Father Son Bonding Cycle

I have spent a good portion of my driving career on the four lane highway right along the Pacific Coast known as the 101. Generally this little stretch of road is a kind of refuge for me. Just being able to smell the saltwater and take a peak at the ocean makes any day just a little bit better. Even when you're crammed in rush hour traffic and just crawling along the coast will take you down a notch, make you not take things so seriously, and maybe even put a warm little grin on your face. In a sense the coast is a Hugh Grant movie, minus the forgettable actress du jour. But like any decent Hugh Grant movie there is always the threat of the anti-romantic villain looming nearby, threatening to not let Hugh's charm rule all of humanity .

In this case, the role of actor/actress whose name I don't remember is played by a rare breed known as the cyclist. Too cool to be call bicyclists, these assholes only have two objectives in life, to cut down on wind resistance and ruin everyone's day who decided to not spandex up and ride. I have nothing against bicycles and love riding them myself, but once you make that choice to start shaving your body and wearing figure conforming attire you have changed the whole goddam game. Luckily, I grew up with positive role models that taught me about these upper-middle class grape smugglers. One of my fondest early childhood memories was driving down the coast as my uncle encouraged me to lean out his passenger window and scream "SINGLE FILE!!!" at the packs of idiots in click-in shoes that tried to swarm entire lanes of the 101. Seriously, I was probably 6 years old and I could already see how retarded these middle-aged douche bags were.

Most dads probably dream of having a catch with their firstborn son (also, when the hell did we start calling it having a catch instead of playing catch? and why does this bother me?), which I think will definitely be great. But I cannot wait for the time when I am able to teach the boy the nuances of yelling "single file" at all packs of riders and how adding "Lance" to the end of any sentence is incredibly degrading to any cyclist, even when they aren't doing anything wrong at all ("Easy, Lance"). Then when he asks me why all his educational cartoons and teachers tell him to love everyone and not make fun of people and yet I encourage him to mock this goofy bastards, I will simply tell him that nobody forced these spandex warriors to ride with headphones in, wear yellow rubber bracelets, or generally act like dickheads to anyone that didn't spend $3,000 on a bicycle. Therefore, simply, they earned it.