The Rules – They were never expected to become this well known. Nor was the list ever going to get this long or be taken this seriously. The Rules were first suggested as a few basic guidelines just to keep some basic civility and decorum on the road. But we took it too far (as we do everything) and now The Rules somehow define the Velominati, the inverse of intention. I use the communal ‘we’ as all Velominati share some responsibility in this.
In the spirit of a new year and spring cleaning, we have ourselves a Rules overhaul, with some New Rules to get excited about. Rule #38, #47, #79 and #81, we forget what those were, but we are moving on. For the official stone tablet version, refer to The Rules page.
- Rule #38 – Don’t leapfrog. Don’t ride back into a group that just passed you and ruin their pace, the pace that you couldn’t keep or you wouldn’t have been passed in the first place, and especially if you’ve been passed by women. Deal with it. You’ve been chicked, get used to it. There are a lot of badass women cyclists and they are going to pass your ass. @Jen gave us this Rule, suggested from personal experience and “getting chicked” is in the lexicon.
- Rule #47 – Drink Tripels, don’t ride triples. Brett was rightly offended by someone on our facebook page suggesting “kicking back with a Corona”. Everyone should be offended by this, even people who come from the land of that other great amber embarrassment, Fosters. I’m told they export it only, there should be a Rule about that. Thirty years ago we were all excited in the USA about the massive oil cans of this exotic Fosters, except you couldn’t chill it cold enough to not taste it and there was even more of it to be gagged down. Enough! Quality beer is a recovery drink. It makes you a better cyclist. OK, that’s a stretch, a happier cyclist then.
- Rule #79 – Fight for your town lines. From our good mate @Rob; “I was out yesterday to start the serious training for the 200 on 100. Met up with a group that were strong but have no race experience. We passed through at least five town lines and one double-point town/county line (nearby is my all time favorite triple – state/county/town). There should be a Rule that says something like “Town lines must be contested or at least faked if you’re not into it”. Every time we went through without sprinting, it was like, what a waste – this is boring! And I’m not even saying I would have won any.” When @Rob speaks, I listen, especially when sprinting is the subject. And yes, he would have won most of those sprints. I miss those rides: mindlessly rolling along when from behind, someone opens up a huge handlebar throwing sprint for a town line that everyone else is too dumb to realize is right up the road. Trash talking ensues, it’s all a way to pass the k’s, amuse each other and hone your sprint. Or nervously clicking ergo shifters so people close by hear and think you are preparing for the big shift and sprint as the town line approaches, forcing someone to do something as the ergo-clicker does nothing but rides along with a dumb grin on his face.
- Rule #81 – Don’t talk it up. Cruel but fair, tempting as it is to talk about one’s most recent road rash to one’s cycling buddies but really, if you are still riding, how bad could it have been? And it was probably your own fault so better to keep quiet. @MarkyMark gave us this gem then he disappeared. MarkyMark come back, you’re famous now.
- Rule #88 – Don’t surge. A rule concerning the mechanics of group riding: when in a paceline, ride the tempo, before you tire, pull off, slow enough to drift to the back as the line ride through. It’s not rocket science, impress people by keeping the pace, not upping the speed when you get to the front. Thanks to John Perry, Sydney Cycling Club for Rule #88.
So there you have it, a slew of new Rules for you to meditate on, discuss amongst yourselves, and of course, Obey.
View Comments
@wedger
Murphys, Murphys, Murphys!!! Not that I cannot understand - indeed, the only thing I can understand about Murphys is that you can't get it anymore
Why would you drink a pint of stout that looks like Guinness, but tastes like sugar has been added and has no texture, and lacks that "drink lakes of the stuff" bitterness that only comes in a pint of Guinness!!! Yada yada yada
@Chris
Man alive - are you suggesting that stuff that is hand pumped out of the cask, and is flat immediately, served at room temperature, and has the taste that can only be achieved by minesweeping the day after a student party, usually drinking the stuff behind the sofa or TV set.....yada yada yada - fizzy stuff in a bottle out of the fridge for me - agreed we ought to drink the local brew in Belgium, but then I am concerned in that I wouldn't recognise a public health warning written in Flemish....
You're a bit of an Old Colonialist, aren't you @Dr C? Veering at times almost towards xenophobia...
@Oli
You know that they say God (the other one) invented Guinness to stop the Irish taking over the world...
@Dr C
Heathen! Whether or not an ale is flat, stale and at the wrong temperature are all controlled by the skill of the guy in charge of the cellar. If he's a clown you can have it the way you describe it but if he knows his shit then it'll be far from it. The liveliness and taste varies a lot regionally and the reason that beer is kept in a cellar is because of the ability to maintain a constant temperature all year round.
I quite like a bit of the chemically stuff but it's more of a means to an end than something to savour.
Public health warnings are to be treated with disdain regardless of the language. They're for the increasingly large portion of the population that doesn't possess enough common sense to ensure their survival or prevent their becoming a burden on the public purse.
@Oli
I do seem to be, indeed - if you can be xenophobic about beer??
@Chris
Sounds like I've been drinking in the wrong places - I shall have to sign up for a re-education in the matter - good excuse anyway - will you be running a British Old Colonial Cogal in the Autumn??
@Dr C
Now there's an idea, the BOCC! But to be properly colonial about it shouldn't we do it somewhere out with British waters? Somewhere a bit warmer, maybe? How about this, although it might be best to reverse the direction so that we get the climbing out of the way and finish on the flat?
Not sure about the availability of fine real ale - John Smiths doesn't count!
Excellent idea - did we own Spain once upon a time?
Just enjoyed a pint of something called 99 red baboons. Actually I didn't so much enjoy it as suffer it, principly because of the amount and variety of red burgundy and chicken tossed down my pie hole last night. In other news, my mum just discovered some Oakley Frogskins that I had when I was about 14. They are dark like freaking welding goggles. No wonder I used to crash so much.
@Dr C
To say that we owned Spain might be a bit inaccurate and inflammatory so it might be best to say that we borrowed large parts of it for the Peninsular Wars against the small French chap. Officially, we never quite got round to giving Gib* back and unofficially we've also still got the rest of the coast which is why you can get a decent fry up and a pint of best bitter (gassy cold shit rather than real ale) despite it being 40C outside.
Obviously, wars are expensive, messy and if you lose you don't want to have the winner stood in your smashed up front room leering at your wife, much easier to start an argument at a friends place. Also, war was considered to be good sport back then so why not combine it with decent weather, a few beers and exotic food - the origin of today's lads tour with their associated alcoholic carnage and poor behaviour.
We must have owned Portugal at some point, most of the port houses are of British origin.
*Try finding that place on a Spanish map!
@Joe
I usually can't stand it when someone posts song lyrics, but I just can't resist:
(sung to the tune of Nena's 99 Luftballoons):
You and I, and a lot of dead primates.
Look at those darn dirty dead apes.
All of them lying on the ground.
All of them have just dropped dead.
All of those primates, lying dead.
Their blood is oozing on my carpet.
I look down the hall and see that
Ninety-nine dead baboons lay there.
Ninety-nine dead baboons.
Stinking up my perfect home.
Somebody open up a window.
Get rid of those apes for pete's sake.
Those apes were full of life.
Then all of them just died.
Oh my oh my oh my.
Ninety-nine dead baboons lay there.
Ninety-nine deceased primates.
Ninety-nine funerals to attend.
Their blood oozes on the carpet.
And I can't stand that rancid smell.
This is horrid, this isn't right.
Get those apes out of my sight.
I look in the hall and am shocked.
As ninety-nine dead baboons lay there.
Ninety-nine dead primates.
Stinking up my perfect house.
I can't stand their smell.
Or the blood on the carpet.
Trying to clean up this disgusting mess.
Stubborn blood stain won't come off.
As Ninety-nine dead baboons lay there.
Ninety-nine dead baboons lay there
Ninety-nine apes in here.
Every one a dead baboon.
It's such a mess, what a pity.
They belong in jungles, not a city.
If I could just get rid of them.
Those darn dirty stinking apes.
All of those rotten dead baboons.
I'd be much happier you know.