I Could've Written This

Well, not exactly. Not if we're talking style and knowing how to write, which Tim Grobaty knows how to do, so well, in fact, that the PT pays him money to do it. Just content. If this doesn't describe me wheezing around town on my old 5 speed Ross, which they stopped making some time in the '80s, nothing does.

There are all kinds of bicycling events going on in town this weekend . . . .

We're a contrarian by personality flaw, and a lazy one at that, which means we won't be pedaling around with the crowd this weekend. And, even if we were of a mind, we're woefully underequipped, and not just physiologically. We have a bike, a rather plain one, though considerably more complex than the still-trendy fixed-gear bikes, and that's about it.

We're bereft of a helmet, for starters. And clothes. We have clothes, but not bike clothes. When we're cycling we look like an old guy who found a bike.

We have no hub tools or hex wrenches. No cyclocomputers or heart-rate monitors. We lack a rear pannier, carbon road shoes, wind-resistant eyewear, energy chews and hydration packs. We are not going to even bring up the subject of butt butter, if that's OK.

That's more than OK.

Actually, though, I do have a pannier. I thought it was a saddle bag. But it turns out it's a pannier. It looks like a saddle bag, though.

("When we're cycling we look like an old guy who found a bike." Ouch. A palpable hit.)