Friday, December 18, 2009

A Window Into Mag's Soul

That’s me, obviously, in my Heckawee Cyclocross jersey, slumped in triumph-slash-failure at the finish line of the Urban Cyclocross race on December 6. It’s quite an inspiring image. But that highly visible ass crack in the picture? Truly horrifying. If you stare at the picture long enough – which I’m not really recommending that you do – you can see into the darkest, rankest parts of my soul. You can see that I love kalamata olives and gorgonzola cheese and that I’ve watched The Dirty Dozen at least one hundred times on TNT and that when the chips are down, I’m the kind of fellow who likes to make black-bean nachos out of them.

I’m surprised I didn’t get arrested at the race.

Now, in the old days, in my previous life as a cyclist, this horrendous breech of public decency simply would never have occurred because I never used to ride alone. As all experienced bib-short-wearing cyclists know, the fabric on the shorts gradually deteriorates over periods of extended use. This is of course a wonderful thing: if you’re wearing out your shorts, that means you’re riding a lot. However, if you go on a six-hour group paceline ride in the rain with your ass visible through your shorts, your fellow cyclists are going to mention it, and probably not too politely. They’ll say, “Holy shit, Magnuson. You gotta throw out those shorts. I can see every hair on your ass.” Or they may work together to drop you so they don't have to stare at your ass for the rest of the ride.

But these days, I ride alone, and I’ve been wearing those bib shorts a lot, which certainly explains why nobody wants to trade pulls with me in the park where I do laps or why cars often ride slowly behind me or why groups of small children point at me and laugh when I roll past their school. I have been under the impression that I'm being persecuted for some fault in my cycling character, but no: My ass has been hanging out!

Anyway, I’ve been reading on the internets lately about some famous bicycle blogger who raised a shit-ton of money so he could ride with Lance Armstrong at a Team Radio Shack training camp. You know what? Fuck that guy. I need new bib shorts way more than that blogger needs to ride with Lance fucking Armstrong. I should start a campaign. Protect the Innocent Children: Buy Mag New Bib Shorts.

We’ll have to see how this sorts out. [Ed. note: Mag's size (for shorts) is large.] Meanwhile, on Sunday, I’ll be racing here - Santa Cross - if you want to see my ass in person.


  1. Is that the case of the ass you were talking bout?

  2. I have a used pair of vintage Team Surgeon bibs you can have. They have Guapo's love all over the chamois...


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