Sparklemagic

Jorge's most recent comment about my use of vice grips for purposes of self-pleasure, while completely untrue, has got me thinking. As a complete aside, I do have on very good authority that Jorge has a strangely pleasurable use (in his opinion) for sash-clamps and kitty litter. Never, ever let this man in your home workshop, or for that matter near your BBQ.

Where my trail of thought has gone, inspired by Jorge's fictions, is towards the seven cardinal sins. I thought about how they apply to me, and how I can share them, hopefully in the cause of education and elucidation.

No, I'm not going to give you an unbridled rifle through my history, the nasty stories of mooing girls, the sordid tales of amoral women, or my time as the cell mate of The Beast. Okay, all that was imagined, but a worthwhile imagining it is. No, I'm merely going to relate how they apply to me in a cycling context.

Lust
Rarely do I do it now, but riding through summer pedestrian traffic always inspires lust in me. That sort of head snapping lust that only summer dresses and warm temperatures can inspire.

Greed
I'm greedy for more quality miles that I can hold dear. The ride with Junior up to Woodcocks, avoiding nasty weather, having a tailwind for miles and getting home smug, that sort of thing I am greedy for. I can slog miles in darkness and precipitation to be fit enough to go and enjoy a ride like that, then not be happy with just that ride and want more.

Envy
Any man who gets close to Milla, oops in a cycling context, any man who lives near any of those wonderful metal roads in Rodney District. If it was me, I'd have a dedicated bike to rip around on those roads on wet days, coming home covered in grit and as happy as Milla's dearest.

Wrath
Contrary to what some of you may believe I am rarely afflicted with wrath. I may be opinionated, but rarely experience wrath. I do feel wrath deeply with broken glass and littering, I felt the glimmerings of wrath on Saturday seeing carelessly discarded race food wrappers on the course of the K2, that's just simply unacceptable. I also felt a twinge of wrath towards so many arrogant or ignorant riders at the K2 who failed to acknowledge or thank the marshalls. Volunteers, the marshalls, without them the day wouldn't happen and a lot of them spent the day in a fluoro vest with a flag in biting wind to make the day safe for us, the riders. In that case, two words "Thank You" from the riders goes a helluva a long way, but as I noticed in the various bunches I was in, I was one of the few who offered anything. That created the stirrings of wrath in me.

Gluttony
One only needs to look at my glossy pelt, seal like figure and lycra threatening form to realise that Gluttony is a true cross for me to bear. Or should I say Beer? Okay, I'll have another, and some cheese and salami, chorizo, wine, ravioli, yorkshire pudding, prawns, doner kebabs, fries, naan, caramel slice, Hello Rosie, pain au raisin, brioche, beef wellington, cannoli, vanilla glazed donuts, goobers, larb gai, lenzil zupper, refried beans, deep fried bacon wrapped cheese stuffed jalapenos, indian pale ales and then there's time for dinner. Gluttony is my ever present friend.

Pride
In my case, it's pride in working out a training route that may break me, or someone else, and then the satisfaction of seeing to made so. There's nothing quite like seeing someone broken and miserable, not because of bunch pace or a hammerfest, but purely by the roads and route. That inspires an unholy pride in me. Mikeal's Coatsville Conniption springs to mind

Sloth
My Spousal Barnacle could write an epic to rival War and Peace on my sloth, but rather than let her get the upper hand, I'll confine it to the phrase that inspires fear in me "Alarm Clock". A warm bed, a gentle awakening and an unhurried rise should be mandatory in my world.

So, there are my seven sins, apart from those I'm a blemish free soul.