When I ride up that hill, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to get off my bike, sling it over my shoulder, and just hike up the hill to my house. It would probably be harder and more painful to do that, but I constantly find myself thinking about it…just jumping off and sprinting up that hill like a madwoman.
Sometimes, I think maybe I could just puncture my tire and bribe someone to put my bike in their truck and drive me up the hill. Heck, I carry mace. I’m safe.
And sometimes, I think maybe I should just sit down on that asphalt and cry. Because my legs hurt. And my body is tired. And cars keep passing me really closely and sometimes they flip me off and it makes me really sad.
SIDE NOTE: Why would you flip a bicyclist off? I mean REALLY? It’s scary and unnerving and stressful to be flipped off as you’re practically biking your legs clean off your body. If you, Mr. Jerk in a Pickup, were to hit me, who would die? Who would die in that situation? I would. Don’t you be flippin’ me off. I will sass you.
Anyway, sometimes I want to cry because I’m a wimp and can’t handle the mental and physical challenges of biking, even though I love it and it makes me feel like I’m flying. It’s a weird and complicated thing, biking.
When I feel like that, I pretend I’m George Hincapie. It started during Le Tour de France, when I was like, “Hey guess what, if I married George Hincapie, my name would be Cappy Hincapie!” Also, if I married him, I’d be considered some kind of gold digger or he’d be a total creep, but it don’t matta, cuz I’d have a really amazing rhyming name.
It started that way, but it’s ended up as my motivation to get the heck up that hill. I announce the climb in a British accent like the guys who announce the tour and pretend that I am Hincapie. It goes something like this: And Hincapie takes the lead, passing Armstrong on the climb! Oh my God, this is magnificent! Hincapie is taking the lead! Hincapie has just won this stage of the Tour de France!!!
I don’t know how it works, but it always does. I get my booty up that hill and tend to want to ride more…it’s a pretty magnificent method.
So…Georgie, if you want to send me a Cervello bike (or…anything), I’m totally cool with that. Or we could just hang out. I could pretend I’m you and you could pretend you’re me. It’d be a party.