ode to cyclists

It’s time to face the facts:

If it wasn’t for the kindness, understanding, and unfathomably amazing mechanical abilities of the special breed of people on this earth known as cyclists, I would likely be dead on the side of the road somewhere in Berkeley. Probably Tunnel.

If it weren’t for teammates who wait for me at the top of climbs, I probably would have given up on this whole crazy obsession a long time ago.

If it weren’t for teammates who have loaned me food, water, or clothing, I’d probably have either fainted from hunger or dehydration, or lost my hands to frostbite by this point.

If it weren’t for teammates who ride along side of me every inch of the way on a route I’ve never taken, I’d probably only be just crawling into the Orinda Bart station, or worse, right now.

Or, even more likely, living a primitive, survivor-man-like existence in the forest somewhere in Santa Cruz, Tahoe, or Tilden Park, using the shards of my shattered bike frame to hunt wild boars for sustenance and trying to signal helicopters with my shiny survival blanket.

And on top of that  I’d still have my keys locked inside of my car.

Gosh, how tough life would be without Calcycling.

What’s more, I might be stuck in a ditch in såmevvhere, Sveeeden, beginning the long walk home in my increasingly impractical cleats as volvos and traktors and rednecks on atvs (apparently, not an exclusively American phenomenon) zoom by me with out a care in the world.

And that’s actually exactly where I would still be right now, all joking aside, if it weren’t for CK Lunedei. After a pothole and a backflat, (punktering) and a failed patch kit from Mikes Bikes (which led to another backflat) I soon had someone’s spare tube offered up to me. I spent several minutes then arguing the whole yes-I-am-a-girl-but-I-can-change-my-own-tire thing and the yes-I-am-a-girl-but-I-can-find-my-way-home thing. After already having forced a group of 15 or so dudes to wait for quite an unreasonable amount of time on a one-lane-two-direction highway, I finally convinced them to sätt iväg (get on the road) without me and leave me to change the tire (the second time) myself. I was getting tired of their weird Swedish pacelines anyway. Instead I got some nice ITT practice (more like dying in the wind) on the way home.

Yes, this does mean that CK Lunedei dropped me again—but this time it wasn’t my fault (blame it on the tire, typical). Even so, while CK Lunedei usually kicks my ass—today, today they saved it.

Thanks, cyclists. You rock. Tack så jätte jätte mycket.

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One Response to “ode to cyclists”

  1. Alia Says:

    Cal Cycling loves you back. These Lunedei characters better continue to take very good care of you or they will (somehow) face my wrath. Ride safe!

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