Comeuppance
This is the time of the year when I get kind of pissy about bike riders on the Burke-Gilman trail.
As the weather improves and more and more cyclists crawl out from under their winter rocks to begin appearing in larger and larger flocks of colorful spandex and lycra, I tend to feel a certain sense of ownership about “my” bike path, the one that I braved all winter long, through rain and snow and gloom of night while all those plastic-clad fair-weather riders stayed in their cars and SUVs.
I try not to be outwardly snotty, and I really do believe that any bike rider is a good bike rider, but inwardly, I’m all smug and self-satisfied and can’t hardly fail to harbor some feelings of resentment that anyone who wasn’t out on the trail when it was glassed with ice and sleet was coming at you sideways doesn’t really deserve to be there. I find myself wishing that I didn’t have to look out for that pair of young men, one on his carbon-fiber Trek, the other coming at me fast on his shiny new Cannondale. “Why can’t it be like it was in late December?” I ask myself, “when the only thing I had to keep an eye on for on the trail was fallen branches?”
Last night, though, I kind of got my wish and frankly, I wasn’t all that delighted about it. I left school about 8:00 in a light drizzle, but which was at least enough, fortunately, to compel me to gear up in the full rainsuit, booties and all, because by the time I got to Kenmore, it was pouring.
Consequently, I didn’t see a single other bike on the trail until I got near the U; and by then, the rain had completely stopped.
I removed my sodden gear, stuffed it in my pack, and smiled happily to the many other cyclists I passed from then on.
As the weather improves and more and more cyclists crawl out from under their winter rocks to begin appearing in larger and larger flocks of colorful spandex and lycra, I tend to feel a certain sense of ownership about “my” bike path, the one that I braved all winter long, through rain and snow and gloom of night while all those plastic-clad fair-weather riders stayed in their cars and SUVs.
I try not to be outwardly snotty, and I really do believe that any bike rider is a good bike rider, but inwardly, I’m all smug and self-satisfied and can’t hardly fail to harbor some feelings of resentment that anyone who wasn’t out on the trail when it was glassed with ice and sleet was coming at you sideways doesn’t really deserve to be there. I find myself wishing that I didn’t have to look out for that pair of young men, one on his carbon-fiber Trek, the other coming at me fast on his shiny new Cannondale. “Why can’t it be like it was in late December?” I ask myself, “when the only thing I had to keep an eye on for on the trail was fallen branches?”
Last night, though, I kind of got my wish and frankly, I wasn’t all that delighted about it. I left school about 8:00 in a light drizzle, but which was at least enough, fortunately, to compel me to gear up in the full rainsuit, booties and all, because by the time I got to Kenmore, it was pouring.
Consequently, I didn’t see a single other bike on the trail until I got near the U; and by then, the rain had completely stopped.
I removed my sodden gear, stuffed it in my pack, and smiled happily to the many other cyclists I passed from then on.
posted by Professor Dave at 9:10 AM
1 Comments:
You mean you don't prefer the company of rain to that of other people? I guess you are a social butterfly after all. Nonetheless, I am still in awe of your ability and will to ride under any conditions, even the most soggy or inebriated.
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