It’s a matter of fact. They ride around wearing some kind of lycra outfit that even James Bond would struggle to pull off. They are brave, colorful and addicted to high speed. They don’t know the difference between red and green lights, and definitely they are keen on cycling on their own bespoke two wheels. Cycling socks dopers indeed.
You can see them mostly on Saturday or Sunday mornings, riding next to the white line on the road. They try to reach the countryside, many the hills, some daredevils amongst them go for the mountain peak’s. They are the enthusiastic cyclists.
Nothing can distract them, except… a girl on bike. These misses are a dying species. Here is the point. The male cyclists are afraid of the few girls who dare to go for a ride with them. Macho competitiveness can’t deal with these ladies. Yet those guys are completely charmed by a girl who cycles alone. Better if she has a long pair of legs. These males present a few typologies:
The old guy with huge big white moustache. e shows, all of a sudden, his 36 teeth for a seductive smile. e is used to ride alone or with a couple of friends on an obligatory vintage road bike. Better without his helmet. e need to keep his hairstyle.
The muscled and shaved team (oh my gosh). They are apparently insensible to these cutie girls. Too absorbed by their own performances. But if you look better, you can see them elbow poking each others, risking their noses onto the tarmac, getting the wheels in a fix.
The ones who ride alone. Dressed smartly, showing off an uber chic arm warmer. e cracks a smile meaning «you are real hottie but, don’t you see how cool am I?». Actually he is fluttering his eyelashes under his pair of technological sunglasses.
Two or three guys. A miscellaneous group of men. Chatting and riding. Talking about carbon ultra lightweight frameworks, pedals and saddles, and the champion Fausto Coppi. Because there is only one religion. The two wheels one. They don’t mind about their big belly, although they don’t breath in to conceal it, while they say ciao! And bravely sprint as Marco Pantani used to do.