I Bought A Bicycle
At one point it struck me as silly that I was riding my motorcycle eight miles to the gym so I could spend thirty-minutes on an eliptical trainer, a week or so ago I brought home my brand-new Felt SRD 92.*
I'm not one to buy toys so the vow is to ride the bicycle to any destination within ten miles. Good for me, good for the environment and good for the wallet.
So the day I bring her home I take her out for her maiden voyage, a quick trip out to the afore-mentioned gym. I make it the eight miles out there with no problem, and after I get my swoll on I get set to hop back on the bike for the return leg, my thighs are cramping slightly so I stretch out a little before I head off. I'll now take this moment to point out that I haven't owned a bicycle since I was, oh, thirteen-years old.
About a mile down the road and my thighs are cramping even more, but I decide to ride through it. It seems to be working and I continue wending my merry way back home.
At mile six-of-eight the cramping has gotten to the point where I decide I should pull of the road for a bit to stretch out, as I soon find out this is a tactical error- As soon as I stand up both my thighs cramp in the locked-and-open position; the bike is 59 centimeters tall at the top tube and, in my current state, there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to swing my leg over it and the seat to get off. I am now standing, paralyzed, over my bicycle on the side of the road.
I'm actually a little worried, I mean, I can't just stand there until the cramps go away- this fucking hurts. Not to mention I look like a total asshole standing there. I waddle into the grass and sort of fall over, I crawl off the bike and start working the cramps out, this takes about ten minutes, which is just enough time for every car in the city of Augusta to stop and ask me if I'm ok.
I make it the rest of the way with no further difficulties, but as I'm pulling in my room mate, who works a mid-shift, is getting into his car to go to work. I stop to relate an abbreviated version of the above story to him. He's sympathetic, he's quite and avid bicyclist himself and tells me that a similar thing happened to him once- at hour six of a 120-mile charity bike ride. Having emasculated me, he hops in his car and goes to work.
And that's how I was emasculated this month.
*not as shown
At one point it struck me as silly that I was riding my motorcycle eight miles to the gym so I could spend thirty-minutes on an eliptical trainer, a week or so ago I brought home my brand-new Felt SRD 92.*
I'm not one to buy toys so the vow is to ride the bicycle to any destination within ten miles. Good for me, good for the environment and good for the wallet.
So the day I bring her home I take her out for her maiden voyage, a quick trip out to the afore-mentioned gym. I make it the eight miles out there with no problem, and after I get my swoll on I get set to hop back on the bike for the return leg, my thighs are cramping slightly so I stretch out a little before I head off. I'll now take this moment to point out that I haven't owned a bicycle since I was, oh, thirteen-years old.
About a mile down the road and my thighs are cramping even more, but I decide to ride through it. It seems to be working and I continue wending my merry way back home.
At mile six-of-eight the cramping has gotten to the point where I decide I should pull of the road for a bit to stretch out, as I soon find out this is a tactical error- As soon as I stand up both my thighs cramp in the locked-and-open position; the bike is 59 centimeters tall at the top tube and, in my current state, there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to swing my leg over it and the seat to get off. I am now standing, paralyzed, over my bicycle on the side of the road.
I'm actually a little worried, I mean, I can't just stand there until the cramps go away- this fucking hurts. Not to mention I look like a total asshole standing there. I waddle into the grass and sort of fall over, I crawl off the bike and start working the cramps out, this takes about ten minutes, which is just enough time for every car in the city of Augusta to stop and ask me if I'm ok.
I make it the rest of the way with no further difficulties, but as I'm pulling in my room mate, who works a mid-shift, is getting into his car to go to work. I stop to relate an abbreviated version of the above story to him. He's sympathetic, he's quite and avid bicyclist himself and tells me that a similar thing happened to him once- at hour six of a 120-mile charity bike ride. Having emasculated me, he hops in his car and goes to work.
And that's how I was emasculated this month.
*not as shown
posted by J-Syn at 5:11 PM
3 Comments:
Yeah, I admit I've also been engaged in conversations where
I, normal chap I believe myself to be, suddenly start to feel a little, I don't know, SUB-normal, na' mean? For instance:
Me: "I can sort-of drive standard. I'm not too hot at it cause I don't do it often, but if I concentrate a little I can manage. I wish my dad had taught me on a standard from the get go, ya know?"
Him: "Just be glad you didn't have MY dad! He's such a car nut, he MADE SURE that not only did I drive standard flawlessly, but that I was able to drive around the block BACKWARDS!"
Me:"..."
No Jason, you gave up on bicycle's waaay before 13 when you realized you had to exert energy to make em work and they didn't go "on command"
Your tale of woe does not surprise me at all except for your lame excuse to save money or look "macho"
Your Dad
Yeah that's my old man.
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