It ain’t easy to be fat in the wheeled-world of the skinny fucks.
I once went cycling up a giant mountain with a drug lord from South America.
Sure, sure Angry Ed denies he is, or has ever been, a drug lord. But if ever there was a witness protection name for a cartel double agent, it’s “Ed Vegas.”
Being a fat biker (pedaling not Harley) with no pigment leaves me little choice. I have to ride at night or risk Satan’s kisses (sunburn all over).
I’m a night person anyway. I put on two motorcycle power headlights, a flashing red tail light and head out once the sun turned off.
Most cyclists are your basic MAMIL’s (middle-aged men in lycra) — you know harmless, masochistic skinny fucks who enjoy burning muscle pain and oxygen deprivation.
But occasionally out of a pack of MAMIL’s, one douchebag will pop up like burnt toast. There’s a few different types of douches, but the worst is the wheel-sucker.
My clueless riders, didn’t ask and didn’t know those things. They just assumed that everyone thinks it’s OK to endanger and maybe kill other people who don’t look like or sound like you.
It’s been 30 years of political battles to get cities to build bike lanes. And then the god damn cyclists ride right next to the white line.
One of the worst parts of being a fat cyclist is the clothes.
Cycling is supposed to be some crunchy-granola-zen shit — but it’s not…
The worst part of road biking: flat tires. And I get a shit ton of flat tires. The last two were annoying little piss ant slow leaks
I used to wonder how all these bicycle shops on every corner stayed in business. Then I got into cycling. Mystery solved
One day a driver in Tucson is going to kill me with kindness — under the wheels of her white sedan with a big fucking Be Kind sticker on the back.
When I first started cycling, I had no idea it was a “social” activity. But sometimes I can’t get these fuckers to shut up.
Being the fat guy at the start line in a cycling event is like being the hairy 300-pound dude at the beach in a speedo. I’m in my tight-ass shorts surrounded by all these skinny happy fucks talking about their “race” goals. They are setting up their cadence […]
When I started cycling, I never realized I’d have a problem with the “real” fat bikers. I’m talking about those 250-plus-pound guys riding Harley’s. They fucking follow cyclists everywhere — like a pack of fat flies carrying loud speakers. We all like the two-lane curvy highways near a […]
Everybody else loses weight when they ride a bike. Not me. I’ve ridden more than 20,000 miles since 2010, and I just keep getting fatter and fatter. Yeah, Yeah… I should eat better and try other things. Fuck that. I like beer and wings and other shitty stuff. […]
It’s taken me 40 years to figure out I always need a backup career, because some shit is going to happen and I will be the scapegoat. Currently, I have 2 backup careers in mind: insurance fraud and money laundering.
They seem “easy.”
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
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Incoherent ranting & cries from the edge of sanity, mostly.
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