The title of this post suggests that I am going to wax poetic about my ongoing fisticuffs with the “black dog,” attempt to sell you some sort of $19.99 faux copper-infused compression stocking snake oil shit that will dull the pain of your torn rotator cuff, or talk at length about the greatness of the song Cure For Pain by the band Morphine.1 But I’m not, I’m gonna talk about my ass. Again!
Don’t worry, there will be no photos of the chafed bloody carnage that my ass and undercarriage became after a recent saddle issue, I’m just bored on a dark as night, rainy Saturday afternoon and happy to report that my hypothesis about the Trek/Bontrager saddle I was using was correct. Ass winning.
My ass seems to love this saddle.
The Bontrager Evoke 2 saddle came stock on both my Trek Boone and Trek Farley. After many years of letting my cheeks perch on multiple Fi’zi:k Nisene HP saddles, I didn’t think they would/could adapt to a stock saddle. I was wrong, for some reason my ass worshiped the stock Evoke 2 that came on the Boone like a niche porn genre.
When the Boone’s Evoke 2 started to give way, LC at Terry’s hooked me up with another one on the mega cheap. I was stoked and soon after swapped the saddle and looked forward to many more miles of buttocks on saddle love. That never happened.
As I mentioned in the all too unnecessary blog post-Better Than But Chafed I thought it was the chamois in a pair of new bibs that was eating away at my cellulite ridden ass like a flesh-eating bacteria, twasn’t, it seems the newer version of the Evoke 2 I got came with a slight texture on the saddle. Bibs + chamois + an ass like a soggy Arby’s roast beef sandwich don’t play well with textured bike saddles. My booty likes to slide around on the saddle as I finesse my heaving bodice up giant 20-foot walls of Michigan gravel road2. Sliding my soggy ass around on a textured saddle turned it into a bloody piece of hobo steak.
So I took an old Evoke 2 off of the Fatterson and put in on the Boone, then took the textured Evoke 2 off the Boone and threw it the fuck away. Now, two rides later, my ass is living fancy-free. I found the cure for pain and my ass is giving off a well earned vertical smile.
I pledge that next week I will go to great lengths to NOT talk about my ass.
Later.
- I had the pleasure of seeing Morphine play live in Pittsburgh many years ago. It was a hell of a show and one that I’ll always cherish given the fact that not too long after that the lead singer–Mark Sandman–died of a heart attack on stage while performing in Italy. Seek them out, I think you’ll dig.
- Please note sarcasm, I live in big ring country.