Cycling has lots of bad news. People get killed. People get terribly injured. People have to pay late entry fees. People become triathletes. Etc.
But there is good news, too. One of the happiest bits of recent news involved Sausage, a legendary, relative newcomer to the world of South Bay cycling who has made the world a better place.
Sausage has produced hundreds of NPR videos, each one showcasing a different angle on 80+ idiots sitting in for four laps and then sprunting for the win. Sausage has himself won the NPR in impressive fashion. Sausage has been instrumental in funding Wonton Heavy Industries, Inc., a multinational conglomerate that produces what is indisputably the finest long distance bike ride concluding with greasy Chinese food snacks and beer farts.
But most amazing of all, Sausage has given birth to a daughter. Okay, his wife gave birth, but Sausage is the one who, through his job as head of M&A for the world’s largest lawyer firm, has impoverished millions and ensured the dominance of corporations over the lives of ordinary people. And for that we salute him.
It is therefore with great happiness that we congratulate Sausage for his functioning penis and we welcome Mini Sausage into the world! Yet, there are hiccoughs in paradise. The time-worn trajectory of 40-something masters racers who suddenly have children is inevitable: they go from catting up to catting into oblivion. The heroes of the tarmac who once could suck wheel for days only to come around you in the end wind up the victims of kiddie soccer games, swimming lessons, and PTA conferences. With this trajectory in mind, Cycling in the South Bay has decided to assist Sausage in the difficult parenting choices he must soon make.
- Responsible fathers take care of their newborn children. With the new changes in Sausage’s life, the pressures of adding a child into his family, and the need to ensure that Mrs. Sausage is adequately cared for, it is understood that Sausage will need to take an extended leave of absence from the NPR and associated cycling activities. Only by setting aside the trivialities of cycling and focusing on building a life for his new family will Sausage be able to fulfill his duties as a father and husband. This means that he will not return to the NPR until next Tuesday.
- Calculus. Many new fathers erroneously enroll their youngsters in kiddie soccer, t-ball, swimming lessons, and other activities that completely eviscerate the golden hours of Saturday and Sunday from 6 – 5. In order to ensure that you will still be able to waste your life riding your bicycle, you, Sausage, must make sure that Mini Sausage signs up for zero sports and enrolls in at least a dozen pre-calculus and SAT-prep courses. These all take place at night, when you’re swilling recovery beer and snoring on the couch. Plus, she will get into a good college, which is more than any amateur cyclist on Planet Earth can say, or has ever said.
- Leave it to Mrs. Tiger Mom. We all know that racial stereotypes are terrible things. However, Asian wives kick ass on the litt’luns’ GPA. Try this out after a few beers: “Hey, Honey, I had a terrible dream last night that Mini Sausage got a B+ in calculus.” Watch while Mrs. Sausage, although maintaining a cool pretense of calm at the suggestion that her child would ever get an “Asian F” in math, immediately downloads three new books from Amazon on “Advanced Mathematics for Newborns.” See? You don’t have to do squat, Sausage, as long as you remember this Japanese saying: “The perfect husband is healthy, absent from home, and gainfully employed.”
- Money can buy happiness. In the same way that your $10k TT bike (used three times), your $7k ‘cross bike (used once), and your SOTA, wind tunnel-tested skin suit can get you first to the line on the NPR or 3rd on the podium in the Cat 5’s, that same, single-minded focus on spending money can ensure that Mini Sausage goes to Harvard. With her mom’s brains, her mom’s looks, and her dad’s 1040, this kid is poised to go all the way. Don’t screw it up by spending too much time around her.
- Cycling isn’t a pastime, it’s a disease. Take a moment to scroll through your FB feed and you’ll find countless examples of utter wankers (Padraig of RKP comes to mind) who think that their 2-year-old is going to be the next TdF contender. Reality check: cycling is French for “unemployed.” Get Mini Sausage a trike, show her how to ride it around the block, and then hustle her back into those calculus tutoring sessions. As much fun as it is to drop Cobley, Sam Warford, and Jay LaPlante going up Topanga, it’s more fun to mathematically prove that the universe originated from a giant beer fart. Why? Because the Nobel Prize in physics pays a shit-ton more than a Chris Lotts crit prime.
- Charity begins with me. In order to make room for Mini, you’ll need to clear out two of the three bedrooms filled with bicycle stuff. You ride a 58 cm. I ride a 58 cm. Your stuff is all brand new and uber trick. My stuff is all brand old and unter trick. Connect the dots, bro.
- We aren’t your friends, but we miss you anyway. Cyclists are like piranhas. We devour everything and forget about our compadres as soon as they’re dead. But still, Sausage, guys like you make the rides fun and make us feel like we’re successful even though we aren’t. We need you, pal. So throw yourself into fatherhood, be the man that your daughter needs, and once you’re finished come back to us ASAP. That means Tuesday.