I learned long ago that if some wanker came up and told me that his bike was one-off and cost $12,000, it generally meant I could kick the living shit out of him even though my Cannondale with Shimano 105 crap cost less than one of his brake levers. In fact, it actually made riding a bike more fun, you know, getting a fucking dissertation about how great, expensive and hard to get some guy’s bike was, and then seeing him crumble like a Republican tax proposal the minute we hit the gas! Why is that so much fun, and can we do it some more?
You know how when some guy comes up and brags about how much his hot wife’s boob job cost, and next thing you know she’s dragging you down an alley so you can take them for a test drive while he’s slumped over at the bar? Fucking another man’s wife after he tells you about her hotness is just like dropping some blowhard after he’s told you about his awesome new ride. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway, never having done either one. Please feel free to carry on with the beatings.
Every time I park my bike at the Center of the Known Universe and kick back on the porch to enjoy other people enjoying their coffee, some asshole comes up and says, “How much did your bike cost?” What’s up with that, WM? Like, I don’t buttonhole total strangers and ask them how much their teeth whitening treatment cost, or ask how much they paid for their hookers. That’s just rude. Or am I out of synch with the times?
Sadly, we live in a time when the old rules of common decency no longer apply. People ask you how much the bike cost because they are slug-like and out of shape, whereas you are lean, fit, and very cute. They figure you got that way by spending a lot of money on your bike. These are the same douchebags who buy $150,000 performance cars so they can drive them in bumper-to-bumper traffic on PCH, or who think that by buying the same clubs that Tiger Woods uses they too will be able to pick up skanky waitresses and get a quickie divorce. The best responses to these clod-like inquiries are: 1) “I don’t know, it’s stolen.” 2) “I’m not sure. How much for the children?” 3) “I’m not a cyclist. I just like the clothes.”
I try to be nice to everyone, even the complete idiots. So I wave to people on my bike, but they, like, never wave back. What’s up with that?
That’s easy. They’re trying not to crash.
I was on the Donut this morning and you were getting your ass shelled on Trump. Then Hockey Stick reached out his hand as you were flailing backwards. You grabbed it, and he like slung you right back up to the lead group. That was cool. What’s that maneuver called?
That is a track maneuver called a “Madison throw.” Hockey Stick now has so much money in the Karma Bank for MT4 that he will be carried over the climbs on a pillow-lined Pasha chair.
I saw you flailing really badly on the Donut this morning going up the Switchers. You looked like crap with all that snot dripping off your chin and you were making a funny kind of death-rattle noise, sort of a cross between labored breathing and the sound of a person who’s just had life support switched off. You were way behind the lead group, sort of stuck out in no-man’s-land as the rest of the wankers flailed even farther back behind you. Then, just as you hit the college, some little dude about 3-feet high came up right behind you. Pretty humiliating, huh? And who was the little dude?
That was Squint, the newest addition to the South Bay cycling scene. He’s 12 years old and already a national champion of some sort or other. He actually didn’t finish “right behind me.” Rather, I was slowing down to help him out and raise his self esteem. It’s a complicated racing/training tactic-strategy thingy that would take too much time to explain and you might not understand it anyway. Anyway, I would have crushed him if I had really wanted to. I just didn’t today. Tapering and stuff.