Old Guys On Bikes

About once a week on my cycle commute out to Bothell, I pass by five or six old guys on bikes, riding together as a group down the Burke-Gilman trail. Each is at least 65 or 70, they all ride upright hybrid bikes, and none of them is going very fast. (I know this because the few times I’ve come upon them going my direction, I’ve passed them, proving they’re going just barely quickly enough to keep from falling.)

Although I’ve never exchanged more words with them than a casual “hello” as we go our separate ways, I love these guys. They are a model to me for friendship, camaraderie, and the lifelong joys of two-wheeling with your buddies.

Usually, they’re carrying on a conversation while they ride, and they pedal deliberately enough that talk flows freely. I’ve seen them break into smaller groups of two or three, but in general, they maintain a pretty close pack.

I don’t get the sense that they were serious cyclists in their younger days, so I wonder how they all arrived at the decision to take it up. Did one of them starting riding and come back—to the retirement community or wherever—singing the praises of cycling? Or did it all happen at once? Their bikes are all relatively new and similar in design; did they go en masse to the shop? Did they all try the first guy’s bike and decide they wanted one just like it?

I’ve never seen any women riding with them, so I’m assuming cycling is a way for them to get out of the house and away from the wife for a while; this really makes me appreciate the little boy inside the geezer.

Today I saw them hanging outside of Metropolitan Market with their bikes, taking a break, eating and drinking. It was like a window into .83, fifty years from now—except none of them was working on a forty ouncer.