Feeling Superior

Like every human being who breathes oxygen, I take a certain measure of satisfaction, when conditions are right (say, when the earth is in its orbit around the sun), in feeling superior to other people. No doubt this is a function of my own deeply-held insecurities, but simply being aware of that does nothing to prevent me from taking great delight in every single opportunity in which I can lord even the most minor aspect of my character or situation over some unsuspecting fellow member of my species.

So, one of the things I especially like about bicycling is that it affords me so many of these opportunities; and it’s not just the obvious ones whereby I get to smugly cast aspersions at people who don’t ride bikes; in fact, I probably find even more chances to feel superior to fellow bicycle riders. It’s always the internecine struggles that are ugliest; and while I consistently thumb my nose at automobiles; it’s those two-wheelers for which I really reserve my harshest judgments.

So, for instance, whenever I pass someone—be it a toddler on a bike with training wheels or a senior citizen pedaling a trike—I can’t help but despise them for being slower than me. Conversely, whenever anyone passes me, it’s because they don’t appreciate—as I do—the singular joys of cycling and in their haste, are missing these finer things that only someone traveling at my pace can.

If they’re on a hybrid or mountain bike, I pity them for riding in such an upright position; if they’re stretched out on a modern road bike, they’re fools for not appreciating the more relaxed position my bikes afford.

I see someone in full spandex and think, “cheeseball squid;” I see someone without any bike gear and say to myself, “clueless newbie.”

But best of all is when it’s rainy, like this morning, and a cyclist riding without fenders goes by: “Freshman stripe! I am so superior to that!”