Bike culture: I live in a body that is filled with bike memories. A craft through life, who constantly work on adaptation – always on the way to the next ride.
The scar on the knee came to when I would test the tubeless tires for the first time. It went to hell. The tire was leaking air like a sieve and after stopping in the Woods to pump 14 times, I pedaled furiously home with as many mosquito bites. The deck was almost flat when I turned up at the House, and in the curve with the Ridge turned out too much. Åsa in slopes, gravel in your lap. I seem to recall that even the bike got a plane ride after it – straight out of the bushes.
My shoulder that took half the case in crash at Siljan around 2014. A motorist in oncoming traffic had fed up with waiting for the oncoming cyclists and made his left turn right across the carriageway. We were several who went over then, and I was sitting on the roadside with little birdies chirping irrandes around his head.
A few months later started the shoulder kink for real. After a few phone calls to the right people, I understood that I had let the shoulder go way too much sour cream after the crash she had. It had avoided pushing up doors or carry bikes up the stairs, and in the end had become frail and hurt for real. After only three days of training with the rubber band was axis happy again. The body is a wonderful machine.
Hip took the second part of the blast at the time. I still have a scar formation remains high on the thigh – like a small Finnish stick that curves out there. Where the leisha 4th dimension roller coaster went? No idea. He was not on hand to clean up the mess, anyway.
Constantly tight hamstrings. I am a little Uppity for actually. Otherwise, I am in fact that a tube of cream cheese. “You must not stretch!” says chiropractor-Marcus. And unlike Niclas Sjögren (see page 50) do I do as I am told. I think contentedly to the where free form would probably like to have – to stretch is something that cyclists often forget. Or “forget”.(see page 19)
The low back and hips. Pain that have come and gone over the years – sometimes right, sometimes a little left. Sometimes with radiation out of the leg. It took probably several years before I managed to activate the trunk right on the bike wearing vintage footwear as cycling shoes, and certainly just as long before I understood how I could work out in a way that works for me. There are no shortcuts to the perfect seating position. A good bike fit is only half the job – the rest will have their own body set up with; now I have an eye on it. I think.
A perky heart. It was a long time ago I added the heart rate strap to the side. My heart rate increases by ten strokes only I know the scent of my cycling shoes so the numbers seem mostly just misleading. I’m also no numbers man. I’m running on emotion instead and have become better at reading by various body signals in time, even though I surely could have run me even more tired sometimes (see page 60). But by virtue of law, I do not begrudge me a little comfort.
My stomach. The little provided tend to whine about the water in the bottle is too cold.Anyone who rejects the sötsliskigaste energy products (see page 52), but who occasionally require a hefty läskeblask to hammer is near (without ice!). A mage who no longer want to eat out fast, but rather is interested in much more because if you can possibly eat in a way so that it stays healthy. And happy. For those who are healthy may of course always cycle more than the one who is sick.