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02-11-04, 11:42 PM
I'm riding home tonight along the Springwater Trail. It's dark. Riding the trail at night is very pleasant ordinarily, and though I prefer to ride the streets in the morning I've taken to using the trail homeward to avoid the heavier traffic at the two major intersections on my route.
I pass two or three cyclists heading in the opposite direction and also three joggers, two together, one alone. All but the solitary runner (who chose to wear all black for reasons she alone can know) are well-lit.
I'm still shaking my head over the stealth-jogger (why in all Hells did she choose to wear black to jog along a dark trail at night?), when I spy headlights in my mirror. Someone coming up from behind, overtaking. They aren't tearing it up, they are just riding faster (who doesn't?). The headlights resolve into two cyclists; the woman who is leading says "On your left" and I say "Thank you!" and mean it, as this courtesy is almost never spoken on this trail. Her male companion says nothing but is close enough behind his partner for it to be moot.
They ride on, and I'm smiling to myself, gratified that I'm not the only one who is courteous to other cyclists and...
...here comes this dork on a road bike with no lights at all, hands resting on his thighs and nary a mumble of greeting or warning as he suddenly appears in my peripheral vision, almost literally a phantom of bad form and gracelessness. He's wearing a helmet and so I surmise that he understands at least the abstract concept of 'safety' (or perhaps a friend or family member gave it to him as a gift with the observation "Dood, I've seen you ride. You really need this, 'kay?"), but his clothes reflect little save his questionable grasp of fashion.
I never saw this mouth-breather coming. Had I swerved left to avoid an animal or other obstacle on the path, or moved to pass a pedestrian, this idiot would have had my backpack as an air-bag.
Very rarely have I wished for a stick to thrust into another rider's spokes. This was one such occasion.
I'm still livid. I hope it isn't too obvious.
I pass two or three cyclists heading in the opposite direction and also three joggers, two together, one alone. All but the solitary runner (who chose to wear all black for reasons she alone can know) are well-lit.
I'm still shaking my head over the stealth-jogger (why in all Hells did she choose to wear black to jog along a dark trail at night?), when I spy headlights in my mirror. Someone coming up from behind, overtaking. They aren't tearing it up, they are just riding faster (who doesn't?). The headlights resolve into two cyclists; the woman who is leading says "On your left" and I say "Thank you!" and mean it, as this courtesy is almost never spoken on this trail. Her male companion says nothing but is close enough behind his partner for it to be moot.
They ride on, and I'm smiling to myself, gratified that I'm not the only one who is courteous to other cyclists and...
...here comes this dork on a road bike with no lights at all, hands resting on his thighs and nary a mumble of greeting or warning as he suddenly appears in my peripheral vision, almost literally a phantom of bad form and gracelessness. He's wearing a helmet and so I surmise that he understands at least the abstract concept of 'safety' (or perhaps a friend or family member gave it to him as a gift with the observation "Dood, I've seen you ride. You really need this, 'kay?"), but his clothes reflect little save his questionable grasp of fashion.
I never saw this mouth-breather coming. Had I swerved left to avoid an animal or other obstacle on the path, or moved to pass a pedestrian, this idiot would have had my backpack as an air-bag.
Very rarely have I wished for a stick to thrust into another rider's spokes. This was one such occasion.
I'm still livid. I hope it isn't too obvious.