Many of you have weirdly strong views on the subject of the mostly harmless recumbent cyclist.
Maybe gangs of recumbent cyclists raided your village in the mountains, killing your father, raping your mother, and sold you off to a life of slavery? Maybe you freed yourself from the recumbent cyclist’s slave fighting pits and lived a life of pillage and adventure before settling in Canberra?
Maybe you’ve been revolted by the hedonistic abandon for which the recumbents are famed?
Or maybe things that are different just make you feel uncomfortable because you’re insecure in your own sexuality?
In any event, while I’ve never ridden one of the things, I must confess there appears to be one parked in my living room this very morning.
And I’m sorry to report to you it’s been here for some time.
Yes, I’ve said it before, we really are out to get you.