One of the great things about cycling is how a relaxing Saturday morning ride can turn into a death match. Here's a series of moves and countermoves that occurred between me and my son today.
M(e): I rode 40 miles on Wednesday and my legs feel like spaghetti.
S(on): I ran yesterday and my legs feel like lead.
M: It's really OK to throttle back a bit and enjoy the ride.
S: I didn't know I was going too fast last time (ouch).
M: 3rd Street is pretty high traffic, so we can't ride abreast (trans. I'm going to sit on your wheel and you won't suspect a thing).
S: (at stop light) Was I dragging back there? I know I was supposed to be pulling you but it felt pretty slow (he's lying, but that stung).
M: We're going up Iroquois Park hill. It's pretty easy (meaning about 2 miles of continuous climbing. Enjoy your SS).
S: Blasts off.
M: I catch him half way up the hill.
S: Blasts back down the hill.
M: I had to stop because a bug flew up my nose (which was true, unfortunately).
S: Pulls back down 3rd Street even faster than we came up it, which was way too fast for me.
M: Sprints by him several times for sport.
S: Reels me in effortlessly each time.
M: Dude, you have my permission to chase that guy up ahead.
S: Having the heart of a road racer, every time he sees a cyclist within 200 yards of us he turns into Cujo chasing a UPS truck.
M: But I stay close enough to catch up with him at the stop lights.
S: Sprints the last half-mile to Cyclers Cafe, with me pulling thirty seconds later, blood streaming out my nose.
M: Hey guy, you look like you're going to puke your burrito. Imagine what you'd feel like if you had to get back on your bike and ride another 25 miles like I do on the Wednesday morning rides.
It went to the judges who declared it a draw.
But it'll be the last time I come even that close. Age and treachery are nice, but I can't compete with legs 40 years younger. Even if he rides a SS.