This article I am quoting below is older than hell at this point, from August of 2010. As the internet works in real time, hitting up something that dropped eight months back is weak sauce. We at drunkcyclist stumble along a day late and a dollar short on the regular, par excellence. Looking for interesting beer bottle caps along the side of the road. Hey, don’t knock it, I’ve found some cool stuff that way. Not like “Tom Ritchey found some underwear” cool, but “twenty bucks and a porn mag” cool.
I saw a dildo once, splayed across the graveled roadside, glistening with what I prayed was the morning’s mist.
I just kept on rolling.
So, anyway, check the science. Basically, middle aged men are turning to cycling as a thing to do in middle age, at least in Britain. Recapture some of that old zest. Tack a few inches off the waistline. Get out and feel the wind in your hair. Either that or the folks that published the article are blowing smoke up your ass and trying to move ad space. That happens more often than not on these interwebs.
From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.
Every weekend, across the nation’s rolling countryside, watch out for the Mamils: middle-aged men in lycra.
. . .
Back in the day, when some men with a bit of disposable income reached a certain age, they did some strange things. The grind of the office and home life convinced some that the answer to an expanding midriff lay in a pair of designer jeans and a flashy but cheap Japanese sports car. Teenage daughters ran away screaming. Sons were deprived of the role models seen in adverts for shaving products.
In other words; two wheels good, four wheels bad.
At some point the article suggests that our dear Mark Cavendish, the “sprinting legent” is the “middle-aged cyclist’s role model.”
That donut-munching, barrel-assed, pud-pulling sissy is no role model for this middle aged joke of a cyclist 1. I look to the Legend’s Of Cycling who found a way (drugs, probably) to avoid taking laps around the dessert tray for my inspiration. Men like Johan Museeuw and Mario Cipollini.
And by “inspiration” I pretty much mean I look like a sausage when stuffed in lycra. Avert your eyes dear, no one needs to see this.
I’m taking the piss out of Cav-o for two reaons. One, because I can. And two, because he just got tailed off in MSR like a fucking joke 2. Dude, you won there in 2009. Come the fuck on. Start taking this shit seriously. You are both young and extremely talented. Neither will last. You will live to regret these wasted opportunities. Being invisible until the last 200 meters will allow you bag a few Grand Tour stages each year, but the Monuments will pass you by because you simply cannot survive until the finale.
Did I mention I’ve been considering the acquisition of one of the neat little Garmin gadgets? Yeah. Color me Mamil? Not quite yet, thank you very much.
While the serious, younger riders are busy getting into the zone of elite competition, we’re comparing the latest GPS route-finding cycle computer and pretending that we know how to stretch.
Well, here’s to pretending. I’ll figure out that whole stretching thing one of these years.
1. ^ Willem Dafoe as Paul Smecker, Boondock Saints, imdb.com/title/tt0144117/quote.
2. ^ “Cavendish, the San Remo winner in 2009, was dropped on the climb of Le Mànie with nearly 100km to go and never regained contact with the front of the race.” velonews.competitor.com.