I rode my bike to work today for the first time in a few weeks. Vacation time, and then way too humid weather scuttled my few months of fairly dedicated cycling. As I was making a left turn into centretown this morning, I did my shoulder check and saw a skinny dude on a fancy road bike and wearing some styling racing gear; he was right on my tail. I was wearing my old Mountain Equipment Co-Op shorts and shirt that would be better suited for camping than a cycling race, though I guess they do match my eighteen-year old hybrid bicycle that I bought with my first decent university summer job.
I signalled my turn, moved out into the lane, and smoothly turned my corner. Just as I was turning though, my big plastic fender decided to noisily fall off my front wheel. Gah, now I was looking even less cool. Racing Dude carried on straight ahead without a glance or check to see if things were OK. I stopped at the side of the road and looked back. That fender was right in the middle of traffic. It was made of soft plastic and it wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. I decided not to run out into the road to get it.
Soon after that, I pulled up safely in front of my building and started locking up my bike. As I was finishing, who do you imagine pulls up to my building too? That’s right – Racing Dude. He looked at me. He didn’t smile. Nice, Racing Dude, my bike may be old and I don’t look as cool as you, but I totally kicked your ass.