By BikeSnobNYC, Christopher Koelle
Biking is explodingin a great way. Urbanites all over, from ironic hipsters to earth-conscious commuters, are taking to the motorbike like aquatic mammals to water. BikeSnobNYCcycling's such a lot prolific, famous, hilarious, and nameless bloggerbrings a clean and funny viewpoint to crucial car to hit own transportation because the horse. motorcycle Snob treats readers to a laugh-out-loud rant and rave concerning the global of motorcycles and their riders, and provides a distinct examine the bits and bobs of biking, from its background and hallmarks to its wide variety of surprising practitioners. all through, the writer lampoons the missteps, pretensions, and absurdities of motorbike tradition whereas protecting a contagious enthusiasm for biking itself. motorbike Snob is a necessary quantity for someone who understands, is, or desires to turn into a bicycle owner.
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Extra info for Bike Snob: Systematically & Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling
The Clermont Avenue Rink is admirably adapted to cycling. Its floor surface is as large, if not larger, than that of any other academy in Greater New-York, and this fact is greatly appreciated by the members of the Cycle Club. There were many ladies riding there yesterday afternoon, and last evening there was a large attendance to witness the music ride and class drill of the younger members of the club. This afternoon there will be a tea and music ride from 3 to 6 o’clock. For next Monday evening the most elaborate programme of the Winter has been arranged.
One thing they did have, though, was a macadam road. It was called Merrick Road. In fact, it’s still called Merrick Road (or Merrick Boulevard, or West Merrick Road, depending on where you are). Various expressways have superseded it in terms of importance, but it’s still a major artery in eastern Queens and Long Island. In search of cycling’s past, I put on my tweed reading suit and immersed myself in the “Gossip of the Cyclers,” and learned that back in the 1890s, Merrick Road was the place to be on a bicycle.
The difference wasn’t exactly dramatic; it was more like the way you feel when you return to your hotel room after the bed’s been made and the bathroom’s been cleaned. But while tidier than eastern Queens, Valley Stream felt no less busy. There was also no giant rotating penny-farthing statue in the middle of a fountain illuminated by multicolored lights as I had secretly hoped. If I’d been going strictly by the Times article I probably would have gotten lost, since Pearsalls became Lynbrook in the early 1900s when the residents cleverly (or lamely) transposed the syllables of nearby Brooklyn, from whence many of them hailed.