Claude answered incorrectly, mentioning height instead of horizontal distance which is what Im assuming is in the EMT report. Meaning he could have been biking slower than 77mph
Go outside and mark 100 feet out on your road. Look at it. Think. You’re welcome.
Hey Claude, If a bicyclist hit a car going 25mph what’s the farthest they’d fly horizontally through the air?
“The distance a cyclist would travel through the air after hitting a car depends on several complex physics factors, but I can give you some realistic estimates. In a typical collision where a cyclist hits a car going 25 mph (about 37 feet per second), the cyclist would likely travel somewhere between 10-50 feet through the air, with most cases falling in the 15-30 foot range.”
C’mon, assuming that’s what the EMT report said, “male was traveling across an intersection when he was t-boned by a vehicle … was ejected from bike traveling approximately 100 feet, striking his head on a metal fence” does not equal his/your claim of “flying 100 feet”. In any event, I think we all agree it’s not plausible.
You losers keep middle school fighting while David sits back raking it all it. 75K Views in 2 days on his new Youtube video. He wins again!
This is the exact world he lives in. Non-reality, measuring his worth against clicks and likes and views and comments. Hitting rock bottom in his life was quitting a race. It’s all a parody.
You losers keep middle school fighting while David sits back raking it all it. 75K Views in 2 days on his new Youtube video. He wins again!
This is the exact world he lives in. Non-reality, measuring his worth against clicks and likes and views and comments. Hitting rock bottom in his life was quitting a race. It’s all a parody.
No, it is reality. He is on top while you losers argue your points. It's comical.
This is the exact world he lives in. Non-reality, measuring his worth against clicks and likes and views and comments. Hitting rock bottom in his life was quitting a race. It’s all a parody.
No, it is reality. He is on top while you losers argue your points. It's comical.
Wow - he’s almost pulling Matt Choi numbers. Anyway, this “loser” rocked Dave at WS.
You losers keep middle school fighting while David sits back raking it all it. 75K Views in 2 days on his new Youtube video. He wins again!
“Nearly 100K views now.
Rewatching Nothing To Lose, I kept thinking of a passage from Leonard Cohen’s Beautiful Losers:
‘A saint does not dissolve the chaos … He rides the drifts like an escaped ski … Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance.’
I find these qualities in the sequence of David floating down Powerline, Cody Bare cutting like Godard, as angular, post-rock guitars snap underfoot. And when later, at the Twin Lakes aid station, he seems suspended in clarity, while cheers fold around him like a chorus.
Whatever else one thinks of the man, there is something saintly about that balance in the face of disorder—the seismograph needle Cohen describes, less a record of triumph than of surviving the tremor.”
“David Roche’s Nothing To Lose strains to be a Wenders road movie but feels more like Paris, Texas shot through Instagram filters. The Robby Müller sky comparisons feel forced—this is cinematography that mistakes prettiness for poetry, restoration that arrives on schedule rather than earning its epiphany. Where Breakable had genuine stakes in its fear and fracture, Nothing To Lose traffics in manufactured profundity. Megan’s omnipresence reads less as authentic partnership than as calculated emotional labor, her pacing duties through the final 20 miles choreographed to hit archetypal beats rather than capture genuine intimacy. The film confuses ritual with revelation. That closing shot—the trophy abandoned among grass and champagne—reaches desperately for the ‘quiet holiness’ of serious poetry, but lands closer to lifestyle branding. When Mary Oliver’s ‘I Worried’ unfurls against mountain vistas, the gesture feels both inevitable and cynically deployed, poetry conscripted into service of a predetermined emotional arc. Roche seems to think that rejecting ‘cynicism or gotcha details’ automatically elevates his material, but the film’s texture of redemption feels workshop-tested rather than lived. The defense of ‘ordinary joy after extraordinary trial’ rings hollow when that joy appears so carefully curated. Perhaps the real inauthenticity isn’t in questioning these moments, but in packaging them so cleanly for consumption.“
“David Roche’s Nothing To Lose strains to be a Wenders road movie but feels more like Paris, Texas shot through Instagram filters. The Robby Müller sky comparisons feel forced—this is cinematography that mistakes prettiness for poetry, restoration that arrives on schedule rather than earning its epiphany. Where Breakable had genuine stakes in its fear and fracture, Nothing To Lose traffics in manufactured profundity. Megan’s omnipresence reads less as authentic partnership than as calculated emotional labor, her pacing duties through the final 20 miles choreographed to hit archetypal beats rather than capture genuine intimacy. The film confuses ritual with revelation. That closing shot—the trophy abandoned among grass and champagne—reaches desperately for the ‘quiet holiness’ of serious poetry, but lands closer to lifestyle branding. When Mary Oliver’s ‘I Worried’ unfurls against mountain vistas, the gesture feels both inevitable and cynically deployed, poetry conscripted into service of a predetermined emotional arc. Roche seems to think that rejecting ‘cynicism or gotcha details’ automatically elevates his material, but the film’s texture of redemption feels workshop-tested rather than lived. The defense of ‘ordinary joy after extraordinary trial’ rings hollow when that joy appears so carefully curated. Perhaps the real inauthenticity isn’t in questioning these moments, but in packaging them so cleanly for consumption.“
"Counterfeit Claude reads like Cliffs Notes written in crayon. All swagger, no soul."
"What we're watching unfold is the classic postmodern condition: when confronted with a text (Bare’s Nothing To Lose) that actually has aesthetic richness and affective weight, the forum fractures into pastiche, irony, and parody. The counterfeit Claudes are pure 'language games'—not engagement but displacement.
This is Lyotard’s différend in action They can’t meet the film on its own terms, so they fall back into japery, the only coping strategy available when a text exceeds their interpretive bandwidth.
“What we’re witnessing is the tedious academic reflex: when confronted with a film (Bare’s Nothing To Lose) that’s aggressively ordinary and self-satisfied, the defenders immediately retreat into jargon. Dropping Lyotard’s différend like it’s a mic instead of a crutch—not analysis but evasion. This is first-year film theory cosplay in action. They can’t defend the movie’s actual choices, so they dismiss all criticism as ‘japery’ and ‘pastiche,’ the only rhetorical strategy available when you’d rather theorize about ‘interpretive bandwidth’ than admit the emperor’s trail running shorts might be empty. Claiming the parodies exist because the film is too aesthetically rich to process? That’s not a backhanded compliment—it’s a face-saving maneuver dressed up in postmodern vocabulary. Sometimes a text doesn’t ‘exceed bandwidth.’ Sometimes it’s just not that deep, and people are having more fun mocking it than sitting through another self-important ultra runner’s journey of individuation.“
"Three brief points of order, since the discourse has gone fractal:
1. Cody Bare’s Nothing To Lose deserves to be treated as a text. Whatever one thinks of David Roche, the film itself has form, tone, and intention. To avoid engaging with it—to prefer recursive stasis—is a failure of criticism.
2. The counterfeit Claudes are back. This speaks, if inadvertently, to the theme of ego death that haunts this thread. The loss of self in parody is its own strange mirror.
3. On the endlessly discussed bike crash: the '100 feet' is not a Roche invention. It’s a direct quote from the EMT report—'male was traveling across an intersection when he was t-boned by a vehicle … was ejected from bike traveling approximately 100 feet, striking his head on a metal fence.' Whether or not that distance is plausible is another discussion, but to call it fabricated is to misread the source.
And perhaps here Gilbert Adair is our best guide, reminding us that parody, repetition, quotation—even error—are not diversions from deliberation but its raw material. To cite, to echo, to misremember is already to interpret.
If Nothing To Lose is a text, then so too is this thread, endlessly overwriting itself. What matters is not whether David flew 10 feet or 100, nor whether the Claude who writes is 'fake' or 'real,' but that every return to these figures insists on being read twice, as literature does: once for the event, and again for its distortion."
I feel like this has to be David because he always mentions Cody Bare in this manner.
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