Sex & Bikes III
[Ed.: Please see “Sex & Bikes” Parts I & II of this piece in The Decameron 2020]
Even awkwardly suspended in the headstraps of a bike helmet, they were...noticeable. Prominent, even. Well, that’s the score, then, eh? The Pista comes in a package deal with a pair of ears that look like Clark Gable had a baby with Adam Driver. As you may recall, both Gable and Driver had/have successful careers as sex symbols, despite, or perhaps because of the idiosyncratic appeal of, their pinnae. So be it.
“Hey,” he said. He glanced quickly down at my bike, checking, I’m sure, to see that the bike I was on was the one from the pic that I’d sent. It was and recognition flickered across his face.
“Hi. Nice bike,” I countered, with my famous repartee.
“Thanks. You, too.”
And so goes the brilliant conversation between two socially-limited cyclists. Fortunately, just then, the ride leader blew the whistle to get our attention and the peloton, with its ragtag collection of eclectic skill levels, heaved itself on to the road, the modern incarnation of a secular Crusade for “health, wellness, & recreation.” Andrew Ears and I pushed off the pavement and fell into line in the “faster” cycling lane of the park’s pathway.
There’s always a suite of compatibilities that one investigates upon meeting a potential romantic partner. Do you like the way they look? (Dating app pics can help with this, sometimes.) Do you like their voice? (This is often an abrupt conclusion made immediately upon meeting the person IRL.) Are they compatible in humor and thought process? (This sometimes only shines through after some time of acquaintance.) Do you like the way they smell? (For some reason, this bit seems to be the dealbreaker — I’ve either ardently liked or vehemently disliked the personal pong of any individual lover. One of these aspects of compatibilities is the way you physically move together, both in intimate interactions and just traveling through the world together. Andrew and I pedaled along next to each other, big ring in the front and third ring in the back. Same chainrings, same RPM.
After the required laps around the park, the ride got down to the real purpose of the ride: drinking beer. We all pulled up, locked up, and liquored up at the British pub on the west side of the park. They did not serve Coors.
“Well,” said Andrew. “That’s a relief. They’ve never managed to beat the price point of Budweiser.”
“Nice,” I responded. “You’ve managed to create a heuristic of terrible-beer choice that depends entirely upon a negligible difference in price.”
“Yeah, well. When you spend your undergrad years strategizing best-option algorithms for choosing walking routes in urban areas, choosing a beer becomes a simplified process.”
We drank four beers; an apricot sour, a porter, and two IPA’s. All independent brews, which is the best thing to drink while wearing a pretentious amount of overpriced spandex. The Rockies swallowed the sun and the peloton switched on their LED taillights and gradually glided out towards home. Andrew appeared to have a bit of advantage from the tailwind-sail effect of his ears.
The next morning, my inbox booped.
Text ©2020 by Jessie Hanson. All rights reserved.
Photo ©2020 by Alan Bucknam. All rights reserved.