I have a number of friends, including my brother, who are huge cycling fans. These are people who ride a couple of hundred miles a week, who save up to buy custom frames and who talk excitedly about derailleurs and, uh, yeah, other bike-related stuff. (In a big shout out to me and my cycling abilities, I managed to replace my handlebar tape a few months ago and managed to get it all done without running out of tape before I ran out of handlebar. Dodgy stuff, that tape. It's actually cork, which is kind of cool when you think about stretching cork - tree bark! - over your handlebars. Despite all the technological innovations that have resulted in bikes weighing less than a cup of coffee and tires that cost more than the ones on your Corolla, I'm standing here in my house wrapping cork on my handlebars. Neat.)
I did the AIDS Ride a bunch of years ago and learned quickly that anyone can ride 500 miles over five days if you're in no particular hurry, and that it's not the ride that'll get you but the camping with a 1000 stinky riders who have zero compunction about slamming Porta-Potty doors at 3 in the morning. Worst performance of 'Stomp' ever.That and the incredibly disgusting lunches. As a result, I quickly learned to stop for lunch at the nearest taqueria and in yet another God Bless California moment, when you are riding between SF and LA and taking the scenic route, you, my hungry friend, are never far from that magical taqueria. After riding forty miles, those burritos never tasted so heavenly and this got me to thinking why this was true every time. Once or twice, sure, but every time?
Cervantes said 'El hambre es la mejor salsa,' which means 'hunger - ' and not 'the man,' you C- Spanish student you - 'is the best sauce,' which is just too too true, you know. You crave or want anything badly enough, your standards slip, which is why I know what coffee from 7-11 tastes like. When you think about it, this theory can be applied not just to food but to anything. Like, for example, dating.
Come on.
We've all been there.
You're driving along, looking for that steak house, the one with the really excellent Niman Ranch steaks and an extensive collection of full-bodied reds. The one that's next to the 5-star hotel with a Jacuzzi tub and where the pillows are buried under a pile of chocolate mints. The Scharffenberger ones, with the mint oil, that make you feel like you are completely justified in eating 40 because they are not just mints, but are the Mints of Righteousness. And did I mention that it's got that mirror that's so perfectly and gently lit that you look at yourself and think, 'Damn, I am fine'? Because it does.
But no. You drive and drive and drive and there's nothing but a long, lonely stretch of highway and a single Del Taco Der Weinerschnitzel up ahead, next to a grungy little Motel 8. You've driven for days, weeks, months, and you've seen nothing but signs advertising this Del Taco Der Weinerschnitzel and finally here it is. And you are starving and exhausted. No steak for you, no glass of Turley, no handful of mints or relaxing soak in 300 gallons of bubbly water.
Two double tacosOne value meal and an imperial gallon of Mountain Dew later, you are sated. They've done the trick but you feel cheap and dirty. You deserve a night at the Motel 8 because it's that or the car. And you have standards.
See? Dating can be just like that. Thankfully, I haven't had this particular, ahem, Del Taco Der Weinerschnitzel thing for years, a tribute to my excellent planning and overwhelming popularity with the ladies. (Incidentally, I'm beginning to regret the use of Del Taco and not, say, Der Weinerschnitzel, which really would have been more accurate but the search and replace thing just feels so tiresome right now. Jeez.) [Totally worth the effort. - Ed.]
Lordy, sometimes these posts are like greased pigs at the fair and damned if I can ever keep control of them. As I intended to say several paragraphs ago, I saw this story re fixed-gear bikes and thought, hey, there's something worth writing about since I've got all the bike-loving friends and I am not unfamiliar with the joys of pedalling, but, well, now I'm too knackered. So read this and this. I think I might test ride of these babies because no matter how much I read about what it feels like, it sounds like you just have to ride it to really get it. Braking also sounds like an adventure. (Because they're brakeless.)
(Much like these posts.)
