The spirit is willing but the ass is weak...


New Member
Jan 12, 2004
I wrote this article for my web-site a little while ago - thank God I've got over the worst and I'm starting to enjoy riding again... :cool:

A little while ago I decided, for some obscure reason, that I simply was not enduring enough day-to-day agony. Having decided that this simply would not do, and in a frenzy of compulsive self-destructive glee, I shelled out an ungodly amount of money to acquire a fully aluminium, state-of-the-art torture device with all available accessories. For the first few days I gingerly inflicted a modest amount of pain upon my self but I swiftly realised that this was a long way off of fulfilling my ultimate goal of shrieking, mind-blowing hurt. So for the last two days, without any fuss or needless contemplation, I have climbed onto this beastly machine and inflicted the most heinous amount of damage to my nether regions imaginable.

This damage has been to such an extent that I have been walking about like a cowboy who has been riding a pregnant hippopotamus for a week viz. bow-legged with really weird facial-expressions. Luckily I have not needed to face this odyssey alone as I have been joined by three other nice, but obviously crazy, fellow pain-junkies. Strangely their torture devices are obviously not working as efficiently as mine as they do not seem to be exhibiting the same awkward I’ve-been-molested-by-an-elephant gait that I currently find myself afflicted with. So, you may be asking, what the hell is this fiendish device that you’ve stupid enough to buy? And what the hell are you doing to yourself? Well at least that’s what I would have asked being the obsessively inquisitive weirdo that I happen to be. In any case I going to tell you whether you like it or not: It’s a bicycle.

This is without any fragment of doubt the most devilish instrument of agony ever welded together. In the brief lucid moments between bouts of roadside proctology I have also made note of the following: The bicycle’s torture efficiency increases exponentially with upward gradients, gale-force wind, high mileage / speed or temperature, potholes and brain-donor’s driving buses. Another amazing phenomenon is the saddle’s ability to transform into a 18- inch surgical steel spike after a staggeringly short amount of time: After 30-minutes the saddle feels as if it is lodged somewhere just under my ribcage with my pelvic girdle split and shoved up into my armpits. All this pain is somehow made bearable by the whimsical fantasy that somehow at some nondescript future date the pain will stop and I will be one way or another magically fit and strong. What would be unbearable though are the bouts of hysterical laughter should I need reconstructive surgery on my ass in the near future…

…So be it