But be aware… You’ll need a nap to recover.
Last week, ambassador to all things bicycle, and one of my older as well as oldest friends, Eugene Paul Oberpriller clued me in on a video that’s been making the rounds, that I would have been better off never having watched, if only to save what little masculinity I had collected in my body since puberty left me;
“Hey, didn’t we go on a trip like this, but with bicycles? And that wasn’t horrible?”
(Presumably because the people at The Wilderness Collective are being assaulted with every shade of taunt, the video can no longer be embedded. Click on the link, and prepare to bathe in a man-venture for the ages.)
Please, for all is good and right, watch the video. Then reflect quietly on Rapha’s influence on what you’ve watched, followed by vigorously rubbing your face in despondence.
But you know me. I’m not going to leave you hanging in a cloud of douche. No sirs and ma’ams. Luckily I will now offer the Gawker response which systematically tears down and makes fun of every possible component of what you just saw.
Ahhhh… That feels better.
I had initially posted this over on the AHTBM Facebook page, at the conclusion of which I offered my own thoughts;
“It’s an interesting topic. We live in a society where (referring to this discussion specifically) manhood doesn’t involve vision quests, or chopping down our first tree, or fighting a bear, or hanging from vines, or whatever. We get drivers licenses, careers, families, and so forth. In my younger years, I felt a bit lost in this regard, and wondered frequently when a person becomes a man. We’re all so disconnected, that it takes a motorcycle ride with cigars to quantify (or qualify) that step. For me it was simply achieving a level of self assuredness and a series of events where I felt as if I finally was looked at as an equal and with respect by and from my dad. We all get it where we can I suppose, and that being said, I guess if a person feels that comes from a motorbike ride, far be it from me to criticize. Even so, though I still think while the actions depicted in the video look like a blast, the (pretentious) motivation for self realization seems hollow as fuck.”
As I believe one of the comments from the Gawker article noted, ‘this is what happens to children who were never allowed to leave their front yards‘.
It’s curious to point out that no mention is ever made of if it’s the responsibility of the participants of the trip, or the support crew to carry additional lavender eye packs, citrus face scrub, and Loofahs.
So anyway, regardless of the gender of the person who is reading these words, please kick off your man-shoes, get comfy in your man-throne, and let’s get on with the rest of today’s post, which will assuredly challenge our very essence, and leave us all with the unbreakable bonds of brotherhood.
While we’re on the topic, one way I like to envelop all that is man, is to wear pants.
I’m a near life-long supporter of Ben Davis. As a matter of fact, I rarely, if ever have worn anything else these last twenty five years. I realize that those who have the misfortune of ever meeting me might assume that I’m just a homeless person, but the fact of the matter is I’m hyper particular about what I wear and how what I wear feels on my parts.
So I was skeptical when Jason emailed me and asked if I’d be interested in trying some of the pants that are made by a company he works for called Betabrand. Upon arriving home a few days after our correspondence, I found a snack had been left in my desk chair;
I opened the box, and found a pair of quite fetching looking black ‘Bike To Work’ pants inside, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tinge of disappointment when opening the box and not seeing some of these.
I put them on and through the size 36 waist felt a-ok, the leg sleeves were a touch too tight on my powerful, powerful thighs. Sensing danger, Jason did me a solid and sent off a pair of 38s, which I tried on as soon as they arrived and contrary to my previously declared perspective (“if there’s one thing I love, it’s hating stuff“), my hand has been forced with these, and I actually kinda really love them.
When I was a very young boy, my mom used to be fond of teasing me by telling me I had ‘the cutest little butt in town‘.
That clearly is no longer the case.
Anyway, the pants have all kinds of bitchin bells and whistles, among them being a relaxed fit, gusseted crotch, slight stretch (88% cotton, 2% spandex and 10% Poly), a reflective flag that pulls from within the left rear pocket;
-as well as a pretty sweet little stash spot inside of the right front pocket, presumably to keep one’s phone safely separated from keys, loose change or a selection of potentially screen scratching wood screws.
At $118.00, they’re not cheap, but compared to $88.00 for the Levi’s and $220.00 for those made by Rapha, they’re competitive. Plus the fact that they also offer a women’s cut, (not to mention an entire women’s collection) and they’re made right here in the U.S. of A gives me something else to feel good about.
In conclusion, while I can’t fit my calves, let alone the rest of my bottom half into the Levi’s offering, and don’t know what having $220.00 for a pair of pants even feels like, Betabrand’s idea of a bike specific pant is just what my legs, hips, and no longer very cute butt was looking for.
Finally, in closing, it’s no secret that Guy Fieri rests comfortably along side Corey Feldman and Sammy Hagar in the ranks of people who absolutely make my skin crawl.
I’m happy to note that I’m not alone in this sentiment as apparently due to the fact that Guy neglected to buy the web domain for his own restaurant, someone else did and created a suitable Fieri-esque menu;
Of all the items listed, ‘The Football Meal’ piqued my interest the most;
“Warm, broken hamburgers served in a clear plastic bag, enclosed in a larger black trash bag. Thrown at you from 40 yards.”