Sick of Cycling
Dear Cycling, it's me your biggest fan. It's been 30 years so I feel like I can, be honest and tell you the truth. I think it's over homie. I'm about done with you. I know we've been here before, but this really feels like the last straw. I wish this news came as a shock, but the truth of the matter is, it's really not.
Clenbuterol, Salbutamol, I can't even spell it all. Not trying to start no beef, but the breath of this is wild y'all. Now the only legends in the game that I can recall, are your fastest rising fallen stars. Like Floating Floyd, Cowboy Lance, and that crooked shooter Contador.
I wrote this on my way to Marin to shoot the breeze with the old man Joe. About bikes he’s forgotten more, than any of us will ever know. I'm not nice when I'm behind the wheel, but I want to keep driving this point home. The cycling world will be pushing daisies if for these mistakes we won't atone.
We reminisce on the days of yore, when you could buy a Schwinn at the corner store. $49.99 for the top model, these days that's two water bottles. Ten thousand for a decent bike. Plump middle aged men looking sausage like. Bike industry lamenting dire woes. Maybe y'all just need some looser clothes.
“I just watch the races, I don’t condone this behavior!” Your participation sport ain’t a clean waiver. The business of bikes is fierce competition. Riding carbon race bikes? Then you’re complicit with ’em. Our dollars go straight from the local store, to the brands, to the teams, to the drug dealer’s door.
Noble Cyclists everywhere scream, nevermore, nevermore! But like the Poe raven we keep coming back. Tapping on that window glass, the shiny black bikes are calling our name. Our souls within burning, N+1 wheels in mind turning. Just one more score, then I’ll return to my melancholy burden bore.
Selfishly sneak out for a long ride, to steal a KOM before the sun slides. Ignore my wife and kids for 8 days to be festive. Knock out 500k’s because I’m restive. You’ve read the rules, that’s what they’ve suggested! I’m more hardcore than you, as this pink tag on my hat can attest to.
People are finally wiggins out, about addictive technology, social media clout. The bikes we love are not just about, beating ourselves up to erase all doubt. Let’s bring back the joy of the ride, let the kid out from inside. Leave the lycra in the bottom drawer, this bike life has a lot more to offer than what’s in-store.
Peace,
Pour Homie Quan
