Bruce Cameron

Sep 11, 20140

Editor’s Note: The following column was originally published in 2009.

Experts say that in order to get a true picture of your body weight, you shouldn’t weigh yourself every day, which is why I step on the scales only after I’ve had food poisoning. Also, this is the time of year when you should set the starting weight on the scales back 10 pounds — “fall back.”

“Dad, you’re gaining weight,” my daughter tells me one day.

My daughter loves me and would say something like this only if she were mistaken. “Shut up,” I say gratefully.

She is a serious cyclist who rides things like The Triple Bypass, which is a series of three mountain passes that each take the rider up past oxygen. She says the view from up there is beautiful, and I’m sure it is, but I have no desire to look down on the space shuttle. “I like it down here, where the air molecules bump into each other all day,” I tell her. “I don’t want to have a bypass.”

To me, a bicycle is a serene mode of transportation — you pedal a few blocks to the bakery, go in for a doughnut, and when you come out, your bike is stolen. Serious cyclists think cycling is about pain.

You can tell someone is a serious cyclist because he’s wearing nerdy clothing in colors like Geek Green and Dark Dork. His shirt has more words printed on it than an average newspaper. And the shorts only come in tight sizes like “cramp” and “hernia.” I have parts of my body that stick out — bike shorts try to stick them back in.

A serious cyclist affixes his feet to the pedals with special clips because that way he can spend more money on special shoes. Clips are made by the same people who invented animal traps and serve the same purpose: to hold you there until you gnaw off your own leg. You can’t stick your foot out for balance, but the good news is that if you fall over, your body will cushion the bike.

Serious cyclists ride around town bent over their bikes in a “my shorts are killing me” position. They often travel in large groups so if a car hits them it will be like bowling.

“Everywhere you go on your bike I can reach in an automobile,” I tell my daughter smugly. “It’s faster, plus I can take home groceries.”

“Too many groceries,” she observes, as if making some sort of point.

Serious cyclists wear gloves that cover everything but the part of your hand that gets cold. Your naked fingers eventually become frozen to the handlebars, which is why serious cyclists ride and ride and ride — they can’t get their hands unstuck to squeeze the brakes.

In my view, the seat of a bicycle should be shaped like the seat of my pants. Serious cyclists believe bicycle seats should be shaped like a fist. After a few hours on that seat, their bodies, like their clothing, are unisex.

“Serious cyclists,” I pronounce to my daughter, “have something against the mechanisms of reproduction. I am a recreational cyclist. I don’t want my lower body parts to be in remission. I ride bikes for fun.”

“You never ride bikes,” she counters.

“That’s right. Because it’s no fun.”

“What are you talking about?” she responds. “The open road, nature, trees, streams ...”

“I can watch all that on my flat-screen television,” I point out. “Besides, you serious cyclists are bent so far over you can’t see anything but the pavement.”

“It’s a good way to lose weight,” my daughter tells me.

I look at her with the wisdom of my superior years. “There is no good way to lose weight. There are only good ways to gain weight. In fact, there are dozens of wonderful ways to gain weight, all of them involving things I’d rather do than become a serious cyclist.”

“Dad,” she sighs, “I’m trying to help you, and all you do is sit here and crack jokes.”

“You’re right, I should do something else. I’ll order some pie.”

She gives me a look — she’s not happy with me.

That’s my problem with bicycling: I refuse to take it seriously.

(Bruce Cameron has a website at http://www.wbrucecameron.com.)