People Are Strange

Calm before the storm. Mile 8191

I'm riding down the road minding my own business. In fact, I'm peeing off the bike and I glance back just as I'm finishing and notice a biker about a quarter of a mile back who appears to be charging as fast as he can to catch me. Out of his saddle, bike swinging back and forth. I continue at my steady pace. Maybe I know the guy and he's just coming up to greet me. I've been out for 35 miles on a cold evening and a chat with a friendly biker would be a great way to wind down a ride.

Soon I can tell that he's on my wheel. He's trying to be stealthy by not shifting and not coasting. But I can hear his tires scrubbing on the asphalt. He sits back there without saying a word as I pull him up a hill. For the better part of a mile he still sits in my draft trying to be quiet. All of a sudden he swings wildly to the left and sprints, out of his saddle, as if it's the final 100 meters of a race. Out in the middle of the road he's swerving back and forth and every few seconds he glances back to see what I'm doing. Which is what I was doing before, just cruising along on the white stripe on the right side of the road. I note that he is helmet-less.

He stays out in the middle of the road on a steep downhill with a sharp bend. An old woman in a car, also in the middle of the road, is coming from the other direction and they miss each other by mere inches. (Did I mention that he was not wearing a helmet?) He continues to keep glancing back at me. I've never seen anything like it. Not five seconds pass between each twisting of his head. With lots of energy wasted swerving wildly on the road while glancing back all too often, he's making very little progress getting away from me. One thing I've learned in many miles out of the road is that if you're about to pass a fellow cyclist and you have no intention of hanging around for a chat, you pick your moment to pass quickly so that you can get a good gap and not have to worry about the other guy catching your wheel. You also give a friendly, "How's it going?" as you pass by. Partly to reduce the chance of startling the guy and partly just to be friendly.

But none of that friendliness from this tough guy. He's even dressed tough. Black shorts, black shirt, black shoes and black socks. Even his Specialized bike is black. None of which compensates for the bad form he exhibited by stealing my draft without acknowledgment or reciprocity.

He's only about 20 yards ahead of me as we approach the first intersection with a stop sign. He blows through just seconds before a speeding Ford Mustang flies across the intersection. (Did I mention that he wasn't wearing a helmet?) I suspect that the cyclist does this as a way to get that all important gap on me. I stop at the intersection and as I watch him struggle up a small hill I decide that I've had enough of this guy.

The worse thing that can happen after passing someone is to have them right behind you, not losing any ground. So I accelerate to catch him. I sit in my saddle and ride on the hoods - smooth and steady - don't let him think that I'm putting any effort into it. I pull up to within 10 feet of him but stay out of his draft. Since he's still glancing back every 3 seconds or so he sees me catch up and in another effort to get away he again swerves wildly to the left, sprinting out of his saddle. I let him. Sitting steady as a rock on the white line I'm amused as he swerves back and forth out in the middle of the road looking first over his left shoulder and then over his right. I maintain my 10 foot buffer. I accelerate when he does and when he struggles up the hills I slow down.

I begin to think that he'll tire of looking back so frequently and do one of three things; put in a huge burst of energy to finally get away, slow down significantly so that I go ahead of him, or the best course of action; ride next to me and have a friendly chat. With his ego and competitiveness running high but apparently without the strength to accelerate, he continues his wacky pattern. Riding in the middle of the road even as cars traveling the opposite direction pass much too close to him, looking behind as much or more than looking ahead, alternating between jumping out of his saddle and riding in his drops. Meanwhile, I'm in the saddle, hands on the hoods, looking straight ahead, staying a steady 10 feet astern. This goes on for a few more miles.

With a car on my left, which is directly behind him as he's still in the middle of the road, he suddenly and inexplicably sits up on his saddle, raises both of his hands in some hollow victory and lets out a whoop. He thinks that he's just won the race, or the sprint, or whatever other illusion that he's been operating under. With a big smile on his face he points at me and yells something that I can't understand. He stays in front of the car as we approach another intersection and with another car coming in the opposite direction he wildly cuts to the left in front of the on-coming car and proceeds to turn left into traffic on State Highway 60. Cars in almost every direction slow precipitously as no one can figure out just what he'll do next. (Did I mention that he wasn't wearing a helmet?) I stop at the cross road and watch him, still riding against traffic. He once again points at me and yells something that I again cannot understand. What I do understand is that he lost. If you do to another rider what he did to me you must, must, drop the other rider in no uncertain terms. If the other rider can stick to you for miles regardless of what you do, you simply don't have the strength to back up your overly aggressive riding style. You'd be a poser, and you will, as he did, look foolish.

My initial impression of this guy is that he's a real jack. But first impressions can often be deceiving. If you know this guy, point him to this website and tell him to send me an email. Maybe the next time we meet out on the road we can have a friendly chat, agree that we're racing and pick a suitable finish line. Who knows what the outcome might be? Maybe over time we'd even become friends.