Riding the min-velo (with front rack and fatty mess bag sitting there) feels like having a target on my back, people be wantin’ to commute-race me.
all morning errey morning.
DGAF, rode some doods in white t-shirts and spandex shorts right off my wheel on the way in today.
All tired, wanting a break, but had good(bad) mojo with green lights so got no rests.
Except for requisite sit-up-drink water-bottle.
Bros I don’t even have to look down to find my bottle/cage interface, I feels it in my spatial awareness.
HY early to work plenty of time to change and get prettay.
WTH forgot work keys, no one else here yet.
HY bakery close by, time for morning coffesnaks.
fuckin pissed rite now
strava called one of my segments “dangerous” and wont post leader boards. pretty sure i was top 10 that one
strava changed corrida da maconga something else and now amybear and i are tied instead of me 2 seconds in front.
fuck this
[quote=wintrotta]fuckin pissed rite now
strava called one of my segments “dangerous” and wont post leader boards. pretty sure i was top 10 that one
strava changed corrida da maconga something else and now amybear and i are tied instead of me 2 seconds in front.
fuck this[/quote]
lol
u mad
but no… you’re still 2 secs ahead. dunno what the problem is.
They cover their ass by not questioning any segment that gets flagged but there is little enforcement of rebuilding said segment under a different name.
I’m currently cat7 and just twirling my legs for the sun. All the cat6 think I mean serious business and start drafting thinking I’ll bite. One even asked if there was something wrong with my arm that it kept twitching. Suggested some stretches.
I was hanging out with Shawver and one of his fixie bro friends said my Niner ‘had a sweet monster truck vibe’. Another one said if he ever wanted to start coasting, and also run over annoying children, he’d get one. Lol.
I have to admit, I think skinny tires are a bit crazy with all the train tracks, but to each their own.
Asked five 'muters for a pump to no avail. Surprised. I couldn’t find mine that morning. Sixth dude was hella pro with a hella fancy pump that had like 10 mL of volume. Sat there jackin that little thing off in front of him forever. It was awesome.
the MUP on my way to work is cat 6 central. every day i feel like giving a push i’ll end up with 5 guys behind me. i wouldn’t mind normally but it isn’t a wide path, and on the ride in to work there are plenty of walkers, runners and guys cruising. atmo it’s fine to push for some speed but only if you’re being safe about it. one day last week on my ride in i saw a 7 man paceline thread through a 2ft gap between and walker and an oncoming cyclist, then on the ride home i was overtaking a guy and had a tridork nearly crash in to me, riding at night with no lights. it really gets to me because this is exactly why people are turned off cycling in to work.
Killed a rim avoiding a dumbfuck on a MUP a while ago, so the fender bike is down for the time being.
Cross Check is in such a hilarious state of disarray/neglect right now but I keep riding it anyways.
Dropping people on my “commute” doesn’t really mean shit because everyone is either
A) a hybrid rider with the cycling skills of your average trained bear
B) some dentist doctor something with a Serotta with a Rusty Stack
C) a lumber truck.
Occasionally I’ll get CAT6’ed by a member of the UW cycling team, but I don’t really give a shit.
Also, there’s a fast-as-fuck guy in a Stetson hat on a fully racked Fargo. That guy kind of gets to me. He is everything that I want to be.
There was this old geezer who rode the burke at the same time as I did winter quarter. It was all I could do to hang on the wheel of his knobby-tired, upright, bridgestone with two panniers hanging on the rear rack.
Mostly I just pass people like they’re standing still, but that guy was fast.
I raced a rather large doe last night just before midnight. We both went hard then stared at each other for half a block like what the fuck are you doing. Inner city can be a bit too neurotic for my tastes at times.
