Crotch Crunching-The Joys of Cycling??
Living Out Loud — Zero to Sixty-something and walking funny for days
I just don’t get it. I’ve tried. I’ve really tried. I’m convinced that people who enjoy cycling with any kind of enthusiasm are all sadists. I’ve owned many bicycles over the years. Each one was purchased with a modicum of optimism because apparently, I keep forgetting just how much I actually HATE riding them. On paper, it all looks good. Fresh air. Wind in your hair. Seeing beautiful landscapes as you get amazing-looking legs and butt muscles. Meet other like-minded people with equally amazing butt muscles. Have fun bike riding get-togethers with new taut-bottomed friends and become the leader of a great new exercise movement that ends with cocktails at local pubs that have installed bike racks for your convenience. Local mayor so inspired by your commitment to cycling puts your face on every street corner touting the many health benefits of bike riding… not to mention a tight tushie.
Yeah. No.
I bought my current vehicle from hell during the Covid “we have no more bikes” frenzy. I purchased a great bike for my hubby a few Christmases prior and mentioned, during the lockdown, how nice it would be to have a new bike so we could go riding together. I also bought him a very pricy bike rack for the back of our SUVs. So far, it's only been used to it bringing bikes back and forth to the bike shop. I walked in one day to “look” and rolled out minus a bunch of hundred dollars, with a really nice bike, and coincidentally, it was the last one left. I was stoked.
The Crotch Killer
She’s pretty with baby blue paint and a nice leather fanny seat, you know, to cradle my soon-to-be tight rumpus. I love her…except when it’s time to ride her. I’ve owned my baby blue bike (alliterations aside) for almost three years now and I’ve ridden her about a dozen times. Yep. That’s it. I just don’t get the hobby. Every time I take her out for a spin, I think, this time it’s going to be different. It’s going to be better. The first ten minutes or so is fine. I’m going along at a good clip and I’m enjoying the sensation of riding until I start feeling that familiar ache in my nether region. I adjust on the seat, leaning back onto my cushy tushie rather than crush my lady garden. A few minutes later, I once again try to adjust in mid-pedal, standing up for a while to relieve the pressure. A bug hits me in the forehead. Argh. I’m not even to my turnaround point and my va-jay-jay wants to sue for separation, my knees are clicking with every pedal rotation and my bum can’t find the sweet spot on that leather seat. After another few minutes, it doesn’t matter because my bum is now numb.
How do you men do this? Where in god’s green earth do you put John Thomas and the twins?? Women have a natural flat area to, uh, rest on but men don’t so where does it all go? Do they split the difference with Harry going to the left and the Hendersons going to the right?
I get to my turnaround point and head back but by now, I’m going full frontal numb, and not in a good way. I get to the trailhead where some genius put up two large steel pylons so only bikes and walking folk can get on and off the trail. The space between them is perilously narrow and I always feel like I’m going to clip one as I hold my breath and go through. I’ve clipped things before and have gouged myself with that jagged edge of the pedal (great idea to put a lethal razor on each pedal) and then had to ride the rest of the way home bleeding.
Am I having FUN yet??
When I pull back into my driveway, my shorts are now permanently embedded and I walk like I’ve watched a John Wayne marathon. My “area” feels like it was ridden hard and put away wet, which sounds way more seductive than it is and my thighs are chafed because I kept shifting in the saddle seat looking for a spot that resembled a comfy perch. I still haven’t found it. I get off the bike, sweating and picking dead bugs off my face, and walk my blue beauty back into the garage. I park her deep in the corner, knowing I will have to forget my current agony before I venture out again. By that time, the tires will go flat and if I can’t find the air pump I’ll have to forego the ride.
Shucks.
