Before we get into today's post, kids, let's talk about those shoes. Bettini complained to Sidi that the walk to the podium was too slippery in his custom-made cleats. So they grafted on a sole from one of their motorcycle boots so he could have podium shoes. How ridiculous is that.
Great ride today. I woke up nice and early to meet Bryan, who came over because I inadvertently stole his quick release after our trainer ride. He brought Jack, who was very serious the whole time. Dour, even. Still, that kid is hilarious. And HUGE! He's a bruiser. Gonna be a sprinter or a crit specialist once that new helmet comes in. Maybe a Classics rider.
Anyway, the ride. I don't have legwarmers since that unfortunate Southwest debacle, so I had to go out in kneewarmers and just coat my shins with Elite warming embrocation. God that stuff is just fantastic. I don't even know how cold it was outside, but I do know I had a base layer, a jersey, and a PI jacket on my top half, with two pairs of gloves. Then I had exposed shins, and they were perfectly warm. Good stuff.
Two weird things happened on this ride. One, I was hassled my a jerkoff in a big truck. Now this, in itself, is far from unusual. In fact, I would be amazed if it didn't happen on a two hour solo ride. What sets this encounter apart is the fact that after this guy leaned out his window and yelled "Pussy!" at me (which was strange, seeing as he was riding along in a truck and I was out climbing a godawful hill with exposed skin), he drove past and I saw the stickers on the back of the truck. The rear window was dominated my a huge cross, with illustrated beams on light emanating from it. Then there was the "What Would Jesus Do?" bumper sticker.
So there you have it, kids. Apparently Jesus hates cyclists.
The other weird thing that happened - on the way home, I was catcalled by what I could only call a gaggle of high school girls. They drove up beside me in their little Chevy Malibu and said all sorts of obscene things. I felt a little violated, but mostly confused. Here I am, sweaty, dirty, and looking like hell, wearing crappy shorts that sag in the back like a diaper, and they catcalled me. It was weird, man.
2 comments:
One word for this post, "pimpalicious." Well, ok, the mean Jesus freak was weird, but Bettini's shoes, you riding in the cold with just knee warmers, and being audibly molested by a "gaggle" of high school girls all exude pimp-ness. It ain't easy, but it's necessary.
If by ridiculous, you mean awesome, I'm with you. But it begs a question -- why does Paolo wear his race shoes on the podium? When in doubt, do what Tom does. Tom knows all.
The funny thing about Jack giving you the eye was 10 minutes after we left, at Toys r Us. He was laughing and screeching the whole time. Apparently, he's less of a "Sean's house" kind of kid and more of a "Toys r Us kid."
And I must echo Mike's sentiments: Pimpin' in no way shape or form is easy. Hells no.
Post a Comment