ladies who leisure

Having nothing much better to do (truly, what is better to do?) I went for a sweet Sunday ride today. Actually, I went for two but why let the truth stand in the way of a good story?

Lucky for me, I was not alone – as someone more organised than I had already tee’d up a “short and sweet leisurely ride for the ladies”. Who am I to resist an advertisement as appealing as this one? Does this not say, “team your lid with lipstick”? I think so.

Gratefully, a few others got the memo also.

Naturally, all ladies were stacked (in the stackhat sense of course) and a good time was had by all. An easy roll, but a taste of things to come and the sun stuck around for all to reach the ultra-allergy friendly cafe in fine spirits. Nuff said. There may be more planned, so feel free to contact misstuppence@gmail.com if you’re feeling like a ride. And you are a lady. Or perhaps a lady boy. I think both are acceptable. It seemed an open-minded bunch.

One thing to mention:

I have noticed from time to time that, on a group ride (single ladies or mixed business), members of the general public can get a little unsettled. As if, somehow, the mere act of riding in a group bigger than say, two people, was inherently bizarre. Sometimes this is “good bizarre” and people stare or wave and are generally happy to engage with a group of strangers in a reasonably nice way. No one throws rocks.

Other times, however, there is this utterly inexplicable feeling of antagonism – as if you were representing a new, crazy-left, bring down the social order political party whose sole mission was to disrupt the holy order of the way things should be. These folks see twenty ladies on bicycles travelling at under 20km an hour and consider them an outrageous traffic hazard or a group of hooligans or simply mental and may be motivated to yell things at them from the safety of their speeding vehicles.

Case in point – the total moron who yelled “get back in the kitchen” at our group today (truly a very benign collection of good-spirited, capable of a hand signal or two, liable to using SPF 30 and being nice to their grandmothers type gals).

I won’t run into too many details but, suffice to say, if you see this man – do not have sex with him. Ever. It is the least he deserves.

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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