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Sunday, September 05, 2004
Covington: Sex and the cyclist
By Gary Covington
Looking In
* A bicycle, I've discovered, has little to zero chick-pulling power. My ride's not parked along with the Revos and Highlanders, it's chained to the fence railings
I KNEW it. I knew that sooner or later I would hear that there was a downside to this bicycling lark and here it is: on last Saturday's Billboard pages there was a short item headlined 'cyclists face impotency risk'.
The column, all gloom and doom, explained that the pressure exerted by a bicycle's saddle on the parts down under could restrict blood flow and cause temporary erectile dysfunction. Well, yes, I had noticed that after pedaling a while there was a certain numbness in the dangly bits. Hence the few minutes of sumo-style stomping, to get the blood going round.
The saddles are to blame. I've yet to see one designed for comfort, decently broad and well upholstered. The model I balance on at the moment is a vee of hard molded plastic padded with a sliver of foam. It's like sitting astride a hitching rail.
But, on the other hand, what's a little temporary erectile dysfunction to a cyclist. A bicycle, I've discovered, has little to zero chick-pulling power. My ride's not parked along with the Revos and Highlanders, it's chained to the fence railings. And 'Hang onto my shoulders while we pedal down to a motel' doesn't have quite the same ring as, say, 'Hey beautiful, how about a cruise in my Porsche?'
Taxis are out--drivers like passengers, not a greasy bike stuffed into the trunk. Nor can I say 'Go ahead, I'll meet you there.' Suppose I get a flat tire? My date will be sitting in a motel room twiddling her thumbs while I'm under a lamppost in Obrero messing about with rubber glue and patches. No, a bike is not female-friendly.
There's also the perspiration factor. Biking may be healthy, it may be pollution free, but in Davao's heat and humidity it's sweaty, gone are the days of arriving anywhere cool, crisp and fragrant with a hint of Brut or Old Spice. Now I turn up rumpled, crumpled and smelly. It's nothing to be ashamed of, we all do it, but it's not very attractive and certainly not sociable.
I've tended to enlarge my personal space, standing three or four feet apart from the crowd pleading a cold or the snuffles. At restaurants I'll choose a table in a far corner or sit next to the kitchen door hoping no one will notice my personal pungency. They do of course. Nothing is said but noses wrinkle and eyebrows twitch as they mentally note never to ask him to a party.
So, have I thrown the bike off Bolton Bridge in a moment of depression, my social life in tatters, sexual high jinks a thing of the past? Not at all.
The pros easily outweigh the cons. The bike is handy. I can nip out for fresh pan de sal and the newspaper, pedal down to the supermarket for that forgotten liter of milk. There are no fuel bills, no expensive repairs. I can park virtually anywhere, laugh at traffic jams and I'm free of the clutches of the LTO. All I need now is a decent saddle. And some extra-strong cologne.
(September 5, 2004 issue)
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