Traditionally, Tuesday is the day when The Wattmeister does not ride a bike. He needs a day off in order to attend to the important practical chores which have been building up in the preceding week.
Ever since The Wattmeisterin went on strike on 16th December 1988 (the day after their wedding), he has been responsible for taking care of his own laundry, personal hygiene and tying his own shoelaces. Some impartial observers, his mother for example, have declared that this has been the making of him.
Over the years, his skillset has refined and developed to include such tasks as choosing his own clothes, sewing on his own buttons and acquiring a discreet tattoo.
Although still inclined to wear odd socks, most of the time he can venture out into the big wide world confident that he doesn’t smell (too bad) and that his teeth have been brushed at least once during the week.
Recently however, a new breed of rouleur, the type of rider teetering on the edge of middle age, has upped the ante. They turn up for weekly laps of Regents Park sporting dazzling multi-coloured socks, kaleidoscopic gilets and impeccably tailored bibshorts…..The Wattmeister’s previously fashionable baggy lycra just doesn’t cut it any more.
Things came to a head last weekend. The weather was unusually fine. The peloton were bathed in warm early morning sunshine. After consulting a range of short term and long term weather forecasts, The Wattmeister deemed the conditions stable enough to ride without tights, armwarmers, buff and thermal skull cap.
There is only a narrow window of opportunity to witness our hero’s bare skin….and the chance to see the tattoo which proudly declares:
Lance Armstrong Is Innocent….OK!
Oh Wattmeister….you should have listened to your mum.