Culture of the bike

Any group of cyclists is a culture onto itself, a unique combination of personalities, skills, rules and mores for the time that group is riding together.  Moving from a culture of riders I was comfortable with for the past eight years in Dubuque and trying to fit in with a new group of riders here in Colorado has been a personal challenge, one that helps me to understand the dynamics my kids are facing at school, making new friends, understanding what’s done and what isn’t done.

I make mistakes even when I’m certain I’m not.  On a ride in southern France a few years ago, I was on the front of small and diverse group of very good riders.   I’d been in country for several weeks already and had dropped the beat-your-chest riding style of most American group rides and was riding calmly next to Steve, the U23 road champ of Britain.  Steve’s a great guy, it turns out, but in the middle of our first ride together he grabbed my arm and let loose with a string of obscenities.  “What the f--- are you doing?  You think you’re better than me?  I’ll kick your a—any day of the week.”  The last few sentences give the gist of what was said.  I was confused; moments before I’d been so pleased to be riding with this group, and now I’d done something that must have been on par with killing ‘is mum.  “You’re f---in’ half-wheeling me!”  Another slew of obscenities.  Half-wheeling is when one rider, riding abreast of another at the front of a paceline, nudges his wheel in front of the other.  This causes the other to accelerate slightly to compensate.  The other rider again nudges forward and again the other rider has to accelerate.  You can see why this would be uncomfortable after awhile.  To this day, however, I’m certain I never half-wheeled Steve.  I think he just wanted an opportunity to vocally demonstrate his position in the group, which was certainly above me. 

All of this is unsaid, except for the obscenities of course.  I need to earn my position in the group by demonstrating my fitness over time. 

Flash forward a couple of years and there is Chris riding on the Saturday morning ride in Colorado Springs.  Riding with the group since the first week of July, this was probably my twelfth or fourteenth time out.  Folks know my name; I chat with people in the paceline; heck, I even took a sprint a couple of weeks ago.  So, I wasn’t prepared for the drama of the ride as we approached the hill sprint on Link Road.

We were really rocking as we headed south and Cody and I floated to the front and drove the pace to about 40 for a few miles, alternating pulls.  We were going into a wind, so it made sense for the two biggest guys to be on the front for a bit.  The spring was miles away and there was time to recover for it, but when the group heads south, it’s definitely race time.  Guys work for teammates and small breaks try to happen and they get chased down by other folks.  Every time for fourteen times that’s the way it’s been. 

A mile before the sprint, I’m taking a breather and come off the front and three guys come by.  A gap, no one else wants the wind, so I slot in at fourth wheel.  Two guys are Spike teammates and one in all gray is obviously a friend;  not one has taken a single pull to this point.  They do a quick rotation and the gray guy tries to wave me through as I just ride in the rocking chair off the last wheel of the rotation.  I decline, still catching my breath and not wanting to get attacked before the hill sprint after a pull.  He waves more vigorously and I decline and he shakes his head in disgust.  I grunt and tell him to do something to himself.  He is offended, but weighs all of 130 pounds.  I ignore him and he continues to rant about what a idiot I am on the bike.  I realize he is a Kiwi, and likely a visiting pro.  The hill sprint comes and goes and we surge to the next sprint.  He shouts for folks to pull through, no one wants to and I’m still in first six wheels, surfing folks moving up and staying out of the heavy wind.  Another rider I’ve never seen before, this one is a Stars and Stripes outfit, tells me to take a pull. 

‘Why?’ 

Quizzical look on her face.

‘Why should I pull through?  Are we on a team ride?  Will it help me in the sprint ahead?’

‘This isn’t the world championships.’  Well, duh.  But it is a race simulation in the middle of a long training ride with a bunch of guys from different teams.  I’m not going to be bullied into pulling other people into sprint finish with a headwind.

For some reason this bothers me for a while during and after the ride.  Cody, drafting me into each of the sprints rides up behind the gray rider and loudly complains about little riders making noise about pulling when they were no where to be seen during the first part of the ride.  Of course I’ve cleaned up the language a bit.

Later, I realize it’s about pecking order and the constant psychological games that riders play with each other, especially in the heat of a hard ride.  My dog does the same thing with other dogs and I guess cyclists are doomed to behave in the same manner with each other. 

Thank goodness we don’t pee all over the place.