He didn’t really want to be awake at this hour, but it was the only way. Or one of them, at least. Because he wanted to spend more time with her, he would rise before the sun, making use of the small window between their entwined slumber and the dirge of another day at the office. But still she saw those stolen hours as time he could be spending in her company. She never said it, but he knew…
He didn’t want to give her up, nor the bike. Why should he have to choose? He loved them both, of course, in different ways. She never asked him to make a choice, she knew how much it meant to him, and she knew how much he meant to her, and her to him. There would never be one or the other. There never could. He would always be shared between her and the bike, though in the literal sense, he truly only loved her. In some strange way, she felt lucky for this.
He had made concessions, a ride conveniently forgotten, waylaid, postponed. Still, it seemed to her that he was always flitting off to the trails, always managing to squeeze in another loop. There was never enough time in the day, he would lament. Always tired, both of them. His energy used for the ride, legs and back dully aching, mentally drained, too fatigued to do anything but sleep.
They were not interested in fighting. I don’t want to fight, she said. He didn’t want to either. Rather than fight, they simply wouldn’t talk. When he told her that he could never give up his bicycle to another man, her reaction was one of bemusement. It’s just a bike, she said. His contemptuous retort indicated otherwise; he would never give her up to another man, it’s just not done. Same with the bicycle.
She accepted, if not understood. How could he compare her to a bicycle? He couldn’t, she was the most important part of his puzzle, one that had taken an age to find all the right pieces and fit them together. Some pieces could be interchanged, but not that one. She never wanted to be a Velomiwidow. He would see to it that she wasn’t.
Flesh and blood, steel and rubber, heart and soul.
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@brett Well done. The lead photo is particularly enlightening. All these years it never occurred to me there was a Mrs. The Prophet. I just assumed Axel was born from Eddy's sweat having been ceremonially sprinkled on a Super Record gruppo.
The VMH read this, stared at me coldly started playing this song.
The key lyrics here are:
@frank
Clarity is good.
It's way better than untreated syphilis.
Ughh...Seattle CX champ, LBS mechanic, and super nice guy Jason Williams was severely injured while riding home from work. I think I might have talked to him in the shop a few hours before it happened.
Broke 5 ribs and shattered his shoulder.
Donations being taken for his recovery.
http://www.mfgcyclocross.com/2013/11/call-for-help-for-jason-williams-our-friend-mfg-cyclocross-champ/
@frank Brett's used to responses like that from women.
I'm a far better velomi-spouse when I'm riding. I a fat sack of shit at the best of times, but at least then I'm a fat SOS that rides a bike.
@frank
Holy shit that was so bad, I only made it to 40sec and had to gouge my ears out.
To all the above commenters: I am most impressed by the way you talk about your spouses, be they a vmh or vmw. And I do mean that as a compliment.
@frank
When I read it I also thought first how lucky I am and second it reminded me of the Kevin Bl***y Wilson song Ollie and Olga. I was going to post a link to it but when I listened to it again I thought it risked offending too many people so you'll have to hunt it out yourselves - if you don't know it.......
Oh and re previous - if you are in work - do not play it with the speaker on!! You might get fired.
@Buck Rogers
+1 to this, I am the same. My missus is often quite happy to get rid of me for a few hours.
She admitted to me that she likes me riding my bike as it keeps me slim, fit and healthy unlike some of the fat slobs around town.
Nice to have that support - a friend of mine hid his new bike in his workshop for a month before owning up!