I could pepper this post with all sort of unsavory metaphors about what my tush feels like right now, but "ow ow ow" just about covers it.
I haven't ridden a bike in quite awhile, and my ass is definitely reminding me of that fact. In light of an upcoming trip to Gotland that will include more than just a little cycling around the island, I thought it would be a good idea to rent a bike and take it for a spin around Stockholm before I get 25 miles into the middle of nowhere, with only the sheep to comfort me and my aching ass.
I was mainly worried that my foot wouldn't be up to such a long trip (since I smashed my heel in a car accident last summer), but in the end, it's all about the butt. To brush up on my less-than-stellar biking skills, we went a 10 mile ride around Djurgården last night. Of course, the bike I was riding weighed about three metric tonnes and was probably manufactured sometime in the 19th century, but other than that, Stockholm by bike was perfectly lovely.
"This bike doesn't want to go up this hill!" I yelled to Steve, who was coasting along ahead of me on his state-of-the-art road bike.
"Are you sure it's not the engine rather than the bike?" he called back, too far ahead for me to catch up and give him the evil eye.
Other than a few bumps in the road, and some near-death experiences involving oncoming traffic, the ride went smoothly. The problems came later, after dismounting the bike. The problem with getting off the bike when you are anywhere other than just outside your front door, is that you have to get back on the bike to get to your final destination. My butt didn't think that was such a good idea.
I've been walking a bit bowlegged for the last 24 hours, and don't foresee it wearing off anytime soon.
The next time you need to come up with an excuse NOT to get on the bike, you might as well start it with "butt butt..."
Trust me, your ass will thank you.