Today, we have something special instead of the same old same old. For a change, I'd like to interview my bicycling buddies.
First, let's talk to the rear tyre of my mountain bike, Mr. Nobby Nic:
Budget Cyclist: How's it
going, Mr. Nic?
Nobby Nic: Well, this
Sunday, I'm feeling great, 'cause man, I'm finally getting some action!
BC: Yes, you seem to enjoy
NN: Yeah, baby! Bathing in
mud is the natural thing for me to do. This is what I was built for. If only
I'd get to do this more often... but I'm afraid that you, Sir, are a
BC: A wuss? I just rode
over some roots, and a while ago, over a whole fallen tree trunk. Also, some
NN: Oh, come on, wussy boy,
the roots were small ones, you're riding very slowly, and it's not even wet. And
yeah, you managed to finally get over the tree trunk, after hesitating and
contemplating about it for some five minutes.
BC: Well... I'm just
getting the hang of it...
NN: And what's up with
clipping your left foot out of the clipless pedal every time you see a
"tricky" obstacle? Come on man, just ride! You'll never get the hang
of it if you just chicken out all the time!
BC: Now, shut up, tyre, or
I'll... uh... I'll ride you over some really sharp rocks!
NN: Yes, please, do that. I'm
made out of Triple Nano Compound, so sharp rocks just scratch my itch real
good. Besides, it's no use threatening me, you need me more than I need you,
chicken boy. *Imitates a chicken*
BC: Well... touché.
Oh boy, that tyre's got a bad
attitude. Let's talk to someone else then. Hi, there, my socks, are you
enjoying it here in the woods?
Lefty von Rohner (the left sock): Dear heavens, no! This is barbaric. Please, get us out of here!
Righty von Rohner (the right sock): Listen, my friend. We belong on the road. We're accustomed to milder climates, such as the ones in Central Europe. We're uncomfortable on the roads of Finland, let alone these frightening, dirty trails.
BC: What? I think you look cool, in a Michael Jackson kind of way, and you're not even that muddy, yet.
LvR: Oh, please, this is hideous. I know we're just going to get splattered in mud soon. We've only been spared so far because you're riding as slowly as a paralyzed snail granny ascending the Mont Ventoux.
RvR: Yes, Sir, you should forget about this mountain biking nonsense, you're really doing better on the road. And why not move to a civilized country, such as our beloved country of origin, Switzerland!
BC: Yeesh. My clothes are beginning to rebel against me. This is ridiculous. Ok, I admit it, the other mountain bikers do dress a bit differently, but I like the roadie look, and it's not that unsuitable for the trails...
RvR: Oh yes it is, believe us. Just ask your leg warmers, they're trying to escape too.
Corretto Campagnolo (the right leg warmer): Si, signor, we agree with the socks. Please, let us go. We hate mud, and also all the sharp, pointy tree branches.
Sinistra Campagnolo (the left leg warmer): Si, we admit it, we tried to escape, because we are desperate. It was futile though, because below, there was mud, and above, there's some kind of a scary, hairy crevasse, that does not seem penetrable...
BC: Oh, fuck you, wusses. I shouldn't have asked you anything, you're such complainers. Look, it's just mud, and you'll get to go to the washing machine when I'm finished...
NN: Not me! I wouldn't touch a washing machine with a ten foot pole, except if it was turned over and you were trying to ride over it...
BC: Shut up. This interview is over. Let's go.
NN: ... although I doubt you'd have any chance of succeeding, the way you're riding, unless it was a really tiny washing machine...