It’s summertime. Wake up improbable riders!

As usual, summertime has come. Together with it, blossoms on newborn trees and plants, blue sky, hot weather, cold beer, sunglasses, nude girls… and unprepared riders!
Every single unthinking younger or older biped being spending all the fall-winter-rainy springtime in cars in endlesses lines on the streets for taking the children to school and go to work or shopping in the weekend, or keeping armored in warm and drying flats suddenly wake up from their coma and realize that it’s time to stay fit and not to pollute the already (’cause of their staying in line in roaring suvs) collapsing earth by biking to work, to shopping, to the bowling, to the park with children (’cause they won’t have to take them to school for a couple of months, but they’ll be cursed by uninterrupted cries if the children cannot be at the park with another milion children crying like them every day at the same time).
What they don’t keep in mind is that biking is a jungle full of toxic beasts while they’re muffled in their cubicles, inconceivable while they’re around free to pasture!
So, while you’ve trained all winter long in reaching the lap record to work waking up always later due to a series of incomprehensible biological and environmental reasons, by sliding on icy streets, dodging cackling cars who curse you ’cause you cut throguh them and you’ll surely reach your office on time, coming to work with so much damp in you hair to make you look like a ball of big size candy floss, now that you’ve found the suitable lines to follow and the suitable breath rhythm, now you are forced every day and every evening to slalom within uncontrolled idiot smiling splinters, while old try to fall down in front of you, so that you can hear the cracking of their neck bones while your wheel overcomes them at a superspeed (late as usual), as you’ve no time to turn, hysterical mums cry at their totally unstable children and at you who try to figure out their absurd line and avoid them…but you go wrong, always!, people whit unbelievable loads of shopping bags full of bread and green tufts who ride with their feet constantly down, and the inveitable cars crossing the town at 120 mph, now that the lines are over, all the people go by bike, and they can finally run free and safe ( surely safer than you ).

And when the day’s over, you reached your work, with 5 years more on your nervs, you spend all the day long by fighting with the same cerebrally unicellular beings you found on your way the same morning, you come back home sure that at that time nothing can upset you ’cause you have all the time in the world, the same unstable unicellular children crying at their crying hysterical mums finally reached the park in the meantime, and now they’re ready and trained to hit you and your bike with their balls kicked with unknown force. And sometimes they do it. And sometimes you’d like to leave your wheels on their neck bones. like you risked to do with elderly some hours before, but intentionally. Then your subconscious suggests you that it would be incautios facing the thousands mums stucked in the park who want to lynch you.
No summertime for pro metropolitan riders, no smile on their faces. It’s a hard job.