Another good reason to cycle

-- Running out of petrol won’t cost you a thing

Cycling will seem even better with the rubber stamping of a Transport Agency bylaw fining motorists for running out of steam anywhere on Auckland’s 72.7km motorway network.

Not that cyclists are big users of Auckland motorways. Or are they?

Anyway, that’s not to say cyclists don’t run out of fuel. And when they do, the results can be hideous and, frankly, deserving of financial penalty. The guy below, a professional road cyclist, forgot to eat and within minutes found himself pulling this stunt.

Riders with more panache are able to adapt and rise above fuel depravation. With the right kind of eye, roadsides offer a veritable treasure trove of sustenance.

Heineken – abundantly available on New Zealand roadsides and ocean bottoms

For the better prepared, there are a range of stronger chemical enhancers – like testosterone – popular with South African trans-gender athletes. Some advice – female cyclists: be sure to practice speaking like Cadel Evans and you won't give yourselves away.

Cadel speaks like a girl. Could it be drugs?

Quite possibly, if this photo of Cadel, taken at Silence Lotto's 2008 end-of-season karaoke competition, is anything to go by.

You can beat an egg

-- But you can't beet-a-root

Chopper Guard readers were first to learn about the performance enhancing effects of Heineken. Now here’s something else for your nutrition regime. Beetroot. That’s right. Nitrates contained in beetroot juice boost stamina by reducing the oxygen cost of exercise. Get into it.

Cheers to performance enhancers

-- Heineken's interest in sport goes much deeper than footwear

How could anyone ride THAT race ‘clean’? 3,500km in 21 days, never mind the mountains, on meat pies and Coke. I don’t think so. Humanly impossible. But no one's ever going to sanction performance enhancing drugs, so let’s just enjoy the drama of drug busts, stony faced denials and empty confessions.

The perpetual drug cloud got me thinking about useful enhancers for us amateurs. We know about coffee. But here’s something else you might want in your musette - Heineken.

A mate of mine runs marathons. Hard as nails, he’s the only guy I know who rumbles 42kms before breakfast. From time-to-time he bonks. Wild hunger sets in first. Then the black spots, confusion, spastic limbs, and jabbering. He doesn’t eat anything on his runs, which is a clue. Reckons he’s training his body to eat fat. But when you look like you weigh only 7 stone there’s not much fat to eat. He’d better be careful. Watch for early signs of a Low Energy Ebola thing that eats arms so the running can continue.

The other day, 800 metres from home, he bonked. Unable to run or walk he lay down on the footpath, watching clouds and hoping the cold drizzle on his face might be energy giving. After a few minutes he staggered up, like an old horse with severe pins and needles, and forced a few brittle steps. No good. Crawling, the only solution. But how do you cross a busy main road on all fours? In this part of the world that’s an invitation to bored motorists.

The decision to crawl home on roadside grass rather than endure abrasive qualities of footpath was a turning point. Advancing his first knuckled hoof uncovered a full bottle of Heineken, it’s green coloured glass keeping it safely hidden from bipedals. Now, this guy lives like a monk. Doesn’t even drink. But you can’t stifle survival instinct. He ripped the top off with his teeth and drunk it. The stuff couldn’t come out of the bottle fast enough. He stood up and ran home. There’s something in this.