"It never gets any easier. You just go faster." ---Greg Lemond
"Don't buy upgrades. Ride up grades." --- Eddy Merckx
"You drive like shit." ---The Car Whisperer


Lakefront Pathos

I set a new personal best at the fitness check time trial this morning...finally cracked the 25 minute barrier. 2nd PB in a row, too. Whoot. But now they’re going to be harder to come by.

Some anecdotes from today’s workout:

I was moseying along, headed downtown from Logan Square along Milwaukee Avenue (The Hipster Highway), when around Western I hear the telltale sound of rusty chain and bike lock hitting a frame. It stays there for a bit, so I figured now’s the time to get at least one effort, and I hate the sound of a poorly maintained bike, so up I go.

Big ring: still there.

Shift: still there.

Shift: squeak-squeak-squeak

25 mph: still there.


I slow for the red light at the Noble intersection and around me shoots this guy in basketball shorts and a sneakers, on an ancient downtuber, didn’t get a look at the make. But he does have shaved legs. So I say to myself, down boy. Don’t give in.

I hate commuter racing. What is it about Freds that makes them try to race anyone in kit? Or even worse, sucking a stranger’s wheel? Introduce yourself. Nothing pisses me off more than to check behind me as I’m about take the lane to pass a double-parked car and be greeted by somebody drafting on. If I don’t know you and it’s not a race, it’s personal space. Maybe this guy isn’t a Fred, so even more shame on him...I guess I did start it, but, not to “race,” only to get away from the annoying sound of his chain.

For God’s sake.

So I pass him on the overpass, and sure enough he’s stuck to my wheel again. And this is where it got funny: as I was passing over the Ohio feeder ramp…he “attacks” on the overpass. Except as he tries to come around to my left, he plateaus, and then falls back.

Not to be outdone however, he blows the light at Grand, after nearly getting hit while doing one of those glacial creep “trackstands” and shoots away up towards Jefferson.

Good for him.

On the return leg of the time trial, just past the path construction where the route jets out towards the breakwater, I come upon a dude with the exact same bike as mine…same model, color-scheme, everything.


“Nice bike!” I say as I come by.

Fuck you, asshole!

Oh man, there was way too much loaded into that one to really get into it, other than this:

I remember when I first started biking on the path, I’d be pretty self-satisfied with my speed, and then, as a racer on a training ride would come flying past, I’d completely deflate and spend the rest of the ride embarrassed and grumbling under my breath something derogatory about shaved legs or spandex. Long story short, I confronted my perceived shortcomings and decided to do something about them.

So, sorry Bike-twin. I meant nothing by it. But, since you brought it up…

Ha ha. Now go do something about it.

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