Yeah, I'm a Fraud.

I absolutely love cycling. I can't ride worth a flip, but I love it. I tell my husband all the time how thrilled I am that I fell in love with the sport. Now that our son adores it as well, I know that we can spend a lot of family time together, on bikes, and outdoors. However, I am still not a cyclist. If you know me, you know I'm not. I appreciate that many people will still let me participate in cycling conversations or humor me when I want to "speak cycling" as Dr. Rick says. I appreciate that my twitter friends don't say, "What the hell do you know about it?". Well, they may say it, but thankfully, I'm in my happy place and haven't seen it. I've tried very hard to learn as much as I possibly can learn about this sport without participating in it. I've also tried very hard to be a cyclist. I'm just not one. My bike is a beautiful Electra Petra Zillia that weighs about 40 pounds. Go up a hill at 12% grade on that baby, why don'tcha?

I had a bicycle wreck when I was 15 on a friend's bike that I had no business riding. I came down a hill and all I remember is scraping the asphalt with my face, a la' Jens Voigt. I didn't come away with major injuries, but I sure as hell wasn't anxious to get back on the horse. So I didn't. I didn't get on again until I was over 30. And, I stipulated that I would not be riding a bike that wasn't the cutest one in town. Honestly, I didn't think there was such a thing, therefore I would never have to ride. Problem solved. However, my desperate hubby found and bought the cutest bike in town. It's absolutely the most ridiculous-looking bike an adult could own. AND I LOVE IT.

The most I have ever ridden at one time is around 8 miles with the family. I don't ride on the road, only paved trails, and I don't have clipless pedals. I would kill myself with those. My legs still flail from time to time, and I have just learned to take one hand off the handlebars to scratch an itch on my face. I don't have a bottle cage, because I can't take my hands off the bars long enough to get a drink. It's ok. I have a gingham-covered wicker basket to hold my wine for when I live through the ride.

The best part is when I navigate a turn, make it up a hill or handle a descent and my son says, "Good job, Mommy. You dug deep in your suitcase of courage for that one."

Modesty is overrated....

When I began dating the man who is my husband, he was on the bicycle for 12-15 hours a week. I'll never forget seeing him in cycling shorts for the first time, and looking everywhere but 'there'. I blushed ridiculously. He was oblivious. One day, I asked him if he was embarrassed to wear 'that stuff' in public. He looked at me through his confusion. He explained that he had spent half his life in lycra and around others wearing it. He told me about changing clothes at races where there were no bathrooms; changing on the street, with white behinds glaring at those passing by. He told me that he felt no modesty, ever. It was ok. I was embarrassed enough for both of us. Not that he didn't look great in his clothes; he did! I think that was the issue.
After years of marriage and watching, then obsessing about the sport of cycling, I did finally relax around the men in lycra and think little of it now (well, you know that's not exactly true...#cyclingeyecandy, aside). I don't flinch at seeing the 'pale moonlight' of a young crit racer just trying to avoid saddlesores from a sweat-soaked chamois. I don't blush when I see a guy looking like he has two pairs of tubesocks and a rolled-up bath sheet in the front of his bibs.
It's carried over to the next generation. My son wishes every pair of shorts had a buttpad, and was born thinking every household does at least one load of cycling laundry a week. I guess he'll never be modest either.
I feel sorry for his first girlfriend.