Yeah, I Wanna Go

Today I woke up tired, stiff and famished after my long ride in the foothills. I went to Adalberto's, a Mexican place that I frequent, and bought TWO huge breakfast burritos. I ate them on the couch while watching the Giro d'Italia coverage on TV. It was way too much food, and I was quite full.

At about 8 a.m. I went out to do a short recovery ride on my mountain bike to loosen up. I only wanted to go for an easy spin, but things never go as planned on the WeeFun Trail.

I rode a mellow 15 mile-per-hour tempo up to Goethe Park, my turnaround point. It was warm, the air smelled fresh and clean, and there were lots of animals out. It was quite peaceful.

Shortly after turning around, two guys on road bikes passed me, and I decided to jump on the back and ride with them for a while. People draft each other on the bike trail all the time, and it's typically no big deal. Not today.

It really pissed off one of the guys. There is a small percentage of riders who only ride road bikes and have a strong distaste for mountain bikers. Had I been on my road bike, like yesterday, he probably would have welcomed me. But that was yesterday.

He said, "You want to go? Huh? You wanna go? Then let's go!"

He had a strong New York accent with the matching stereotypical attitude. He sprinted away with his buddy right on his wheel. Even though I was very tired from the day before, and so full from breakfast that I could feel the food right below my throat, I gave chase. This guy was being an ass, so I just HAD to chase them.

I caught back up to them without too much struggle, and the guy kept looking back to see if I had given up yet. Each time he saw that I hadn't cracked, he increased the speed. Soon we were doing 27 miles per hour. After about a mile his buddy couldn't take it anymore, and a gap started to form. I went around him and bridged back up to the jerk in front. He looked back, and I could see that he was surprised to see me and not his buddy on his wheel.

He increased the speed a little more, and after a minute or so looked back again. I looked him right in the eye and shook my head "no" as if to say, "Is that all you got?"

At this point he was "turning the cranks in anger," as Phil Liggett would say. I looked down to see that we were doing 31 miles per hour. Flying. My knobby tires buzzed like a hive of angry bees.

Not quite obeying the 15 mile per hour speed limit, we performed the giant slalom through bike trail traffic, scaring wildlife and sending joggers scurrying to the shoulder. This was stupid behavior, I know, but I wanted to kick this guy's ass.

My legs were really burning and it felt like I was going to puke very soon. I held on for about five minutes longer and then completely cracked. As soon as I fell back he slowed down, too, so I know he was right at his limit.

I held on to his wheel for almost five miles, though, so I felt like I made my point. I was hoping to see him up ahead waiting for his slow friend, but somehow I never saw either of them again. I wanted to tell him that I would have torn his fucking legs off on my road bike, but I doubt I would have said anything. Anyway, he probably knew the likely outcome of a battle on level ground.

I rolled up to my door with 21 miles, but fell far short of the easy recovery miles I really needed. Maybe tomorrow.

Later.