This is a blog about rubber.
You’ll notice there’s no “s” on the end, though I thought it ironic or at least coincidental that the night I sat down to wax eloquent on the topic of rubber I rode to work and rolled over an empty industrial-sized box of condoms. It was in the middle of the street immediately in front of one of the few downtown bars, prompting me to wonder just what, uh, went down inside that would make someone think it prudent to premeditatedly pack prophylactics in such prodigious proportions. (I also wondered why I was thinking so awesomely alliteratively, but that’s another blog.)
I really must get out more.
Anyway … the other day, I was going through some old magazines. I have a tendency to horde them, then just as they pose the most significant fire threat, recycle them in great numbers. As I thumb through my mags, I like to fold over corners of pages that contain things I want to investigate further later on. I was going through the old ones, longingly checking the folded corners for gems I might have overlooked. Most of the magazines were bike-related, and an alarming number of the folded corners were to designate my interest in, of all things, bike tires.
I never really figured myself for a rubber fetishist, but the proof was there.
I thought back to one day a couple of weeks ago when I read every word of a six-page spread of reviews on tires for commuter bikes.
OK, I’m a gear junkie. I like bikes. But commuting is about the dullest form of cycling possible, and tires are about the least interesting part of any bike. Yet I read every word of a six-page spread dedicated to bike-commute rubber. Every word! Couldn’t put it down!
Flipping through one of the soon-to-be-recycled magazines, I happened upon an ad for a new line of Continental bike tires. My eyes were drawn to one in particular, a hot little number with a slick center and pronounced knobbies down the side. And it had puncture protection! I couldn’t help but think, “Man, that’s one sexy tire.”
I think I might need professional help.
Or at least a new set of tires.
Tagged: bike, bike commuting, bicycle, bicycle commuting















Comments
thebcman (anonymous) says…
Your article reminded me of a great Jefferson Airplane song from 1967 ..
Plastic Fantastic Lover ..
Her neon mouth with the blinking soft smile
Is nothing but an electric sign
You could say she has an individual style
She's part of a colorful time
Super-sealed lady, chrome-color clothes
You wear 'cause you have no other
But I suppose no one knows
You're my plastic fantastic lover
Your rattlin' cough never shuts off
Is nothin' but a used machine
Your aluminum finish, slightly diminished
Is the best I ever have seen
Cosmetic baby plugged into me
And never ever find another
And I realize no one's wise
To my plastic fantastic lover
The electrical dust is starting to rust
Her trapezoid thermometer taste
All the red tape is mechanical rape
Of the TV program waste
Data control and IBM
Science is mankind's brother
But all I see is drainin' me
On my plastic fantastic lover