Those of you who have a Brooks saddle understand. Those of you who do not, cannot.
This will be an ongoing, if intermittent, series in praise of the most personal of all bike components.
Shall I compare thee to a comfy chair?
Thou hast more leather and more shiny rivets:
Rough roads foil not darling rails of steel,
And cyclings roads hath all too many a bump:
Sometime too hot the eye of my fair bum shines,
And often is its brown complexion dimm'd;
But every hill from peak sometime declines,
Forsooth, in truth the Selle saddle does sucketh much;
But Brooks eternal comfort shall not fade,
Nor cause the sores that do others plague;
Nor shall the berries whither in your care,
Tis 'neath the taint thy tender cradle;
So long as rider can breathe and pee,
So long live Brooks, and and only Brooks, under me.