Crummy kids with your crummy bicycles
I’ve been riding and racing bicycles longer than all you nincompoops and your nincompoop friends put together. I used to change Ernest Colnago’s diapers. I hand forged my own Campagnolo from old missile scrap metal from the War. I was riding before we had such things as woolen knickerbockers and leather chamoix. A triple? Yeah, my bike had a triple. If I wanted to go up a hill I pedaled triple as hard.
It used to be back in the day that when we posted a ride to the club, we posted a doggone ride, doggonit. We never had no fancy email list, so we rode a telegram to the shop that said,
“Ride. Mountains. No gears allowed. High Noon. Saturday. Rain or Shine.”
Nowadays you kids think posting a ride is a dag’gone game. I aint never seen such whippersnappery.
Rider #1: “Laa dee da. Anyone want to ride between 8AM and 8Pm on a Weekday, if it is sunny and over 70 degrees?”
Rider #2: “What will be the pace? Will there be a stop for powerbars 10 miles into it?”
Rider #1: “I’m thinking 17 mph. Of course there will be a stop for powerbars after 10 miles and Clif bars after 15.”
Rider #3: “I can go, what time?”
Rider #1: “Let’s go Tuesday at 2 PM, as long as we can do a flat route”
Rider #4: “I can’t do it then. There is a 20% chance of it being partly cloudy”
Rider #2: “I can’t wake up before 3 PM so can we do Thursday at 4PM?”
Rider #5: “My bike is not carbon, can I come on this ride?”
Rider #1: “I have a violin lesson then. Let’s just call the ride off and get crossoints in Princeton…”
I cant take these young’uns with their wishy-washy’in and cribby-crabby’in. Lord knows I didn’t beat no Major Taylor in the kilo by sending no hypertext mails all day.
My Commodore 64 is out of memory.
Get off my lawn with your ride postings you rapscallions.