Wrong on two counts.
The first you've been told. Ride any bike in the rain and you'll get spray off the tyres.
Ride any bike in the rain and you'll get spray off the SKY. it's called rain.
durrrr...
Oh, and another. This isn't a road bike forum. It's for everyone.
even escaped convicts on the run.
tdr1nka said:
I have no problem with your views but I do get annoyed when you kick off with your aggressive and verbose dogma as to what is 'correct' in what appears to be a very narrow view of the whole and varied world of cycling.
I just don't think you know quite how detrimental your posts can be with regard to offering advice or assistance.
Live and let live M8.
What are you suggesting, that my views will cause somebody to think "hey, you know that bonj guy? I think he's right after all - I
will take my mudguards off!",
and the next morning they cycle to work without them on and it starts to spit on the way in.
Ne'er mind, he thinks - bonj has reassured me that it'll be ok so it must be. Anyhow in an important sales meeting later in the day our cyclist is making a presentation to some customers, and when he turns round to draw a demonstration on the boardroom whiteboard of how great the company's product is, the prospective customers see a muddy line streaked up his back, and start to whisper amongst themselves and give disapproving glances.
When the meeting's over, the boss expects them to come into an office to discuss the contract but they politely make their excuses and leave. Then the boss sees the line up his back and decides he hasn't made enough of an effort to present himself smartly and cleanly enough and sacks him instantly.
He goes home jobless, and is subsequently unable to feed his wife and family. Depressed, his wife becomes an alcoholic and without any maintenance has to shophift to eat and feed her booze habit. With no money coming in, his kids have no food or school clothes so are also forced to shoplift and mug grannies, they also have to take to dealing a bit of crack aswell when times are hard.
Wtih a history of being sacked for ruining a presentation that otherwise could have gone well, there is no hope for our cyclist to get another job as everybody in the industry knows about it - so he turns to gambling, in the hope that luck will save him instead. Within months he has gambeld away his house, so, desparate - he tries to sell his passport on the streets.
A dodgy looking somalian fellow tries to buy it off him, but the police are coming and there's a scuffle and they nick off with it anyway without paying the 5 grand agreed - and the police catch him amongst the somalian paperwork that is fluttering to the ground from the guy who is soon nowhere to be seen. Thinking it's his, they arrest him for being an illegal immigrant, and with no passport, or house anymore - he can't prove who he is, within days he is being deported back to somalia.
He doesn't have a home, and so, tired, he falls asleep on a bed of hay in the middle of a circle of bricks.
It turns out that as luck would have it that is the exact spot where the local tribe do sacrifices every other monday apart from bank holidays when they go veggie. They turn up, chanting, and find our fellow sleeping amongst the hay and since he is right in the middle of the holy circle of bricks, they assume he is a gift from the gods, so they chop him up while dancing round the circle warlord style with torches, and then boil him in a cauldron for supper.
All because he listened to bonj and didn't use mudguards.
