I got into another cycling-induced spousal skirmish after the Nichols Ride yesterday, and it occurred to me that other people’s relationships may also be negatively affected by their cycling habit.

I sent out a series of text messages to various people and came up with the following Top Three list of 72 things your spouse hates about cycling:

Cycling. People who cycle. Cyclist parties. Bike shops. “Just going for a short spin.” “I’ll help clean up around the house after I get back.” Getting a ride in before dinner with (non-cycling) friends. 4-hour Saturday ride coma. 4-hour Sunday ride coma. Bike-related purchases. Your stupid bike diet. Your stupid race recap. Your stupid bike. The stupid parts on your stupid bike. Always being late. Eating all the food and then complaining about your weight. Your friends’ bloody, disfigured injury photos on Facebag. You can get up at 4:00 AM for your stupid ride but can’t get up at 6:00 AM for your stupid job. Your ass is smaller than his/hers. And tighter. Conversations beginning with “I was on a ride and …”, “I rode with … today and she …”, “On the ride this morning …” The phrase “I’m soooooo tired.” “When you gonna be back?” “Before noon for sure.” All conversations eventually lead to cycling. Those tires/wheels/shoes/parts/clothes cost how much? You’re hungry all the time. You eat all the time. You’re skinny all the time. You’re happy all the time. Gone all weekend. Every weekend. Cycling “vacations.” Race “spectating” a/k/a standing alone for hours in the raging heat with nothing to watch or do. Telling him/her about how the warranty went for your carbon wheelset that delaminated. Talking about bike repairs. Explaining how to swap cogs on a freehub. Dirty chamois on the carpet. Or worse, bed. Post-ride stink. Nasty water bottles in the sink. Sticky drink mix dribbled on the counter. Half-eaten BonkBreaker in the clothes drawer. Need a ride home from Malibu. You live in Long Beach. Ferocious, glass-cracking morning shits. Screaming 3:00 AM cramp sessions. Thick black chain grease on the guest hand towels. Farts you can measure on the Richter scale. Ride-induced erectile dysfunction. Cycling “art” on the walls. Your car garage is filled with bikes. The word “carbon.” Anything to do with Strava. Anything to do with watts. “Hey, honey, let me read you this post from my friend’s cycling blog. It’s hilarious!” Wound care. Phone calls from a hospital that begin with, “Is this Mr./Mrs. Johnson?” “My coach says …” n+1 The Tour. The Giro. The Vuelta. The classics. Eddy Merckx. Your training plan. Explaining how to time trial. Why you didn’t win. Doping. How you got taken out. Who you dropped. Your PR. Hanging out with your weird cyclist friends. Your embarrassingly ugly outfits. Stupid jargon in your stupid bike stories. Indoor trainer puddles. Who you beat on Zwift.

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