Tourists

To all those spandex-wearing carbon fiber-riding cyclists who blew by me in both directions on the Burke-Gilman trail today, I just have one question: where we you in December when it was dark at 3:30 in the afternoon and the rain was blowing sideways into your face as you struggled against a headwind whether heading north or south?

Oh, I know any biking is good biking and props to you for taking the two-wheeler out of storage on this beautiful afternoon, putting it on top of the car, and driving out to Logboom Park so you can hammer up and down the trail for an hour and get a real workout, but still, don’t you know who I am?  (Obviously not, or you wouldn’t look askance at me as you zoom by; rather, you’d hold me in the appropriate awe for having been out there on many a day you wouldn’t dream of pedaling your fender-less Cervelo on.)

Sourpuss?  Sure, I admit it, but I’ve earned it, see?  This is my trail, the one I had to put up with not being able to use for nine cold and rainy months but instead had to mash up Lake City Boulevard with busses and cars deafening me.  So pardon me if I’m less than thrilled to see you out on the nicest day of the year riding three abreast and talking on your cellphones as you pretend to be Lance Armstrong, okay?

Of course, I have to laugh when your rock-hard 23mm tires bounce high off the tree roots and send your diaper-covered posteriors skyward while meanwhile, I cruise gently over all such obstacles on the Saluki’s cushy 42’s.

And so many grimaces, as riders pushed themselves to their limits and beyond.  I, on the other hand, just kept smiling, watching as my fair-weather friends clenched their jaws and bared their teeth, heartened by the knowledge that rain will soon be back and with it, the madding crowd.