Fish out of Water
A proficient cyclist rolling down the road is an image of liquid grace, economy of motion, and effortless speed. Like a soaring seagull, otters playing in the water, a swan gliding along the surface of a pond, or deer running through a forest.
Whether it’s a seagull in flight or a cyclist on a long ride, grace comes from an organism adapting to its particular environment. Over years of training, the roadie has developed a very specific skill set, and his body has adapted to suit it.
But that seagull is not so elegant if forced to walk down a cobblestone alley. An otter trying to climb stairs is nothing but awkward. When that swan ambles down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, he looks completely alien. And have you ever watched deer swimming in the ocean? They suck at it.
And like any other highly-adapted being, when the cyclist steps off the bike, out of his natural environment, he too loses all sense of dignity; he looks stupid.
Following that unnatural moment when he plants two feet on the ground, the illusion of grace is irrevocably shattered. He walks gingerly, like an arthritic, top-heavy mallard. He’s all gangly knees, legs, and hands. Don’t ask him to bend to touch his toes, because he can’t. His underdeveloped hamstrings barely allow him to reach his knees.
The accoutrements that make him suited for the road-the special shoes, the protective sunglasses, the Lycra shorts, and the high-visibility clothing-all look ridiculous in an everyday pedestrian context.
But taking his “kit” away reveals an underlying reality that’s even worse. His deeply tanned arms and legs are horribly betrayed by the sad, sickly-pale areas around his hands, eyes, feet, and torso. He looks like a farmer who spends every day on his tractor, or someone who fell asleep in a tanning booth with their clothes still on! He lives in deathly fear of going to the beach, where his cyclist’s tan makes him a laughingstock.
On one hand, the cyclist looks woefully underfed, like the proverbial scrawny Ethiopian in an advertisement for world hunger relief. But at table he eats like a ravenous hawg, consuming three or four times as much food as any normal person. But people hate him all the more for it, because he never seems to put on an ounce weight.
The one enviable aspect of a cyclist’s body that doesn’t miraculously disappear is his legs. Usually clean-shaven, well-defined, and tanned bronze, they’re probably the best legs you’ve ever seen. That is, if they’re not covered by disgustingly exaggerated varicose veins…
In their daily lives, most normal people don’t pay any attention when a cyclist rides by, because the cyclist is pretty unremarkable while quietly operating in his natural element. But like that swan in Manhattan, everyone both notices and remembers cyclists when they’re walking around awkwardly, looking stupid.
However, if you take the time to really study the cyclist when he’s doing his thing, you might be surprised to see someone much like yourself, flying effortlessly down the road, mile after mile, with the grace of a dancer, the elegance of a bird in flight, and the exuberant joy of an otter at play.
And you might realize that a cyclist is perhaps not such a ridiculous, pitiable thing for people to be, after all.