Cycling in the South Bay

Today I was heading to San Clemente, but first I rode to Seal Beach for coffee and breakfast groceries. On the Main Street I found a place that looked inviting, so I changed my bike and entered. A very nice racing bike was leaning against the glass.

Inside the shop an avid recreational cyclist lounged in a chair, spread out like a warm breakfast. He was stuffed into his multicolored sausage costume, looking rather proudly, peacockish, at the mere mortals surrounding him. His face said, “I know you think I am amazing. I know you wish you could do this insanely hard sport that is way too grueling for you to comprehend. I know you wish you could wear this amazing costume.”

I glanced at the patrons. They didn’t seem to notice him at all.

And I thought about what people actually do think when confronted by an ARC. The first thing they think is, “Biking really hurts my ass. I hate it. Those cyclists must have terrible ass issues.”

Or they think, “That doesn’t look fun. What ugly clothes you have to wear!”

Or: “Gosh they look fat in those ridiculous things!”

Or, women: “Ick.”

Or, men: “That is tiny.”

What they never think is that cycling is a sport. Hard. Sufferfest. Grueling. And why should they? They only encounter its participants scarfing bagels, swilling lattes, and looking like it.

The ARC finished his 600-calorie breakfast drink, half of which he might burn on his ride. Then he swaggered out.

“They fucking love me.”

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END

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