The Ups and Downs of Transparency
There is nothing like setting out for a Sunday ride, surrounded by friends, unbelievable ocean views spread out on your left while a cool marine layer tumbles in...except if it's being passed by white spandex shorts. Yes, my thing about the white spandex has returned. Now, some people can wear white spandex and they are truly blessed. Some, like my friend Michael, do it properly, and others--well, it always makes me snicker like a 12 year old boy in the back of class on a hot spring afternoon.
Sure didn't help that the guy wearing the white spandex was...shall we say...the kind who likes compression in their spandex. Bike shorts, and them who wears them, come in different flavors: snug, tight, compressive and sausage. Now, this guy wasn't to the sausage level, where you worry that brushing up against this person might just pop their casing--and wouldn't THAT be a mess. He was, however, pretty compressed in his shorts. Good for circulation, but when the spandex is white, that compression means...well...he may as well have just painted his lower half white for all the good it did covering his bod. That isn't the punchline, though, and I have some serious things to say first, so let me spit those out and get to the funny part at the end.
I became a Training Ride Leader (TRL) for the AIDS/Life Cycle on Sunday. I worried over the ride to the point I didn't really sleep, checking and rechecking and just...worrying about people. My mentor who gave me Boo Boo (my copilot), celebrated her birthday that day, and since everyone knows and loves Chris E (and the ride up Highway 1) turn out was high. Of course, intellectually I knew this would be the case, but it wasn't until the night before that I really 'got' that turn out would be so high--and I felt I hadn't properly planned.
The group I ride with is a close-knit bunch, and when one of our own stopped in to see the ride off but not ride, if wasn't long before we found out why. The knot that tightened around that rider as he talked of his impending cancer treatment felt like blood family. Officially, my role as lead TRL was to chase my ride leaders out of the start so they could have some presence with the rest of the ride, but as a sister I knew better than trying to break that circle when my brother rider needed us so badly. Cancer is a glutton with a selfish, greedy appetite, and I hate it.
I was struck by the family I ride with later, after catching up with the newbies at the turn around point. An RV brushed far too close to a rider who was out to buy their first clip-in pedals later that day. Chris and I yelled, and I think both our hearts stopped as he startled, then wobbled some while the rolling brick and wind wash around it shook our charge up good--inside and out. He held his line, and I was never so happy to hug a rider when we got to a regroup spot.
Another rider, also without pedal clips (this is an indication of experience but also type of rider and speed--no clips means they tend to pedal along a little slower due to fewer larger muscles used to power the bike, also slower because they tend to have less experience), who went ahead of us because he knew he would be slower. A mile or two down the road, we had expected to meet up with him, and of course I worried when we hadn't. It took us a good 10 miles to catch him, and Chris and I were fast to point his own growth out to him. He's a big guy, a regular rider, and all without pedal clips. The group we were riding with were all so impressed with his calves (wow...I mean...WOW) that everyone spontaneously gave him props about them when we got to that regroup spot. I love the people I ride with. Encouragement in the face of adversity is apparently contagious, and that is a big part of why I ride with Shifting Gears
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. This isn't a group of saccharin-sweet goodie-goodies who just Polly Anna their way through rides. We tease and make fun of ourselves, too. But when someone really needs a kind word or a moment of support, the circle tightens up and we take care of each other, whether the foe is an RV or thirst or...cancer. Fuck cancer, by the way.
Oh, and we laugh about things like white spandex on SRS riders. At least, I do--like the juvenile I am. So...not quite to sausage, white spandex compression guy...you remember him? Well, I watched him go by and snorted a little, because the white coating on his haunches was a tad bit transparent. As he pulled away, I tried hard not to see the outline of his butt cheeks under the straining material--then I read the word emblazoned in green across the field of flesh-toned white: K R A K.
I almost fell over off my bike laughing. Juvenile. If I hadn't been responsible for the newbie at my back wheel I would have totally dug in my pocket for my phone, chased his crack up Malibu and snapped a nice picture for all of you. Oh well. I'll just leave you with the mental image instead.
Sure didn't help that the guy wearing the white spandex was...shall we say...the kind who likes compression in their spandex. Bike shorts, and them who wears them, come in different flavors: snug, tight, compressive and sausage. Now, this guy wasn't to the sausage level, where you worry that brushing up against this person might just pop their casing--and wouldn't THAT be a mess. He was, however, pretty compressed in his shorts. Good for circulation, but when the spandex is white, that compression means...well...he may as well have just painted his lower half white for all the good it did covering his bod. That isn't the punchline, though, and I have some serious things to say first, so let me spit those out and get to the funny part at the end.
I became a Training Ride Leader (TRL) for the AIDS/Life Cycle on Sunday. I worried over the ride to the point I didn't really sleep, checking and rechecking and just...worrying about people. My mentor who gave me Boo Boo (my copilot), celebrated her birthday that day, and since everyone knows and loves Chris E (and the ride up Highway 1) turn out was high. Of course, intellectually I knew this would be the case, but it wasn't until the night before that I really 'got' that turn out would be so high--and I felt I hadn't properly planned.
The group I ride with is a close-knit bunch, and when one of our own stopped in to see the ride off but not ride, if wasn't long before we found out why. The knot that tightened around that rider as he talked of his impending cancer treatment felt like blood family. Officially, my role as lead TRL was to chase my ride leaders out of the start so they could have some presence with the rest of the ride, but as a sister I knew better than trying to break that circle when my brother rider needed us so badly. Cancer is a glutton with a selfish, greedy appetite, and I hate it.
I was struck by the family I ride with later, after catching up with the newbies at the turn around point. An RV brushed far too close to a rider who was out to buy their first clip-in pedals later that day. Chris and I yelled, and I think both our hearts stopped as he startled, then wobbled some while the rolling brick and wind wash around it shook our charge up good--inside and out. He held his line, and I was never so happy to hug a rider when we got to a regroup spot.
Another rider, also without pedal clips (this is an indication of experience but also type of rider and speed--no clips means they tend to pedal along a little slower due to fewer larger muscles used to power the bike, also slower because they tend to have less experience), who went ahead of us because he knew he would be slower. A mile or two down the road, we had expected to meet up with him, and of course I worried when we hadn't. It took us a good 10 miles to catch him, and Chris and I were fast to point his own growth out to him. He's a big guy, a regular rider, and all without pedal clips. The group we were riding with were all so impressed with his calves (wow...I mean...WOW) that everyone spontaneously gave him props about them when we got to that regroup spot. I love the people I ride with. Encouragement in the face of adversity is apparently contagious, and that is a big part of why I ride with Shifting Gears
I don't want you to get the wrong idea. This isn't a group of saccharin-sweet goodie-goodies who just Polly Anna their way through rides. We tease and make fun of ourselves, too. But when someone really needs a kind word or a moment of support, the circle tightens up and we take care of each other, whether the foe is an RV or thirst or...cancer. Fuck cancer, by the way.
Oh, and we laugh about things like white spandex on SRS riders. At least, I do--like the juvenile I am. So...not quite to sausage, white spandex compression guy...you remember him? Well, I watched him go by and snorted a little, because the white coating on his haunches was a tad bit transparent. As he pulled away, I tried hard not to see the outline of his butt cheeks under the straining material--then I read the word emblazoned in green across the field of flesh-toned white: K R A K.
I almost fell over off my bike laughing. Juvenile. If I hadn't been responsible for the newbie at my back wheel I would have totally dug in my pocket for my phone, chased his crack up Malibu and snapped a nice picture for all of you. Oh well. I'll just leave you with the mental image instead.