Author Topic: The story of a forum

sam

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The story of a forum
« on: April 25, 2005 »
Time is said to heal all wounds, so a time machine is a handy thing to have around. Never buy a used one without having it checked by a mechanic. On my test ride I ended up back here in 2005, at the dawn of acf, where the machine promptly conked out.

. . .

Once upon a time a friend told me, "You'll like this." He was talking about the web. I was not an early adopter. When I finally jumped in it didn't take long to find the cyclists. They were the ones arguing about helmets and swapping SMIDSY stories.

I joined the conversation. After a while a few more of me stopped by. It was cheap entertainment. After another while I discovered the Cycling Plus forum, affiliated with the magazine I was writing for.

There were some good times. The forum got me virtually out of the house, which can be lonely when you work there.



It also provided hosts for my hospitality tour from Land's End to John O'Groats, turning screen names into real people.

The downside to the mostly online hobnobbing is that it could be like opening your door to a stranger and getting punched in the face, or at least slapped around a little. I decided that the best way to ensure a friendly environment was to make my own.

My first forum failed. Promoting it on the newsgroup where I'd got my start just got people cross with me (then me with them). Thinking that a big name on the marquee might pull in the punters, I managed to get Sheldon Brown to post once or twice, but no matter: there was no oomph to the place, no "critical mass" — a phrase almost impossible to avoid when discussing cycling forums. I gave up.

After an appropriate period of mourning I tried again, with another cycling forum. I happened to launch this just as Cycling Plus was giving a very committed group of its regulars conniptions. The accident of timing brought them to my new site, with the enthusiastic help of those who'd already discovered it.

As the C+ forum continued to falter, and word of mouth about my site spread, new users swarmed in. It was a heady experience.

My first order of business was making these fresh immigrants feel safe from trolls, which for the most part meant the sort of keyboard warriors who'd been giving them grief back at C+: petrolheads, as they were known without the affection they might give the term if using it on themselves.

I came down hard and fast on anybody who looked like they might cause trouble. To better do this I recruited a group of troll-spotters and general eyes about the place. They weren't moderators at first, but they helped as I formed my opinions and made decisions. I didn't really want moderators. I just wanted Theodore.

Theodore Blovius, last seen on a newsgroup squabbling with Gertrude, was placed in charge of The Hotel California. My hope was that this institution would be both a fire station and a learning annex. It didn't hurt that it gave me the continued opportunity to poke fun at my own propensity to prolixity. I chose one of my favourite songwriter/singers for the avatar.



Lists of rules bored me, so I came up with commandments and memos instead, which were basically rules by other names, but which I hoped would be a smidgeon less boring.

What with Theo and my rep as a dictator (if a "benevolent" one to acf's citizens), and my intolerance for the unnecessary roughness I had come to know and loathe on newsgroups and back at C+, it's not surprising I collected critics.

Some gagged on my always-under-construction version of a utopia. Others took a dislike to Theo. Still others simply didn't like me personally, as far as I could tell, as I'd never done anything to rain on their parade other than be myself.

After a phase with a proxy I eventually picked moderators. Perhaps a little too fond of imaginary constructs, I also recruited a librarian. The Library was, to me, the heart of the enterprise. Recall (or not if you've never heard of it) BikeReader. I wanted a forum where words were cherished and sometimes woven into stories, prompting yet more words and more stories. If attached to this there could also be a generous helping of advice both on topic and off, respectful debate, camaraderie without offputting cliquishness, safety for oddballs and misfits like myself, and general good-natured mayhem, all the better.

. . .

I'm not sure where it started to go bad. For some it was quite early on when it became clear things weren't going their way – or my way, if they were simpatico. Most appeared reasonably content, though there were dark rumblings and warnings from unhappy campers. My own list of grievances came to include, notoriously, the innocent-looking smiley.

Yellow bobbles are a poor substitute for words. [Insert cranky smiley here?] God knows I like images, but not samey ones that are stamped out by the tens of thousand. Other talkative sites that I value manage fine without them. They also struck me as too "have a nice day" American, which was strange given the negative reaction to Americana often not far below the surface. Whatever you think of smileys, I thought it was fair to try this:



The death of smileys brought the house down on my head. I took shelter in the Hotel. There was an almost instant poll which helped polarise the issue. Real venom started to leak out and spread in a poison blossom. A truculent post by "Zipperhead" pushed me that last inch to delete my own account, not recognising my own forum.

Before long I returned to witness the aftermath with fascinated horror. I had put too much time in this to walk away. Most painful was the failure of the group I had originally gathered to help, to have helped. Granted they were now without the permissions which enabled them to moderate. However, almost without exception they made no effort to make anything better as acf crumbled. (There was a calm post by Tim.) While I could understand disorientation and possibly anger, I had a harder time with their feeble defense of the realm — or being admittedly selfish here, of me in my distress. (Paul had once said the forum was me.) Whether or not my leaving like that was defensible, they appeared surprisingly bereft of one of the attributes I value most: empathy.

When I came back all the way the first thing I did was delete some accounts. It's quite possible I was being stupid. Maybe I should have tried harder to come to an understanding with those who I felt had violated the acf ethos, which was about transcending the usual forum nonsense.

(Prompted by a former member's insistance that I remove his contributions, I would go on to delete most of the database, forestalling what I thought might be further demands and who knew what other unpleasantness.)

While I had been away history rhymed. "Rogerzilla" put up an eerily familiar Yet Another Cycling Forum, registering anothercyclingforum.co.uk while he was at it. This seemed like a good idea to a lot of people, so they left. The duplication seemed a lot like plagiarism, so naturally I complained. Enmity bedded in.



I felt the loss of what I thought had been, or might become, real friendships. Goodbye Paul, Vince, and little miss Alex. And goodbye to those who I shared less with, but who still engaged me on a level higher than mere acquaintance.

Goodbye also to FNRttC Simon, who did his best to convince me to keep acf going. I still see him from time to time on some of the rides he organises, so while it's a goodbye to roads not taken, it hasn't been the same dead end.

Finally, goodbye to what I knew would be

the only chance I'll ever get to tend an active online community.

It worked for a while.

Forgive and forget, the advice goes. They orbit each other. The entire affair had me examining them like an astronomer, wondering if I'd get to land on either. For me, forgiving and forgetting, or at least moving on, involves writing – the best time machine of all.

sam

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The story after a forum
« Reply #1 on: April 25, 2004 »
I got the time machine working well enough to go back to my present calendar year for a while, but fell into a game of truth or dare with myself late one night and chose both, so here I am again.

. . .

It’s been some time since I smote acf with sorrowful wrath, wiping all members from the rolls (after a much smaller initial smiting) and rendering it uninhabited, me and my alter egos aside.

The scattered souls, on Yacf and Cyclechat and Facebook, or off social media or dead (same thing?), will have their own versions of what happened – “their truths”, in the current parlance. Some will be what I consider trustworthy scribes. None will have enough information at their disposal to give anything like a true or full enough accounting to be worth the time spent reading it, unless they're talented at speculative fiction.

And of course, nobody really cares. I do, because it’s an intimate part of my history, but being the god who went crazy, any story I tell is naturally highly suspect. (I actually read that I had a messiah complex. More common is the opinion that I simply misplaced my marbles, there apparently being no rational explanation.) I still run into people who would just as soon cross the street or their heart if they saw me coming.



Yacf has been around much longer than its antecedant, but hasn't grown. It's the clique I tried so hard to avoid, with new members subsumed if they pay it suitable obeisance. Though I'm sure there are outliers.

The presumption here is that clique is a dirty word. It’s not especially, unless you’re not in it and secretly long to be. We could perhaps soften that to ‘tribe’. In any event, the shared experience of its initial core users and castaways practically guaranteed such a culture.

– The stand I took on smileys seems to have worked. It’s not nearly as festooned as acf. Yay?

– I will never be forgiven to the extent I have forgiven them. (Damn religious imagery can’t be helped. Is indeed useful, in a fun but grim kind of way.) Setting aside other fouls, Yacf's original sin was



writ large. I can just about comprehend why they have trouble seeing that; why they felt they had more title to acf than its creator; but it is the sin which cannot be erased by the mere passage of time. Simon the fellow architect understood this (or must have. I'm not actually omniscient.) Others did as well. They wisely retired from a bad scene.

I can forgive them because to a large extent it seems they knew not what they did. That they can’t return the favour suggests that they still require a common enemy to make clean their genesis.



CycleChat was started and continues with enough web savvy to pull the most punters, but it too is not a patch on its glory years, at least for forum connoisseurs. Some soldier bravely on, and there are doubtless shining stars I haven’t seen because it's not one of my hangouts. But from where I’m standing, there’s no there there. Which is a highly personal interpretation of blah.


Yacf is superior to CycleChat in the metrics that matter to me: better writing (in part because some of CC’s best & brightest have left the building); probably better moderation; administrators who, whatever else I may think of them, have a passion for cycling

more on this
R in particular appears to be an F-word of technical knowledge. You see, I have an appreciation for stuff like that, even though I’m not like that.
[close]

which is not in evidence at CC’s high chair; better set of permissions in that you can delete and edit your own content with no time limit; nicely formatted ride reports; Caption It. Though it’s all a shadow of what acf was, natch.



Facebook is the end winner here. Zuck’s beast has eaten the world, and the world is a poorer place for it. In addition to being eaten.

The good: It gives everyone their own platform, true equality through the ultimate in atomisation even as we are ceaselessly corralled into herds. There's no reliance on quirky forum owners with their rules and possibly capricious behaviour. Everybody’s already there. It can genuinely bring people together. You can load pictures until the end of time.

The bad: It’s fucking Facebook, destroyer of thoughtful writing by very design, which values reactions over all else. Replies disappear into nested alcoves almost as soon as they’re posted. Notifications are addictive, but not in a good way, and foster a constant juvenile seeking of approval. Everything gets pounded down to the lowest common denominator. The noise-to-signal ratio is epic and and expanding as fast as the universe. [Why don't you throw in the laws of thermodynamics while you're at it - Ed.]

And of course, you’re just data to be monetised, yada yada yada. None of this is news.

The ugly: What’s worse than the bad?