The forlorn author had a huge week on his simple steel bike…and what with all the good cheer and such, it got me to thinking that…being on the road aint no good life, but itz my life…
Got me an old Waylon Jennings song stuck in my head as I broke the 20 hour mark whilst alone on the dusty, cold ROAD…
Cyclists ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold. They'd rather give you a crank-set than diamonds or gold.
Gunnar steel bicycles and old faded chamois, And each night begins a new day.
If you don't understand him, an' he don't die young, He'll prob'ly just ride away.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be enduro-cycling freaks.
Don't let 'em ride mtbs or drive them old 29ers.
Let 'em be runners and swimmers and such.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cyclists.
'Cos they'll never stay home and they're always alone.
Even with someone they love.
Cyclists like smokey old oatmeal stouts and clear mountain mornings, Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night.
Them that don't know him won't like him and them that do, Sometimes won't know how to take him.
He ain't wrong, he's just different but his pride won't let him, Do things to make you think he's right.
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cyclists.
Don't let 'em pedal fixies or drive them old cross-bikes. Let 'em be geeky tri-athletes and skiers and such.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cyclists.
'Cos they'll never stay home and they're always alone.
Even with someone they love.
I was glad to clock in a 5 hour day yesterday on the Gunnar Crossbike. I am really liking the Gore jacket my friend Ricardo gave me.
ReplyDeletethanks for the tunes
ari