I'm extraordinarily fortunate to be enjoying my 47th consecutive season. I'm closing in on 63, ride recreationally on weekends and commute to work in Manhattan maybe half the time in-season if the weather agrees with me. I'm NOT a racer, never was and don't feel competitive. I tell myself I can just take it easy and noodle my way to work and home, but instead I push myself...not to beat out the person in front of me, just to the point where my exertion level feels "right", some kind of groove. Maybe it's a New York City thing.

My commuting bike is a 1966 Raleigh Sports 3-speed that's mostly stock, save for a larger cog to give me a bit lower low. Between the bike, a lock, a few tools and my work stuff I've got 50 pounds to push. Despite that I'm fast off the line (it's that bigger cog), and then I chug along at my happy pace. Today I did just that from a red light on Central Park West, leaving a few other folks behind including a young fellow on a single-speed with a spoked rear wheel. It took him about 15 blocks to catch me, and that was because I was stopped for a red light that he went through. 7 or 8 blocks later I caught him and we got stopped at another light. He grinned at me and said, "You've got some legs, man!" I thanked him, and told him I practice a lot. Then I left him behind again...it felt good.