The Vicious Cyclist

Tornados (not of beef), Durian dungarees, and more

We don’t get a real spring anymore. Or maybe I forgot what spring was.

The mornings have either been hovering right above freezing; or they are muggy and sixty degrees. I’m either wearing winter gloves and heavy clothing, or my flimsy rain coat is making me sweat. It’s either 45 and beautifully sunny, or it’s eighty frickin’ degrees awready? In April? Maddone!

At least we got missed by the tornado cluster that landed in southern New Jersey last week. Climate change is here, and while I don’t miss the heavy winters, I refuse to be gaslit by the deniers who tell me “it’s always been this way.”¹

Yes, we had a tornado in New Jersey in 1989, the year I graduated high school; last week we had seven or twelve, depending on who’s counting. I’m prepared for a hot summer.

Which means I bought a bunch of goofy biking clothing, brah! Thankfully, even if you watch the videos, you won’t be subjected to them, as the camera is on my chest.

I don’t have kids, but this is sort of a “mother’s curse” thing; my one and only roommate was a four-season cyclist commuter in Minneapolis, who would bike to the office in two feet of snow, and leave his sweaty scrote-hammock cyclist shorts hanging on the shower curtain rod like the nastiest low-hanging fruit you can imagine. Imagine durian, but somehow worse. And I like durian.

Minneapolis is known for Vietnamese cuisine, but they aren’t shabby on Thai either, and in my first apartment, I lived around the corner from a joint called Royal Orchid Thai. It’s how I forged my alimentary canal in searing flame, beginning with “mild” and finally, asking for “Thai hot” pad thai, and living to tell the tale. The server was grinning, and it looked like they ground up a dozen chilis and mixed them in. They also served sticky rice with durian, and I learned to love it. It’s like kissing a sweaty gorilla who’s wearing mango lip balm. You get the sweet, and then you get a smell literally like the gorilla exhibit at the zoo. It’s not for everyone.

My roomie’s cycling pants were worse.

I bought several pairs of cycling gear, and I wash them regularly, so my bathroom doesn’t smell like a gym locker where jock straps go to die. Cycling gear only comes in two colors; black, and obnoxious. I always choose obnoxious, because black clothing makes me ignite like a vampire in direct sunlight. At least that’s my explanation for the rivulets of sweat that appear when I wear black in the sun; my personal sprinkler system to keep me from bursting into flames.

I wish I were joking; I thought my CamelBak burst on my last ride, but it was just sweat.

One of my favorite riding spots is Black Run Preserve, which has trails that run through the ruins of AeroHaven, a private airport that was in use from the ‘50s to the ‘80s. Here I am huffing and puffing as I pedal through the sand that once served as a runway. You even get to see a prickly pear cactus! In New Jersey! Who knew?

On recent weekends , I’ve been driving out to Batsto, partly inspired by my visit to the Lower Bank Tavern with

Hannah, the WanderFinder

a few weeks ago when we visiting the ruins of a Civilian Conservation Corps camp in the Pine Barrens. The food was good greasy spoon fare, and they love their liverwurst. They call it “Piney Pâté” and when fried and put on a burger. I missed my grandma’s liverwurst and onion on rye, so I ordered one of those and a beer. It hit the spot. There’s also a food truck in the Batsto Visitor Center parking lot, and the paisan makes a killer roast pork sandwich with broccoli rabe and sharp provolone. For six bucks!

Food around Batsto

I burned off those calories with an 18 mile trail ride around Batsto lake, through parts of a prescribed burn in a pine and cedar forest. It was stunningly beautiful out there. I was sore for days, but I made the loop and loved it. I wish I caught my crash on video, when my handlebars snagged a pine tree, but alas, you will have to imagine a bearded swearing Salami flying ass over teakettle into a luxurious bed of pine needles.

Also: Notes!

Substack has a notes feature to give the finger to Elongated Muskrat and make Twitter irrelevant. You can tag people (like I tagged Hannah up there) and include a few photos, and people can reply. And you don’t need their app to use it! Sometimes I want to share something small, without disrupting my Wednesday-Sunday schedule, but I worry about spamming you with too many newsletters. So you may see a note or two. Thanks to

Lauren Hough

for the Notes. Follow her Substack, she's on a road trip and it's already amazing.

I have some things to say about Blood Meridian and John Oliver’s amazing show on the rise and fall of the Chuck E. Cheese franchise,² which you can watch at the link… but I think I’ll save them for notes. I hate what Twitter has become, and I recently got sick of Reddit and deleted all my comments and posts. Part of the allure of Substack was a return to blogging days, when I was part of a movie reviewing community; with Notes, that may be possible. We shall see…

Here's the official boilerplate for Notes. It sounds like it was written by a squirrel sniffing airplane glue. Italics added by me.

I just published my first note on Substack Notes, and would love for you to join me there! I’d love a magic greasy paper bag that always had fresh doughnuts in it. Or donuts. Whatever. You can join Notes if you can tolerate a bunch of writers dancing like kittens in a meadow.

Notes is a new space on Substack for us to share links, short posts, quotes, photos, and more. I plan to use it for things that don’t fit in the newsletter, like work-in-progress or quick questions. I will make fart jokes and share embarrassing photos.

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How to join

Head to substack.com/notes or find the “Notes” tab in the Substack app. As a subscriber, you’ll automatically see my notes. Feel free to like, reply, or share them around! Or feel free not to! Feel free to do whatever you want, because you are a person and who the hell am I to tell you what to do? I mean, really.

You can also share notes of your own. I hope this becomes a space where every reader of What Pluckery Is This? can share thoughts, ideas, and interesting quotes from the things we're reading on Substack and beyond. If they start inserting ads in between our cute little thoughts, please assist me in burning it to the ground. Let’s have fun for a while before the assholes show up.

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1. “gas lighting” is particularly apt, as the burning and leaking of natural gas and methane is one thing that got us into this mess.

2. We went to Chuck E. Cheese for the games, after my favorite arcade, The Great Escape, shut down. I never recall watching the animatronics, to my detriment… they are beyond belief. Watch the show, it’s brilliant.