I showed up early for the bicycle ride, the first one to arrive, in fact. I had been invited to join the Sunday regulars by one of them, a guy I used to ride with, before "Pat" told me he wouldn't ride with me anymore because I was too slow.
In fairness to me, I have to say that during our time riding together, I purchased a touring bicycle, by nature heavier and slower than my sport road bike, which I had put in mothballs for a time. After several years, I had seen Pat at a recent annual club ride where I was riding my new lightweight bike, and at the end of the ride he asked me my average speed on the day. When I told him, he was surprised and said since I was now faster than before, maybe I'd like to join him with his usual Sunday group. I thought I'd give it a try, although I find most ride groups not to my liking, mainly for safety reasons (riders blowing stop signs, going double-file, not sharing the road with cars, etc.). So here I was.
In the meantime, when Pat told me where the riders were from, I remarked that I remember one of that gang who once led a ride I was on, and he committed an outrageous offense by holding up cars at a stop-sign intersection so he could suck down some Gatorade while they idled behind our group. Some drivers honked angrily, and I don't blame them. Turns out this same ignoramus is part of this Sunday group. Great.
On this day, there were about 8 riders assembled when we started out. One, an older gent with whom I had spoken as we assembled (we found we have a mutual acquaintance), had ridden a 75 mile-long charity ride the day before, and during this ride he started "falling off the back." I pointed this out to Pat just ahead of me ("What about Harry?"), and he turned around, saw the situation, then turned back front and yelled, "Rider off!" So we all waited at the next intersection for Harry to catch up. When he did, he thanked us but told us to carry on without him, as there just was not enough left in
his legs after the day before for him to continue riding with us. Mind you, Harry still had about a 10-mile ride back to his car, which he'd left at the start point of the previous day's charity ride. Godspeed, Harry. Presumably you made it to your car all right.
We rode on, and I was enjoying the clear, not too chilly Burlington County autumn morning. After more than an hour, we arrived at a farm stand / deli that provided a place to buy food and drink, and some outdoor picnic tables under a big canopy on which to enjoy these things. Pat, a strong rider but not built like the typical slim Tour boys, started inhaling a chocolate-topped éclair. I said, "That shit will kill you." He replied, "But at least I'll go with a smile on my face." Then I saw another rider eating an identical éclair, and thought I should have kept my mouth shut, as I was, in effect,chiding him too, a stranger. Oops.
Also having something to eat at the tables was a young, close-cropped and intense guy, likely from the military base nearby, wearing a NY Jets jersey, uncommon in those parts. Turns out he was from Long Island, and he very much wanted to talk, so we obliged him and had a bit of a discussion about the day's prospects for his team.
Later in the ride, we made a left turn and I found myself where I did not want to be, to the left of the rider line, the only rider double-file, one of my bugaboos. Terrific. It so happened there was not much shoulder along that road, and a pickup truck was coming up fast in my mirror. I saw there was no oncoming traffic, and that the pickup had room, but due to his aggressive speed I made a move to get into the rider line, saying loudly, "Coming over." But the woman in line there made no move to let me in. I was on my own, apparently. So I hugged the line from the left as best I could while the truck went roaring by, leaning on his horn. Uncool and uncalled for, but he did it, and it was a tense moment.
Several times during the ride, while we were stopped at traffic-light intersections, I noticed the rider at the front was turned and talking to the riders behind him, not noticing when the light was changing. So several times I called out, "Got an amber!" thinking it is safest if everyone is ready to go when our light changes to green, rather than straggling thru in a ragged broken line in a way that makes it more difficult for turning cars. At one of the traffic lights just before the ride's end, the lead guy made a pointed comment while looking in my direction that he did not appreciate such calls (altho I hadn't made one in this instance - yet). Pat, to his goofy-ass credit, saw the light was changing over the shoulder of the complaining leader and yelled, "Changing!" When the leader looked at him, Pat gave him a smile and stuck his tongue out, nicely defusing the situation for me.
At the end, as people were packing up and going their separate ways, Pat rode up to me and said that I should have arm-signaled to the woman that I wanted to come into the line during the pickup-truck incident. I told him I know that is standard, but I felt I did not dare take a hand off my handlebar at that dicey time, and that she definitely had heard my call and still didn't move to make room to let me in. Pat said that, well, we are dealing with personalities, and that is hers. Great. I guess she was thinking, "It's my spot. Screw your safety, new guy."
In fairness to me, I have to say that during our time riding together, I purchased a touring bicycle, by nature heavier and slower than my sport road bike, which I had put in mothballs for a time. After several years, I had seen Pat at a recent annual club ride where I was riding my new lightweight bike, and at the end of the ride he asked me my average speed on the day. When I told him, he was surprised and said since I was now faster than before, maybe I'd like to join him with his usual Sunday group. I thought I'd give it a try, although I find most ride groups not to my liking, mainly for safety reasons (riders blowing stop signs, going double-file, not sharing the road with cars, etc.). So here I was.
In the meantime, when Pat told me where the riders were from, I remarked that I remember one of that gang who once led a ride I was on, and he committed an outrageous offense by holding up cars at a stop-sign intersection so he could suck down some Gatorade while they idled behind our group. Some drivers honked angrily, and I don't blame them. Turns out this same ignoramus is part of this Sunday group. Great.
On this day, there were about 8 riders assembled when we started out. One, an older gent with whom I had spoken as we assembled (we found we have a mutual acquaintance), had ridden a 75 mile-long charity ride the day before, and during this ride he started "falling off the back." I pointed this out to Pat just ahead of me ("What about Harry?"), and he turned around, saw the situation, then turned back front and yelled, "Rider off!" So we all waited at the next intersection for Harry to catch up. When he did, he thanked us but told us to carry on without him, as there just was not enough left in
his legs after the day before for him to continue riding with us. Mind you, Harry still had about a 10-mile ride back to his car, which he'd left at the start point of the previous day's charity ride. Godspeed, Harry. Presumably you made it to your car all right.
We rode on, and I was enjoying the clear, not too chilly Burlington County autumn morning. After more than an hour, we arrived at a farm stand / deli that provided a place to buy food and drink, and some outdoor picnic tables under a big canopy on which to enjoy these things. Pat, a strong rider but not built like the typical slim Tour boys, started inhaling a chocolate-topped éclair. I said, "That shit will kill you." He replied, "But at least I'll go with a smile on my face." Then I saw another rider eating an identical éclair, and thought I should have kept my mouth shut, as I was, in effect,chiding him too, a stranger. Oops.
Also having something to eat at the tables was a young, close-cropped and intense guy, likely from the military base nearby, wearing a NY Jets jersey, uncommon in those parts. Turns out he was from Long Island, and he very much wanted to talk, so we obliged him and had a bit of a discussion about the day's prospects for his team.
Later in the ride, we made a left turn and I found myself where I did not want to be, to the left of the rider line, the only rider double-file, one of my bugaboos. Terrific. It so happened there was not much shoulder along that road, and a pickup truck was coming up fast in my mirror. I saw there was no oncoming traffic, and that the pickup had room, but due to his aggressive speed I made a move to get into the rider line, saying loudly, "Coming over." But the woman in line there made no move to let me in. I was on my own, apparently. So I hugged the line from the left as best I could while the truck went roaring by, leaning on his horn. Uncool and uncalled for, but he did it, and it was a tense moment.
Several times during the ride, while we were stopped at traffic-light intersections, I noticed the rider at the front was turned and talking to the riders behind him, not noticing when the light was changing. So several times I called out, "Got an amber!" thinking it is safest if everyone is ready to go when our light changes to green, rather than straggling thru in a ragged broken line in a way that makes it more difficult for turning cars. At one of the traffic lights just before the ride's end, the lead guy made a pointed comment while looking in my direction that he did not appreciate such calls (altho I hadn't made one in this instance - yet). Pat, to his goofy-ass credit, saw the light was changing over the shoulder of the complaining leader and yelled, "Changing!" When the leader looked at him, Pat gave him a smile and stuck his tongue out, nicely defusing the situation for me.
At the end, as people were packing up and going their separate ways, Pat rode up to me and said that I should have arm-signaled to the woman that I wanted to come into the line during the pickup-truck incident. I told him I know that is standard, but I felt I did not dare take a hand off my handlebar at that dicey time, and that she definitely had heard my call and still didn't move to make room to let me in. Pat said that, well, we are dealing with personalities, and that is hers. Great. I guess she was thinking, "It's my spot. Screw your safety, new guy."
I am comfortable riding solo for long distances. But when the weather is cold and I still want to ride, it is better to ride in a group in case of a problem, mechanical or otherwise, that can otherwise lead to being stranded and shivering on the roadside, with numbing fingers too uncooperative to perform a repair even if you know how to do it and have the right stuff with you. So will I ride with this group again (assuming they would not object)?
At the end of the ride, one of the other riders went out of his way to come over and speak with me in a friendly way, and I realized he had led at least one ride I had been on maybe 5 years prior, and I liked him then and now.
And the ride's start point is only about a 15-minute drive (or a half-hour ride) from my home.
We'll see.
EDIT: No.
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And it occurred to me that today marks 10 years since I gave up cigarettes.
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