Author’s Note: Be aware that the following post contains graphic descriptions, filth and topics that might be inappropriate for children. However, childish adults will love it.
Thanks to “The Great Thaw of 2011,” I am now able to regularly get out and ride. This is a great relief to Laura since my Seasonal Affective Disorder that annually takes hold in February has made me more than just SAD. I have been driving Laura crazy.
At this time of the year, the run-off of melting snows onto the streets leaves me and my bike filthy at the end of a ride. That is not a problem though. I actually like the grime. It gives me a sense of accomplishment to be out battling through the mess. Both the bike and I clean up easily.
Here’s the problem. It stems from the throne on my bike, the saddle. For years, I rode on the very popular Fizik Arione saddle. Very cool looking saddle that also was a major pain you know where for me. I wanted something shaped more like a real saddle and not a long, flat plank like the Arione.
To the rescue came a Specialized Romin Pro Saddle. I loved it from the first time I settled onto the newly released model. It has a nice channel that eases pressure on the delicate Perineum, an added bonus for an old rider still intent on having lots of…well you get the picture.
However, it is that channel that now has caused another kind of discomfort, and embarrassment. We had a very dry summer, fall and early winter. Even our heavy snows were dry. Once the pavement was cleared, I could ride with little mess. That is until last week and the melt down.
Without fenders, a spinning rear wheel and tire shoots a steady spray up the backside. What I had never experienced was that spray shooting up through the channel in the saddle. It made me feel as though I was sitting on a French Bidet squirting muddy Mississippi River water up my butt. Even with padded cycling shorts, the initial wetness was discomforting.
I squeezed in 25 miles of riding during an extended lunch Wednesday. As I pulled off my grit covered gear in the men’s staff locker room at KU, I laid my bib knickers on the floor without much thought. That is until I noticed one of the other men staring down at the messy rear pad. There for all to see was a narrow, dark brown, gritty stripe that looked exactly as though I had an accident in my pants. I quickly wrapped them up and tossed them into my bag.
Men will understand what I am about to say, just as women will find it disgusting. It doesn’t take much for a grown and mature man to go “junior high” when it comes to embarrassing another man. I wanted to make sure the stripe that built up from the muck going up through my saddle wasn’t going to be my undoing now or in the future. I have learned the soiled lesson my throne bestows.