I've made a change to this blog. It used to be Needle Noses, but without the foster dogs parading through my life and lounge, I felt this was becoming too stale. Not that Omazing and Fabuliss could ever be stale (this is about them, not their bum bombs, which get stale and linger), but I wanted to shake things up. Yes, getting radical here. Hell's Angels are terrified now.
The last photo in last Saturday's post got me to thinking. I'm a slow cyclist. This isn't to say that I cycle slowly (I do), but that I'm doing what I can to cycle for transportation and enjoyment. I'm not out to walk around in cut-off spandex that look like I'm wearing several 70s-era maxi pads. I respect those cyclists, but that's not my aim. More power to them. Some cycle incredible distances over steep terrain. I mean them no disrespect for their athletic prowess. However, negligible body fat still won't make padded crotches sexy. Sorry.
I try to ride to work at least four times a week and use the bike for shopping, going to cafés, and just aimless wandering. I've noticed that the world looks different when I can't speed through it. Most blogs are about observations. This one has always focused on greyhounds, but what else can it do?
My bike is an Electra Amsterdam, a complete surprise Christmas present from the Manboy last year. I would have purchased an Amsterdam, but he got me an Alexander Girard special edition La Fonda del Sol, guaranteeing at least 20 more years of youbetchasex.
Persephone Buttercup has a cup holder, a deck for my iPhone, and some great bags from Basil. I've recently purchased a "Pageant Queen" reflective sash and a rack tote (purse-to-go) from Cycle Style. You could say that I'm set. You could also say that I have to live to at least 110 before I get a break from the no-questions-asked sex I owe.
I've accessorised. I don't see how this is any different than ordering a car with no stereo so that you could get your own fancy one, or subscribing to satellite radio, or requiring a GPS system that talks to you in any accent or dialect you want, yet people usually comment about how much this must cost. Seriously? This is my car. Manboy and I have a Suzuki Swift that stays at home unless one of us truly needs it. One car. The cheap little Suzuki is still more expensive than my bike, trust me. As for the fuel, it's pretty awesome. My bike runs on muffins, apples, stir fry and peanut butter, and it's impossible for Manboy to fart and lock the windows.
But what about my dogs? I can get them into the Suzuki. Omo's even found that he likes to nest like a baby at a pub:
I don't like him down there and we're working on the harness, but for the occasional trip to the country, he's fine. Cheeky bugger wouldn't think he's Mr Cool if he realised that he's showing us his manhood.
The harness issue is for another post. Dog parks are everywhere here. I only use the car for the country and the vet. What I want is a way to take the dogs to other dog parks or people parks that are far away. They'd love the breeze; I'd love the extra oomph to my weekend meanderings.
What I need is a wagon so that I can pretend to be a suburban mum ungrateful children lugging them around to parks outside our immediate surrounds. I might even add a stick figure family to my wagon, but I'll take a razor to the stickers to make us twisted and headless. If I can get a wagon (trailer is the correct term, but — yawn — I like wagon because it's more like a toy) hooked up to Persephone Buttercup, I'd be set for life and so feckin' smug that you'd have to shoot me. "Oh, I can't come out to play, I must ride with my boys to a park just to see and be seen. Thank you. Move over."
We will stay 90% about the hounds here but with a sprinkling of fat-tyre/slow-cycling posts. Think of it like a poppyseed bagel without the risk of testing positive for heroine. By the way, an ex-boyfriend of mine did test positive because of his love of poppyseed bagels. He passed the second test, which violated every nook and cranny from his toes to his fanny.
(Persephone Buttercup is so named because she looks like spring, and I had "My Little Buttercup" from The Three Amigos stuck in my head when I rode.)
The rules as explained by Sir Nigel Buggsalot.
The peeps who play: