Ahab had his whale. Me, I have the perfect box size for shipping bicycles. It’s something I never quite perfected in my previous life–at least not for reasonably shipping bikes under $1000. It’s a little easier to absorb $50-100 shipping on a $4000 bicycle. On a $500 bike, that’s not ideal.

Actually the analogy doesn’t hold. Ahab at least knew his white whale existed. Me, I strongly suspect the magical “sub-130 dimension, safe for 60cm cyclocross frames with minor disassembly required” box is a complete myth. So it’s a little like I’m sitting in a cold drizzle on Loch Ness, shaking my fist at shadows on the waves.

It’s come to that.

Some sort of form-fitting foam shell, maybe. Still processing.

I think it’s cool that for like $300 Competitive Cyclist will ship your bike in a coffin-sized slab of cardboard, delivered by tractor trailer, completely and utterly assembled so that you never have to meet anyone at your local bike shop–presumably until you flat three miles from home and are rendered utterly helpless, or you run into them on a group ride and are “savaged.”

In the interest of one-upping even that, admittedly posh delivery method, I’m considering offering a Rapha-designed 1,000 square-foot gold-plated shark tank bar signed by Lars Ulrich. Reinforced internally and externally with carbon fiber and lined with brushed smoking jackets and discarded facial hair of Bradley Wiggins, it will also incorporate a suspension system made from 200 custom 500tpi Dugast bouncy balls and recycled breast implants (keep it green, people), and will be delivered by a black helicopter with a single, pink landing gear rail. Or one of those elephants from Lord of the Rings, if it’s an Open O-1.0, because those guys think differently.

Writing this will probably cause Google to display those Competitive Cyclist ads that follow you around everywhere to appear in my sidebar. Using the phrase “Competitive Cyclist ads” will probably cause Google to blacklist me, steal my identity, rip out the stereo, take the wheels and burn what’s left.

Alas. Boxes. They haunt my dreams.

That, and the thing you see above. It was in the refrigerator when I opened the door tonight. I think my wife is going to turn it into food of some sort, but really, the severed head of a gremlin would’ve looked less out of place in the refrigerator. Assuming it isn’t the severed head of a gremlin, I mean. I didn’t touch it, but here’s what it looks like with glasses photoshopped onto it:

Ah, and the factory meetings are beginning for Project Danzig, wherein one person assures me that the factory being recommended by another is completely incapable of making anything more complex than an aluminum can. This is going to be interesting.