maybe I should get a Surly

Two things I’ve largely left out of my bike-life for a while now are cyclocross and other human beings. Saturday I decided to revisit both at once.

It didn’t go that well. While it’s true that I raced my Taiwanese-knockoff CX bike for two years, it’s also true that I spent the subsequent two years rehabbing my hip like a grandma. I recall the connection only now, of course, that I’m again writhing around on the floor with the foam roller.

As for the reason I  stopped riding with other people once I got slow, well:

Your location Your crime against me
Behind me You’re on my ass. You’re rushing me.
Next to me You’re soft-pedaling and/or not breathing as hard as I am. You’re showing off.
Directly in front of me You’re blocking my line. You made me mess this uuuuupppppp!
Farther in front of me You’re dragging me up this stupid hill. You put this hill here, didn’t you?
Out of sight You’re waiting for me and now I can’t stop to Instagram these flowers.

So as you can see, I’m a real joy to gain elevation with. Saturday’s victim endured a hissy fit at the top of Mt. Tam: first I tried to get him to leave and do his own ride; when this didn’t work I insisted on going home. Because I also hate out-and-backs and was additionally annoyed by the prospect of pavement (…), this meant crossing the road to descend Eldridge Grade. A mountain biker waiting at the top raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bit … boulder-y,” he offered, cautiously. “WHATEVER,” I said. “WE’RE GOING.”

This was where I recalled what I do like about my cross bike. The following guide applies to all two-wheeled purchases:

The Motobecane hurts me, but at least I can’t hurt it.

Unclear if I can say the same thing of my ride buddy. “Now I’m having fun!” I announced to him, halfway down Eldridge. I’d stopped to shake out my wrists from a few miles of death-grip braking. If he was rolling his eyes at me by then I couldn’t see it, because I was at last in my happy place—out in front.

-_-

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