Assholes of Interbike

Each year, readers across the globe ogle over Interbike show coverage in magazines and websites. They see the pictures of shiny new products, of important industry types having fun and drinking beer, but the annual tradeshow isn't all fun and games. Like everything in Las Vegas, there's a dark side.

For much of the cycling industry, going to Interbike is as dreaded a trip as the DMV or the dentist. But instead of a few hours of agony, whole days are spent squinting under bright florescent lights and talking over the steady roar of the crowd, all while breathing stale, re-circulated air. Many of us turn to the bottle or indulge in more Vegas-specific vices to escape. But a few people just let the tension build until they come unglued and snap on unsuspecting passers-by.

While running the ragged edge of Interbike, I visited a small booth displaying a chamois cream that's applied like a stick of deodorant. The product isn't necessarily a bad idea, so I figured I'd ask the owner about his product. Little did I know the gentleman was a time bomb waiting to explode.

Mostly to be polite, I asked if the product is antibacterial, thinking it was an intelligent question.

The floodgates instantly opened inside the gray-haired man's mind and his face turned beet-red. "What the hell does bacteria have to do with anything?" he asked, now leaning over the countertop, raising his voice.

Clearly, my new acquaintance had strong feelings about bacteria, so I used a tone of voice normally reserved for talking my way out of speeding tickets or apologizing to my girlfriend. "Well, I can't imagine bacteria being good for saddle sores."

"I'm sick to death of people spouting off about bacteria. I was a television journalist for years and I can't believe you would open your mouth about bacteria when you don't know the facts. And you call yourself a journalist? Unbelievable." At this point people started to stare. Veins were bulging from his neck and forehead, spit flew from his mouth with every other word, and I wondered how he got so far in life with such a short temper. This grown man was losing control.

"So you see nothing wrong with hanging out in cycling shorts after a long ride?" I asked, keeping my composure, even grinning a little.

"Yeah go ahead, it doesn't matter. Bacteria has nothing to do with it. Tell me, where does bacteria come from? Does it somehow just appear in your shorts? It's not an issue." He answered so confidently that, for a brief moment, I began to doubt the concepts of basic hygiene.

Then I remembered the body/saddle interface isn't exactly clean. "Are you telling me I should just go out to lunch in my chamois after a long ride?" At this point I was getting a little irritated. "Or how about a road racer who does a six hour road race. Let's say he has to urinate off the bike and ends up peeing all over his shorts. Are you saying at the end of the race he should just go out to lunch in his chamois? Should he go catch a movie too?" This guy's bad mood was wearing off on me.

"I'm saying bacteria doesn't have a goddamn thing to do with it. I could give you a saddle sore right now, on your hand. Hell, I could give you one on your ass." By now, this has turned into a scene. Mr. Speed-Stick Chamois Cream is screaming at me. And I'm preparing to defend myself when we go to blows. I imagine that's probably a career-limiting move, so I decide I better just walk away.

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"Okay sir, it was great meeting you." I said, dumping his promotional materials on the counter as I was leaving.

"I will ask you to take these samples, though," he yelled even louder "and shove ‘em up your ass." This guy had gone from respectable elder to punchy juvenile in a few short moments.

I was shocked. "What?" I asked, imagining how I'll explain a fistfight to my superiors.

"The chamois cream is good for hemorrhoids," he said, smiling.

What was I suppose to say to that? This ass cream asshole got the last word. In awe, I dragged my heels to my next appointments. What had happened to that guy? Did his enthusiasm for the sport crumble to frustration from all the people milling around the show, laughing at his brainchild? Maybe he recently lost a friend to a bacterial infection. Maybe he was suffering from saddle sores at that very moment. Either way, I couldn't hold it against the guy. After three days, Interbike sucks. You get lost in aisles lined with nothing but reflectors and kickstands, people bump into you and to top it all off, a can of Red Bull costs $4.

So I don't blame the guy for losing control—just don't expect me to wear my chamois to the movies.