Wednesday, November 1, 2023

This sucks

Years ago, in what seems another lifetime, my father, a senior Financial VP with Brownell Electro, (A division of AVNET) secured a job for me as a forklift driver. At a warehouse. In, of all places, Compton. 

If you've been watching the World Series lately you might have spotted the AVNET patch worn by the Arizona Diamondbacks. 

If you're familiar with Los Angeles, you know Compton in the 1980's was nowhere for a nice white Jewish boy from the burbs to be. Or even Sean Penn. See Colors, Colors, Colors. Sorry, couldn't resist.

I asked my father how I would get to this dream job schlepping huge spools of industrial cable, since I didn't have a car. Nor afford a car at that time. 

"Buy a bike. You can afford a bike right?" he responded. 

Though I was 22 years old, the character-building phase of my childhood had apparently not ended.

As the crow flies, it was only 20 or so miles from my one bedroom apartment in West LA to the grimy, crimey streets of Compton. Of course crows don't have to navigate gang territories, stop and go traffic, and the many pitfalls urban LA had to offer at the time. In fact they still do.

Los Angeles is not a bike friendly town, though many of our unhoused neighbors seem to enjoy the activity and each miraculously owns several bikes. Or bike parts. 

To do any decent bike riding here in Southern California, one must find a bike path. Fortunately I live a 1/4 mile from one that takes me down to the scenic Pacific Ocean which never fails to brighten my spirits. But having ridden up and down the stretch of sand that reaches from the Southern tip of Venice to the northern end of Redondo Beach for so many years, and literally logged thousands of miles, it's nice to take a break. Find a different path. 

A path, a path, sorry, couldn't resist again.

To accomplish that, one must hoist the bike onto the car and go.

I wasn't about to slap a noisy roof rack atop my 2015 Audi S5 and torture myself with all that whistling. Nor was I about to spring for a cheapo trunk rack that required all manner of hooking and strapping and mechanical configurating that often sends my brain into a Mitch McConnell like trance.

My options were limited. And that sucked.

That is until I discovered the SeaSucker. See what I did there?

It operates on vacuum sealing. The innovative design sits atop the car, with no bolts, nuts or fastening devices whatsoever. If you've ever shot dart guns with suction cup tips you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Here's what my old Cinelli (purchased in 1984 and still going) looks like when bonded with my car. 

It may look a little flimsy, but the SeaSucker people, along with one Isaac Newton, assure me the rack and the bike are going nowhere.

It's pretty amazing. And yes, I'm hawking it right here in hopes that you will enjoy that "Take Your Bike Anywhere" Type Freedom. And I will enjoy a substantial commission on every sale.

Get your SeaSucker here:

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