Road Cycling, Mountain Biking and Cyclocross: Trying To Wring A Few More Watts Out Of A Pair Of Old Legs.
2011/11/25
Jonny Bold: "At What Cost?"
Posted by
rusto88
at
9:19 AM
Much of this hit home for me as I struggle to recover from injury: a top Masters competitor takes a hard look at his motivations for racing and training after suffering an injury during a cyclocross race, worth the time it takes to read.
2011/11/23
Hello Trainer, My Old Friend
Posted by
rusto88
at
10:03 PM
Tossed out this tweet earlier today:
It didn't take long for @bthreeton tweet back with:
Because my fitness sofly creeping
Left my legs while I was sleeping
And the saddle sores that were planted on my taint
Still remain
Within a sweat-ty chamois.
But my old buddy Gerald Berliner went to town:
Hello trainer, my old friend,
I've come to ride on you again
Because a rain cloud softly creeping in,
Left its drops while I was riding,
And the mud that was splattered in my face
Still remains
Within the sound of cadence.
In restless dreams I rode alone
Paris-Roubaix streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my bike to the cold and damp
When my thighs were stabbed by the crash of my neon light
That split my tights
And touched the sound of cadence.
And on the naked ride I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People riding without sqeaking,
People drafting without looking,
People falling off and no one even cared
Coz no one dared
Disturb the sound of cadence.
"Fools" said I, You do not know...
Doping like a cancer grows.
See my blood test so that I may fool you,
While I take my Epo so I can beat you.
But my words like silent freewheels fell,
And echoed
In the wells of cadence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the aero carbon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the peloton that it was forming.
And the sign said that the bikes of the prophets were stolen from the local malls
And tenement halls.
And vanished in the sounds of cadence.
It didn't take long for @bthreeton tweet back with:
Because my fitness sofly creeping
Left my legs while I was sleeping
And the saddle sores that were planted on my taint
Still remain
Within a sweat-ty chamois.
But my old buddy Gerald Berliner went to town:
Hello trainer, my old friend,
I've come to ride on you again
Because a rain cloud softly creeping in,
Left its drops while I was riding,
And the mud that was splattered in my face
Still remains
Within the sound of cadence.
In restless dreams I rode alone
Paris-Roubaix streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my bike to the cold and damp
When my thighs were stabbed by the crash of my neon light
That split my tights
And touched the sound of cadence.
And on the naked ride I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People riding without sqeaking,
People drafting without looking,
People falling off and no one even cared
Coz no one dared
Disturb the sound of cadence.
"Fools" said I, You do not know...
Doping like a cancer grows.
See my blood test so that I may fool you,
While I take my Epo so I can beat you.
But my words like silent freewheels fell,
And echoed
In the wells of cadence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the aero carbon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the peloton that it was forming.
And the sign said that the bikes of the prophets were stolen from the local malls
And tenement halls.
And vanished in the sounds of cadence.
Got a cycling related song parody? You know what to do: hit the comments.
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