It ain’t easy to be fat in the wheeled-world of the skinny fucks.
I was as happy as a school girl on heroin pedaling through a residential neighborhood in San Diego — when I got screwed. Hundreds of times. That’s how many drywall screws were lying about the bike lane pointing every which way. Gray screws against gray pavement. Almost impossible […]
One of the few joys of road biking is dominating the bike lane — easily passing runners, beach cruisers and mountain bikes.
I’ve spent thousands on a good bike. Hundreds on shoes and clothes. I spent $1.29 on a snickers bar that fucked up a perfectly good ride.
Covid-19 has forced us to replace sports with documentaries about sports. Kills time, but fucks up the betting.
ESPN played “The Last Dance”, Michael Jordan’s ode to himself, and 30 for 30’s series on Lance Armstrong practically back-to-back.
Covid-19 Quarantine has sent many of us scurrying back to our bicycles.
Some for the first time since childhood. I see them on the bike paths, wearing a T-shirt and jeans shorts with no pads, gears squeaking from the spider webs they didn’t bother to wipe, and weaving all over the road like drunks.
Put tires on my road bike that are 3 millimeters wider (25 to 28 mm), so I could ride on a little dirt. What did I get? A berating from two “expert” trail users.
I don’t want to admit how many tens-of-thousands of dollars I have spent on road bikes in the past decade. But in this pandemic, worth every fucking penny.
I was struggling to get up Las Sendas when these four 70-something, fat ass, snowbirds from Michigan floated past me like they were riding on a cloud.
Fat Bikers are hell on wheels.
For years I wished the town of Gilbert would pave the canal path from Guadalupe to Warner Road. Sometimes it’s better for wishes not to come true.
Just because you are wrapped in two tons of steel and plastic doesn’t mean you get to run over anything that slightly annoys you — especially a fat biker just out for a ride.
It’s an instinct that probably goes back to our days chasing mammoths over a cliff. Cyclists see another rider ahead and do everything they can to pass that bastard.
How can you spot a happy bikers? Count the bugs in their teeth.
I know that’s an old terrible joke… but it sort of applies to bicycles too. I’ve swallowed my share of “free protein” — especially riding at night.
For more than half a century I took breathing for granted. Sure I would get out of breath on a mountain climb or a sprint, but then… hit 55 years old and dun, dun, dunnnn: exercise-induced asthma.
Ohh God it burns, when these little balls of salty sweat roll or drop right into the corner of your eyes.
It doesn’t happen every ride. Sometimes it happens when it hot, sometimes when it’s not.
By Pam R.
Pieces of life and the love of family mixed with the passion to ride
Los Angeles Freelance Writer • Comedian • Photographer •
Comedy essays and articles
Like Mother Teresa, only better.
Riding the South Coast of Massachusetts and Rhode Island
cycling less than i plan
Author of suspense novels Sketch, Justice For Belle, Search For Maylee, Aggravated Momentum, and a medley of short stories.
"Nothing that happens to a writer -- however happy, however tragic -- is ever wasted." ~ P.D. James
notes of the desperate man
The Dude Abides. I'm A Dude AbiKes. I wonder as I wander around Austin on a bicycle.
All kinds of ideas and thoughts
A Funny Blog
It's My Blog and I Can Cry If I Want To.....
"We make bitter better."
Incoherent ranting & cries from the edge of sanity, mostly.
"This blog is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." - F.G.
If you aren't living on the edge, you're taking up too much space
Where smartasses chase unicorns
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A place for grumpy old men- ladies and the young are welcome if they feel they are up to it.
My life as a cautionary tale.
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