Damn, and I thought roadies were sensitive…

Welcome to the Super Mega Blog Blowout Showdown!  Gloves are off!  Ding ding, round one!

Just kidding.  But I did apparently piss off Seattle triathlete blogger Joe Tysoe with the reference to my “triathlete-grade bike handling skills” on the About page of this site.

I never meant to hurt anyone’s feelings and rest-assured that I know most triathletes out there could hand me my ass on a platter on any given day.

So, let this be an announcement to the world!  (Or at least the ten people reading this blog)

I love you triathletes!  It’s only a joke!  I love you so much!  I respect and worship you!  I can’t hang!  You destroy me.  I succumb to your hyper-fitness.  I am conquered.

And, Joe, I definitely haven’t seen any triathlons on television.  I’ll bet they’re really hard, but I’m just going to have to take your word for it.  Too tough for me.

By the way, J-Lo isn’t returning my calls so if you know how I can get a hold of her, I’d appreciate any help there.  I figure if I go train with her maybe she’ll loan me a pair of $350 Tom Ford sunglasses and I can “forget” to give them back.  Or maybe she’ll just give me a really expensive celebrity-only nutrition bar.  Either way…


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  1. Wow, someone needs a hug…

  2. Dying. Of . Laughter.

    J-Lo isn’t calling you back because I borrowed a pair of her bootylicious pink, 4″ inseam tri shorts and got Gu all over them. She may be through with training partners.

  3. You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you Lindsay.
    Thanks a lot!
    We were gonna be tight, too. Damn.

  4. I’m trying to quell my own gag reflex after reading his mean spirited words.

    I think a better way to voice his feelings would be to draw big frowny faces on his arms and legs with black permanent marker, and then ride around the block (in aero bars) while wearing a speedo. He could make big quelling noises.

  5. Erik.
    That made me laugh really, really, really hard. And loud. I laughed so loud that Sal stood up and came over to my desk to see what was so funny.

    For the record, Joe and I have done an official virtual handshake and laugh together. We’re going to have a tea party later this month if anyone is interested.

  6. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I’m calling you out for mentioning your ‘gut’ in your About Page. Some of us have worked for 18 years to get the kind of gut we have, and you just toss it out all willy-nilly.

    I’ve ridden with a gut, golfed with this gut….you my friend, do not have a gut!

  7. C’mon, man! I put 6 cases of Stone Imperial Russian Stout into this gut this year… that’s a lot of investment. SIX CASES!!!

  8. Poor Heidi, this blog is forever defiled. I feel dirty… I wrote one today, just for the two of you!

  9. Sheesh.

    Kudos for being a kind (and not crazy) person.

  10. Before I was a cyclist, I was a triathlete. I fit the stereotype to a “t”. I couldn’t corner, I couldn’t look around without swerving, I had trouble staying close enough to the wheel in front of me to catch a draft, and I got nervous when others were within arms reach. Actually touching other cyclists while riding (even gentle, accidental grazing) would send bolts of fear from my fingers to my toes; I’d lock my arms and grip the bejezus out of the bars. I quickly built a reputation for crashing, and for causing crashes.

    Obviously this isn’t true for all triathletes — some of them handle themselves beautifully when riding in a group. Likewise, there are cat 5 riders who can rally around corners like a pro, but that doesn’t mean I’d feel anywhere close to safe in a cat 5 crit.

    I fully endorse the use of the term “triathlete-grade bike handling skills.”

    Gliderbison, over and out.

  11. So the tri-guy could hand you your ass on a platter, hyper-fitness-wise, but tri-guy could not actually negotiate a turn to catch you and hand you your ass.


    I’m such a horrible person.

  12. +1 for Snarky — humorous in battle, gracious in victory!

    I don’t mind the low-grade handling skillz of the Tri-types (which I can see from a hundred yards, and avoid) as much as the grim-cyclist attitude vibe… c’mon, we’re all on two wheels, would it kill them to say howdy as me and my smiling wife cruise past?

  13. Cross Stressor

    I admit to you that I have lifted your brilliant line more than once to describe my, um, yet to be fully realized bike handling skills. My kids actually think the object of ‘cross is to fling yourself off the bike at every turn or off-camber bit to get as filthy as possible. They look in awe at the bruises, scrapes and scabs that adorn my legs and elbows during cross season. I am a champion in their five year old minds and that’s pretty cool.

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