Cycotherapy News Roundup: Zwift cheaters, Swiftie campers, a forlorn song, Hocus Pocus and Wout van Aert.
The weirdest wonderfullest roundup of news only slightly related to cycling
Hi.
Another week has come and gone. But not without Cycotherapy’s news roundup.
Today, we have a story on Zwift cheaters, Taylor Swifties from Argentina, bikepacking in Germany, more news on the low ebb of the cycling industry, an excerpt from my favorite Vonnegut book and lyrics from a forlorn song.
This newsletter is so weird. Oh well.
P.S. Taking a break from our weekly Sunday posts. Back soon. Get out and ride!
Sincerely,
dillon.
headlines & links
Cheaters gonna cheat
Luciano Pollastri exposed cheaters on Zwift a while back. One would think this noble action would have positive effects, right? Wrong. “Where there is glory, there are humans who will take shortcuts to get it.” That about sums it up, but read this story from Hustle for the full details. Thanks to fellow cycopath, Jace, for mining this story this week.
A woman’s tale of bikepacking in Germany
Poignant bikepacking story from Olivia Treynor in Vogue: “I want to be a person who is not deterred by discomfort. Really, though, what I want is to move without shame. And my body does not dishonor me when it needs stillness. The shame doesn’t come from chafing against the perimeters of my body’s abilities, it comes from believing that those frictions are failures.” There are many parts of this story that articulates things ones experiences during a bike ride beautifully. Bravo.
What’s Wout van Aert up to?
Here’s what Wout van Aert might be up to during next year’s cycling season. Will he ride in the TDF? Probably not, Micah Ling predicts.
Cycling’s ebbs and flows — more news on that front
By now, you’re all well-acquainted with the cycling industry’s ebbs and flows. It seems we are in the middle of a low ebb, or at least pointing downward as the industry continues to face supply chain diffculties, reports Taneika Duhaney in this Men’s Journal article.
A little poem for the MTBers here
Not news, but I don’t care. Here’s a poem for the people who need one about the pastime to pass time. Thanks to
over at for the write up.
feature of the week
Send this story to any Swiftie in your life and then tell them “these are the real Swifties.” I’m truly speechless at the lengths by which these people have gone to be near to a mere human who happens to sing well. I don’t get it. But, at the same time, I get it. I guess there are worse things to commit oneself to.
book excerpt of the week
At least the World will end, an event anticipated with great joy by many. It will end very soon, but not in the year 2000, which has come and gone. From that I conclude that God Almighty is not heavily into Numerology.
Grandfather Benjamin Wills died in 1948, when I was a plus 8 years of age, but not before he made sure that I knew by heart the most famous words uttered by Debs, which are:
“While there is a lower class I am in it. Where there is a criminal element I am of it. While there is a soul in prison I am not free.”
I, Debs’ namesake, however, became anything but a bleeding heart. From the time I was 21 until I was 35 I was a professional soldier, a Commissioned Officer in the United States Army. During those 14 years I would have killed Jesus Christ Himserlf or Herself or Itself or Whatever, if ordered to do so by a superior officer. At the abrupt and humiliating an dishonorable end of the Vietnam War, I was a Lieutenant Colonel, with 1,000s and 1,000s of my own inferiors.
During that war, which was about nothing but the ammunition business, there was a microscopic possibility, I suppose, that I called in a white-phosphorous barrage or a napalm air strike on a returning Jesus Christ.
I never wanted to be a professional soldier, although I turned out to be a good one, if there can be such a thing. The idea that I should go to West Point came up as unexpectedly as the finale of the Vietnam War, near the end of my senior year in high school. I was all set to go to the University of Michigan, and take courses in English and History and Political Science, and work on the student daily paper there in preparation for a career as a journalist …
Kurt Vonnegut — Hocus Pocus
lyrics of the week
There is a house built out of stone
Wooden floors, walls and window sills
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust
This is a place where I don't feel alone
This is a place where I feel at home
'Cause, I built a home
For you
For me
Until it disappeared
From me
From you
And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust
Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
There is a tree as old as me
Branches were sewn by the color of green
Ground had arose and passed it's knees
By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
And, I built a home
For you
For me
Until it disappeared
From me
From you
And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust
To Build a Home — The Cinematic Orchestra
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