The Curious Case of Cyclists

I’m back from my two week blog sabbatical and today I want to try to formulate my opinion on those spandex-loving, pedal pushers that we call cyclists. You know what they say about opinions; they’re like A-holes, everyone has one but mine’s the only one that doesn’t stink. Coincidentally cyclists are sometimes like A-holes too. Sometimes. When I started running I was one of those annoying people who waved at everyone else on the path; runners, cyclists, rollerbladers, dog walkers, squirrels and speed-walkers. If you were out there exercising then we were kindred spirits and I figured the decent human thing to do was to acknowledge each other. Can you guess which of the aforementioned groups proved to be least likely to return my smiling head nod? If you answered ‘squirrels’ you’re absolutely right, but cyclists were only slightly behind them, scientifically proving that cyclists are only slightly smarter than squirrels.

Now I’m pretty sure that I have some cyclists that read Half-Fast (at least I did until I wrote that first paragraph) and I know I have some triathletes who visit, my wife for one, so please hear me out before you go getting all offended or leaving me nasty comments or putting my pillow and some blankets on the couch. This past week I had the misfortune of being accused by a cyclist of being a ‘douchebag’ and showing signs of ‘douchetardation’ in my very own comments section, which is annoying because I thought ‘douchetardation’ was pretty funny. Anyway, I’m probably projecting my displeasure at that one cyclist onto all cyclists which is a lot of fun for me, but completely unfair to cyclists in general. I hear that painting people with a broad brush and creating stereotypes is not a nice thing to do and can apparently be quite insulting, not to mention that it could lead to me being wrong about something which would be a travesty. Just as there are a few runners who are idiots (I can think of at least three), I’m sure that there are only a few cyclists who are idiots and the rest are probably nice people. For example, I bet all of you reading this are of the nice variety (read: please don’t be mean in the comments, I’m a crier).

Still, there’s a part of me (the part of me that sucks at cycling) that wonders if there really are nice cyclists out there. Take the Fat Cyclist for instance, on the one hand he is a cyclist and a law-breaker. On the other hand he has a blog that’s well worth reading, a writing style that I find quite similar to my own (i.e. plenty of baseless braggadocio and sarcasm except immeasurably better all-around) and he has helped raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for charity which would indicate that he’s a nice person. It’s so confusing. Could it be that cyclists are people too? Can it be that they deserve equal rights, even equal access to the roads? I’m going to go out on a limb and say that they do because I’m a forward thinker like that. Cyclists, you’re OK in my book. I can imagine what a sense of relief you’re feeling knowing that you have my approval, but there’s no need to thank me.

So go ahead fellow runners, add a cyclist to your reader. You’ll feel good about having some diversity in your reader and you’ll realize that there’s more to life than running.

Déjà Vu

Last summer I had an incident with a family of cyclists wherein I found myself stuck running amongst them. This led to a chain of events including one of the cyclists falling and me getting buzzed by doucheboy (using buzzed in the non-drinking meaning of the word). It resulted in a very humorous post if I do say so myself and you really ought to check it out if you didn’t catch it the first time. It’s not like you’re doing anything better today, it’s Friday and you’re reading a running blog so I’m guessing that you don’t have ‘meeting in the Oval Office’ or ‘product development call with Steve Jobs’ on your schedule today. I on the other hand do have important stuff on my schedule, things like ‘take long lunch’ and ‘watch last night’s episode of The Office online,’ don’t ruin it for me in the comments or I’ll hunt you down.

Anyway, last night on my tempo run (way better than intervals) I found myself in a similar situation. I was running down the path when I spotted a young family on their bikes up ahead. The father and youngest boy were trailing behind and the mother and older son were waiting for them further up the path. As I passed the slower pair they sped up a little and stayed right on my heels and as the three of us caught up with the faster pair they started pedaling down the path too. So there I was, once again bracketed in by a family of cyclists and they didn’t seem to care. They conversed with each other as though I wasn’t even there and I could feel the young boy behind me (that’s what she said) trying to pass. Since they seemed perfectly content with the situation it was up to me to rectify it.

It was time to teach them a little lesson that I like to refer to as ‘The Vanilla always rises to the top.’ I summoned up a burst of speed, recounted Viper’s rules to passing in my head and then I made my move. It was quick and decisive, I was by them in 3 or 4 steps and I didn’t let up. I kept pushing them further behind me with each step. I didn’t slow down until I rounded the sharp turn roughly 100 yards up the path and I never saw them again after that. Victory was mine! Victory and over-dramatization, both mine!

If you haven’t ever passed a cyclist during a run then you really should because it’s a huge ego boost which is exactly what a modest, unassuming guy like me needs. I recommend that you all go out and pass a cyclist on your runs this weekend, even if it’s just a little girl with pig-tails and training wheels that you pass, it still makes you feel like a world beater.

Negative Ghost Rider, the Pattern is Full

I was intentionally buzzed by a cyclist during my run on Monday night. Actually, I’m not sure that “cyclist” is the correct term for this particular guy, he was more of a pedestrian who just happened to be riding a bike. A BMX bike, whose frame was dwarfed by that of its rider.

As I rounded a bend on my usual running path I spotted a family up ahead of me, they were stopped on their bikes and completely blocking the path. As I closed in on them from behind, two of them pedaled off ahead of me while the other three remained in the standard military roadblock formation. I veered into the grass and made my way around them. I honestly wasn’t all that annoyed, and was thankful to be through the checkpoint without having to pass a sobriety test or have my trunk checked.

The two that had gone on ahead (a lady and a young kid) were now right in front of me, and traveling at the same speed that I was. Unfortunately this was not due to the fact that I’m fast enough to keep up with “cyclists” but rather due to the fact that the kid was apparently riding without training wheels for the first time. Either that or he just sucked at bike riding. The kid was maybe 6 years old and was wobbling all over the place, I was shocked that he had been allowed to pass through the last sobriety checkpoint because he looked pretty smashed to me.

Meanwhile, the three-man roadblock had started following me down the path right after I had passed them. I now found myself running in the middle of a family of “cyclists” and quite frankly it was a little awkward. My Garmins revealed that I was running at the right pace, pushing myself a little, and I didn’t want to pass the two in front of me because I assumed that they’d eventually speed up. It was at this point that one of the roadblockers yelled from behind “Hey Mary, watch out on your right!” Mary then pulled over to the left and instructed the kid to do likewise, but I didn’t want to pass them, I didn’t want to run faster. So there I was with an open lane and everyone expecting me to speed up and overtake them. It was kind of like when someone holds a door open for you even though you’re still 20 yards away, I felt like I had to speed up. So I did.

As I passed Mary, the kid stopped looking at his pedals long enough glance back over his shoulder. This move caused him to veer even further to the left and as his bike toppled from the path the young foal lost his balance. His head bounced like a bell’s clapper inside his oversized helmet, but I’m sure he was OK. I just kept on trucking, still uncertain if he was new to 2 wheels or if he really did suck at bike riding.

About a half mile further down the path, the incident long forgotten I heard a “cyclist” bearing down on me. It was one of the roadblockers. From the popped collar and sagging shorts I’d guess he was about 15 going on douchebag. He came within an inch of wrecking his stunt-pegs on my ankles and then immediately braked in front of me, his pungent cologne assaulting my nostrils. He looked at me, and then in his best Michael Corleone voice he said “Oh... Excuse me, I didn’t see you there.” He was sending me a message. Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes indeed. It was so comical that I actually laughed. He was stopped on the path, waiting for the rest of The Family and he took umbrage with my joviality as I passed him again. At least he would have if he’d have understood any of the words in that sentence. “What?” He yelled. “What’s so funny, huh?” Still smiling, I looked back at him and shrugged. He yelled some more as I made my way down the path but I was too far away and too indifferent to hear.