You Ruined My Ride, You Bitch.

I just wanted one thing, and you took it from me.

My hand was killing me, my legs were on fire, and all I wanted to do was sprint down this one stretch of road, this final stretch, same as I do every time I ride, to pedal hard, hit my ‘finish line,’ and call it a day. I didn’t feel like riding, but I had to, because that’s what I do, and all I wanted, all I needed, was my final sprint, and everything would be cool. Just let me push my big, hurting, tired ass through that finish mark, as hard as I could pedal, and it would be all worth it. I was Pavlov’s Dog, and this was my stimulus to get me to my favored reaction. That was the price, and I was ready to pay. Pedal Hard. Circles, not squares. Breathe. Close it out.

I know you saw me. I was in your field of view. I was right there. The pause you slightly made in your obnoxious SUV, one which you can clearly not operate efficiently. That pause, when you started backing out of your driveway, when you knew I was there, did the awkward brake lurch, and then decided FUCK IT, I’M JUST GOING TO GO INSTEAD! HE’S ON A BIKE. I’M IN A FOUR TON HATE MACHINE. I WIN THIS BATTLE.

And you did. You backed out like the fucking Titanic being pushed by slow ass tugboats away from a dock. You backed out so slowly I swear you made that Sloth from Zootopia look like the Flash. Saying you inched out is an insult to propulsion.

You inched out. And I had to brake.

Hard.

Less than forty feet from my finish line, and you just had to be in front of the cyclist. You just couldn’t wait a handful of seconds.

I know I’m not alone in this. I know there’s an innumerable amount of cyclists who have dealt with this, had some mouth breather in a car just totally ignore your presence and do something ignorant and selfish. I know you feel my pain. I know you commiserate. I know you understand.

That woman in the SUV. She’ll never get it. She’ll never know, but then again, how many motorists actually do know? To them, cars rule the road, and we’re the remora fish in the wake of your great white rolly machines.

Whoever you are, fuck you. I hope you caught a flat.

..

Nobody reads this, but here's my social dooty awareness for the day.

If you read that blurb 'about me' thing over there in the sidebar, you'll realize I live in the great state of Louisiana, in the New Orleans area, which is famously and incorrectly known though TV for its abundance of horrible Cajun accents (the only people with Cajun accents in New Orleans are the out of towners who visit solely to get fucked up on Bourbon street when celebrating or commiserating LSU football) and that it's obviously Mardi Gras EVERY SINGLE DAY (it isn't).

You also might know, through the wonders of cable news networks, that we currently have an ex-wizard of the KKK running for some public office. I can't be bothered to remember which, but it doesn't matter, because whatever position he's running for, I'll vote for someone else.

Which brings me to my point: Early voting starts today, so go and exercise your right as an American. Or exercise your right and don't. Whatever.

But this is just a reminder for the seven people (if that) who read this blog: early voting is happening now.

Go and ride your bike to the nearest polling place, and proceed to crisscross across the choices, randomly selecting who you wish to win.

And tell The Brain it's going to be an easy ride.



..

My Brain is an A$$hole.

My brain is an asshole, and myself hates myself

I know that’s probably murdering the English language in some shape or form, but allow me the error to get this brief thought off my chest.

When it comes to riding, I obviously hate myself, and my brain completely finds delight in being a complete asshole to my body.

You see, every now and again, my brain originally says to my body, “hey body, you’ve rode this week. Let’s take an easy day to putter around, keep the engines attached to your hips running, and just enjoy a nice, easy ride on this wonderfully pleasant day! Doesn’t that sound like a great idea? Just the beauty of being on THE BIKE.”

And my body says, in response because it is polite, and it loves to ride, “why yes, brain! You’re right! We deserve an easy ride! Let’s do just that thing!”

And I kit up. And I get the bike. And I get on the road. And it starts. And the ride is feeling great. 

Wow, my legs feel great. THE BIKE feels great. What a wonderful day! It’s beautiful weather! Look at that bird! Look at that lovely cloud…

And after a few minutes, it starts. The Brain.

“Hey, I know I said this was going to be an easy day, and not to sound like a jerk, but wow, we’re really pedaling slow. Are we moving in reverse?"

Look at that wonderful puppy frolicking in the field! Did I mention those clouds are beautiful? I think that one looks like Eddie Merckx is chasing Wayne Gretzky.

“Psst. Did you hear me? Look, okay, fine. I know. You want this to be an easy ride. Like we agreed upon.”

Wow! These people driving these four ton death machines are really cooperating today! Everyone is perfect! What a great ride! Those clouds kick ass!

“Hey. HEY! Listen. Listen! I know you feel it. I know you think you’re going too slow. I know. Why don’t you just spin a little faster. You can still enjoy the ride. You can. You know I’m right.”

Okay. Maybe. You have a point. Maybe a bit faster. Just to keep the speed up and the legs loose.

“Great. Wonderful. You’re doing an awesome job. This ride is just great.”

And so I pedal a bit faster. Oh, look, things are still beautiful. What an awesome day. My legs are great. This wind is perfect…

“Look, I know we agreed on this pace, but don’t you feel this is still just a bit too slow? Really? I mean, come on, your legs aren’t even hurting. You know it isn’t an official ride unless you’re legs are screaming.”

But, I thought today was going to be an easy, enjoyable ride. Just the beauty on being on the bike?

“Who said that? Really? Nah, come on. You know the only beauty is when your legs are screaming. Just a little. Just a little misery. Come on. Cycling isn’t about pleasant rides. It only counts when you’re in abject pain and misery. That’s cycling! Now, go faster.”

Okay.

“Faster.”

I’m going faster.

“No, you aren’t. Go really faster. Stop screwing around.”

Okay, I’ll pedal.

 “Pedal faster.”

Okay.

“Faster.”

I’m going.

“That’s not fast enough.”

It’s plenty fast for an easy ride…

“STOP SCREWING AROUND! THIS IS NO LONGER AN EASY RIDE, TROLL! FASTER! FASTER! PEDAL FASTER YOU MISERABLE OGRE! PEDAL LIKE YOUR ASS IS ON FIRE AND A JABBEROWCK IS ABOUT TO EAT YOUR SMALL, MISERABLE SOUL! PEDAL! PEDDDDDAAAAAAAALLLL!"

And I do. And my legs scream. And I ruin my easy ride. And I push until my eyelids are floating and my hands are screaming and my legs are like California wild fires, and I’m hoping the numbers on my strava give me the only validation I care about: average speed. Forget easy. There is only THE TOUR DE RYAN and I’m hammering like US Postal on a cocktail mix of EPO and arrogance.

And finally, my bike is on its side and I’m sprawled on the grass and I don’t give an absolute shit about clouds. Clouds can kiss my ass.

And I hear it in my head. I hear the victory roar.

“LOOK WHAT I HAVE BROUGHT FORTH! YOUR EASY RIDE IS DEAD AND BURIED AND LOST TO ALL HOPE AND LOVE! LOOK ON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR, FOR I AM BRAIN-DOR, EVIL MASTERMIND OF CYCLING TYRANNY! YOU ARE MY PUPPET! YOUR LEGS ARE MY SLAVES!”

And my brain laughs. Maniacally. And it plots, because it knows there will be a next time. There’s always a next time. There will always be one more easy ride.

There’s always one more chance to be an asshole to my body.

And it will happen, again and again. Ad infinitum.

There is only joy in the pain. There is only happiness in the misery. You are only content when you are one with THE BIKE, and THE BIKE is punishing your legs like Pinhead tortures wayward Christians.

That’s riding a bike.

That’s one of the reasons why we love it so.

That’s the tyranny of cycling.

And we’re all assholes.

As Simple as Two Wheels and Pedals.

I was going to post about hills, but decided against it. I was going to sit down and wax poetic about how much I hate hills. I hate hills the way many small children hate having to eat a green vegetable at dinner. Hills turn my tree trunk sized thighs into screaming painful factories of misery, and make my body cry in protest for having my mind force it to conquer something through the use of leg power that could’ve easily been handled by that huge, black, four wheeled speed machine back at the house.

Instead, I’m going to speak briefly about the bike, and why I do this again and again, over and over.

Why do I ride?

Why do I wear tight shorts and funny helmets and silly gloves and gear up and get on a narrow hunk of metal, with only two wheels, and go blasting through the neighborhood, or along a trail, road, path, wherever?

Why do I do any of this?

It’s actually pretty simple.

When I’m on THE BIKE, I’m free.

I’m quick and graceful and nimble. I am faster than I have ever been on foot. I am swift. I do not feel hindered by this large human shell that I call 'a body.' When on my bike, I can glide. I can fly. I can cut close turns and tight corners. I can balance perfectly while the bike inches forward. I can hop and jump and traverse obstacles. I can power this engine to a velocity a thousand times faster than anything I will ever know on foot. I will watch the world zip by, as the wind tickles my ears and the sound of my ticking heart fills my consciousness.

THE BIKE will free me from a physical frame not designed to do the very things IT allows me to do.

In return for Its grace, I will push myself until I can’t see straight, until every fiber of my body wants to stop, and I will master my body's screams by beating it into submission, by refusing to halt the cycle of stroke after stroke to travel inch after inch.

I will push through my wall. I will find the dark cave where my body doesn’t want me to go, and I will extend its limitations. I will live in that spot. I will get better. I will get faster, and yet, I know it will never stop hurting.

And I’m okay with that. I'm okay with pain. 

The bike will remind me that within the universe, as I once was, I still am a child, and I should always observe with the wonder of a child.

I will remember the joy the bike gave me in my youth, and empower the joy it gives me today. I will explore. I will go distances I previously hesitated to tackle. I will expand my visible horizon one driving pedal push at a time.

THE BIKE will take me up and down, through hot and cold, wet and dry, whatever Mother Nature feels like sharing.

It will remind me of the beauty of  Mother Nature, that no matter how crappy this world can be, or how disgusting we can be to one another, every one of us, every person, like this world, can be absolutely beautiful in spirit and act, especially when you least expect it.

THE BIKE will test me.

I will become a better person by these tests. I will understand the power of two wheels, not just what it does for me physically, but mentally, as well. I will understand this perfect tool.

I will meet new people and make new friends. I will expand my social circle. I will learn. I will enjoy. I won't even mind it when they give me a nickname, as everyone does, because of my size.

So, there you go. Like I said, the reason is pretty simple.

THE BIKE is happiness, even when it sucks.

Just like life.

But I still hate hills.