The greatest thing about Strava is not that it logs the miles, elevation and intensity of my rides, but the fact that it logs every time I pull off the road in search of a pissing ground. My maps are never smooth. There are always little divots that signify a veering off course.
If anyone were to upload my routes, they would know where exactly a cool place was to relieve themselves in private and sometimes not-so private.
I always check for kids and women.
Not everyone understands that mere ounces could separate one from their Strava dreams of “KOM-ing” a segment or staying in 5th position behind Dan from Brick Township.
Lawns are also off limits. This should go without mention, but I’ve seen things, unspeakable things in my time as a cyclist. No peeing in graveyards either. It’s the ultimate sign of disrespect. No matter how tempting the lush greenery may look or the view onto the valley below. Hold it. This is Jersey. There’s a business park or strip mall with a dumpster with your name on it in pissings distance.
I go back and forth with schools. If schools in session, I use the side entrance and when it’s not, the main. I lay off churches. I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for making some kind of statement against the church, when all I wanted to do was dump weight before taking on that Cat 4.
I used to try to stop my Garmin from logging my private moments. I didn’t feel as though I needed Strava’s help, but now I know better…