While it may come as a surprise to some, I have many friends some of whom are even real.  Many of those fine folks ride bicycles and yet I continue to find myself riding alone.  No, that’s not accurate – I ride alone to find myself.  It’s a choice.

Take Ken.  I’ve known Ken longer than I haven’t, since before we were old enough to drive.  That we’ve landed in the same new city, in the same industry and continue to enjoy each other’s company is one of life’s remarkable blessings.  Ken is family.  Ken is also nuts.  When he goes riding, he has an entirely different definition of riding than I do.  He loads his bike into a truck, hauls it to the top of a mountain and proceeds to fling it and himself off the mountian.  He is quite accomplished at this and routinely tops not only his age category but the entire field save one or two teenagers who still operate secure in the knowledge that they are indestructible and invincible.  Frankly I’m afraid to ride with Ken.

Ken's broken Canfield Jedi. Why I am afraid.

Or Rick.  Rick is another childhood friend that landed in the same city and can find it in his constitution to tolerate me, hence is also family.  Rick is a reformed recumbent rider.  Yeah…I know.  No, we don’t talk about it.  It was sad but he’s come back to the light and now owns a nice Canondale Lefty.  I’m not certain he rides it but he owns it which is really the first step through recumbent rehab.  We don’t ride together as his Charlie Harper lifestyle leaves little time for cycling these days.  Actually, I’m waiting until he’s fully recumbent-cured before sharing cycling space with him.  Don’t want to get any on me.

There’s Thomas.  Known local racer and avid rider.  Despite coming to work in stretchy pants and tap shoes any time it wasn’t raining (or snowing), I somehow missed his enthusiasm and had to discover cycling on my own.  He’s been a trusted resource for advice on cycling gear which I have promptly ignored every time because I am thick.  I did ride with Thomas for a couple of kilometres however his easy, chatty, no-handed spinning beside me while I struggled to keep up suggested this was not something that was going to be repeated.  It would kill me and bore him at the same time.

Adam – frequent and only non-blood-related commenter (thank you) and co-worker.  He too rides to work more days than he doesn’t but he didn’t always.  I mentioned one day that I was planning to ride to work soon – I was almost conditioned, almost ready to make the round trip and then I was going to bicycle commute!  He rode in the next morning stealing my imagined thunder.  Adam however was insturmental in goading me into making that first commute.  He arrives while the sun is still in bed and leaves correspondingly early, and travels east to my west.  That and he would ride me off his wheel before we got out of the parking lot are why we don’t ride together.  Sort of like Chris.

Chris works with Adam and I.  He is also the smallest guy I’ve ridden with (not a random observation, stick with me).  Chris Thomas’d me riding with no hands and happily chatting away as I tried to think of excuses for being out of breath almost immediately after we started.  He took the lead but it is nigh impossible for a man that is six feet tall and 220 pounds to draft behind someone who is considerably smaller.  Like a bear drafting rabbit.  I think he was taunting me.  Luckily for me Chris and I overlap our commute only briefly and that saves me from coming up with more excuses.

You know who I ride the most often with?  Of course you don’t.  Alberto.  Alberto works with Adam and Chris and I but he lives a mere kilometre away.  We run into each other at the same set of lights a few times a week and then sprint like madmen the remaining distance to work.  He, unwilling to get beat by a fat knocking-on-forty man with a backpack and I out to show the pretender wearing jeans that an old guy can in fact leave him behind.

Honourable mentions:

Bernie – a master’s degree, a penchant for fine muscle cars and one of the nicest, most unassuming people I know.  He wisely followed Thomas’ advice on bicycle selection and reports that his Devinci is a thing of beauty to ride.  Alas, he moved to the US to hang around the pool and as a fringe “benefit” has real-life gunplay drama unfold in front of him.

Wade – mechanical engineer, pending fatherhood status (congratulations!).  Also followed Thomas’ advice and picked up a nice Devinci Tosca then promptly moved to the US with Bernie.

Ben – with a smile on his face and a Frappaccino in his hand, he is one of the most  laid back individuals I know.  Yet another of those wise enough to take Thomas’ advice, he owns a bike however nobody has ever seen him ride it.  He’s talked about riding…

Point of note – all of the people above with the exception of one (who shall remain nameless, but his name rhymes with Lawmass) are incredibly laid back and all are generous to a fault.  I am lucky to know them, though they are much luckier to know me.  Goes without saying.

One of the coolest side-effects of making the decision to ride to work – apart from not sitting in traffic, not spending money on fuel, dropping 25+ pounds, building new muscles in my legs and generally just feeling awesome?  There’s the 1710 riders group now.  1710 is our division’s internal identifier and our group?  Out of 36 staff, 3 of us ride to work daily, a 4th at least once a week and a 5th has started.  2 more have inquired about time and gear and how to do it (just do it).  5 months ago, nobody rode to work and today?  More than 10%!  How cool is that?  Beyond that, despite his comment to the contrary, my dad has expressed an interest in riding again and my sister has already started riding.  Best Wife rides despite desperately needing a better bike, complete with 100 pounds of trailer and children latched on behind her (one of whom gets a kick out of dragging her foot on mommy’s wheel).

I am surrounded by cycling goodness!  How great is my life?  Pretty damn great.  I will continue to spend my rides alone however.  It is a respite from the noise of a house with three children.  It is time to clear my head, stare at my pumping knees and feed the suffering.