Slow cyclists and sports cyclists: kiss and make up

I differ from most people who I race bikes with, in my ability to see the point of mudguards, racks and dressing for the destination, instead of the ride. Yet I differ from those who are overreacting to the negative impact sports cycling has, admittedly, had upon everyday cycling. I’m not pointing the finger directly at my cycle-chic buddy Mikael — who kindly winks at my sports cycling egoism, as I wink at his “artistic” eye for fine looking ladies on bikes (heels and skirts, naturally). Rather, I’m expressing my displeasure with a few really quite nasty, anti-lycra crusaders, who I have had the misfortune of dealing with, since my blogging began attracting internet trolls. Their effect can be toxic.

 

I freely admit, roadies are guilty of being complicit with the retarded doctrine of vehicular cycling (no offense meant to actual retards). Roadies are guilty of parading as priests, as though anyone going slower than us, must be working their way toward the yardstick we set them. Roadies are guilty of thinking they are the voice of cycling… there really is a long list of sins.

However, however, however: since the 1890s, cycling for many of its enthusiasts, has been about feeling speed; the Tour de France has ran since 1903. In all these car dependent cities of ours—that I honestly doubt will get proper bike paths while there is still oil—healthy, green transportation would be halved, if you took away anyone choosing to wear lycra for comfort on long commutes, or simply because it gets them off. Ignoring fast cyclists when designing 20km p/h optimized bikes paths, has left Copenhagen with bike paths that are really quite hazardous, now that people are commuting from further afield, on much faster bikes.

On a personal note: commuting to be race fit, and racing to be fit for commuting, is a way of life that is so elegant, I’m hardly going to stop, just to please a few bigoted yuppies. So if you’re on a beater bike, and I’m dressed in lycra, we can still chat at the traffic lights. Likewise, if I’m on a beater, and you’re dressed in lycra, we can chat too; though in that case, we probably know each other already.

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