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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
News and views from nowhere in particular, somewhere in Texas
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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