BUTCHER PAPER

To all the newbs I’ve loved before Don’t ever change

KRISTIN BUTCHER

I haven’t written a letter like this in a while. Hell, last time I had the clammy-hand feeling of putting these types of words into writing, I was still a gaptoothed middle school kid whose go-to social icebreaker was listing offa litany of cat facts. Fun fact: Calico cats are always female. Semi-related fun fact: No one in middle school finds this fact fun, but I digress.

I have a confession. At some point over the past few months, I fell madly in love with you.

No, not you with the fancy boutique bike and cycling socks at whatever length the cool kids have deemed appropriate this season. You can take your hand-selected components and race-day T-shirts, and step aside.

I’m talking to you there, the one pulling your Trek 8300 out of your trunk. I admit the first time I saw you, I thought you looked a little silly with your one-size-too-small helmet tilted toward the back of your head and wondered how far you’d get before the sidewall of that weathered Panaracer Smoke gave out. I figured that’d be it for us, but then I started seeing you at the trails on weekends. Soon enough you were there squeezing in rides after work and my jaw dropped when I saw the new trunk rack on your car that one morning just after the sun cracked through the darkness.

I guess it just took a little time for me to realize the feelings I have for you, but I think I love you. There, I finally said it.