Monday, June 22, 2009

Have you ever kissed the sunshine, walked between the rain?

Monday, June 22, 2009
This guy is on my wheel.

We drop a lot of people, this fucking leecher and me. Up and up we climb, passing, dropping, passing, dropping, rider after rider. I have a magic rhythm in my head, and the puffed words one, two three four, one two three four on my lips. I have recently overheard a grunted 'Slieve Mann' and I know now that this is the big one, and that I have it in me to conquer it, to debase it, to fucking fly up the fucker. I am grinding out my lowest gear, but with some serious spright. Quick turnover. Light legs.

And this guy is on my wheel.

Fair enough, fine. I was dragged up the first third myself, by Chris the Courier. But now Chris is far, far below us. And I'm the one doing all the work. He's on my wheel, right on my wheel so I can't see him, judge him, judge his bike, his clothing, his leg hirsutitude, without a big fat turn around in my saddle. And doing this will cost me not just rhythm but also a modicum of the cool aloofness that I suddenly find myself aggressively cultivating. I make my one two three four a little quicker.

And this guy is on my wheel.

On and on. Up and up. There is beauty, I'm sure, spread out to my left. I can't see it. My eyes stay on the road just ahead, my focus on the rhythm and the avoidance of all these dangerously weaving slow coaches that I'm flying past. My lungs sear, but bearably. My quads sing, but tunefully. Now I see the yellow Powerbar tent in the middle distance and know that the end is nigh. I glance back one last time, yes, he's still fucking there and then I'm out of the saddle, one kick, two kicks, three. And I'm gone.

This guy is no longer on my wheel.

I look around at the summit, trying to identify this wheel sucker, this parasite, so that I might bask in his eternal praise and gratitude, but I don't know what he looks like so a thankless thankless task is what this search turns out to be. Did I imagine this pale or not so pale rider? Was he really there at all? He was, of course he fucking was, the ungrateful bastard.

14 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Medbh said...

Good man, it's like with Orpheus and Eurydice.
Don't look back.

stipes said...

"Slow coaches", weaving past the fuckers.
How the fuck were they in front of you?
(oh, and welcome back)

Twenty Major said...

It was Roche. Only this time The Verve were in operation.

gimme a minute said...

Medbh:
Shit, I wish I'd thought of that. I love my Greeks.

Stipes:
No mass start. Some people started at 6.30. I started at 8.

Oh and thanks.

Twenty:
That big doper. I should have known.

Manuel said...

it's soooo good to be back and to have you back too.....the world is right again......

Twenty Major said...

it's soooo good to be back and to have you back too.....the world is right again......

Link whoring at its finest.

Fat Sparrow said...

You should take up race car driving. It's:

A) Much easier to run someone off the road

B) Irritating to environmentalists

C) Way easier than riding a bike

and

D) You can go to a drive-thru for your snack break

See? Race car driving, sport of the future.

gimme a minute said...

Manuel:
I'm sure an end to world hunger is now just days away.

Twenty Major:
Here, have you seen this? It's a clip of someone accidentally hurting themselves...

Fooled you.

Fat Sparrow:
You'd be a NASCAR fan, so? I love that sport, you never know what's going to happen next.

Well, I guess you can be almost certain that they'll keep driving around in circles, but there's always a chance an ex-English royal will drive onto the track and crash into a barrier. So you've gotta keep watching.

Manuel said...

your cynicism saddens me....sniff sniff....but i am a little linker......I said linker....

Rosie said...

have Coddlepot hired you to do some morketing, Gimme?

Fat Sparrow said...

Meh, NASCAR. I live about 2 miles from a Speedway, they make a lot of noise. I just like to drive fast, myself, not watch other people doing it. When I win the Lottery, I'm going over to those race seminars at the Speedway. None of those NASCAR guys are from SoCal, they don't know what vicious driving is.

Did Manuel blow you, or what? Where's my link, beeyotch? Where's the love?

fatmammycat said...

Sweet, it makes me slightly tired to read/contemplate.

gimme a minute said...

Manuel:
Yeah, I should have warned you that my little break increased rather than decreased my levels of cynicism.

Rosie:
No, I'm just trying to be contrary.

Fat Sparrow:
What, you have a blog now? I thought a week's radio silence indicated yet another sabbatical...

Fatmammycat:
It was wonderful. What you need is some kind of bike/kick-boxing combo. Like Rollerball (the original) except with bicycles. James Caan wouldn't be around long with yourself in the velodrome.

Manuel said...

seems about right.....

 
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