4:45 is a very very early time. Why would anyone wake up
then? This is not right. This morning, Barry was not a ninja. He was
crashtastic and loudatious. There was much slam. I tried to get back to sleep
after his stomping bike shoes finally walked away. Then the fridge, whose door he
left ajar, started to cry and need attention. That was not very nice. Then the
combination of my subtle yet aggrevating malaises began to demand my attention:
body aches, work stress, headache, and a lack of 5am joy. So I got up again,
and addressed these concerns with coffee and peanut butter toast. I am now in a
semi-zombie caffeinated state wondering what to do with my life.
It is now that I realize, with all of the 5am brilliance
that I can muster, that the cycling spouse deserves much acclaim. Could my
friends tell you how many cycle overall-kinis and jerseys will fit in the wash?
Whose idea was it originally to develop the cycle station super storage center?
Who figured out how to book Barry’s race trip on airline miles? Finally, who
was here when this happened (the crash)?
This is the cyclist, sometimes, when he comes home.
This
strange species, pumped up with sport-dorfins, skips across the impractically
white marble floor, tries to embrace his freshly showered partner, forgets
where to dispose of his soiled spandex.
Most importantly for him, this is the man who has an urgent need to “upload
his ride” to the mysterious land of Strava. Here, the like minded lycra-clad with
abruptly awoken spouses plot important life achievements, such as who biked
fastest, furthest, and longest. His (or her, but in this case his) strava “friends”,
whom he cannot recognize if they’re not helmet-clad, send “kudos”, which is the
sport’s equivalent to social interaction. His rides, kudos, computer-calculated
score of suffering, which is inexplicably a good thing, and other such features
help him to validate his bikexistence and bikenjoyment, and enable him,
finally, to get into the shower. I do not think a “I woke up too early” Strava
would have the same effect for me, regrettably.
Other practices of cycling life that impact spouses include
tribal hair-removal practices. Much like maori tattooing, or Koteka gourds, this is a
way to belong to the tribe of spandex and wheels. However, it also can lead to
strange and alarming scenes in the bathtub during and after the process. These
practices also include the use of the oven for baking footwear, which is then
formed around the cyclist’s shaven feet. Barry has an unusual love of sock
patterns, and I have yet to identify if this is normal cyclist behaviour, or
just him. However as bike spouse I know that the worshipped socks must not
enter the dryer!
