So, this morning I’m cruising along, whistling a happy tune, noticing the birds along the trail, when on my left a bike rider whips around me like a sprinter going for the gold in the Olympic Velodrome. As he passes, he gives me a look back, not unlike the look Lance gave Jan Ullrich in the ’01 Tour. I kept lazily rolling along, keeping my pace nice and slow to keep from perspiring in my work clothes. I caught up at the next stop light where I flashed a friendly nod and smile that was met with a steely-eyed, racer-like grimace. When the light turned green, he bolted like Mark Cavendish off the front of the peloton in a final sprint, leaving me in the dust.
When I arrived at the train station a few minutes later, I noticed my rival on the platform, covered in sweat, but basking in the glory of perceived victory. But alas, it was not to be. I stowed away my bike in my bike locker, then I flashed a little grin as I slipped on the train ahead of him and grabbed the prime seat next to the exit, stealing victory from his clutches at the line.
You gotta’ love commuter races… :-)