In 2011, the Army decided to get its soldiers new pistols. The odyssey that followed included a 350-page list of technical specifications, years of testing and a protracted battle on Capitol Hill between competing gun makers. The Pentagon won’t complete delivery until 2027 at the earliest. The Army could have raised an infantryman from birth to within two years of enlistment age in the time it will have taken to get him a new handgun.
Unsurprisingly, our elected representatives are part of the problem:
As the House and Senate work toward the country’s first trillion-dollar defense budget, over $52 billion is for things members of Congress added, unbidden, to the Pentagon’s wish list, according to the independent budget watchdog Taxpayers for Common Sense.
Jaysis. Planes that can’t fly. $13 billion sitting ducks. Millions for retrofitting Vietnam-era helicopters to carry and launch drones. For Ike’s fabled Military-Industrial Complex it’s like robbing the same bank, over and over and over again, because you have a guy on the inside. You don’t even need to bring that pistol you can’t seem to acquire for some mysterious reason.
I shouldn’t do any deep reading on a single cup of joe at stupid-thirty on a Tuesday.
Then again, maybe I should do it more often. I might be inspired to compose a new Zen text: “Empty Stomach, Empty Mind.”
If artificial intelligence hasn’t already beaten me to it.
Thus we arrive via the usual scenic route at the first item that got my attention this morning: “A Tool That Crushes Creativity,” by Charlie Warzel, a staff writer at The Atlantic, who fears that generative A.I. slop, once a toxic byproduct of our latest technological Great Leap Forward, has become the shit sandwich du jour.
The second, also from The Atlantic, was “What the Founders Would Say Now,” Fintan O’Toole’s speculation about how the deep thinkers who got our national party started might be surprised that the Republic — as stove-up, surly, and senile as we perceive it to be today — survives at all.
That first one may have been more depressing than the second. The Republic has been in a state of collapse ever since I first took note of it. Maybe even longer. America’s very own Leaning Tower, possibly of pizza, almost certainly from Domino’s. We knew it was wrong, but we ate it anyway.
But creativity — an appeal to hearts and minds with words, sounds, and images — freed me to sing for my supper, the tab paid by all the poor suckers who actually had to work for a living. And now Warzel says that, like made-in-China Marxists, my tools have risen up against me.
Writes Warzel:
The people selling these tools are doing so with a powerful narrative: Generative AI supposedly supercharges all that it touches, democratizing creativity, eliminating friction, increasing productivity, and pushing the boundaries of what is possible. … [But] the loss of friction deprives people of something crucial. What happens between imagination and creation is ineffable—it entails struggle, iteration, joy, and frustration, disappointment, and pride. … It is how we make meaning and move through the world.
I have not consciously employed any form of A.I. as I move through the world, making meaning. If I sniff its spoor in an online search, I tiptoe gingerly around it, trying not to get any on my shoes. WordPress offers a “Generate with A.I.” option when inserting images in a post, but I mostly generate my own images.
Or do I?
I’ve been a scribbler for as long as I can remember, and probably longer. Created my images in crayon on Big Chief tablets; in pencil, pen and ink on Bristol board, augmented with Zip-A-Tone; using Adobe Photoshop or Apple’s Preview; whatever was handy and could enhance my limited skillset.
“Enhance,” you say? Yup. The legendary editorial cartoonist Pat Oliphant tipped me to the Zip-A-Tone crosshatching shortcut when I interviewed him in the late Seventies for the Gazette. And I discovered the value of Photoshop a couple decades later when the bicycle magazines I worked for decided they wanted my cartoons in digital form, and in color, too.
I was no artist, as you probably already know. I tried using colored pencils and pens after first penciling an initial sketch and then inking it in. But when I fucked up — as I did, frequently — I had to start over from scratch, penciling and then inking and finally risking everything yet again on the whim of a Prismacolor Premier or Sharpie in my pig-ig’n’ant fingers. Digitizing the original black-and-white ’toons and coloring them in Photoshop let me magically undo what I had done and keep on keepin’ on.
It was so much easier. Frictionless, you might say.
I’ve been writing nearly as long, since George Gladney at the Colorado Springs Sun suggested I start keeping a journal back in 1974. Started with a Bic pen and a Vernon Royal composition book, then shifted to manual typewriter when I became a sure’nough reporter like Gladney, and finally went digital when the newspapers did.
If spell-checkers, grammar-checkers, and autocorrection had been available I might have used them, but back then we had angry editors for that sort of thing, and it was either learn or leave. I had bills to pay, so I learned. When I became an angry editor myself word-processing software had made everyone a writer, or so they thought. The software processed their words and I processed what the software shat out.
And yet some people wondered why I was angry.
Well, soon I had company.
I was a terrible photographer and filmmaker when cameras still used film. I had something of an eye — woefully uneducated, in need of vision correction, yet basically operational — but there were so many aspects of the craft to learn if I really wanted to make the magic happen.
Happily for me — and unhappily for pro shooters — digital cameras came along, followed by phone cameras. And before you could say “Ansel Adams” three times fast even I could make an image for a blog post on the cookie-cutter, dot-com version of WordPress (shout-out to the folks at Automattic), with a little help (OK, sometimes a lot) from software (Photoshop early on, and now Apple’s Preview).
I never thought I was a photographer, but plenty of other people thought they were, including one middle-management type who emailed a lame phone-camera snap of a sprint and expected us to use that as “art” for an online race report.
Video got a whole lot easier about the same time, for the same reasons, and I actually made a little money off that, using GoPros and iMovie to assemble bike-review shorts for Adventure Cyclist. Occasionally, and strictly for laughs, I called myself Quentin Ferrentino (h/t to the Grimy Handshake). Meanwhile, podcasting let me walk a few squeaky klicks in the Firesign Theatre’s inflatable clown shoes, with an assist from Zoom, GarageBand, Auphonic, and Libsyn.
So am I a photographer? A moviemaker? A spoken-word artist? Is the driver a car?
The only legit titles I can claim are writer and cartoonist, I think. I can write or draw with a Bic pen on a blank sheet of paper and then staple that shit to a telephone pole if I want to. Less effort than Ben Franklin put into his Pennsylvania Gazette. Nothing between me and you but a little time and sweat equity.
A.I. won’t help me make it, and Google probably won’t help you find it.
But at least we’d know we made the effort while we wait to see whether these new tools become trusted advisers instead of questionable servants — or worse, malevolent masters. That teetering Republic ain’t gonna prop itself up.
“Now it’s the same old song / but with a different meaning since you’ve been gone. …”
From our You Have Got to be Fucking Shitting Me Department:
The Colorado Bureau of Investigation is conducting a case review into Hunter S. Thompson’s death, more than 20 years after the fabled Gonzo journalist died in 2005 in his Woody Creek home.
The review was launched following a request from Thompson’s widow, Anita, and is being conducted to “provide an independent perspective” on the 2005 investigation, a CBI spokesperson said Tuesday.
An “independent perspective,” hey? The Good Doktor had that and then some, for sure. Maybe some other poor fool in Pitkin County finally saw those goddamn bats.
Scanning The New York Times today I recalled the words of the late, great George Carlin of Manhattan: “Here’s another pack of jagoffs who ought to be strangled in front of their children.”
First up for a vigorous and final throttling: Whoever coined the abominable “polyworking,” which sounds vaguely sexy, like “polyamory,” but actually describes the need for more than one job to cover the payments on the used Ford Focus in which one sleeps between shifts in the barrel(s).
Erin Hatton, a sociology prof at the State University of New York at Buffalo who studies the labor market, told the NYT that the practice can be “a way to take back ownership of work and one’s career in a meaningful way, pushing back against the sense that you are identified by one job, one employer.”
But Hatton conceded that not being identified “by one job, one employer,” is … not always optional.
“There is an element of gloss to it that minimizes the hardship and economic need that forces them to cobble together a variety of subpar jobs,” she said.
Will this be on the final exam? Doesn’t matter, I’ll be working that day, and all of the others, too.
Next: Come on down, Matt Schulz, chief consumer finance analyst at LendingTree!
Matt told the NYT — in a story about people who have to finance their groceries — ““If you’re living paycheck to paycheck and you’re on a tight budget and you have several of these loans out at one time, it can be very easy to get over your skis here.”
“Over your skis?” You need a short-term loan to buy your Hot Pockets and you’re over the skis you don’t have? I mean, shit, dude, read the room. The room that looks a lot like a Ford Focus without a (duh) rooftop ski rack.
And as George reminds us: “Try to pay attention to the language we’ve all agreed on.” It probably won’t help you understand the kids on TikTok, but at least you’ll be able to read your job(s) application(s) and the fine print on that buy-now-pay-later deal.
The Soma Pescadero takes five in the kitchen while the engine room refuels.
It’s probably a good thing that I couldn’t lay my hands on a Soma Pescadero back in 2020.
It was the beginning of the Plague Years, and bits of this, that, and the other — toilet paper, peace of mind, bicycle bits — were scarce as common sense.
Nevertheless, Adventure Cyclist had been in touch, wondering if I had any review possibilities in the pipeline, and the Pescadero leapt instantly to mind.
The Soma Fabrications website was pitching this old-school steel scoot as an alternative for “all-road” cyclists who wanted a classic looker suited to large rubber and long rides, but without the subtle insults to form and function posed by disc brakes. This put the Pescadero smack dab in the middle of my antiquated wheelhouse.
I was already a happy Soma customer, with two Saga touring bikes and one Double Cross cyclocross-slash-light tourer in the garage. And it seemed significant that Soma’s parent organization, the Merry Sales Co. of San Francisco, was born shortly after a previous calamity, the Great Earthquake of 1906.
In previous negotiations over review framesets, honcho Jim Porter and marketeer Stan Pun had always proved themselves reasonable, resourceful, and flexible — admirable qualities, suited to all situations, and never more so than when dealing with a small-batch, rim-braking, friction-shifting Luddite in search of the fixins for a bespoke bike in the middle of a pandemic.
So I fired off an email.
• • •
Longtime readers already know the background, so I’ll cut to the chase. There were no Pescaderos to be had, in any size. There was this plague going on, you see.
The New Albion Privateer, in matte black.
So Pun pitched me on another house-brand frameset, a New Albion Privateer, saying it resembled the Double Cross I already knew and loved, but with “a lower bottom-bracket height, longer chainstays, and heavier tubes.”
Steel? Check. Tange Infinity double-butted main triangle and other chromoly elsewhere. Rim brakes? Roger that. Your choice of cantilevers or V-brakes. Fat tires? Claro que si. Up to 700c x 41mm.
Say no more. I ordered one, reviewed it, and eventually bought it.
Had a Pescadero been available, I might not ever have become acquainted with the Privateer. Which would have been sad, because five years later it’s one of my favorite bikes, the one I tend to reach for first when it’s time to ride.
It was well suited to the Adventure Cyclist audience, too. Three sets of bottle bosses and a pump peg. Eyelets for racks and fenders front and rear. Versatile as a product manager in a pandemic. Ride it to work or the next town down the line.
And the Pescadero? Turns out it’s less about hauling a load, and more about hauling ass.
• • •
Last year I’d begun thinking about a new bike aimed at my friendly local group ride, something sporty for our senior-citizen shootouts. My old road-racing bike, a 20-pound titanium DBR Prevail TT from 1994, is fun but twitchy, with a really short wheelbase, really tall gearing, and a 25mm cap on tire size. A beautiful custom Nobilette from 2008 has a more geezer-friendly drivetrain and a less racy geometry, but can accommodate only a slightly fatter tire.
Thus I revisited the Pescadero, with its road-sport geometry — “between road-race and cyclocross bikes in handling responsiveness,” according to Soma — and its capacity for 38mm rubber, my favorite size. (My Steelman cyclocross bikes max out at 35mm.)
Lo and behold, this time it was in stock. The Soma people proposed a deal — some no-strings slack on the price for some straight-up thoughts on the frameset — and so here we are.
Now, I didn’t strive for the lightest possible build on either the Pescadero or the Privateer because I’m not a gram-counter. So my Pescadero weighs in at 24 pounds, 8 ounces, just 11 oh-zees lighter than the Privateer.
This is in part because the two share a number of component choices: 46/30T IRD Defiant cranks, IRD QB55 bottom bracket, and Shimano PD-A520 pedals; Shimano Deore rear derailleurs, S-Ride cassettes, and KMC chains; Selle Italia Flite saddles and Thomson Elite seat posts; Soma’s Hwy One handlebars and Crane stems; and 38mm Soma-label tires.
The biggest differences between the two are … not all that big. But noticeable.
On the climb to La Cueva.
The Pescadero ups the Privateer’s metallurgical ante with a lighter steel — heat-treated, double-butted Tange Prestige for the main triangle and Tange Infinity for the fork, as on my Double Cross. Its head tube is 15mm shorter than the Privateer’s, but the Crane stem/Hwy One cockpit still gives me a nice upright position and easy access to the drops without proclaiming me the King of Spacer Mountain.
The Privateer sets sail with a seven-speed cassette (11-34T) and Rivendell Silver friction bar-end shifters, while the Pescadero rolls with nine (11-32T) and Dia-Compe bar-cons, also friction.
Those two additional cogs (plus an Ultegra triple front derailleur, the only one I had on hand) add a small degree of difficulty to speedy shifting. But I’m rarely in a rush. That said, I may eventually give the Pescadero seven cogs (the biggest with two extra teefers) and a proper front derailleur, too.
Come stopping time, the Privateer uses Paul Components’ excellent MiniMoto V-brakes and Gran Compe levers, while the Pescadero sports the elegant and grippy Paul Comp’ Racer centerpulls and Shimano Tiagra levers that remind me favorably of the old Shimano 600s on my Double Cross.
The Paul Components Racer centerpull brake.
I waffled, briefly, while deciding on the brakes. The Pescadero can use centerpulls like Paul’s or long-reach sidepulls, such as the considerably cheaper Tektro R559. But I already had a set of those on a Rivendell Sam Hillborne and wanted to see how the Paul’s centerpulls checked out. Duh. They’re awesome.
Full disclosure: I’m a big fan of Paul’s brakes. Five of my bikes are so equipped and I have a set of MiniMotos in a box awaiting their callup.
Both bikes are handsome, but the Pescadero definitely has the edge in the looks department. The Privateer is matte black with white panels, stylish yet understated. The Pescadero is officially a glossy “slate gray” with pistachio-green panels. But once I saw it in real life I heard Mickey O’Neill saying, “An’ she’s terrible partial to the periwinkle blue, boys.” It was the color he wanted for his ma’s caravan in the Guy Ritchie flick “Snatch.”
So if this bicycle ever gets a first name, it will be Mickey, and you’ll know it has nothing to do with that mouse.
But your ma’s caravan — trailer, in British lingo — it is not.
• • •
Oh, sure, the Pescadero can accept a rear rack and front mini-rack, or frame bags, seat bags, and handlebar packs. But its wheelbase and chainstays are shorter than those on a purpose-built touring bike — even shorter than the Privateer’s. So, while light rack and/or bikepacking loads are possible, a serious tourist would probably be advised to check out some other model.
Ditto a gravel rider. The Pescadero is a roadie, its tighter geometry intended to provide a snappy ride on the mean streets while fitting a tire plump enough to blunt the bumps.
And it delivers.
When I rise from the saddle on the steeps the Pescadero leaps forward like a salmon heading upstream to spawn. Diving at speed into corners that have the Privateer murmuring, “We can do this,” the Pescadero shouts, “Let’s do this!” Its trimmer figure — less fork rake, shorter chainstays, and lower weight — sure get the party started. I actually found myself getting a little aggro’ in sharp turns, which is not at all like me.
The compact Pescadero is sprightly on the flats and rollers, too, and probably would be even more so had I not gone slightly overboard on its wheels. Two Wheel Drive here in Albuquerque built them up with Alex Adventurer 2 rims, Shimano RS-400 hubs, Soma Shikoro tires, and Specialized AirLock inner tubes. With cassette and quick-release skewers we’re talking a total of 8 pounds, 12 ounces.
The Privateer’s wheels, an ancient set from Excel Sports in Boulder — Mavic Open Pro rims, Shimano 600 hubs, and Soma’s The Everwear tires with AirLock tubes — are 11 ounces lighter, which is not insignificant when we’re talking rotating weight.
I’ve thought idly about stealing those wheels for the Pescadero. After all, that’s how the Privateer got ’em; I robbed them from a Voodoo Wazoo.
Alex Adventurer 2 rim with Soma Shikoro tire.
Plus, if I liberated those wheels I could shave off a few more ounces by going with 33mm tires. The 38mm Soma Shikoros on the Pescadero run 430 grams; the 33mms on the Nobilette, 350g. So, by downsizing the rubber I’d save an additional 160g, or 5.6 oz. Call it a third of a pound. Frost that cake by going to sealant-free tubes, 213g vs. 128g. Another one-third el-bee. Hell, if I keep this up I can make the whole damn’ bike disappear! Sail along “by sheer force of personality,” like Oscar and his comrades in Robert A. Heinlein’s “Glory Road.”
Or not. As I noted earlier, I don’t really care about weight. Albuquerque’s roads are a seamed and scarred Frankenstein’s monstrosity, and I want a stout wheelset and plump, low-pressure tires with puncture-plugging inner tubes saving my booty from the beast. I run those 38s at no more than 50 psi rear and 45 front, which helps.
Anyway, I like those Excel Sports wheels right where they are. The New Albion Privateer is spot on as is. I may try a lighter wheelset on the Pescadero further on up the road, for the sake of velo-science. But right here, right now, I’m perfectly happy with my new favorite bike.
And that’s probably a good thing. The Plague of 2025 — which is most definitely manmade — is sickening the global supply chain with insane tariffs, shipping hassles, and a general skittishness throughout, from suppliers to wholesalers to retailers to “end users,” who are certainly getting used in their ends.
If I were in the market for a new bike and had a garage full of parts, plus $799.95 that wasn’t committed elsewhere, I’d buy me a Soma Pescadero, like, yesterday. If I didn’t already have one.
You should have one too.
• P.S.: Soma has launched its Memorial Day sale a week early — as in this weekend through Monday — and is offering to slash 20 percent off all regularly priced items. You’ll need the Secret Code: memorialday25. Merry Sales will be serving up the bargains, too, with 15 percent off. Git ’em while they’re hot!
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