Bike Snob would have a field day!
On Jul 17, 10:00 am, PATRICK MOORE <bertin...@gmail.com> wrote:
> I think we ought to have Bike Snob comment on this one!
> You should have said: those Germans! Always so serious!
>
> This rider's actions were so out of place that they are (at least in your
> report) funny, as well as pathetic. Poor creature, to be so nasty.
>
> On Wed, Jul 15, 2009 at 12:21 PM, Aaron Thomas
> <aaron.a.tho...@gmail.com>wrote:
>
>
>
>
>
> > This may be an unconventional "ride report" for the Riv group -- I
> > have no photos to share or exotic places to describe -- but I think it
> > is a story worth telling, if only because it is so bizarre, and I
> > wonder if anyone else has had similar experiences on the road or any
> > insight into the phenomenon.
>
> > Yesterday I went on an urban ride near my apartment, a loop traveled
> > by countless cyclists simply because it is one of the few places on
> > LA's westside where you can open it up without being detained by too
> > many stoplights. The ride starts out with a gradually rising false
> > flat, which I treat as a warmup, spinning at a relaxed 18-19 mph.
>
> > I came up behind a woman crouched over the aero bars on a time trial
> > bike. I maintained a distance of 6 feet or so, waiting for a break in
> > the automobile traffic to our left in order to pass her. Before that
> > happened, however, she looked back and yelled, "are you out for a free
> > ride today, mister? Go do your own training ride!"
>
> > Perplexed, I asked her to repeat, which she did, this time peppering
> > her phrases with a few F-bombs and an injunction to stay away from her
> > because she doesn't even know me and doesn't want me drafting off her.
>
> > What? Drafting? Come again? I wasn't drafting, I explain, but rather
> > was at least 6 feet behind and waiting for a safe moment to pass. And
> > what does it matter if you don't know me? I don't get it.
>
> > More insults and F-bombs followed. And at this point she pulled to the
> > side and waved me by, cussing at me as I passed. Letting her rage get
> > the best of me, I lost my cool and returned an F-bomb or two, upping
> > the ante with that special C-word women generally don't like to hear.
>
> > With adrenaline rushing, I hammered away angrily in order to put a
> > healthy distance between myself and someone seemingly so unstable. But
> > the separation didn't last for long, as we both eventually were
> > detained by a stoplight.
>
> > As she pulled up behind me I turned around and asked, with the most
> > polite voice I could muster, what her problem was and what she thought
> > I was doing wrong.
>
> > Again she unfurled a chain of expletives. But aside from the
> > unmistakably unambiguous F-bombs she was dropping, I could not
> > entirely understand her rant through her rather thick German accent.
> > (For all I know she may have been lacing English and German together
> > into a linguistic hodgepodge of insults.)
>
> > At one point, however, I was able to make out the following: "I don't
> > want to get in an accident because you don't know how to ride a bike."
>
> > I ask her what makes her think I don't know how to ride a bike. And
> > she says, "just look at you, I can tell. And look at your bike. It's a
> > joke. You are not a serious rider, you can tell from your bike. And I
> > don't want to get in a crash because you don't know how to ride a
> > bike." And for good measure, she punctuated this assertion with a
> > couple variations on the F-bomb. Just how I would cause her to crash
> > by riding 6 feet behind her was not clear to me, nor did she succeed
> > in explaining whatever rationale she was following.
>
> > Now, mind you, neither my attire nor my Romulus are what might pass as
> > standard Rivendell equipment. I wear lycra bibs, a cycling jersey, and
> > Sidi road shoes. My bike has skinny tires, Campy Ergo shift levers, an
> > outboard bearing double crankset, a racy titanium-railed saddle,
> > Speedplay pedals, and has no fenders or luggage. To my eyes, it is a
> > road bike more than a "country bike," and if I swapped out the frame
> > for something carbon, there would be virtually no distinction between
> > my equipment and that of your typical club rider. But apparently to
> > her eyes, the fact that my frame is lugged steel and has a quill stem
> > is indication enough that it isn't a "serious" bike and I am not a
> > "serious rider."
>
> > I am certainly accustomed to gentle ribbing from the carbon crowd on
> > the club rides I go on. But their comments are more often than not
> > underhanded compliments, e.g. "if you're keeping up with us on that
> > old bucket of bolts, just imagine if you had a full carbon rig!"
>
> > But no one could mistake this triathlete's comments for a compliment,
> > underhand or otherwise. As I rode away on the green light, adrenaline
> > again rushing, a few similar encounters I've had with triathletes came
> > freshly to mind. None of the previous incidents were so abrasive or
> > abusive -- F-bombs were not lobbed. But they were unpleasant
> > encounters nonetheless, in which the triathletes went ballistic at the
> > thought that I might be drafting off them (which I never was in fact
> > doing) and commanded me to get away from them immediately.
>
> > Is there something in the triathlete's water that makes them so
> > patently nutty when it comes to sharing the road? Has anyone else
> > experienced some form of triathlete road rage? Are there any
> > triathletes on this list who can lend some perspective to what seems
> > to me to be utterly inexplicable behavior?
>
> > Aaron
>
> --
> Patrick Moore
> Albuquerque, NM
> Professional Resumes. Contact resumespecialt...@gmail.com
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