I think what caused the rage was over training. Its clear to me that Grok would never have been a tri-athlete and for heavens sake, we all know that uber endurance training is not healthy. The effects of cronic over training are; grouchiness, impolite remarks, cursing like a sailor ( a German u-boat one) unkind gestures, paranoia, rudeness and a general cranky attitude. Sounds like what she needed was a month off and a couple of beers and some bratwurst at the local brew haus! I say, don't worry, be happy, cause everything is gonna to be alright!
On Jul 15, 11:21 am, 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 --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "RBW Owners Bunch" group. 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