Riding With Strangers

It happens to everyone at some point.  Either you're walking along, running along, or riding along some smooth, well-travelled road, and some stranger, going almost the same speed as you, will join you for a bit.  I don't know about you, but sometimes this makes me feel uncomfortable.  On a road bike, I do feel safer, just because, as a group, road cyclists are all crazy about riding their bikes, so if you run into one on the road, chances are very good that he or she just wants to ride the bike.  Hardly any chance of chatting you up for some Mary Kay products, or any questions about whether you have ever read the Book of Mormon.  Although, those guys do ride bikes occasionally for their missions, so just watch out for black pants, white shirts, and black ties.

But I've ridden with strangers before, sometimes for more than an hour, without having any meaningful conversation, other than heavy breathing, an occasional "Car Back," an "Are you alright?" if they fall behind during a climb, and a final "Have a good ride!"

Most of the good bike routes around the San Gabriel Valley and San Fernando Valley are known among the cycling community, so chances are you will find other cyclists along your route.  I've acted as tour guide for some guy that just moved to Pasadena and needed to know a good safe road to get to the San Gabriel River Trail.  I passed him in Duarte, and slowed down after we stopped at an intersection and he asked for a way to get there.  So we rode together.  I was still not in that great a shape, so I wanted to work out, but the other dude didn't know that.  So I became a very good listener as Mr. Ex-racer told me his life story for 45 minutes.  I hope he gets back together with his girlfriend, they seemed good together.

The other kind of "buddy" ride that happens is when you don't even talk.  Either you are using the guy in front of you as motivation climbing a mountain, or somebody behind you is using you.  That happened to me the last, and I mean "last" time, I rode Glendora Mountain Road by myself.  It was 9 miles of climbing, with some guy on my back wheel, pacing himself up the mountain.  He cramped a couple of times, so I slowed down for him to catch me again, to keep up his pace.  Sometimes you need someone to push you a little harder than you normally would go by yourself.  But eventually we had to part ways, since I wanted to take a pretty picture of the fog:

 

The fog comes in on little cat feet

 

I never saw that guy again.  I also never saw that pair of shorts, that helmet, and those gloves I was wearing again since I crashed on my way down the back side of the mountain and bled all over my bike for the 30 mile ride home.  But that experience also showed the helpfulness of a group of riders.  Ten riders were on the way up the East Fork road when they saw me shaken up and resting with my disheveled bike and ripped up clothes.  The dudes immediately went to the bike, straightened out the seat, seated the chain, and made sure my remote sensors for my cycle-computer were working.  The only girl in the group immediately pulled out the handi-wipes, the advil, and bandaids.  Gender socialization in action my friends.  As soon as I was no longer in shock, and I felt that I could make it back home, they told me where they were parked (which was on my way to Pasadena), and said that if I found that I was more hurt than we thought, just wait for them at the park, and I could get a ride. 

You see, this is the community of fanatics.  When I bought that bike, I joined a big club, complete with colorful shirts, strange hats, and secret hand signals.

Of course, not everyone is this friendly, or polite even.  As endurance athletes, we can be a little competitive, and if we smell weakness, we pounce.  This happened to me, on both sides, with the same group of riders, in the span of 20 minutes.  I thought I was going to pass some old-timers on my way to Claremont, and I did.  But when they saw me pass them, one of them began pushing their little group so they could pass me back.  Two of them did, but the oldest one couldn't take the pace and hung on my wheel until we got to the little street with all the cafes on it.  Luckily, I was Starbuck's bound and they went to the independent up the street, otherwise there could have been some glaring over our lattes.

Unfortunately for us hetero guys, cycling is very predominantly male oriented.  How could it not be?  You've got your mixture of gear, tools, sweat, competition, and expense that every other male hobby or pastime has.  Because these are the kinds of strangers that I want to meet on the road:

 

Hello, cycling ladies!

 

Well, fortunately, I already know these nice ladies.  Hi Gina!  Hi Kim!  Both married.  Oh well.  Oh ladies, FYI,  if you're on the open road on Saturday and Sunday mornings, you'll have some idea where to find me.