Have you ever bonked really bad on ride? Not like you’re in a race and suddenly you realize you can’t chase the break. I mean, you’re on a long training ride in the middle of nowhere and your blood-sugar level falls through the floor, you start sweating weird and get light-headed. You only brought 2 gels with you, and you consumed the second one an hour ago.
Suddenly you start thinking that the wet pile of leaves next to the road might be a good place to lie down and sleep.
You’re well beyond daydreaming about the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet; now you want city zoning commissioners and 7-11 corporate executives to explain why there isn’t a f***ing convenience store next to your route. You want a Pepsi and a king-sized Butterfinger right now, bitch!
Why didn’t you bring your cell-phone with you? You could have called one of your friends to end your agony with a car ride home. But then again, all of your friends would just laugh in your face for forgetting to bring enough food and riding too far. Those smug bastards are probably sitting at home right now, all warm and comfortable watching tv with your Pepsi and a chicken sandwich or maybe it’s a roast beef sandwich with havarti on rye and some chips ah, yes, chip .those freakin kettle chips that are really crunchy and salty mmmmm, kettle chips.
The hollow in your stomach listens to the evil in your heart. You start looking at pedestrians, maliciously wondering if they have food in their pockets. You bet those parents with young children have food. Yeah, it’s probably in the back of the stroller. Ooh, you’d kill for a ziplock sandwich bag of cheerios, wouldn’ you?
Why did you have to choose the fixed-gear to ride today? Your hamstrings are pissed. And why’d you have to live on top of a hill? Stupid, stupid 12% grade. And then you get home to an empty refrigerator. No, no, NOOOOOO!!! All you wanted was a Pepsi just one Pepsi
Thirty minutes later at the grocery store you pass out in a 32oz pool of spilled fountain drink after attempting to eat an entire rotisserie chicken and a family side of deli mac-n-cheese before even leaving the self-checkout. As the you descend into a food coma, unseeing eyes staring up from a spreading slick of Pepsi, the check-out cashier hears your voice:
the horror, the horror.