live by.
Phil was (and is) a force of nature, perpetually smiling behind his thick beard, guitar always at the ready, prowling the lunchroom in search of unattended Cheetos, and known for spontaneous attacks of "happy feet." Imagine a 60s idealist turned public educator and administrator who never lost one iota of that idealism. That's Phil.
At any sort of performance -- music, sports, guest speakers, plays -- Franklin School students were expected to follow one simple rule:
"You may choose not to clap, but you do not boo."
As a 10-year-old, I just knew that a violation of this rule was one of the few things that would make Phil upset. With a few decades of hindsight, it shows itself to be such a perfect expression of the Phil Way. Franklin School was no dictatorship. If you didn't like what you saw, you didn't have to clap for it. That was your choice. But an outward expression of displeasure, of hostility toward the performer, that was unacceptable. You could choose to elevate the other person or not, but to lessen that person was taboo.
Call me the idealist if you will, but that's a pretty good rule to live by.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Cynic Succumbs to Mild Case of Olympic Fever
I really wanted to hate the Olympics this year.
There's the whole Chinese political thing. And the pollution thing. And the typical uber-nationalist coverage from NBC where nothing interesting happens in any event unless it's happening to an American ("Yawn... so somebody with a name I can't pronounce from a country I couldn't find with Wikipedia and a GPS just set a world record... BUT LOOK AT THE HEART BEING SHOWN BY AMERICAN BOB SMITH, PROUDLY STRUGGLING TO A LAST PLACE FINISH ON THE ANKLE HE BROKE DURING LAST NIGHT'S BEER BENDER! TRULY, THIS IS ONE FOR THE AGES!")
But dammit, I keep watching. And I've even been sucked into the local angle, West Des Moines gymnast Shawn Johnson, the Mary Lou of ought-eight. How can you not love a kid who's been immortalized in butter sculpture at our State Fair?
Still, I have noted a couple things with my usual level of snarkiness.
One, isn't it interesting that American corporations are actually paying for the privilege of doing Chinese propaganda? Just watch for the pro-China subtext in the advertising and ask yourself how much NBC charged for that time. The Chinese government must be laughing all the way to Tibet watching U.S. companies shell out big bucks (relatively big, that is -- they are American bucks, after all) to give China a more positive brand identity.
Two, I love the choice of sponsors for an athletic event. "Years of rigorous training, hours of workouts each day, all leading to this one extraordinary feat of athleticism... and now a word from McDonalds, Coca-Cola, and Budweiser." Seeing as cycling is an Olympic event (though you wouldn't know it from watching NBC, which leads me to believe that no Americans bothered to enter those races), I intend to change my training regimen to the Olympic Sponsor Diet: Big Macs, Cherry Coke, and Bud Light. I'm sure it will shave precious seconds off my personal best time-to-vomit.
There's the whole Chinese political thing. And the pollution thing. And the typical uber-nationalist coverage from NBC where nothing interesting happens in any event unless it's happening to an American ("Yawn... so somebody with a name I can't pronounce from a country I couldn't find with Wikipedia and a GPS just set a world record... BUT LOOK AT THE HEART BEING SHOWN BY AMERICAN BOB SMITH, PROUDLY STRUGGLING TO A LAST PLACE FINISH ON THE ANKLE HE BROKE DURING LAST NIGHT'S BEER BENDER! TRULY, THIS IS ONE FOR THE AGES!")
But dammit, I keep watching. And I've even been sucked into the local angle, West Des Moines gymnast Shawn Johnson, the Mary Lou of ought-eight. How can you not love a kid who's been immortalized in butter sculpture at our State Fair?
Still, I have noted a couple things with my usual level of snarkiness.
One, isn't it interesting that American corporations are actually paying for the privilege of doing Chinese propaganda? Just watch for the pro-China subtext in the advertising and ask yourself how much NBC charged for that time. The Chinese government must be laughing all the way to Tibet watching U.S. companies shell out big bucks (relatively big, that is -- they are American bucks, after all) to give China a more positive brand identity.
Two, I love the choice of sponsors for an athletic event. "Years of rigorous training, hours of workouts each day, all leading to this one extraordinary feat of athleticism... and now a word from McDonalds, Coca-Cola, and Budweiser." Seeing as cycling is an Olympic event (though you wouldn't know it from watching NBC, which leads me to believe that no Americans bothered to enter those races), I intend to change my training regimen to the Olympic Sponsor Diet: Big Macs, Cherry Coke, and Bud Light. I'm sure it will shave precious seconds off my personal best time-to-vomit.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Crass Self-Interest in a Blog? C'mon! Really?
I'm putting my fixed gear up for sale to fund a potential addition to the bike fleet -- damn you, one-bike-in, one-bike-out rule!
Details are in my Craigslist posting.
Obviously, I'd rather move this thing locally, but if you're salivating over it AND I know you through some other connection (like the iBOB mailing list) or you can be vouched for by someone I know, ping me through the Craigslist ad and let's talk.
Details are in my Craigslist posting.
Obviously, I'd rather move this thing locally, but if you're salivating over it AND I know you through some other connection (like the iBOB mailing list) or you can be vouched for by someone I know, ping me through the Craigslist ad and let's talk.
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