The Unbeatable Team Flomax

(Note: this post contains the F' word numerous times and for good reason) White hair pokes from their ears between their helmet straps. With quad-zilla legs and wrinkly elbows, they jokingly refer to their kind as Team Flomax. Retired or semi-retired with more time to ride and enough money to handsomely finance the cycling habit, they’re fast fuckers too. They’re reached the age of the unbeatable. Old enough that there isn’t too much competition older than them and, at the same time, getting beat by anyone younger than them just isn’t fair. On top of that, beating anyone younger than them is like natural Viagra. Beating anyone younger than them and then rubbing it in the unsuspecting youth’s face is like taking Viagra with Red Bull. That’s the real reason retirement is grand. It’s a free pass to give youth the middle finger.

Put it this way, if you don't recognize the pills on the left, you're not on Team Flomax...yet. For anyone too young to be on Team Flomax, which I realize is somewhat subjective, the same principal that makes it completely lame to win any competition versus a 2 year old also makes it a chump move to outsprint or drop someone who is taking more money out of their 401k than you’re putting in. Essentially, if you’re on a group ride with a soon to be senior and you're not one, you’re fucked. And, they fuckin’ know it.

The county sprint sign loomed over the next riser. As the pace stepped up a notch and then another, the lead-out man of Team Flomax made his move with his captain in tow. That’s as irresistible to a cyclist as a moving ribbon to a cat. Instinctively, I clawed onto the train. It left the station too early. Their cars derailed and I came around and nabbed the honors with a good two bike lengths to spare!

So, how’s it feel to beat up on a guy who turns 60 this year? He asked with a quizzical twinkle of sarcasm in his eye. With one line, the fucker let the air out of my tires. I can call him fucker because I’ve ridden with him enough times to have earned the privilege. And, the fucker just played the AARP card. Old fuckers also enjoy being fuckers. Out of breath because I actually used every ounce of energy I had to beat their asses, “Fuck I’m 42,” I said. The last spec of jubilation drained from my brain and was replaced with a good ‘old dose of catholic guilt and humility. No quip of a comeback in mind, fuck, I thought. “Shit he’s 55? Tom, how old are you?” He asked another guy continuing to twist the knife he jabbed in my ego. Tom shouted back,” 53” or something like that. “What? You still out of breath,” he niggled me again. Son of a bitch, I thought. Older guys love being fuckers and I fuckin’ love it.

One day I’ll be a fucker too.