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Misadventures of the Unsuspecting Cyclist
Years and years ago a couple of my friends had been bitten by the bicycle bug and talked me into riding with them one fine summer day. They had been at it for a while and were in good shape for the activity. They also had top notch twelve speed touring bikes, all the right gear, including riding pants, helmets and special shoes that clip in to the pedals.
I was tooling along behind them on a rickety mountain bike, in a white t-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and sneakers. I should have immediately recognized the situation for what it was — Pending Disaster — and bailed out, but no.
Note to self: Don't ever attempt a marathon ride again unless the bike is the kind with a comfortable seat and a v-twin engine, and there's a paid dinner at the other end. I'm not what you would consider "out of shape," but a marathon cyclist? Hell no!
The first part of the ride wasn't bad. We rode along a local two-lane highway, down hill most of the way, the sweating didn't start immediately. We arrived at a bagel shop where I grabbed a few candy bars as an energy boost. Hey, what did I know?
Next we were pedaling up and down hilly roads through Vernon, New Jersey. By this time I was starting to run out of steam, and the sweating had begun! My friends lost me a few times and had to pause here and there so I could catch up. I'd round the corner like a panting hyena, a mad gaze in my eyes. For some reason they would laugh at me, and then ride off again.
Eventually I lost sight of them all together and was on my own for a while. The worst part was the brown muddy stripe down the middle of my back that had been obligingly applied by the back tire along the way. It covered most of the top of my butt as well. Nice.
I didn't know about this mark until later so I was spared embarrassment when I walked into a local deli for a Snickers bar. Some patrons gave me a funny look but I had no idea why, thankfully no one told me.
Aside from a numb crotch from the uncomfortable bike seat and humiliating markings on my clothes I also noticed a distinct effect on my legs. While running across the road to the pizza shop I found that my legs didn't straighten as easily as they bent and by the time I made it to the other side I was doing what appeared to be Chuck Berry's Duckwalk. Cars were coming too. I must have been quite a sight.
Here ends the saga of the unsuspecting marathon biker, never again will he venture onto the highway on such a thin seat.
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