scrambled channel

I ride a singlespeed (lamely), own a crumpler bag and from time to time, I even roll up my trousers. Unfortunately I have a desk job, only do a few paltry miles a day and don’t have the most chiseled thighs or even suffer from erectile disfunction. How, you may ask, can I live with myself? Easy I tell you, with god’s help I get by. She’s good like that, she’d be even better if she was real (and hot). I digress however and need to abandon theology and get back to my confessional.

I currently ride an old steel roadie that I’ve converted to single speed. I have for some time checked out passing bikes to see if they had doffed their real derailleurs but my hand was finally forced when my old, but not classic, Holdsworth popped it’s flywheels halfway down Leith walk. In the event I got home but the prospect of not riding to work the next day filled me with horror. I decided it was time I learned how to use a chain breaker. Several butchered links later and plenty of time on Sheldon’s site, I had a dodgy yet functioning bicycle running a shameful 39:15. The track wheels are now in the mail. I had better change that ratio before I post to fixed gear gallery…

The crumpler I’ve owned for years. I’ll admit that it was the early rumblings of fakenger leanings that made me buy it. Despite the scorn it has drawn my way, it is quite practical. It’s a pity it possesses anti-Tardis qualities though, in that it seems smaller on the inside than it looks on the outside. It is well built though and has served me through many a muddy mile. Furthermore it’s a fetching orange and brown number and identifies me as a cyclist. I should have realised that it was the cycling commuter’s answer to a Shakespearean fool’s cap!

For the rolled up trousers incident I have no excuses. My descent into this vice was a direct result of having seen people on bike’s doing it. One day, instead of tucking my trolleys into my socks like normal, I rolled them up. To my surprise the sky did not fall in, nor did a purple thundlebolt strike my down. I got all the way home without an attempt on my life by a crack smoking taxi driver. I took this as a sign that any gods out there were too busy to disapprove of my actions. I also think I look slightly more attractive rolling instead of tucking.

So there you go, I’m a fakenger, posenger or whatever else you want to call me. I like riding my bike and I’m glad it’s not a grey hybrid. I’m fond of my bag and I’m glad it’s not a grey backpack. I sometimes roll up my trousers and prefer that to using cycling clips (do they really exist?) Hell, there’s probably a few bands I liked before you liked them. There’s perhaps even the odd author you like that’s totally derivative of someone that I liked, first. Sorry I’m all defensive but can’t we just abuse people that drive whilst talking on their mobiles instead?

Besides, I haven’t seen too many like me round here. Maybe I could be the only fakenger in Edinburgh. Better start a group on facebook or something…

When I’m stupid enough to be on the bus without a book I will sometimes grab Edinburgh’s crappest free paper - The Metro. For those of you that don’t live in a major city in the UK, it’s a rag left on public transport that stands for nothing, contains no news you haven’t heard and reads like it was edited by a drunk eight year old. Today was one of those days, but for once, I was rewarded…

The Metro’s insightful headline read “New ‘gas mask’ hoodies ‘intimidating’” (double quotes author’s own). This latest scourge, that I would otherwise have missed, is the terrifying goggle jacket!! Forget the hoodie, the goggle jacket is way scarier and conceals one’s identity with all the efficiency of a hoodie and a scarf and a pair of goggles! Chilling stuff indeed!

Let us dip into The Metro’s thinly veiled product placement, I mean article. Here’s what a guy that sells them had to say:

Marc Chapman, store boss at Arrival menswear in South Shields, Tyneside, said he was struggling to cope with demand for the new hoodies.

‘They’re fantastic, cheap and they’re selling really well,’ he added.

Cheap? Yeah that seems like balanced journalism. The Metro reports that basic goggle jackets retail for a mere £70 while others have been known to reach £600. Sounds like the perfect stocking filler at that price. How about the features?

‘They look really unusual but lock in plenty of warmth in the winter.’

So pretty much like a scarf and a hoodie only less breathable and stupid looking? I’m guessing the entire experience can be replicated by putting a plastic bag over your head.

Yet not everyone is as excited about the goggle jacket as I am:

Others say the tops are intimidating – an image helped by the manufacturer, which packs them in a bag showing a yob hurling a missile.

A missile?!? What like nuclear missile? Farking hell, this is an outrage! I can’t believe this sort of marketing that encourages violence is legal! Why can’t it be more like TV/movies/music/computer games/etc?

Bob also weighs in thoughtfully, with a quote engineered to contain the word “gang”:

Bob Harrison of South Shields said: ‘I’d be pretty intimidated if I bumped into a gang wearing them.’

Thanks Bob, you just filled in a few more column inches for me just like you did for The Metro. Remember kids, gangs are BAD. I’d like to muse at length as to whether the Bob Harrison’s of this world really exist. But I can’t because I’m too worried about gangs of kids dressed like Doctor Who baddies.

So I’m definitely going to ride to work tomorrow and think about how long it will be until bsnyc finds a picture of a goggle jacketed fool not riding a pista.