"Learning to live and living to learn"
In the corner of the universe which I call home, I have noticed a rather curious phenomenon which heralds the transition between week and weekend. Perhaps you have noticed similar memes.
I like to arise early in the morning, unlike the wife and Lily, (the dog who must be adored), who prefer to plan out the day, coffee in hand, atop the Titanium Aerocoil® Springs of the latest in mattress technology, (i.e., the bed). During the week, as I make my way to the office, the roads are clogged with commercial vans of assorted sizes, each emblazoned with such expressions of masculinity as, “Right Construction”, “Groundforce”, or my favorite, “Willow Pumps”. I often wonder who exactly Willow is and what exactly does he pump, but I digress. Mind you, the cars are no better, humungous “all-terrain” models with names like “Terminator” or “Voyager”, which I assume, were designed for those who live in the wilderness rather than the sleepy villages in the Kent countryside.
However, at weekends, the scene in the early morn is very different. On Saturday, the drivers of those fuel-injected expressions of masculinity, men of a certain age who really should know better, attire themselves in garishly colored lycra, and swap the car/van for the very latest in pedal-power. These strange looking, extremely well-fed creatures, which remind me of a Glaswegian Butcher shop window full of haggis in various stages of decomposition, fill the roads, and inhibit my attempts to reach my destination.
Do not get me wrong, I admire the intention to exercise and the dedication to environmental preservation, if only at the weekends, is to be applauded. But is it necessary to approach the two-wheeled weekend meander as if you were lining up to tackle the Pyrenees in the Tour de France?
Cycle, by all means, but you do not have to dress like a high visibility haggis to do so.