How come my wife knows more about my bike and kit than I do…
Exhibit A:
My winter boots. Upon entering the bicycle shop Fat Lad tried on several pairs of boots. All were either too big or too small each lacking the required “Goldilock” factor. Settling upon a pair too big Fat Lad was happy but Mrs Fat Lad asks “Are you sure you’re not just buying them so you have a pair?”
Two rides later, one pair of blistered heels and it’s one nil to her indoors.
Exhibit B:
My Camelbak. The cloudwalker I’d been using for years had seen much better days and had more holes than American Foreign Policy. (Smelled just as bad too). Upon entering a different bike shop I chose a MULE. Fat Lad was happy with the subtle styling and general shiny shiny factor but Mrs Fat Lad asks “It’s quite a bit smaller than the one you have now. Are you sure you don’t want to do a bit of research?”
Many rides later, many times cursing for lack of space on my back and it’s two to nothing for my better half.
Exhibit C:
My Saddle. The saddle that came with the skill-compensator I think was hewn from granite. Super extra gosh-my-that-smarts-a-little hard granite. Upon entering the bike shop (several hundred miles from home this time) I surplanted my backside on the foam Specialized arse measurig device and plumped for the 143 width design. Fat Lad was happy with the racy shape and very light construction but Mrs Fat Lad asks “That’s awfully narrow for your *ahem* fuller behind and you sure you don’t want the 155 instead?”
Too many rides finding out exactly where my sit bones are and it’s the hat trick for the love and light of my life.
So the score is defintely weighted on the XX side of the chromosome team of this relationship. It made me realise that even when your better half isn’t out there pedalling with you she still is supporting and listening to your two wheeled obsessions. That without the support of Mrs Fat Lad I don’t even think I’d be half as good as I am.
Fat Lad
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