It is a paradox of being in the full embrace of an epic bonk that you are simultaneously out of gas and inexplicably gassy.
They put concrete curb stops at the end of the parking spots in front of convenience stores to keep careless drivers from rolling right up over the curb through the front window and into the mile-long snack chip shelf, the perpetual hot dog rotisserie (taquitos in California) and finally into the back of the store where they keep all those weird things you don’t want. I believe they, those curb stops, are also there as a sort of pathetic, bonked cyclist bench, a place for you to sit in your sweat sodden chamois, splay legged and spent, a kind of supplicant’s pew where you sit and pray for deliverance from advanced entropy.
If you’re very lucky, your fitter, more able friend will tippy-tappy into the convenience store and purchase you a Full Gas Coke (FGC), bringing it out to you there on the pew where you’ve been sitting, wondering whether it’s a mistake to take off your helmet, knowing just how gross it’s going to be to put back on. If you could stand up, you’d throw out your gloves. They’re done.
You’re a wreck, out there on the naughty step. You rolled out of the meetup at some posh cafe a few hours back feeling like a million bucks, and now you’re reduced to about a dollar’s worth of caffeine, sugar, water and CO2. You don’t even care that people are driving up and gawking at you, judging you. These people have made a special trip for a Slim Jim and a Monster Energy, but you’re the sad one there in your leotard and lethargy.
Why do you even ride bikes?
A Full Gas Coke will solve this problem. The first sip is transportative (not a word), a chemical suggestion to your addled mind that movement might again be possible. You belch long and loud, which surprises you. You didn’t know you were bloated. You can’t imagine anything being left in your tank (medical term), but there it is, and apparently it needed to come out. The rest of the FGC goes down like the French in WWII.
You’re torn now. Do you roll out, knowing you’ve cost your companions valuable time? Or do you go back in the store for another? Two is a bad idea, friend. Take it from me.
Why do I call it ‘Full Gas Coke?” Because there are a lot of pretenders to this throne. There’s Diet Coke. There’s Coke Zero. There’s Caffeine-Free Coke. They’ve really flooded the zone with products trying to overcome your objections to FGC, but it’s the only product capable of putting you back in the saddle.
Let me be clear about something, before we go further. You should not be drinking soda. It’s bad for you. Don’t think of FGC as a beverage. Think of it as medicine, like Narcan or dog-petting.
I have bonked, fully and completely, and washed up at the 7-11 like a drowning man slung ashore for mouth-to-mouth, and been saved like a sinner in the hands of an angry god by Full Gas Coke. Once, I even dragged myself up off the concrete beach and attacked my riding companions on the way home after, which I confess, in retrospect, was poor behavior. Such is the power of the FGC.
Off-label usage for this product includes such purposes as removing corrosion from frozen aluminum componentry and making your hands sticky. Available widely on planet Earth. Don’t pay more than a buck.