I was exhausted on the return home portion of my local ride and really struggling up the last hill. I was riding slow, head down debating if I should just dismount and walk, when I heard an "on your left".

I glanced over and I still can't decide what was more embarrassing to me . . . the grandmother with the blue hair, the balloon tires on the rusty beach cruiser, the duct tape on the saddle, or the two bags of groceries in the front basket.