Ok, let’s just pretend for a moment I was really good this year.
I tried. Really, I did. On road rides I took my turn up front to pull, and tried to remember to point out shit on the road soon enough so the people behind me didn’t hit it. I made sure to wait until I was at the back of the line to drink from my water bottle and clear the snot from my nose.
I rode at stupid hours of the morning so I could spend time with my family, and did not bully my children into riding their bikes. Much.
I religiously monitored my tire pressure and made sure to replace my chain at the first sign of wear (shut up Rick). I kept my bike clean and my chain oiled. Most of my water bottles were washed after every use, and the odd one that went green and mouldy was thrown away. I mean put in the recycling. Eventually.
Unless I was at Starbucks, sleeping, or changing a flat, my cadence was between 85 and 100 rpm at all times.
After my crash, when people I didn’t even know told me I should stop racing, I did not tell them to fuck off and kiss my ass, no matter how much I wanted to.
I washed my bike shorts after every wear. I’m not sure if you count personal hygiene as “goodness” per se, but to do otherwise would certainly have been bad.
And so, dear Santa, I hope I’m not out of line here by writing you this letter. Last time I wrote was some time ago, and I did enjoy the Malibu Barbie very much, thank you.
Here is this year’s wish. I hope you think I deserve it as much as I do.