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Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Pedal Power
Ding ding.
What po-faced fucks serious cyclists are. No, really. I live on a trail that's popular with said beasts and every time I use it I'm faced with some lycra-sprayed, muddy arsed goon who is doubled up over his bike as if Lance Armstrong himself is trying to throttle him with a yellow jersey. I wouldn't mind except that these guys (because they're always, always men) are too up their arses to slow down, shout a warning or avoid walkers, kids, dogs and any other being who believed that the sign 'public footpath' implied democratic use. 
Just what is their problem? Oh, don't tell me, they're practising for the Tour de France. No? Oh, in that case they must be trying out for the Olympic team. Oh, not that either? Then they're trialling some new super-bike that'll explode under speeds of 40mph. Nope? Then they must be inherently incapable of giving a shit about anyone or anything that doesn't come clad in knacker-gripping shorts.
What is it about sharing that they are unable to grasp? It's as if these trails belong exclusively to them which would account for the sneering looks and spinning silence you receive when you 'hello' anyone who comes towards you. Christ, they can't even warn you that they're bearing down on you, giving you a chance to drag your toddler or terrier out of the way. Clearly bells are for bell-ends. 
Anyway, if this is what they chose to do with a Sunday morning why in the fuck do they look so miserable about it? Jesus, I've seen funeral mourners with perkier faces. You'd think they were cycling with barbed wire wrapped around their knackers rather than just taking an hour out to indulge a hobby.
Look, you tit-heads, you're on a footpath in Wales, OK? You're not heaving through the Samatan - Pau stage of the Tour de France. And no one gives a fuck whether you make your PB or not. They do, though, give a fuck if you happen to knock their three year-old into a hedge and take one of the legs off their dog. 
Just how far up his arse does a serious cyclist have to clamber? Jesus, but the single-sacked Lance Armstrong has a lot to answer for.



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