As most of my rides are now solo, I spend a lot of time talking to my bike. Sometimes it's as simple as 'go faster' or 'why are you doing this to me?' but other times we reflect on the state of the economy, spitball ideas for capping the Deepwater Horizon well, generally whine about work, or sketch out plans for a concept album set in seventeenth-century New England. You know, the usual.
Sometimes she'll (or 'he'll,' depending on what bike I'm on) talk back, but it's rarely more than a subtle 'speed up,' 'sit and spin b*tches,' or 'easy on the powergel there big guy.' This Sunday, however, my mountain bike had something a little louder, and a little more critical to say:
What's that? Don't hear it yet?
Oh yeah, that's my titanium-railed saddle telling me to 'lose some effin' weight ya fatass!'
This would in fact be the third or fourth saddle whose rails I've bent, though luckily those have been stretched over a few years. Never before have I twisted them quite as nicely as I did these, nor have I ever felt both rails go out at once, which is best described as a nice little dropping sensation, followed by some audible groans of protest.
Consider message received. Now I'm going to get a cookie.
