Living in the Cape, I often find the mood shift to getting fit for the Argus Cycle Race coincides with the need to shift the old festive fare from the midriff. And typically I think it has started.
Throughout the year cyclists are out and about, but mostly they are the die-hards addicted to the saddle. But right about now the not so addicted, but rather the I’m-doing-the-Argus-this-year cyclists emerge from the dusty garage. You know the type, cobwebs trailing from the helmet and wearing overly snug cycling-pants that do a good job of ball crushing, camel-toeing, or competing with the already uncomfortable thong.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking them for their odd attire. Au contraire, I admire them for donning the kit. Especially the rather rounded belly chaps who look about as comfortable as a well overdue pregnant woman about to throttle her husband for impregnating her.
But I digress. The emerging cyclists I was referring to. Yesterday on my way to work I saw the most exquisite man astride his bike. His face was well hidden, but the bulges and body said it all. He was a hotty. And there he was casually propping up the robot while waiting for his significant other – who clearly is not an addicted cyclist – as she puffed her way up Newlands Avenue in an attempt to reach him. What a nice man he is.
Admittedly the lady in question’s kit was not cobwebbed, but you could tell she was not a cyclist. Her body language said it all, shoulders heaving yet hunched over the handlebars. I can only surmise either her man had bought her a bike to encourage her to join him, or she was in a new relationship and wanted to impress. Whatever her reason, I’m betting she is going to suffer on the day, or the race will not end at Green Point and they will head straight for the divorce courts.
This morning I came upon another couple out for a wee cycle. But this time this couple were on a tandem, and I’m pretty darn sure they were cobwebbed. At a glance I would say this lovely couple were middle-aged, with him on the front and she taking up the rear – clever lady. They had paused for a break at the bottom of Edinburgh Drive, and personally I think they should have turned around and headed for home.
The dear chap at the front was taking strain, his face was etched with a “shit, how the hell am I going to get through this without heart failure”, while his dear lady at the back had the look of “shit, how the hell is HE going to get through this without heart failure.”
So those are my first sightings of what I like to refer to as Argus Fever, and no doubt there will be many more of all shape, size and athleticism during the next few months. And so with that I salute you, you brave cyclists you and leave you with great assurance of my support on the day.
Rest assured I will be out there, cheering you on as you peddle like crazy past me. Watch out for me if you need a push, I’ll be on Edinburgh Drive wearing a pink hat.