On the Bicycle Menace
Apart from the fact that it provided a commercial incubator for the genius of the brothers Wright, I can think of little to nothing good to say about the bicycle, a contraption whose time has surely come and gone, at least this side of the Great Wall of China. Surely making the city more "bicycle-friendly" makes about as much sense as making it more rat-friendly, though it may be said in favor of rodents that they generally know well enough to clear the streets and sidewalks in the face of automobiles and pedestrians alike.
That said, my chief objection to the contrivance is not mechanical but aesthetic in nature. While the antisocial tendencies of bicycle messengers are universally-acclaimed, it is equally beyond doubt that any person old enough to drink legally who rides a bicycle for transportation purposes is a consumer of health foods, marihuana, and foolish continental political philosophies.
Nor is it any better for atheletic purposes. Imprimis, you may take the most ordinary man off the street, seat him upon a very ordinary horse, and with only brief practice he soon looks the part of a country gentleman. Likewise you can take any person, put him on a fine large motorcycle, and he immediately acquires a certain hauteur, a frisson of barbarous vigor which, like the Vikings, is not entirely without noble qualities. Even a motor scooter conveys a gay jollity which is welcome in many quarters.
It is however entirely impossible for one to ride a bicycle and maintain any semblance of dignity, groaning and grunting, sweating and panting, leaning forward in a simian posture, showered by precipitation and debris from the street. Indeed, it is no mystery why the most enthusiastic riders of bicycles insist upon wearing clothing of the most egregious and preposterous variety; indeed between the lime-green shirts, blue tights, and pointy shoes, they are missing only the red nose and seltzer bottle that would complete the outfit. For I have always said that while it is best to blend in, if one cannot, then he ought to stand out. If you cannot be dignified, then at least be deliberate. Still, it is best that one avoid riding a bicycle entirely, and wait for halloween for an excuse to wear spandex in public.
Apart from the fact that it provided a commercial incubator for the genius of the brothers Wright, I can think of little to nothing good to say about the bicycle, a contraption whose time has surely come and gone, at least this side of the Great Wall of China. Surely making the city more "bicycle-friendly" makes about as much sense as making it more rat-friendly, though it may be said in favor of rodents that they generally know well enough to clear the streets and sidewalks in the face of automobiles and pedestrians alike.
That said, my chief objection to the contrivance is not mechanical but aesthetic in nature. While the antisocial tendencies of bicycle messengers are universally-acclaimed, it is equally beyond doubt that any person old enough to drink legally who rides a bicycle for transportation purposes is a consumer of health foods, marihuana, and foolish continental political philosophies.
Nor is it any better for atheletic purposes. Imprimis, you may take the most ordinary man off the street, seat him upon a very ordinary horse, and with only brief practice he soon looks the part of a country gentleman. Likewise you can take any person, put him on a fine large motorcycle, and he immediately acquires a certain hauteur, a frisson of barbarous vigor which, like the Vikings, is not entirely without noble qualities. Even a motor scooter conveys a gay jollity which is welcome in many quarters.
It is however entirely impossible for one to ride a bicycle and maintain any semblance of dignity, groaning and grunting, sweating and panting, leaning forward in a simian posture, showered by precipitation and debris from the street. Indeed, it is no mystery why the most enthusiastic riders of bicycles insist upon wearing clothing of the most egregious and preposterous variety; indeed between the lime-green shirts, blue tights, and pointy shoes, they are missing only the red nose and seltzer bottle that would complete the outfit. For I have always said that while it is best to blend in, if one cannot, then he ought to stand out. If you cannot be dignified, then at least be deliberate. Still, it is best that one avoid riding a bicycle entirely, and wait for halloween for an excuse to wear spandex in public.
Labels: the book of sansbury
posted by The Snob at
8:29 PM
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