For years the No. 1 question in New York City bike circles was, “Who does this guy Eben Weiss think he is? Going around acting like he knows something about cycling!”
“Yeah, he can’t even do a track stand.”
“Plus his spoke nipples don’t match his hub ano.”
“Check it out — I saw him on 57th the other day … wearing a fanny pack!”
(Much laughter.)
“I’d like to kick his ass.”
“Yeah, next time we see him, let’s kick his ass.”
In actuality, we have long observed that BSNYC isn’t any more a snob than your average fixie rider. Or, for that matter, any cyclist from Portland.
What does separate the Snob from the cycling field is his affection, and flair, for the written word. If God had wanted cyclists to write, he would have given us fleshy faces, pot bellies and big beards … like Hemingway. Tolstoy. Walt Whitman. Instead we get Gary Fisher’s soul patch and Levi Leipheimer’s shaved head. Writers look like deep-sea fishermen heading for the pub. Cyclists look like the nihilists in “The Big Lebowski.”
But Weiss truly breaks the mold. His witty musings would be right at home in an anthology of Swift, Woody Allen and Stephen Colbert. Our favorite Snob posts use the bicycle as a literary device for miniature treatises on life, justice and the folly of mankind. The subtitle of his book, “Systematically and Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling,” says it all. The guy can back it up.
But come see for yourself. Although Seattle is the next-to-the-last stop on his tour, and the very next day he faces the merciless crush of adoring fandom in Portland, Eben may be up for a post-appearance burrito run to Gorditos in Greenwood.
Ride or no, it’ll be great fun.