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They don't call me Chris Hoy

Store the bicycle in the garage? Are you joking? No way. This is my baby, and my baby stays in the house, with me. Donít ask what it cost. Thatís irrelevant. Quality comes at a price, but long after the sting, you will enjoy the choice you made. I changed a few things from stock: the wheels, the headset, the drive chain, the seat, the forks and the handlebars, but now, the rideís perfect. Just perfect.

I don my high-performance, windproof, waterproof, breathable, skin-tight and muscle-compressing clothes; I wheel the bike out of the house and hop on. The bike hums along the street with each pedalstroke transferring power from my leg to the crank, to the cog, to the wheel, to the road and covering ground at a very brisk speed. I feel the air rushing over me and see a group of kids loitering near the road. This is where you need to make sure they donít accidentally (or deliberately) step in front of you, so I tease the brakes and slow down a little. Then one of them yells out, "Oi, humpty! Speed up. You need the exercise, you fat bastard."

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submitted at 12:13pm

3 November 2008

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