Even though I don’t race anymore, I still get in lots of time on the road bike. I also still ride pretty much the same way I did when I was racing – fast and hard! As a result, I regularly pass other cyclists during my rides. Not that I’m a super stud – the vast majority of cyclists I pass are recreational riders and weekend warriors who don’t have the benefit of years of racing in their legs. I try to be “polite,” not take them by surprise, and treat them with respect – racing types are often accused of “arrogance” towards non-racers, and I don’t want to be automatically regarded as such due to my flash bike and color-coordinated lycra. I suppose there are different ways to accomplish this, but my way is to announce “On your left” as I get within earshot, pass them at an even keel without standing or accelerating, give them a friendly nod and a “Howdy” as I pass, and then continue on my way at the same steady pace.
I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I was not like this when I first began racing. In those days, anxious to validate my abilities, I would chase down any cyclist I saw up the road and consider it a “victory” when I caught and passed them. I tried to ride by them as fast as possible so they could be really impressed at how fast I could ride. And if another cyclist caught and tried to pass me? Well, it was on! In the years that followed, I learned to appreciate the traditions and etiquette of road cycling as much as the act itself. After racing for seven years and achieving some degree of competitiveness, I eventually learned that it is the character and not the speed with which one rides that impresses others. Ironically, the better a racer I became, the less I felt the need to demonstrate those abilities.
It is with that backdrop that I share a few recent events that have left me chuckling. Both involve the reactions of cyclists that I had overtaken on one of my rides and remind me of my former, less mature self. The first happened a few weeks ago on my lunchtime route, when I passed a cyclist on Clayton Road. He was on a pretty good road bike and dressed in one of the local team kits – unusual compared to what I normally see on my lunch rides. I passed with my standard courtesies, and when I didn’t recognize him as anyone I’d seen before I continued north on Baxter. At the bottom of the hill I had to slow for a stoplight but could see that it would turn green again soon, so I scrubbed a little speed on the approach and then started picking it back up when the light turned green right as I was reaching the intersection. I had forgotten about the cyclist, but right as I was picking it back up again he came flying by me (I don’t know how he would’ve stopped had the light not turned green when it did) and headed into the short, stiff climb just past the intersection. I just kind of chuckled as I watched this and continued picking it back up, and then I could see him slowing rapidly on the climb. It was a pretty easy climb, really, and without any effort I started closing back in on him. “Great,” I thought, as I really wasn’t interested in playing games with him, so I eased up to let him get over the hump, and as he did he started thrashing the pedals to get going again, even looking back over his shoulder – presumably to check out whether he was still “beating” me? Fortunately, he quickly turned onto a side street, and I was spared any further annoyance.
A few days later I was stopped at a light on Chesterfield Parkway and saw a cyclist turn right onto the Parkway and continue on ahead of me. Like the previous guy, this guy was also on a racing-type bike and wearing kit, though not from any local team that I could recognize. Again, in my younger days this would have been like a red cape to the bull, and I would have started chasing him down as soon as the light turned green. However, I was in the last 15 miles of a hilly 70-miler, so even if I had the notion the smart move would’ve still been to chill. Nevertheless, as I continued on the Parkway I could see him on the climb up ahead, and by the time we reached Wildhorse Creek it was clear that I was closing in on him. When I was fairly close, I had to gauge whether I really wanted to pass – he was carrying a decent pace, but just a bit too slow. I made the move on a slight rise, but then got held up at the stoplight. He pulled up behind me, and I turned and said, ”Hey.” He replied in kind, but something about his tenor said, “Don’t talk to me.” So, in awkward silence, I stood there waiting for the light to turn. When it did, I started off and got up to speed, but I could ”feel” him on my wheel. I’m sorry, but it’s just really presumptuous to ride somebody’s wheel without at least asking them if it’s alright. Regardless, I kept my pace, and he followed me for the next mile or so until we hit a climb. He continued pacing me on the bottom half, and then about midway up he moves around and passes. It was a harder effort than I wanted to do (much harder than what he was doing on the previous climb when I passed him), so I didn’t try to up the effort at all. As he passed, he kind of gave me a look but didn’t say anything, and then continued on ahead. Unlike the previous guy, I didn’t have to worry about what to do with this guy once we crested the climb, as he continued jamming a hard pace for the next half mile or so before turning off on Kehrs Mill.
Who are these guys? They’re me. When I was younger, more insecure, and less appreciative of the finer points of cycling etiquette. I’m sure both of them were much more impressed with themselves than I was, but I can live with it. In fact, maybe in a few years, having become sage veterans of the road, they’ll recount the experience themselves and feel the same twinge of embarrassment that I feel when I think back on similar events in my earlier days of cycling.
Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009
) that I will have to do in the Étape next July.
November Wrap-up
November 29, 2009 by Ted C. MacRae
November ended up being a rather nice month of riding – not at all what it promised to be coming after what had to be the crappiest October in history! Temps remained relatively mild, and although there was some rain there were only four days during the month that it actually prevented me from riding. I ended the month with 720 miles (plus I’ll get another 20+ tomorrow), and more importantly I got in a 70+ mile ride during all five weekends. Total climbing for the month was 41,000 feet, and total time in the saddle was 40 hours. These aren’t extraordinarly totals, and they aren’t meant to be (l’Etape du Tour is more than 7 months away still) – but it’s a good, solid start.
Please explain this to me. How can I ride 72 miles on the best roads that west St. Louis County has to offer on a day with no rain and temps in the mid-50s – and see only one other cyclist?
Wouldn’t you know it – just a few days after my post on passing etiquette, I get tested by the most irritating example of bad behavior that I’ve seen yet. I was deep into last Sunday’s BugMan ride and was waiting at a stoplight (eastbound on Wildhorse Creek Road, turning left onto Chesterfield Parkway) when a cyclist pulled up beside me. He was wearing one of the local cycling team kits – let’s call it “Vaginal Force” – and was somebody I recognized from my racing days but did not know by name – let’s call him… Kram… er, Kramer – yes, Kramer. The light turned green just as he was pulling up, so he mumbled some kind of greeting and then immediately shot in front of me as we began navigating through the turn. A little annoying, but he seemed to be in a hurry so whatever – if it was me, and I pulled up behind an obviously capable cyclist sitting at a stoplight, I would wait a little bit after the start to see what kind of pace he took starting up again and then gauge whether I needed to pass. I didn’t try to get on his wheel, but within a block or so I could see that I was closing and would have to decide whether I should pass. Fortunately, he turned right at Swingley Ridge before I had to make the decision, so I was spared the annoyance – I thought!
I continued on Chesterfield Parkway and turned east on Conway. After turning, I happened to look back and saw the same rider some distance behind me. Apparently he had used Swingley Ridge as a “shortcut” to get to Conway but it hadn’t worked out so well. He was pretty far back, so I figured I was safe and continued riding. I made it all the way to Hwy 141 but got stopped by the light, and before the light turned green he caught up to me. We exchanged pleasantries again, but this time when the light turned green he didn’t bolt in front of me – instead riding with me and striking up a conversation. Okay, this is cool. Unfortunately, he must have been hard of hearing, because everytime I said something, he either replied “Huh?” or said something that made it clear he misunderstood what I said. I tried speaking loudly and clearly, but this quickly became tedius, and since I really didn’t even really know the guy I found myself looking for an out. That out would come suddenly and most unexpectedly! We were approaching the stop sign at the bottom of the descent to Mason, and he had asked me if I was doing the Hwy 40 time trial. I was in the middle of answering when I began braking for the stop – and he just kept going! He just blasted right through that stop sign at full speed, with cars at the other stop signs no less! I watched him continue on in disbelief and noticed a similar look of disbelief on the face of the driver in the car waiting at the stop sign to the right. She looked at me like “Well, are you gonna run the stop sign too?!” before tentatively taking her turn. I was happy to sit and wait for her so that Vaginal Force Kramer could get up the road a bit and I wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.
But of course, I was still not done with VFK, as I began closing on him on the climb to Hwy 270. I really didn’t want to catch him, because I was so pissed at him for what he did at the stop sign – it would take all the self-control I could muster to not chastise him for his stupidity. At the same time, I wasn’t willing to let him take me out of my ride and the way I wanted to do it. As I closed and weighed my options, I considered that maybe he was just waiting up for me, but I just didn’t believe it – if he was wanting to ride with me, he would’ve soft-pedaled or even stopped and waited after stupidly blasting through the stop sign. No, he was riding his ride and oblivious to the fact that the guy he had rode away from in mid-sentence was closing in on him. I decided the only thing I could do was go ahead and pass and hope he didn’t try to stay on me. I made my move halfway up the climb, and as I passed bit my tongue and just said, “Have a great ride!” I was climbing assertively (but not all out) to try to put some distance between us quickly so he wouldn’t think I was just trading pulls with him, but the phuquer grabbed my wheel anyway and sat there all the way up the climb. Near the summit he made the move around me, and I’d had it – I just stopped there in the road, drank some GU2O and waited until he got out of sight before continuing on. I thought my plan had backfired when I approached the stoplight at Ballas and saw him sitting there, but the light turned green well before I got there and even turned red again before that for extra safety margin. Never before have I been so happy to see a red light.
Is there something wrong with me? Why do these guys irritate me so? It almost seems like guys see my flash bike and race cut clothing and just assume I’m ready to throw down with anybody I meet on the street. I guess it’s possible that I’m just getting grouchy in my old age (although VFK was no spring chicken himself), but I really don’t think so – I love group rides, even of the “drop” variety (and even when I am the one dropped). I just like to pick the kind of riders that I ride with, and first and foremost they have to be safe! Rolling stop signs on lonely country roads is one thing – blasting them in Town & Country with cars waiting is another. It’s not a frickin’ race out there – geez!
Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009
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