Daveed Reviews

Not Everyone Hates Us

For those of you keeping score at home:

Us = bicyclists

Everyone = everyone else, including: motorists; home owners; business owners; other cyclists; residents of the small towns that cyclists invade, leaving empty Gatorade bottles and Gu packets strewn along the landscape.

This past Thursday evening I went for a ride on my bicycle. I left the house around 5:30 when it was still light, but dusk was looming. Such is the life of an amateur cyclist: After putting in my hours at the place that pays my salary, I squeeze in whatever training I think I can get away with without my beautiful wife thinking that I love my bike more than I love her.

Like every other evening when my ride starts during the rest of the world’s commute home, I chose the path of least resistance. Tonioght, it's a 4 lane, 35 mph road through cookie-cutter suburbia that takes me to the middle of now where, Texas, where my biggest concern is whether an armadillo is going to run out in front of me or if this will be the night I get sprayed by a skunk. Until I get there, though, I hope that all the blinkies on my back are enough to get the attention of the driver of the titanic SUVs that fill the drive ways and garages of I’m-As-Rich-As-You, USA. Bear in mind that the closest these vehicles have been to “off-road” is parking on the lawn somewhere.

I’m only a mile or 2 from were I turn off of Madison Avenue and my ride becomes a little more solitary. It’s dusk now and I can see the head lights of the vehicles that are behind me bouncing off the shiny metal of my crank arms when I look down at my feet. Several SUVs pass me in the left lane, all being very respectful of me and giving me a wide berth. I can hear the roar of a diesel engine behind me, revving and relaxing, revving and relaxing as its driver flicks his way through the gears, and the 2 short “beeps” of his horn.

I’m not too worried; any “beep” with only 2 e’s is generally a friendly beep. The more e’s, the more antagonistic, so a “beeep” is less friendly than a “beep”, while a “beeeeeeep” pretty much means “get the fuck out of my way”.

The big diesel, a Lowe’s flatbed lumber truck, swings sloowly around me, pulls in front of me (after neatly signaling his maneuver) and then slows down. Nothing the driver had done up until this point was even remotely adversarial, so what could he be doing now? He almost seemed to be waiting for me.

I click into my Big Ring and start to press the pedals a little harder, turning my wheels faster and faster until I catch up to the truck and slip into its draft. The truck starts to speed up, slowly, almost gently. 25, 27, 32 mph, with me getting sucked along behind him. Cars are passing us on the left and I smile to myself because I can feel their surprised, astonished stares as they pass us at 35 mph.

My turn is coming up so I swing off to the left and am instantly buffeted by the blast of the head wind which drops my speed to a meager20 mph. Suddenly, I’m sure I can relate to the disappointment astronauts must experience when they return to the earth’s gravity.

I wave big and tall, my hand over my head as the Lowe’s truck rumbles away, leaving me exhilarated and feeling warm and fuzzy. Just 1 more reason why I shop at Lowe’s over Home Depot (sorry ROF May).

posted by daveed @ 27.1.06