After an extended weekend without riding, I was fresh and ready to roll this morning, in so much as ready to roll means without any viable excuse not to.  I stay up too late and dread the alarm in the morning.  There’s an evil crow that lives in the tree outside my window that has decided four am is an ideal time to start cawing away thereby ensuring that if I’d managed a decent night’s sleep to that point, it was all over.

At any rate, up I got and out the door I went, perpetually later than I planned.  The ride in wasn’t noteworthy in any way – no records, no disasters, no new bruises though my front derailleur is acting up again.  This is a sure sign that I’m supposed to buy a new bike (and surely not a $75 derailleur repair) I’m convinced but we’ll see how that goes over with the rest of the family.

I pedaled along without working too hard – not quite lazy but no burning legs either.  I chased and caught a senior couple then another gentlemen who was clearly not interested in making time as he gingerly poked his way down the overpass bridge into Max Bell.  His calves suggested a high degree of capability and I suspect he could, if he so chose, rather embarrass me but he didn’t, nor did he try.  I bid him goodbye and did my best to “spin” the rest of the way into work but kept finding myself focused on riding the status quo.

I’d planned for some laid-back riding for the trip home, a more serious attempt to “spin” along without trying to prove anything.  I passed a handful of slower, relaxed riders as I listened to my chain rubbing the derailleur in a steady grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr  of metal on metal.  I couldn’t help but think of all the wasted energy contained within the noise – energy coming from me.  I did not stop to try and alleviate things.

It wasn’t long before someone more serious started looming in my mirror, his speed notably faster than my own.  I picked up the cadence a little and continued on.  He continued to close the gap and I up’d my cadence again.  I’m still spinning I said to no one who believed me, I haven’t shifted up yet, I’m not flat out.

At 16th Ave, we got piled up with someone who probably was “spinning” his way home.  No longer closing the gap, he was now immediately behind me as the two of us coasted along underneath the overpass, waiting for an opportunity to get back up to speed.  The path opened, I ding’d my bell and made a break for it.  Spinning was essentially an illusion at this point though I was still down a couple of gears and spinning a steady 100 rpm.  Still spinning.

For reasons I can only guess – say perhaps to taunt and torment me – he stayed behind me, not quite on my wheel, not going away.  I pushed harder, he followed and then there was another, behind him.  Three of us not dueling (can three people duel?) down the path as I struggled to maintain my self-delusion of spinning.  Finally, having played with me until he was bored, he pulled out to pass.  It was Moustachio!  We both grinned and then he was by me.

I caved.  No more pretense, no pretending.  It was on.  I ratcheted up a gear, then another and suddenly we I was all out, chasing Moustachio along the pathway.  He was giving no quarter and any slack on my part was quickly swallowed up by the third rider in our little troupe.  We chased down a fellow mountain bike rider who was doing his best to keep us at bay, a valiant but insufficient effort.  With Moustachio a solid 25 meters or better out front, the unrace came to an end when our paths diverted again.  I was spent, sweaty and sore.

I tried.  I really tried.  I tried to ignore him.  I tried to ignore the riders in front of me, begging to be chased down.  I tried to ignore them when they closed the gap and when he passed but I couldn’t.  I’m a weak man.  A weak man who enjoyed the hell out of the chase.