01.16.2012 | 11:06 am
Really, I meant to black my blog out today, in opposition to SOPA. It was totally going to look like this:
Click to enlarge image for greater detail
And then I realized that there were two very important problems with this plan, which I shall list below:
- I’m kinda hoping for a lot of traffic this month, because Competitive Cyclist is doing a little bit of a trial balloon on my blog, seeing whether it’s worth it to advertise here. I’d kinda like that answer to come out “yes.” Totally killing ads for a day wouldn’t exactly serve my purposes, and in fact would be at least mildly ironic. (Bonus challenge for motivated readers: try real hard to see if you can find a Competitive Cyclist ad on my site. I know, it’s not easy.)
- The odds are very good that if I somehow managed to black out my site today, I’d never figure out how to get it un-blacked out tomorrow.
- Like BSNYC, I haven’t exactly spent a ton of time researching SOPA / PIPA, and so am not really all that prepared to march in a virtual picket line.
- It’s just too bold a stance to take. My neck out-sticking is pretty much limited to telling people that it’s nice to be nice. Which was pretty darn out-there, I realize.
That said, I am a fast learner, and — trying to do my civic duty and whatnot — have spent about fifteen minutes on the web trying to figure out what SOPA / PIPA mean.
SOPA
First off, I learned that SOPA stands for “Stop Online Piracy Act.” Which sounds good, because we all like to act like we don’t steal music off the web, except for when we talk with other people who steal music off the web, in which circumstances we tend to brag about how much music we’ve stolen off the web.
Except me, by the way. I haven’t stolen a single song off the web, ever. At least, not since Napster went under.
Anyways, the problem with SOPA is that it’s too expansive. It overshoots piracy and lands in the realm of censorship. And as a guy who goes out of his way to make it easy to communicate (I leave my commenting system totally open), that feels manifestly uncool.
PIPA
PIPA on the other hand, isn’t even an acronym. It’s just a silly sound. OK, that’s not true. PIPA stands for Protect IP Act. Here, “IP” stands for “Internet Protocol.” Honestly, I didn’t even know Internet Protocols were under attack, so I don’t know what the big deal is here.
OK, fine. “IP” in this instance probably stands for “Intellectual Property.” And PIPA actually stands for Preventing Real Online Threats to Economic Creativity and Theft of Intellectual Property Act of 2011 (really!), which means that whoever created this bill put a whole bunch of words together that don’t make any sense at all in the order they’re in, hoping nobody would notice and would just call the act “PROTECT IP.”
Of course, that acronym only works if you’re friends with the guy who created the bill and place the space where he wanted. Otherwise you could call it “PROTEC TIP,” which makes it sound like a badly-named brand of condom. Which is actually pretty metaphorically accurate.
So which is worse, “PROTEC TIP” or “PIPA?” You’ll have to decide for yourself.
Call To Action
Here’s what to do: go to Google’s SOPA/PIPA landing page and sign the petition, because — as you know — petitions pretty much always work.
Or better yet, you could actually contact your representatives. Wikipedia has a nice tool to help you find out who they are and how to contact them, accessible right from their home page.
Thank you. Oh, and just for fun, here’s that black square again.
Comments (38)
01.16.2012 | 8:59 am
A “Buy Something Good, Do Something Good” Note from Fatty: My friends at Twin Six are doing their part in the fight to improve the lives of those living with cancer. 50% of all sales today will be donated to LiveStrong. Not half the profits, not half of everything over a certain point, half of all sales. Which — just for example — means if you buy their extremely cool-looking Yellow Cabby jersey for $75, LiveStrong gets $37.50. That’s awesome.
Or maybe if you wanted to pick up some Fat Cyclist gear — a hoodie, say, or a t-shirt. Half your purchase would go to LiveStrong. That seems decidedly appropriate, doesn’t it?
And hey, if you don’t know what you want just yet, you could buy a T6 Gift Certificate today, and half of that money goes to LiveStrong.
Could the Twin Six guys be any more awesome? No. No they could not.
(The one-day promotion is now over; thanks everyone who bought stuff!)
MoRaTraG Must Be Stopped
I consider myself a fair man. A tolerant man. Even a good-natured man. If you were to meet me on the street, you might — as we held a pleasant conversation and I pretended to be interested in what you have to say — think to yourself, “Why, this beloved, award-winning, book-authoring, Internet celebrity cycling megastar is just a normal guy who is interested in what I have to say!”
Which is just precious of you. Really.
With my “niceness” credentials thus unimpeachably established, I would like to now state that there is an organization that makes me furious. I start thinking about this organization, and my blood boils and I see red. My blood pressure surges. Sometimes I get pounding headaches.
My goiter throbs. Occasionally, I pass out. Frankly, I’m feeling a little bit dizzy right now.
There. I just took a pill. It should help me settle down in a moment.
[Ten minutes elapse]
OK, I’m fine now. I can continzhurrrrr.
[98 minutes elapse]
I’m awake again. (Note to self: adjust dosage.) Where was I?
Right, I remember now. There’s an organization, my friends, pervasive to all forms of cycling, that exists for no other reason than to mess with cyclists’ minds. To make us suffer needlessly. It revels in our confusion, and celebrates our discomfort as a victory. It laughs each and every time one of us cries. This organization hates cyclist.
No, I mean the organization besides the UCI.
I am talking about, of course, the Manipulation of Roads and Trails Guild (MoRaTraG) pronounced “MORE-uh-trag”).
This covert society operates with no purpose other than messing up your expectations for a ride. It wants you to feel stronger than you actually are on one ride, thus giving you unreasonable expectations for your next ride. Then, the next time you get out on a bike – boom – you have no energy whatsoever. It wants you to feel like you’re on top of your technical game one instant, and a bumbling fool pinned beneath your bike and unable to clip out without using the Jaws of Life the moment after that.
In short, the MoRaTraG is a bunch of jerks.
Allow me to detail their various heinous activities, through the use of serious-yet-immenseley-entertaining anecdotes, each carefully crafted for you to find yourself nodding your head in agreement.
Offense 1: Trail Difficulty Revisions
When I first started mountain biking, there was an incredibly steep, technical jeep road I made my mission to conquer. Most lunch hours, I’d head out to what we called “Lower Frank” and would try – over and over – to clean that pitch. I had this idea that since I had seen Dug and Bob clean it, that until I could at least work my way up that hill I would be nothing but a hindrance to them.
After about a month, I did it. I rode up that move without putting a foot down. I was incredibly proud, and justifiably so.
Then, sometime last summer I decided to find that move and see if, now that I have more than fifteen years’-worth of riding experience, I could now clean that pitch on a singlespeed.
I wasn’t optimistic, but I thought it was worth a shot.
So I rode out to where the move should be, but I couldn’t find it. There was a jeep road there, yeah, but it was certainly not a move. It would be more of what I’d call a “short, easy climb.”
Clearly, MoRaTraG had been here. They had lessened the gradient of the climb, as well as made the embedded rocks much smaller and easier to roll over.
My pride at having conquered my first move all those years ago vanished. This thing isn’t something I could brag about. Not anymore.
Thanks a lot, MoRaTraG.
Offense 2: Early Season Gradient Revisions
MoRaTraG seems to be most active in the Winter, because when Spring returns and I get a chance to ride my favorite roads and trails for the first time in months, it’s obvious that these jokers have been hard at work, because every single climb has been jacked up.
And by “jacked up,” I mean what I say quite literally. Gradients on my rides – road and mountain — have all been increased by 30%, sometimes more. I can tell this is the case because rides that were fun and easy last autumn are now so steep they’re making my ears bleed.
I think they do it with hydraulic jacks. However it’s done, it’s just plain rude.
Offense 3: Variable Technicality
What makes me really mad, though, is the way MoRaTraG goes out and screws around with trails. Like, I’ll be out riding one of my favorite lunch ride loops — a combo of Hog Hollow and Corner Canyon – just riding along, enjoying myself.
I’ll be flying down Ghost and – for reasons only they know – MoRaTrag will have clearly been at work, cleaning up the runout following a little jump. I’ll land so nicely my confidence will go through the roof; I’ll instantly vow to hit it really hard next time (and I think we all know how that will turn out).
Then, coming down Jacob’s Ladder, I’ll be carving my way around a hairpin turn – same as I have hundreds of times – and wham. I’m on my side. No warning whatsoever. I look back and – sure enough – MoRaTrag has placed an embedded rock, smooth and flat, right in the trail. Right at the apex of the corner, where I’m most likely to slide out.
And obviously it wasn’t there before, because I’ve gone around that corner a hundred times without falling. They put that rock there recently, and they did it just to be mean.
I don’t know what it is about those guys. But they’ve got to be stopped.
PS: If you’ve ever wanted to hear me be interviewed and talk aimlessly and endlessly about whatever pops into my head, you should check out the interview I just did over at Bicycle Lab.
Comments (14)
01.12.2012 | 9:05 pm
Here’s how Bill Gifford’s story (in Outside) about LiveStrong and Lance Armstrong begins:
If Lance Armstrong went to jail and Livestrong went away, that would be a huge setback in our war against cancer, right? Not exactly, because the famous nonprofit donates almost nothing to scientific research.
And that’s pretty much it. That’s the “big reveal” of the story. LiveStrong doesn’t do cancer research. Therefore what it does doesn’t matter. Not really.
Because what the millions of people who have cancer, right now, really need is cancer research, right? It’s cancer research that’s going to help them understand their current treatment options. It’s cancer research that’s going to inspire them to be strong and stay positive.
It’s cancer research that called me back, right away, after I filled out a form on a website, because I had found out Susan’s cancer had come back and I just didn’t know what it meant or what to do.
You see my point? Cancer research is important. Very important indeed, to the people in the distant future who will benefit from that research. But helping people who have cancer right now is important too. And for personal reasons, it’s the part of the fight against cancer I want to be involved in.
Do Good Things
I’m not going to do a point-by-point response to Gifford’s piece. I just don’t want to. Part of why is that I’ve been in Chicago the whole week, working long hours. I don’t have a lot of piss nor vinegar in me right now. The other part of why is I’ve had a chance to talk with some pretty amazing people this past week, and I’d like to be a little bit more like them.
So instead of getting all indignant and snarky and stuff, I’m going to tell you a little bit about the life philosophy I’ve been evolving. It’s pretty easy to remember: Do good things.
That word “good” is kind of a slippery one, though, isn’t it? It can mean “kind” or “fun” or “beneficial” and probably a whole bunch of other things. And I mean all of them. I try to live in such a way that I’m usually either doing or planning something fun, or kind, or helpful. And I try to do these things with the kind of people who also like to do good things.
I’ve spent some time during the past few years with people at LiveStrong. And they are people who do good things. I mean this. They are focused on helping people who either have or have had cancer.
They’re good people, doing good things. They aren’t wasting your money. They aren’t cheating you. They aren’t treating what they do like a job; they act like they’re on a mission. I know some of them, and I trust them. I trust that they’re honestly doing what they believe is the best thing they can do with your money to help in the fight against cancer.
And part of trusting someone is letting them make decisions and act on those decisions, without second-guessing them constantly.
For example, in Gifford’s piece, he refers to the LiveStrong legal team taking down someone who was selling “BarkStrong” dog collars. At first blush, that does sound ridiculous. Why waste good money on that? Well, I suppose it’s possible that some people at LiveStrong had a serious meeting at some point and asked themselves, “Are we OK with people taking our brand — the most meaningful asset we have — and turning it into a joke? And if we’re not, how are we going to defend that brand?” And maybe they made a sober decision on what the right thing to do was.
And maybe — just maybe — Lance started and continues to spend a ton of time on LiveStrong because he’s lived through cancer and he’s seen people who haven’t lived through it. I’m pretty sure that if money or fame were his objectives, he could go about getting both of them in more direct and easier ways.
Simply put, fighting cancer is what matters to Lance. It matters to him more than most people really understand. You may be able to ask him a little bit more about that here, soon.
So. I trust LiveStrong. And I trust Lance. Together, they’re an amazing force, and I am proud to lend my energy to their efforts.
Join Team Fatty, Help LiveStrong
So, Team Fatty is going to do the Davis LiveStrong Challenge in 2012, like we did last year. There are going to be incentives and prizes and other awesome reasons to help make the fight fun. But for right now, just do me a favor and sign up. Join the team.
It’ll be awesome celebrating having done something good together.
Do Other Good Things
I know that not everyone will agree with me about Lance, or about LiveStrong. Honestly, though, I don’t want to argue. I just don’t. So how about this: let’s agree that I won’t convince you and you won’t convince me about anything we have hardened opinions on.
That’s the way people are.
But if you disagree with me about LiveStrong, I’ll bet you still agree with me about doing good things. So — instead of burning cycles on arguing — you go give your time and money to whatever cause you choose.
Maybe, for example, you’ll want to join Team Fatty as we support World Bicycle Relief again this year. Or Young Survival Coalition. Or maybe you’ve got something else up your sleeve. Something that is important to you, with people you trust.
That’s awesome. Do it. And email me about it. I love hearing about people doing good things.
But let’s not tear into each other.
But I’d love it if you’d join Team Fatty. Let’s help LiveStrong with the fight against cancer.
Comments (108)
01.11.2012 | 9:57 am
I got a letter a couple days ago. The subject line kind of caught my eye:
Fat Cyclist at the South Pole
Yeah, I decided to read it. Here’s what the author, Nate Cannon, had to say:
Fatty, I’ve been reading your site a while now and wasted many a working hours reading your race write ups, technical reviews, and general hilarious blogs.
I am currently 3 months into a 13 month stay at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station working for the US Antarctic program. Being that I was planning on being here a over year, and the thought of riding only spinning bikes makes me crazy, I bought a Pugsley fat tired bike before I came down.
And after years of regretting not buying a FC jersey, I picked up a full kit this summer, which I’ve really enjoyed. I finally got the time to have a friend come out to the South Pole with me and take the obligatory “hero” shots with my bike and rocking the FC jersey.
It was a nice relatively calm -14F, I’d taken a few rides that were well into the -20’s with wind chills reaching -40 and it’s hard to dress for that. I rock the bibs under 2 pairs of long johns and a pair of windproof pants, and it’s ok for a bit over an hour.
My friend taking pictures made me try to pop a wheelie, it was not a very good attempt.
I thought you might enjoy the pictures, I’m going to try and ride the bike all year, but in a few months we will have 24 hours of darkness and temperatures dipping below -100F, so I’m not sure I’ll be getting outside too much.
The next time I think it’s too cold for me to get out on my bike, I’m going to think about Nate. And go ride.
PS: Nate says he’ll check back on the blog and try to answer questions left in the comments.
Comments (58)
01.10.2012 | 7:24 am
When I am mountain biking, I am — unfortunately — easily distracted from the task at hand. When I should be paying attention to the fifteen to fifty feet ahead of me (depending on visibility of what’s ahead as well as how technical the trail is), I will sometimes make the crucial and possibly unforgivable error of looking off to one side or another.
I will, instead of attending to the trail, look at the mountain. Or at a pretty tree. Or the sky. Or at animals and bugs.
Sometimes, I will completely lose my head, stop altogether, and start talking with the people on the ride.
I should know better. Eyes on the trail, man; feet on the pedals. Focus. Focus! This ain’t no time for jibber-jabber!
I can’t help myself. When I’m mountain biking, I want to look around.
Fortunately, I generally am much better-behaved when I ride my road bike. When I’m riding on the road, I pay attention to the thing I ought to be paying attention to.
The white line.
What’s Strange
When I am off the road bike, I sometimes wonder what is so special about that white line. All it signifies, when I’m off the bike, is where the shoulder begins. When I’m in a car, for example, I will glance at it and think nothing more than, “I should probably not cross that line, since I don’t like the sounds of rumble strips, and The Hammer will think I’ve fallen asleep at the wheel again.”
And then I won’t think about it again until I fall asleep at the wheel (again).
Indeed, when I am not riding my road bike, hours and hours and hours might elapse with me giving the white line nary a thought. And I’ll bet that you’re no different. I’ll bet, in fact, that if you haven’t been out road riding today, you haven’t dwelt on the white line for more than 0.2 seconds (excluding, of course, the time you’ve been thinking about it while reading this post).
But if you have been riding today, I’ll bet you’ve spent a considerable amount of quality time with the white line. As in, I’ll bet you’ve spent more time looking at the white line than any other object today.
Which is, when you think about it, quite weird.
Now, don’t get your hackles up. I’m not saying you’re weird. No. I’m saying we’re weird, because I don’t even know how much time I’ve spent staring at that white line in my road-riding, cycling lifetime. I am, however, happy to make a number up out of thin air. Over fifteen years of riding, I’ll bet more than two thousand hours. Conservatively.
Yes, that’s right. Having made this number up, I’m now quite confident that I’ve spent more than two thousand hours staring at the white line painted on a road.
What’s Even Stranger
What’s even stranger than how much time I’ve spent staring at the white line, though, is what I’ve been staring at the white line instead of.
When, for example, last year Kenny, Heather, The Hammer and I relay raced from Moab to St. George — 500 miles in one day, across some of the most stunning desert landscape you could ever hope to take in — guess what my predominant memory of the course is?
The white line.
Or how about my most vivid memory of Mt. Nebo, my favorite local training century ride, due to the obscene amount of climbing, the staggering mountain vistas, and the intense paceline return trip?
The white line.
Or — and this hurts me to say it, because it’s pretty embarrassing — what about that trip-of-a-lifetime cycling vacation The Hammer and I took to France last summer? My very first biking trip in Europe?
Well, I saw a lot of beautiful things, that’s for sure. But when I was on the bike, I saw more white line than everything else put together.
If you want to blow the minds of a roomful of cyclists sometime, pose the question: “How much time, in the history of modern cycling, do you think the sum total of cyclists have spent staring at a white line?”
The number, I assure you, is staggering, and probably has “to the power of” in it somewhere.
The Strangest Thing of All
But you know what’s really, truly strange? This: I am not even a tiny bit ashamed or regretful of all that time I’ve spent staring at the white line.
Really. I’m not.
Because I think that staring at the white line is indicative of the biggest difference between road and mountain biking. And, in fact, it’s part of why I love road biking.
See, when you’re staring at the white line, your eyes are fully occupied. And since you’re on a road bike with your body performing a demanding-but-repetitive action, your body is fully occupied, too.
This leaves your mind free to wander a bit.
While staring at the white line, I’ve had my best blog post ideas just pop into my head (in fact, a good road ride is the one surefire way I can be guaranteed to come up with a usable post idea; ask The Hammer how many times I’ve said, while we’re riding together, “Hey, I just realized what I’m writing about tomorrow.”). I’ve resolved difficult work problems, without being aware that I was even thinking of them.
And, occasionally, while staring at the white line, I’ve experienced tranquility. I’ve been riding along, pedaling away, trying to turn less squarey circles, and then . . . something happens.
Or maybe it’s more honest to say something stops happening. Regardless, time (I don’t know how much) passes, and I become aware again. I’ve gone some distance, but I don’t really remember it. I don’t remember what I was thinking, but I do know I feel good. Peaceful. Happy.
And all I was doing was riding my bike and staring at the white line.
Comments (44)
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