Riding home from work yesterday I saw a cyclist ahead of me.
I don’t know his story, but he wore a slouch cap, rough looking clothing, and his bike looked beat up. I, and probably you, have seen riders like this many times. Seeing him was not unusual, nor was it unusual that I made up ground on him.
After about three or four blocks I passed him, gave a nod and went on. The traffic lights were good and soon we both were heading south toward the MLK bridge.
He passed me.
And that with a good headwind.
My male cycling ego raised its ugly head.
[I do confess that I am a sinner.]
While writing this I realized I have to bestow a name on this fellow. I need to humanize him. I will call him Mark. [No! I am not thinking of Cav!]
So, Mark passes me. I admit to being startled. I never expected it. I grin and say to myself, “OK, bud. I can play like that if you want to.” I’m going to burn every match I have into next week if need be. A cycling friend calls it chasing rabbits.
On the down slope before the bridge I pushed it and passed him with a seated acceleration. No way was I going to stand or show any exertion. I reasoned he burned his matches in passing me and would not have anything left to respond with, or he would not care to respond.
Whatever the reason, the distance between us kept increasing and that was the end of that. Mark was left behind. Soon, our paths diverged and he was gone from sight.
I took it easy the rest of the way home, laughing at my response. When I told Jan about what had happened she rendered the verdict.
Yes, I’m pathetic.