Back in the saddle


Gear, cyclists are obsessed with gear. The lighter the better. You have have to understand basic metric system measurements as your cyclist will measure everything in millimeters and grams. Don’t fight it; just try to grasp the basics. From the bike frame, to wheels, bars, saddles, tires, hubs, the list goes on and on, all of these things will be pieced together to create the perfect instrument for them to ride. We will only touch on one of these bits of gear today…the saddle.

Saddles, aka, the seat that your cyclist will sit on for an indeterminate amount of time on a weekend, are of utmost importance. Different saddles will be tried, measured to the millimeter, ridden and then adjusted. This will happen often. Sometimes they will rejoice, “I found the perfect saddle!” Then, about a month later they will buy & try a new/better saddle. 

There are a number of components to consider when the saddle is purchased. Again, a lot of time is spent on it, so first up: comfort. Even if the saddle is comfortable to sit on for hours on end, there is usually an added “lubricant” that will ease the pain that can occur over time. These lubricants, or chamois creams, have great names: nubutte, assos, udderly smooth, friction freedom, this list too seems never ending. Noxema also works wonders in case you need a quick and inexpensive cure.

Next on the list: weight. Again, everything is in grams so I can’t honestly tell you I know how much a saddle really weighs as I’ve not taken the time to do the calculations. I do know though that my cyclist husband prefers things that are made of carbon fiber as they hardly weigh a thing, and it looks really cool too.

Speaking of looks, let’s discuss #3: appearance. As much as your guy may tell you he doesn’t care about how he looks on the bike, he does. He’s in spandex, he better look good! All his components should match, or at least coordinate; from the cycling kit, to the bike, to bar tape, and of course the saddle. There is one rule that you should never forget: White is pimp (this phrase will be repeated, often).



Growing up rather shy I was always attracted to the complete opposite. Someone confident, gregarious and intelligent. On our first encounter, my cyclist husband walked into a crowded room, his energy was so intense;  I was slightly terrified. I’d never been around someone like that before. We were part of a group of students and cyclists alike and we became friends. It may have helped somewhat that I worked at a local coffee shop and may have been known to give away a cup of coffee and a muffin every now and again. Cyclists, 99.9% of them anyway, love/can’t live without their daily dose of caffeine. My job, allowed us a great place to get to know each other better – Oh, and the same percentage of cyclists will also always accept free coffee and muffins.

Back to the confident cyclist; guess when you surround yourself with others with that quality, some of it will rub off on yourself, which is what happened to me. A couple months into our friendship, I told him we should go out, on a date, not just as friends. And then we did. Many years later, through many bike races, across the country and across the world he surprised me by asking me to marry him. So I did.

I am a cycling wife. I have stories to share.


How many times a day does YOUR cycling husband talk about weather? We’re guessing it’s LOTS…puddle bike

Living the Dream

When I was a little girl I didn’t dream of being a ballerina or a princess. In fact, I didn’t really give much thought as to what I would be or how my life would turn out. I just went with the flow, did what I was told, and hoped for the best. And then I turned 30.

Having dated my share of investment bankers and lawyers, I was pretty sure those types weren’t for me. But what exactly was the right ‘type’ of guy for me? Someone who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, was active/enjoyed the outdoors, and was somewhat upwardly mobile. Well, three out of four ain’t bad.

So there I was, one early Sunday morning on our first date. It was late summer, not too hot, not too humid. This was a good thing, because he didn’t need to know just yet what a sweaty, smelly-footed gal I was just yet. We went to a bike race. He didn’t win. Then we went out to lunch. I paid. And so it began.

Flash-forward four years later – we’re at our engagement party at my parent’s country club. It was all my mom’s friends so I didn’t know anyone and was therefore pounding drinks (I never said I didn’t drink…) and he was being pawed by all the cougars who were telling him he looked “just like George Clooney”. And then we got married.

We had already been living together for quite a while so I was already well-versed in how to live with a cyclist. A Cat 1 cyclist, in particular. Dirty chains in the bathroom sink, stink-be-gone bottles on the nightstand, time trial wheels stored in what should have been our linen closet.

So here I am, living the dream. But I’m not alone. There are many lucky ladies out there living this same dream. And we’re here to share some of our greatest stories, our most infuriating stories, and our funniest stories. Whether you’re part of our peleton or just hope to be, just remember the wind blows for you too.