Bicycle

I was riding my bike today. This one part of the trail I ride crosses a heavily trafficked intersection and I stopped to wait for the walk signal, as had four other people. Two of them are serious riders: the kind who wear helmets and spandex and actually look good in their helmets and don’t call their spandex “manties”. The other two were a couple, a man and a woman. As soon as the light turned, the serious riders were off. I let the couple go next, since I am at some level a decent guy, and then followed behind. As we are riding, I am noticing that the guy seems to have adequate command of his bike. Not so, the woman: she was weaving like a drunken sailor. Together, they formed a blockade I could not maneuver around, and believe me I tried. Every time I did, however, it seemed like she sensed my intention with her evil bitchdar and moved swiftly but wobbily to block me. Since I was rapidly becoming irritated, I decided to back off and slowed down. I did this for two reasons: 1) I am trying to work on my rage issues and 2) the bridge was coming up, and you have to pedal like hell for a stretch to build up enough steam to be able to surmount it, and if I stayed behind the couple, there was no way that was going to happen. I let them get WAY ahead of me, which secretly irked me, because here I am like a chump, behind these other two chumps, getting left in the dust of the serious bike guys who had blasted away from our little cluster right at the get go. Anyway, the couple finally reached the bridge and, again, the guy did okay, but the woman was like “la la la” and wobbling worse than a Weeble. In the meantime, even though I am far away, I pick up some velocity here, since it will be my turn on the bridge next. And, sonofabitch, don’t you know that the woman STOPPED in the middle of the bridge. Then she got off her bike and started to foodle around with it, as though her ability to ride the bike up the bridge was somehow the BIKE’S fault, and started walking it up the bridge. As this is happening, I was in the midst of my rapid approach, even having reached the point where I downshift gears so I can get more power to ascend. I come to a screeching halt (which I mean literally; my bike brakes are noisy) at the foot of the bridge, which causes the woman to turn around and look stupidly at me. It takes every shred of my restraint to keep myself from shooting her a dirty look and audibly cursing her name and parentage. Because there is no way in hell anyone buy Lance Armstrong could cold start a ride up that bridge, I had to get off and walk my bike up as well. This was a particularly sore point for me, since I take it as a matter of pride that I can ride up the bridge in the first place. To be forced to walk was just a further insult to my dignity. Plus, it is tiring on the shins. I finally reach the top, and dammit, there they are, admiring the view of the ROAD. I must stress that had they gone perhaps sixty feet further to the bend, they would have been able to look out onto the water, a view which many riders avail themselves of during a moment of respite. This made me want to beat them about the head and neck, which although I refrained, the thought of doing so kept me motivated through the rest of my ride and part of the afternoon.