I Can Do That

This comes with some risk. Painfully lodged between the rock of après V (the after-video hubris) and the hard place of introspective analysis, I spend a sleepless night considering the appropriate response. Despite the technical issues caused by my inadequate planning and preparation, the old projector displayed in native 4:3 aspect ratio, an altogether inferior size and shape (vice the contemporary 16:9) but provided audio out capabilities so we could plug into the house audio system.  I decide that we can do better. But it is going to take some work. Some fast work. 

Scrambling Whitey from the parking lot tarmac we fly to the PB, set up a ladder and remove the big 75” house screen. Although this is a dangerous maneuver, it amazes me how big and crisp the LCD resolution displays from such a comparatively light package of transistors, chips and plastic. Out into Whitey we pack the unit and off back to the club. Where we set up a makeshift platform and conduct the critical second sound check with an hour to go before the show. 

I am feeling confident that we can make this work as we pile a wood bench above a plastic folding table, all covered by a pair of flannel sheets borrowed from the massage room. I dim the lights, set the brightness levels, mirror the display (I am running from my iMac desktop as a .mov file) attach wires, cables and duct tape them all to the parquet floor. It actually looks pretty good as the big screen is prominent in the small room. Satisfied with the picture, resolution and contrast, I go to the main amp to set the EQ on the house system. Nothing. No signal. Nada. Mute. Silence. The only sound in the room is the gentle hum of the ventilation fans. 

I double check the settings on both the mac and the external display. Still not a peep. Less than an hour to go and I feel the initial SOS alarms of panic setting in. What now, my inner task master asks calmly? I triple check the settings, connections and output options on the amp. No luck. Forty-five minutes and a couple early birds wander in looking for a place to land. 

The choices are these: I can play the original soundtrack, the one that I redid three times in the last two days trying to perfect on the internal speakers of the big screen (tiny and no bass, oomph or spatial depth) or simply play one of my spin class set-lists on the house system with enhanced bass response, true stereo and defining volume, but with no sync and no dialogue, the approach I have used at the PB over the course of our five-year run of PB movies currently in episode 68. Thirty minutes till show time and now people are setting up their bikes. 

I decide to use the internal speakers. I can control the volume remotely from my wireless keypad and I will trust the video to carry the day and be the game saver. 

Ten minutes. I joke to the small but spirited group that we should be watching cartoons like the Road Runner as we start the warm up process and I answer the obvious questions on total running time and spinning protocol. 

I introduce the film, tell the story, and knowing the taboo, confess to the technical issues about to be put on full color display. There will be no surround Dolby sound. Play. 

I goes surprisingly well. The sound was, by my official determination, awful. But in a quick post-event exit poll, adequate. 

The whole concept was to test the experience as a possible extension of our group exercise format, to add some pizazz in the attempt to compete with the big box clubs and their flash-boom indoor cycling club atmosphere of entertainment over exercise. 

The attending club representative, although not a regular spin participant, she is a body-blast, cardio kick-boxing instructor, viewed the evening as something we could do once a month. 

OK. THAT was the goal. THAT was what we needed to provide proof of concept. THAT was the result I was hoping for. Once a month. I can do that. 

I can do that, I repeat. I can do that.