I am like a dog with its prey drive wound to the top. If it’s moving along my path, I am compelled to give chase. I’m not delusional enough to think I’m fast, even amongst the morning commuter set but that doesn’t stop me. My biggest challenger is always me but everyone else is motivation. Everyone is a rabbit to be chased and caught, unless of course they drop me immediately which usually happens when I haven’t been stealthy enough for a sneak-attack. Which is to say, I get to pass people because they don’t know we’re racing.
Tuesday morning I spied a purple MEC cycling jacket ahead of me, guesstimated to be 300 meters out. I thought “I too have a purple MEC cycling coat thanks to Best Wife. If When I catch you, I will make some pithy comment about our purple jackets and we will laugh and bond in a moment of cycling solidarity and purple-coatedness and then I will ride away”. Or something like that. I set to work reeling him in.
I caught him just north of the Memorial Drive overpass. As I waited for a clear pass, I had the time to notice three things: he had fenders and panniers, he had rather well-defined calves and he didn’t appear to be putting in much effort. Passing a rider with a laden bicycle is not nearly as rewarding but the muscled calves hinted at a possible fight. I debated whether to pass for a moment as his pace was comfortable and it was nice resting in the draft. Ego prevailed. “Onyerlft” I called as I pulled out to pass, barely above a whisper as I was still in full mouth-breather mode and not capable of forming words. The moment I began to speak, he telepathed his intention to pass the rider in front of him but I was already beside him. This is because I was already on the left and madly mashing the pedals before I managed to squeek out my hail. I continued past the 2nd rider and pulled back in, pedaling furiously to maintain my position for the remaining 100 meters before my route peeled off to the east.
I wondered how long I was going to be able to hold him off as I was riding at my limit and not going to be able to maintain the pace much longer. To my great relief, he didn’t follow, instead heading west and the moment we had our backs to each other I dropped a couple of gears and tried to catch my breath.
This morning I spied the same purple jacket and was giddy at the thought of repeating yesterday’s last-minute pass. Now I knew I wouldn’t have to fend my position so I could ride all out in pursuit. Once again I began to reel him in and it looked like I might catch him again in the same place. Today he was having none of it and once he realized I was on the hunt, he simply pedaled away. Tomorrow I must be sneakier.
Along the same stretch of path but heading the other way, I got to play the rabbit. I mashed and pushed and spun away furiously as I tried to stay ahead of the rider behind me. He was never more than 5 meters behind me – not so close as to provoke things but not letting me get away. I was pretty much spent by the time we hit the 16th Ave train crossing which leads directly to what has traditionally been the most punishing section of my commute – the climb up to the pedestrian overpass.
I knew I was cooked and try as I might, I couldn’t maintain the pace out of the crossing. He followed for a while until it was obvious I was not going to pick it up again. As he passed me he said “sure glad I’m not out there”, nodding at the stopped traffic on Deerfoot, cheery smile on his face and nary a bead of sweat to be found. I responded in the only fashion I could – “mmppthbaaaaa” – before returning to my pain cave of burning lungs and legs. By the time I’d gone another 200 meters, he’d disappeared.
What about you? Are you driven, almost without decision, to chase down the leading rider? When you’re being reeled in, do you bait them and then drop them? Do you set your lungs on fire to stay out front? Is this poor path behaviour or simply men being men (which is not to say I wouldn’t chase down a female rider or try to fight one off, they just don’t seem to be interested in our silly games)?
I must admit that I too thrive on the chase of the lead rabbit. However as 90% of my commuting ride is on the road through mostly industrial areas I very rarely see other cyclists going my way. Yesterday though, riding north on 52nd, being passed by a 60′ tractor/trailer combo I said to myself, (well actually I may have said it out loud to his bumper) “It’s on!” I geared up, pulled into his draft, and pumped! My exit from 52nd was only 4 blocks away, “I can stay with him” I chanted to myself! I didn’t make it, but it did save a half dozen cars from having to pass me. Small Victories.
Then there are the windy days. The days when that first 400m South goes just a little too easy, like you don’t even need to pedal, like you could coast all the way home at 30kph. Then you remember that you have to make two lefts and ride north for 17km and you hit a solid wall of air. It is amazing what the power of air can be, even slight breezes can bring out the beast in me, I hate wind! It seems that on each of these true windy days is when I see one particular rabbit, er, cyclist. No shirt, rusty old bike, bent and grey (and quite old) yet remarkably tanned. In this type of wind he is normally standing up, pulling on his handle bars and putting in every ounce of effort not just to go forward, but to keep up just enough speed as to not fall over. In my head I am screaming “NOOOOOO sit down, lean over, make yourself smaller, don’t stand up and be a sail!”. As I pass him, (or buzz him) barely managing to hold my 20kph, all I say is “I hate the wind!” and then he is gone, only a memory. But the wind doesn’t seem quite as bad. The rabbit is gone, but the image of the rabbit, and the thought of how long it would take to get home at 5kph keeps the legs pumping.