He didn’t really want to be awake at this hour, but it was the only way. Or one of them, at least. Because he wanted to spend more time with her, he would rise before the sun, making use of the small window between their entwined slumber and the dirge of another day at the office. But still she saw those stolen hours as time he could be spending in her company. She never said it, but he knew…
He didn’t want to give her up, nor the bike. Why should he have to choose? He loved them both, of course, in different ways. She never asked him to make a choice, she knew how much it meant to him, and she knew how much he meant to her, and her to him. There would never be one or the other. There never could. He would always be shared between her and the bike, though in the literal sense, he truly only loved her. In some strange way, she felt lucky for this.
He had made concessions, a ride conveniently forgotten, waylaid, postponed. Still, it seemed to her that he was always flitting off to the trails, always managing to squeeze in another loop. There was never enough time in the day, he would lament. Always tired, both of them. His energy used for the ride, legs and back dully aching, mentally drained, too fatigued to do anything but sleep.
They were not interested in fighting. I don’t want to fight, she said. He didn’t want to either. Rather than fight, they simply wouldn’t talk. When he told her that he could never give up his bicycle to another man, her reaction was one of bemusement. It’s just a bike, she said. His contemptuous retort indicated otherwise; he would never give her up to another man, it’s just not done. Same with the bicycle.
She accepted, if not understood. How could he compare her to a bicycle? He couldn’t, she was the most important part of his puzzle, one that had taken an age to find all the right pieces and fit them together. Some pieces could be interchanged, but not that one. She never wanted to be a Velomiwidow. He would see to it that she wasn’t.
Flesh and blood, steel and rubber, heart and soul.
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Great, great stuff @Brett. Like so many of us, I'm blessed with a wonderful VMW who knows that I'm just a better person for riding a bike. We've got two young kids but she encourages me to ride to work, knowing there's a risk I'll be back late, to get a 4 hour ride every weekend and woe-betide me if I ever sit on the couch on a winter evening rather than getting on the turbo. She's my wife and sports psychologist all in one fantastic package.
I'm loving the term VMW. It gives us all a chance to show our respect for those ladies that help make us who we are, whether they are cyclists or not. Merckx bless every one of them!
The top photo is worth an Anatomy Of A Photo discussion all to itself. I've just realised that everyone in the picture is looking away from The Prophet and in the case of the three gentlemen in the bottom left corner, are actually bowing before him. Other than His, there is one smile that I can see. Maybe his gaze was enough to reduce mere mortals to pools of lactic acid.
@pistard
Fucking brilliant post!
If one was scoring at home, that is two dodgey music videos and one "romcom" reference this week from the Leader.
I'm the victim here. My VMH rides more than me and gets a bit grumpy when I get a TT in while she's at the boy's cricket game.
but on the positive side we have matching BMCs and both got a set of C 24 s for Christmas.
She's keen to replace her bike already and insists we upgrade together.
@Rom
Have you got matching anoraks? Sorry, couldn't resist.
Anyone know what has happened to a pretty darn good site, http://ildolore.cc/archive?
In a sea of reblogged rapha photos and custom neon team kits, those photos were a nice change and retrospective on the beautiful pursuit.
@Ron
http://ildolore.tumblr.com/
Be thankful she includes you in her psycho-lusts. The chivalrous thing to do, of course, is accept that n+1. Share the love!
@G'rilla
Jesus, Jason is such a cool guy, too. I hadn't heard. Will be donating for sure.
God fucking damnit.