The Politics of passing

Not in a group ride or a race or any thing like that. Just out riding. Which is what I was doing this morning. Yesterday was a banner day for me as far as cycling goes this season. Double sessions yesterday. First low-stress high rep (me on the 1500 over 12 mile) the second High-stress, low rep (me and the BB and all the racks and stuff on the 820 over 3 miles). So, this morning, I was a little wobbly as I set out once again on the road bike. Even though my speed was down, so was my time. I was riding a little more consistently than yesterday. As I started out I saw two guys riding the opposite way down a main street. Regular looking guys on road bikes that I didn't get a close look at. It was good to see. "Regular" guys ride more during Tour Season I think. I know I have been riding more although that has much less to do with guys on TV that time available for me to ride. Riding without the baby on the back is a rare treat indeed these days, so I was glad to take advantage of it yesterday and today, even if my legs disagreed.

As I said, I was riding more consistently than yesterday today when up ahead of my I saw it: another cyclist! I bounced for joy in my spandex shorts! Then the realities set in. I was going faster than this fellow. By a lot. That meant that I was either going to have to slow way down and fall in behind him in a creepy I-don't-know-you-at-all sort of "pace line" or go around him. Then I realized that he was a lot huskier of a fellow than I am, and I'm a fat boy. THEN I realized that he was riding a MTB. Great. Now what? It's like getting in a fight with a five year old. If you win, big deal. You beat up a five year old. This was all followed by a final realization. We were going up a hill.

Now, I am not in any kind of  "shape" to speak of, unless you are counting "round" as a shape. But this guy? C'mon. He was at least one and a half of me. Didn't matter one whit. Up the hill he went. And up the next one. Now that all that pesky "flat ground" was behind us he dropped me like a bad habit. And that brings up the other losing consequence of fighting with a fiver year old: you might lose!