'Tis true my friend 'tis true, I sold you out."
Sasquatch has been talking a lot about getting a road bike, because "It's all about the miles baby!, the 1/2 speed road miles!". I understand his infatuation with distance, I've been there, I can feel the pull to keep going and going. As SQ said the other day, "I could ride to Pennsylvania right now, I just don't give a FUCK!"
A road bike however, is not the answer. In fact, I have met two cross-country trekkers in my life and neither of them were on road bikes. Both of them road mountain bikes with slicks, and full pannier rigs, but I'll save those stories for another post. Of course, the S'quatch and I aren't talking about the 70's style 'lose yourself to find yourself' odyssey, we're going more for the alpine style, light and fast, single day distance thing.
All that to say, that he had warned me about his wife, um, Mrs. Sasquatch? (that doesn't sound so good does it?) and her staunch aversion to the road bike plan. As his cycling mentor I expect he thought I would produce a well-spun defense of the road bike initiative, assuaging her concerns for S'quatch's safety and continued physical integrity. He forgot that in all circumstances I am pretty much intimidated by Mrs. S.
Don't judge me, you haven't met her! This woman has a quick mind, a sharp tongue, and a terminator-like wit to splay your weak argument like a cleaned trout.
So she asked me, "What do you think of this road bike plan?"
I folded. "He's going to die if he gets a road bike! At the least you will have to drive further and further to rescue him when a "mechanical" waylays him along some molten, summer highway.
Road bikers are dicks anyway, I continued, (sorry boys, its part of the story) you won't like his new friends. He's going to shave his legs, start drinking protein powder, wearing Oakleys, you just don't know! I for one, will probably never ride with, or even see him again! He might as well buy a handgun and a fifth of bourbon, it would be much safer."
So the road bike fever passed. Don't worry S'quatch, we're going to get the miles, one knobby mile at a time.
2 comments:
Confession is good for the soul, and juancho's soul needs all the pampering it can get. Though he did indeed betray the roadbike quest by fertilizing and watering the seeds of doubt already littering Mrs. Sasquatch's fierce mind, I feel compelled to inform the reader that Sasquatch does not conduct his business according to the whims of his woman (unless she's really mad and holding something sharp).
The roadbike romance soured when I actually test rode a LeMond, and instead of feeling like the liberated speed jockey I anticipated, I felt like a circus elephant on a unicycle. There was just no substance to the thing. During the testride I found myself thinking, "I could never ram into anyone on this bike and survive." Seeing as I don't make it a habit to literally "ram into" folks on any type of bike, I had to recognize this as the freudian moment it really was, and admit to myself that as an extension of one's manly member, mountain bikes are hard to beat. And I ride a 29er.
Perhaps one day, when I'm liberated from gender insecurity, Mrs. Sasquatch and I will go roadbike shopping together. We'll buy a tandem speedster, slip on matching Oakleys, and jet into the sunset. Until then, however, it's just the Sasquatch and his big, blue, 29er ox.
My riding pal last week, Choirboy, also suggested slicks on a set of spare wheels for Sas & his 29er. This was after Choirboy climbed a hill I wouldn't traverse in either direction. Sorry Sas and Jauncho missed that ride, but they were resting up for miles! miles! miles! on the scenic doubletrack. Too many miles! make me writhe in lactic agony in the mall parking lot I cut thru en route home as shoppers whiz by. Got to preserve the legs for basketball, my real sport (unless Chess counts).
Road bikes: I'm always a couple turns behind on keeping up with Sas, so I still entertain thoughts of buying one. Course, unlike Sas, I haven't been on one lately, so I may have the same letdown. But I think Sas is really afraid he'll break the fragile little thing. As a lighter and lither being, I fear not. Nor is Mrs. Hitops afraid of me on a road bike (altho she hasn't seen me veer into traffic like Sas has). She knows that overall I have a healthier sense of self-pres than Sas -- for example, I always wear a helmet. But I could hear the ugly term "bike widow."
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