What is this human condition that requires we continue to divide ourselves into smaller and smaller groups, each more rigidly defined than the last, each delineation more flimsy and feeble and worthless until your chosen identity has as much substance as a 15 second Old Navy commercial.  It exists anywhere there’s a group of people and it doesn’t matter who they are or what they’re doing, they’re soon devolving into purists and hobbyists, brand-specific, style specific, usage-specific…

Easy examples: PC and MAC.  Within that group of people – consumers and self-identified nerds, within the nerds – hardware geeks and software geeks, within the software nerds – Linux, Unix and Windows and on and on it goes.  I used to believe this was an automotive thing – something within the genes of people who identify with a particular brand of fuel-burning people conveyors.  Ford vs. Chevrolet which led to more than one confrontation as I was growing up.  In Australia they break out into soccer fan-style brawls I’m told.

As I entered the world of cycling, cautiously dipping my toe in, my first foray into an actual bicycle shop was born of necessity.  In my enthusiasm to service the Rescue Bike, I’d taken apart the freewheel and spilled out dozens of tiny ball bearings which promptly bounced into the darkest recesses of my dimly-lit garage.  I’d disassembled things as far as I could, but wasn’t in a position to finish before I could put them back together again.  A forced visit to a bike shop with a concurrent admission that I had no idea what I was doing – I can’t express my enthusiasm.

I headed to Bow Cycle, wheel in the trunk and prepared for the inevitable looking-down-our-noses-at-you-because-you’re-not-one-of-us experience.  Such was not the case however – the two young mechanics working in the back were not only polite and friendly, they were genuinely helpful.  They finished the disassembly (at no charge), advised me on a wiser course of action (replace, not rebuild) and retrieved a new cassette (a whopping $11).  No condemnation, no subtle ridicule or snotty “that’s not from here” attitude.  It was singularly one of the best service visits I’ve ever had.

I went back to Bow Cycle to browse their bikes and each time was met by friendly and polite staff who were more than happy to help.  This experience was repeated on my visit to Road and to Calgary Cycle – friendly staff who were more than happy to entertain my foolish questions despite my obvious newbness.  These retail experiences shaped my perspective of the cycling world in a grossly erroneous fashion.

In much the same manner that sportbike riders and Harley riders look down their noses at each other, so too do cyclists.  Roadies, cyclocross, downhill, cross-country, commuter, urban and then subsets of each.  Dedicated roadies who count their grains of rice at each meal sneer at the paunch-carrying new rider who is in possession of a full carbon bicycle and team kit whizzier than most pro racers.  Downhill lunatics curse the cross-country masochists for having the temerity to ride up their hill while the cross-country folks don’t understand why the downhillers don’t give those climbing up the right-of-way (I tend to side with the climbers here – much easier to start going downhill again than to start climbing in the middle).  Cyclocross riders are serious about not taking themselves seriously and are disdainful of anyone who does.  Everyone snorts at the commuters, especially if you’re one of those guys who dares to commute in the winter thereby undermining all of the times they passed you like you were standing still during the summer.   Everyone is doing it wrong except you.

I no longer ponder why someone doesn’t acknowledge my passing nod or the occasional attempt at speech (generally rendered as nuhgumeh!).  I get it now – I’m doing it all wrong.