Gramsci looked perplexed. "Lycra?" he asked. "How did that get there?"
The Cow shrugged. "Argus training," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Some cyclists just don't appreciate that in a tangle of steel and glass vs lycra and graphite, they're bound to come off worse, and should get out of the way where they belong!"
Gramsci looked horrified. "You mean...?"
The Cow shrugged again. "Just aiding Darwin by thinning the losers out of the gene pool. But you know..." she looked confused.
Gramsci looked up.
"This notion that cyclists somehow have a smaller carbon footprint. Well, I don't think that's quite true!"
"Why?" asked Gramsci. "Bicycles don't emit much carbon dioxide?"
The Cow rolled her eyeballs. "It's not the bicycles, it's the cyclists! Factor in all the lycra they wear - made from polyurethane - not to mention the carbon life forms they ride - the graphite-frames of their bicycles. And then there's all the gas-guzzling of their SUVs as they drive to the gym to catch Tarquin's spinning classes to make sure they're in top shape..."
The Cow continued to rattle off countless further carbon-emission factors, such as trips to Cavendish for clothing, trips to the beauty salon for leg waxes, trips to up-market cycle shops for the latest gadgets and accessories - all done in the SUV. Cycling was, after all, not transport, but recreation. Getting to places to *do* stuff required an engine, preferably one that kept the middle east in business single handedly.
Gramsci flinched. "So you're suggesting that the lycra coating on your fender is karmic?" he asked in horror.
The Cow smiled. "Perhaps not as far as that," she conceded, "though it does lend an interesting twist to the term 'carbon cycle'."