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  • Writer's pictureErin Spineto

He's In

Finally, after years of listening to the complaining, he's in. He's one of them. Every Saturday and Sunday in Encinitas (home of the tri) there are more bikers than cars. And, accordingly, they do take up a lot of the road. Each morning I would sit next to Tony in our car listening to him complain about having to share the road with the clippity-cloppers, (derived from the latin, meaning to make way too much noise as one walks in to Starbucks still in ones clip-ons.)

He does have some reason to complain. We have had bikers pound on the side of our car and scream at us even though I was aware of their presence and gave them more than adequate room. Some people think they need to educate the world.

Most however are awesome. Each morning they are a constant reminder that I need to put in a ride when I get home. I look longingly at the tight, wind-tunnel designed clothes and wish that I could again commute to work. (With 2 kids to drop off at school and a 7 o'clock leave time it just wouldn't work. At least not this year.)

Each time he complained, I would laugh and remind him that he would be eating his words when he finally got it. When he became one of them. Well, today is that day. He may not have the bike yet; he is pounding the dirt in an old mountain bike. He doesn't even have cages on his pedals.

But, last weekend he finished his first tri. With the "I just want to finish" race out of the way, his sights are fastened on getting faster. He has been heard around the pool saying he wants to chase down Potts next year at Wildflower.

With newly expanded duties at work, he is planning on which new road bike he can pick up. (Lucky for me , I have a great husband who, in his plan, also threw in a bike for me)

But today, as he donned his spandex and bike jersey, you could see it in his eyes. It was there. He had become a silent-for-now clippity-clopper. It's all down hill from here.

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