There’s mountain biking on a Colorado morning enveloped in the aroma of a dewey pine forest. Then there’s a coffee ride downtown behind a truck belching black diesel exhaust. There’s the aromatic scent of riding a park bike path through a grove of lilac bushes. Then there’s being behind the retired local bike nut that can’t bring himself to wash let alone throw his reeking Mapai kit away. There’s good manure, when riding past posh Lexington, Kentucky horse farms. There’s bad manure, Eastern Kentucky chicken farms. One of my favorite rides rolls past the Precinct Steakhouse in the beginning and finishes with fresh chocolate chip cookies at the Kellogg factory in Fairfax. At a cyclocross race back in '03 some racers jumped the gun mistaking a rider's pre-race hearty beefy toot for the starters pistol. From florescent green algae covered frog ponds to cemented urban rivers, many rides are defined by their nose. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, smile or cry burning tears, they’re part of the experience.
Usually its nature, or the city or “that guy” that’s the source of the olfactory experience, until this past Thursday’s ride, where the smell emanated from moi. No, I was not wearing a funkified freak show decade’s old Mapai kit. However, someone had the gall to ask me, “What detergent do you use?” At first I felt a moment of hesitation. I quick sniffed my pits. Was it a leading question, leading to, “do you even use detergent?” I braced for the worst and dusted my thoughts for a comeback or at least an excuse. Before I could respond gracefully, she added, “No. I mean your kit smells nice. What detergent do you use?”

1 comment:
I might have to try that stuff out – maybe it will regenerate the funk from some of my ranktastic jerseys!
Post a Comment