When I was young, I threw my back out while sifting through Yeti coprolites for dried berries in the Himalayas. I could no longer ride my BMX because the bumps I felt on a hard tail reminded me of that fateful day when I slipped on a fresh Sasquatch turd, tumbled down the mountain, and landed face-first in a pit of Shilajit. I had to eat my way out, and crawl to the nearest village, where I was nursed back to health by a group of benevolent vegan monks. Fast forward 30 years, and I see a BMX bike with suspension, built by a motorcycle madman in Chicago. I had to try it... Lo and behold, the buttery-smooth ride does not cause me to recall that horrific incident in the mountains. And with a motor helping me pedal, I can continue to indulge my love for laziness. Thank you, Zooz.