Conquering the setbacks of bicycle training

Have you ever had one of those experiences in life when you finally realized what you are? I have. Let me tell you about it.

I was riding my road bike one gorgeous spring afternoon. The ride was an epic training ride. It was a ride of pure sensation. It was speed and rhythm and joy. As the journey neared its destination one sensation dominated all the others. I really, really had to pee.

Generally, this is not a problem. However, being the bashful guy that I am combined with the fact that I was riding along a busy highway, I just wouldn’t take care of business and risk offending a lot people. So on I rode until I had only one option left; get to the nearest business and help myself to their facilities. I think in most cases this would be a reasonable strategy. Besides being bashful, apparently I am not too bright either because I decided to stop at a rather busy Harley Davidson shop (we are all bikers right?).

I casually rode up to the front door propped my bike against the front of the building and opened the front door. It was at this point that I realized the error of my ways. It was a scene straight from an old western; all the outlaws are at the bar and the new guy in town walks through the doors and all activity stops. As the stranger takes a step into the bar all eyes are attracted to his every move. There is an electric charged tension in the air. Something is going to happen, everyone just waits for the catalyst that will set dire events into motion.

There I was the lone underfed-gaudy colored-spandexed cyclist amidst a crowd of beefy-bald headed-leather wearing-facial hair growing motorcyclist. I had two choices; turn and leave with my limbs intact and risk an embarrassing accident in the parking lot or dig into my rather small suitcase of courage and ask to use the bathroom. I chose the bathroom. Like the lone cowboy I sidled up to the bar (or was it a check out counter?). I asked the bartender (or was it a cashier?) for whiskey (or was it the bathroom?). They directed me through the crowd of regulars to a door in the back just like in the cowboy movie. I walked through the crowd with my back straight, looking neither left nor right. My walk was the walk of a man with a purpose (I really had to go). My spurs cha-chinged with every step (or was it my cleats clomping on the floor?).

I made it to the restroom and couldn’t lock the door fast enough. I took care of my business and left the saloon (or was it a Harley shop) with my limbs intact. It wasn’t until I was on my bike on the road that I finally knew what I was. I am a scrawny-lycra wearing-Gatorade guzzling-road racing-babe detracting cyclist…that’s right I am a cyclist and I don’t have to pee anymore. What's more, when I train I stay clear of Harley shops.