This is for all those so-called men out there.

Your jerseys are soaked with sweat—sweat earned through extreme effort at intense track meets, muddy football games, long cross-country races, and hours at the ping-pong table. But you’re not men.

You drive your convertibles (or “muscle cars,” as you describe them to your numerous, shapely lady friends) hundreds of miles per hour, stopping only at the gym or the fashion shop, or Tyler Jensive’s Sports Bar, which you frequent only because it rhymes with My Expensive Sports Car. Are you men yet? No!

You bought, no, you wrought out of white-hot iron crowns that state “I AM A MAN” in large, capital Gothic letters. You molded them to your heads, and they will never come off. Nice try, children, but you’re missing the point. You are not men.

You can’t prevent your well-defined muscles from bulging out and almost knocking people over when you reach over to grab your heavy metallic pens, with which you will draw great big castles, heavy swords, speedy automobiles, huge barbells, and other masculine items. Well… you’re almost men. But you’re still not quite there.

“Why not?” you ask. “What must we do to become real men, with testosterone instead of blood and the courage of a magical tiger?” I’ll tell you what you must do, little manlings! You must join the Bend, Oregon Mountain Unicycling Club!

That’s right, these brave souls have set out to bring unicycling into the new millennium, and they need your help! No longer are unicycles the instruments of clowns, bloody horror flicks, or pornographic videos. No, as captured on PBS, the men of the MUC have fashioned a new image of the unicycle—a manly image, an image of courage and daring, of nerve and audacity, of excruciating pain and embarrassment transformed into the coolest skill and dexterity. The unicycle is wheeling back into the spotlight of Manhood, and this is your opportunity to prove your manly courage.

These mountain warriors could have sat at home and watched people do adventurous things on television, committing themselves to physical activity only when a lack of Buffalo Brigham’s Cheesy Puffaloos™ necessitated a run to the cupboard. But they knew that would be the common child’s tactic. Did they cry for their mommies when they observed the beloved unicycle’s tarnished image? No! The men of the MUC refitted their unicycles with two inches of padding on the seats, reinforced welding, thick rubber tires, and even multi-speed gears. Now they trek across trails, over rocks and bridges, and through forests in the Bend area, proving that the unicycle is just as maneuverable and powerful as your “muscle cars,” and they’re less expensive, which means more money left over to spend on the ladies, who like that sort of thing.

Now, I won’t name names, but some will say that mountain unicycling is “stupid,” “outlandish,” or even “unmanly.” Of course, only the weakest little weasels could hope to increase their own self-confidence by bringing down the MUC. I might go so far as to call them little ferrety cheese puff midgets. But first I would tell them, “You’re wrong!” in my deep bass voice. Then I would explain why. First of all, unicycling? Stupid? One might as well call surfing or gymnastics or pumpkin-standing stupid. The balance and musculature must be perfect, or all is lost. Obviously we are not talking about a sport for the scrawny, weak-willed layperson. No, the scrawny and weak-willed can just sit their cowardly gluteals down on the couch and get started on the Buffalo Brigham’s. As for “outlandish,” so are people from other countries! And unmanly—well, I don’t think a little ferrety cheese puff midget should be telling you near-men what’s hot and what’s not. But you can take Big Ken’s word for it, believe you me.

Anyway, don’t sit back on your haunches now, boys. A little refinishing and you’ve got a mountain unicycle; a little e-mailing and you’re a member of the MUC. And, oh yeah—don’t forget your camera when you’re on the trail—your hands aren’t busy with handlebars, so why not? You can take pictures of all your new manly friends on their unicycles and post them all over the Internet. No worries—I won’t laugh. I promise.