The majority of cyclists are mere mortals; people who wince when they feel pain, grunt when things get tough and have been known to accidentally spit on themselves even though they’re not riding into the wind. Then there are people who do all of the above but get paid to race their bikes. We call these people professional cyclists. But there is a certain category of cyclists, a minority that has only recently been recognized by the Oregon Bicycle Racing Association. For years, maybe eons (which I’ve been told means a “long, long time”) these cyclists have done everything the mere mortals of cycling have been doing but with certain handicaps. In a sport were efficiency equals “speed” and spandex equals “tight,” the Clydesdales of the world have squeezed and wheezed their way over hills and barriers, and broken many flimsy carbon bike parts in the process.