what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

I'm not competitive. I don’t race. I don’t do alley cats. I don’t do bike polo. I’m not a team player. (I was a placekicker in high school, and that’s as far as you can get from being a team player and still be on the team). Not that there’s anything wrong with all that. Go for it. Race. Go fast. Get it. Atta Boy.

However, when I get worked at work all day, then go out drinking for 4 more hours after that, and then riding home, some car brushes me…touching the hairs on my left arm with his side view mirror just so he can get to the next open space in gridlock traffic, then it’s GAME ON. Out of nowhere I’ll get some energy because I know I’ll catch that asshole at the next light. And I’ve got the home field advantage because I’ve ridden this route 1.7 billion times. I know the lights. I know the traffic. I know I’ll catch up to them.

So I caught up to that asshole and gave him an oh-so gentle tap on the passenger window and a little point and nod to say “remember me? How you like me now?” then I left him in traffic and rode on up the hill.

2 Comments

put a couple of beers in you strap you to a track bike on the velodrome and slap your ass i bet you would show those kids whats up.

Damn, a spot-on description of a day in my life. One of the reasons I love bar cruises. Helps me to express myself, ha.

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