The psychology of cycling

Right, it's late, I'm tired and I'm worn out from football but I just had to put this up. The title might be misleading but bear with me...

Don't get me wrong, I am loving road cycling...but... peel back the lycra, throw away the fingerless gloves and use vaseline only for chapped lips, I AM A MOUNTAIN BIKER. Through and through.

From the age of 7 my parents bought me a Raleigh Mustang. 7 Gears, nobbley tyres. Since then I've gone through a Claud Butler with a flex stem, a Grisley with my first front shocks, a custom built Sintesi (god I loved her) and right now I have the most beautiful Specialized Fsr Xc Pro hanging in my garage needing a little TLC. I go out in any weather, get muddy, fall off (granty too!), break bits, break bits of me. I love it. I will always do it. I AM a mountain biker.

So, why is it that when I am out disguised as a roady on my skinny tired race machine and I nod at my homeys on their fully sussed, multiple inches of suspension mountain bikes, they look the other way?! Inside, the mountain biker in me is screaming "Guys? It's me, really! It's Chris the Mountain Biker. I'm one of you! This lycra is just temporary!" But to no avail.

It's like a click and I think it sucks. So long as it doesn't have an engine, if it's got two wheels we should all nod at one another.... we'll see eh?