Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Dudes who like to get the crap beaten out of us
Watching this video stirs in me the desire to ride Yellowstone with my posse of like minded Aryans, I suppose, but it also stirs an urge to reject the notion of cycling as a sport with a "soul," a look, or a certain panache. It's the same revulsion I feel when I see rugby jerseys and multi-colored oars (hanging at The Tombs in G-town, for example), this picture of Abercrombie & Fitch's CEO (see below), anything evoking Anglo-philia that is not English. For example, the crap pseudo-pubs that dot suburban streets with names like "Harcourt Manor," "Westhamptonshire Fiddich" and the like.
Abercrombie and Fitch's Creepy CEO
Cycling is, above all, pragmatic. It is a war of skinny, borderline autistic men and sometimes very hardcore women, but usually men. These are men too small to compete on the gridiron, the pitch, or on the court. These are men too noncomformist to devote themselves entirely to dentistry or law or school or even their marriages. These are men not quite right.
They shouldn't look perfect.
They should always wear at least one article of clothing purchased at a hardware store or Walmart.
There should be duct tape somewhere.
There should be evidence of abnormality.
And there should be a sense that, hey, maybe fat guy's paunch doesn't fit into his Performance brand "Century" shorts, but on the flats he will absolutely obliterate you because his dog just died and he was awfully close to that thing. He wears some old glasses, regular glasses, with a croc strap around the back of his head because he doesn't like contacts because he works in front of a computer all day. Maybe he's coming off years of drug addiction and a divorce and was once 400 pounds of lethargic angst who chooses to cycle because he "needed the crap beaten out of me."
Dudes who ride to get the crap beaten out of us don't need to do it in merino wool.