Music and cycling, a disfunctional marriage made in dry-heave inducing heaven

Before we get started with today's post, allow me to tell you a little something about my last post, which consisted of my usual dose of thoughtful and hilarious prose. While that post was enjoyed the world over by tens of people, it also had its detractors...namely one of the individuals whose photograph I posted, and subsequently commented on. He didn't take it too badly, but probably wasn't thrilled by it either. While my most arduous fans will certainly have trouble believing that anyone in the world would object to being commented on by yours truly, it turns out that some people do mind, if only a little. But can you blame this person? I can't. It may sound hypocritical of me, but I certainly see his point. As a matter of fact, I have often complained to people in my life about how horribly I've been treated by many individuals who ride bikes. I've been mocked for the shoes I own, the bike I have, the shifters I use, and the clothing I wear. Overall, I have found cycling to be a horrible intersection where overblown egos, male stupidity, money, competitive spirit and overall asshole-ness meet to create a perfect storm of douchiness. This is not to say that I stay home, rocking myself to sleep as I cry due to people's comments about my cycling shoes...but rather that I'm not exactly wild about many of the people who consider themselves "cyclists". The main reason why I feel this way is because of the judgmental, and downright rude nature that many cyclists have, and the manner in which they convey it. And yet here I am, doing the same thing, if only on a blog and with the safety afforded to me by my computer keyboard. Would I say the things I type about people to their face? Good lord no! Most males in this world tower over me, and I find their mere stature frightening. So where do we go from here? Will I stop making my attempts at humor on this blog, and instead write a self-help blog, or perhaps one focusing on the unique challenges faced by the burgeoning cement industry in India? Well, no. For starters, there's already a blog about the cement industry in India. I also can't promise that I'll be able to help myself from doing such a post again in the future...even though I just told you that I realize it's wrong. Me saying that probably shows how much of a hypocrite I am. Apparently I want it both ways. I want to show you that I'm a good guy, because I feel bad (and I do), but I also want the license to keep doing the same thing. Hypocrite? Indeed. ugh. But perhaps instead of saying that I'm a hypocrite or duplicitous in any way, we can simply say that I'm a product of the post-modern world in which we live, and that my paradoxical nature is in keeping with the plurality of our times. In so doing, I will be allowed to keep posting images like those I've posted before...namely of cycling fans such as our beloved Turbo Euro.

Be careful, don't look directly into his Oakley-covered eyes. Much like looking at Medusa can turn you into stone, looking at Turbo Euro's sunglasses can make you into a European techno fan, which is much worse than being turned into stone.

But perhaps that guy will read the blog at some point, and I'll feel crappy all over again when I realize that people shouldn't be messed with by cowards like me, and that everyone should be free to not be mocked by strangers. So maybe the safest route to take is to simply post pictures of people who may be going to jail for a long time, like Lance Armstrong, or someone like this awesome Jersey City pimp, whose hairstyle has inspired the new Specialized helmet vent-hole configuration.

Whatever you do, don't look directly into his weird pony tail, because...well...because you'll turn into a person who will be wondering why the hell he has that pony tail, and that question alone could ruin the rest of your day.

So it will probably be business as usual around here. From the beginning, this blog has been schizophrenic to the least. One day I will share images of Turbo Euro with you, and the next day I will go on an overly dramatic, and unnecessarily sentimental trip down memory lane. I don't know which type of post works best, and don't really care. I guess it's whatever I fell like that day. As such, I think I'll continue working in that fashion...and will probably end up posting pictures like that again. Does that make me a not-so-great person? Sure it does. So maybe the key is to simply post about people who are less likely to find this blog....thus minimizing the likelihood of me feeling crappy about it down the line (it's all about me after all). That sounds like a good idea, at least until that pimp's friends find me and stuff me into the trunk of an '92 Buick LeSabre. In the end, this may all be proof that I'm a world-class hypocrite. Oh, I mean, a paradoxical figure who is a product of our post-modern world, and who happens to have the 49th most influential blog about cycling on the internet. So like the Celine Dion song (which has probably been played at multiple Pro-Tour event start lines) says, "My heart will go on." With that song freshly in our minds, let's get on with today's post, which is all about cycling and music coming together. Enjoy.

Cipo is the second greatest drummer to ever wear skintight animal-print clothing while rocking out behind the drum kit. The undeniable king of both the drums and animal-print, however, was Tony Destra of Philadelphia's own pride and joy, Cinderella.

Music and cycling
Some things go well together. Peanut butter and chocolate comes to mind, as does American cycling and doping. Some things, at the risk of sounding overly dogmatic, don't go well together at all. For example, I love taking long showers, and I love Indian food...but standing in the shower while I eat Indian food would undoubtedly ruin both the meal and the shower. That's how I feel about music and cycling commingling. In the end, you'll ruin both things at once. Sure, listening to Slayer can get you through a few hours on the stupid indoor trainer. Similarly the Kraftwerk song about the Tour de France was a favorite of mine when I first heard it in 1985, but at that point in my life I had a rat-tail haircut, and I wore green acid-washed jeans along with an oversized Iron Maiden t-shirt (which looked like a muu-muu on me) what did I know anyway? By and large, music about sports (cycling in particular) is a dry-heave inducing affair. Even when the music is not about cycling, but somehow manages to cross paths with the sport, disaster ensues. Such was the case at this year's Paris-Roubaix, where I heard the following songs being played at the start/sign-in area of the race. And no, I'm not kidding. These are just three of the actual songs that were played by race officials at the start. I wrote them down that day to ensure that I wouldn't forget them. They were:

Mariah Carey - Always be my baby
Whitney Houston - How will I know?
Shania Twain - That don't impress me much

Now that you know what kind of music is played at the start of Paris-Roubaix, you will undoubtedly realize why professionals call the race "The Hell of The North". They're not referring to the difficulty of the terrain or its historical implications, but merely to the quality of the music at the start of the race. It should also be clear that Cancellara wasn't trying to win the race this year, but was merely fleeing from having to endure yet another Mariah Carey song, a natural and visceral response that nearly every human being has had to her music at one point or another.

In this rarely published picture from this year's Paris-Roubaix, you can see how Mariah Carey actually taunted Cancellara during the entire race with her singing (as well as threats of making him watch her movie Glitter), thus forcing him to flee at astonishing and seldom-seen speeds within the sport of cycling.

So now that we've established that music and cycling have historically had a hard time mixing, allow me to present you with three more examples that should further prove my point.

The first is a magical euro tribute to the Tour of California. How many songs do you know of that have "Silence-Lotto" and "Floyd Landis is there" as lyrics? Thanks to reader Willie for sending this gem in a while back.

Next up we have this masterpiece from Utrecht's own Gasoline Brothers, which they wrote in celebration of Koos Moerenhout's Dutch National Road Race Championship win. I don't know about you, but when the singer utters the lines "trying to figure out how strong my opponents are", I get very emotional and begin to tear up.

Here we have a 1980s classic which I posted a few months back, and perhaps some of you have already seen. Still, it never gets old. Remember, "push it to the limit", as the song says.

What's dumber than bicycle polo? How about a song about bicycle polo. While most of you will not recognize the person singing this song, some may recognize the man behind the guitar (and the awful lyrics) as Kevin Seconds, singer of the 1980s punk rock band 7 Seconds. Ready, set, cringe.

Right now, some of you are probably thinking that I'm a hypocrite yet again.... because I'm stating that the songs I posted above are horrible because they are about cycling, but at the same time I praised this Colombian song due to the fact that it's about the great champion Ramon Hoyos. Well, if you think that, you're wrong. That song is from Colombia, so it's awesome, and these songs suck. There. Settled.