You might be a cyclist if...
* You own more tights than a children's theater performing Peter Pan.
* Your wallet is clear, made of plastic and sports the designer label Ziplok.
* You've road tested a perfectly good relationship by bringing home a tandem. (Ah, baby you're always saying we need to spice things up.)
* You know that pain is just fear leaving your body, before it returns through your hamstrings.
* When styling professionals ask what product gets your hair to do that, you answer, "Helmet."
* You've served cocktails in water bottles. (Drink up, friends. This cheap vodka I'm pouring eats through charity ride plastic pretty fast.)
* Your spouse doesn't complain about the snoring since being kicked awake by the sleep pedaling.
* You yell into crowds exiting ballgames, shopping centers and concerts to "hold their line." They yell back that they've got something for you to hold.
* You've pedaled home balancing a case of bottled beer, two bags of tortilla chips, three avocados and a hostess snack pie on your handlebars.
* You own a killer set of "Arnold" quads and a pair of angel hair pasta thin arms. That ten year old boy called again. He wants his biceps back.
* You don't care that your biker's tan is so jarring that parents grab up their children when you enter the public pool.
* When your baby's first word was "bike," a light dimmed a little in your non-riding spouse's eyes.
* You ring that bell for legitimate safety reasons, but the joy it brings seeing morning dog walkers seize up and scatter like quail is a nice fringe benefit.
* You wanted to name your children Serrotta and Shimano, but compromised on the more traditional Trek and Breezer.
* You've heard the words "Just a friendly ride, no one gets dropped" while rapidly falling back in the pack.
* You've said the words "Just a friendly ride, no one gets dropped" while watching someone else rapidly fall back in the pack.
* You know every traffic light sequence in the tri-county area for stop free pedaling.
* Either it's a Brooks saddle or I will stand and pedal the whole way, thank you.
* You have eaten pasta directly out of your front bag, while pedaling.
* You believe there's a holy grail code of gear ratios to achieve effort free pedaling.
* You swear Da Vinci's lost notebook contains said holy grail combination code with detailed drawings... but the automotive wing of the Vatican
has been keeping it from the world these many years.
* You've considered what can still be accomplished in life while a broken collarbone heals.
* You've misplaced an hour of your life cursing, sweating and twisting a wrench, unaware that one of the pedals threads the opposite way. This is why bike shops were invented.
* Your loved ones have assigned a separate hamper for your dirty bike clothes, and placed a hazmat label on it.
* You've lost the company of your loved ones because you did not invest in a separate hamper for your dirty bike clothes with a hazmat label on it.
* You turn the air vents of your car to blow directly in your face, and imagine you're on a bike ride
* You've been involved in dealmaking with a higher power to get through a climb you know will last longer than a political campaign.
* Due to the plethora of bells, computers, gadgets and lights, there's no room left on your handlebars... for your hands.
* You can ID five brands and sixteen flavors of protein bars in a blind taste test, but on most long rides you would eat wet shoe leather, properly salted and containing a balance of electrolytes, of course.
* You've entertained quitting your job and moving back in with your folks to free up more time for riding. Pride and self esteem got nothing on shaved seconds and endorphins.
* When approaching a rider from behind, you've thought, "I will attack until your lungs cease to function properly, you collapse in the gutter and call out for your grandma's quilted afghan." Then offered a respectful nod as you blurred by.
* You've laughed, coasted by and cackled over your shoulder, "You Call That A Dog?"
* You've pedaled like hell, cried out in vain for a merciful god, and thought, "Now That's What I Call A Dog!" (or a rogue bear within the city limits)
* You've fallen asleep by counting sheep standing beside mile markers.
* It's a close call as to who owns more wool, you or the sheep.
* You throw your arms up and fist pump, Tour de France finishline style, every time you beat the dark yellowish light.
* You lift your butt off the car seat as you go over potholes, railroad tracks and speed bumps.
* You've contemplated grabbing seat posts, nudging longtime friends into ditches and macing their eyes with energy drinks to top the hill first.
* You can't pull a ninja anymore because the click of your shoes always gives you away.
* You've used your water bottle as drink holder, portable shower, squirt gun, doggy deterent and digging implement... on the same ride.
* You spend most of the winter dressed like a Cirque Du Soleil performer and you don't even speak French.
* You've washed off that chain ring grease "tattoo" on your calf so often that you went ahead and got a real one there.
* You keep on the look out for a custom made bike designed by the top-secret test tube off spring of Eddy Merck and Sasha White's DNA.
* You believe the rumor of a bike that was forged in a bell tower outside Rome using titanium blessed by the Pope and baptized with Lance's sweat.
* Like war vets carrying shrapnel under their skin, your souveniurs are pebbles and gravel housed around your elbows and knees.
* Only you know your afternoon commute is actually a second by second reenactment of Le Mond's come from behind victory of 1985.
* You think you may have contracted a rare blood disorder... no, it's just that you've turned into a late afternoon headwind.
* You live in fear that someone will sponsor a twelve step program for cycling addicts and you'll be the first one wrestled to the ground.
* You learned a long time ago that it doesn't matter how light or fast, just get on that bike.
