Butt vs. Cobbles

Her name is Big Red. Or, in Italian, Grossa Rossa. She fancy.

Her name is Big Red. Or, in Italian, Grossa Rossa. She fancy.

This is Big Red. Grossa Rossa. She is my brand new bike, purchased to ensure swift travel throughout Florence and easy carrying of heavy groceries, courtesy of my awesome basket. She rides well and I don’t mind the flashy red, even though it attracts some attention. Florence has this issue of bikes getting stolen within days of purchase. I bought Big Red on Saturday so since it’s Thursday for me, I think I’ve done a good job of locking her up good and tight with my two locks.


Something I had not anticipated in my zeal to get around the city faster was the fact that the majority of Florence is not paved with asphalt. It is cobbled. It’s quite quaint, you know, makes the history seem more real, but damn damn DAMN does it freaking hurt my butt. This might be too much information for you. I don’t particularly care because I just need to get it off my chest. Or bike seat. It’s not even a question that I will develop calluses on my ass just to combat the up-and-down bumpiness induced by trundling over the uneven roads here. Whenever I hit a major route that’s actually paved, I could weep for joy if I weren’t already weeping with pain.

Arguably, I’m a skinny bitch. I could put some padding on my bum in the form of pasta, cream sauce, and gelato. I’ve been trying, believe me, but having a bike seems to counteract these efforts due to the exercise that comes inherent with owning one. I have no idea how men handle this. My balls hurt and I don’t even have balls.

Why don't you hover over potholes!? D:

Why don’t you hover over potholes!? D:


2 thoughts on “Butt vs. Cobbles

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