My stupid ego

This morning I rode up behind a woman on a slick all carbon Fondriest. She was all lycra and Sidi road shoes, and not the cheap ones.

I rode along behind her for a minute, during which time she horked one back over her shoulder that swooped back toward me in the wind and just missed my foot. I said, "Hey, careful up there," and she laughed and apologized and I said, "That's alright. You missed me that time."

So then we came to a light and she held up and I darted across, and I sort of assumed that she'd catch back up pretty quick, on account of she was riding the space shuttle and there I was on my slightly over-geared fixed ride.

But as I pedaled away I had this evil feeling come over me. I didn't want her to catch up.

Now, I don't know where she was coming from. She might have been warming down from the half century she rode before I even woke up. She might have just been finishing a cross country trip that started in San Francisco.

But in my tiny, reptilian brain, I wanted to beat the roadie. So I put the hammer down. And let me be clear that my hammer is one of those tiny, cute hammers that ladies sometimes keep in the utility drawers in their kitchens. So I put that down and rode away and kept riding and she never caught me, and when I turned off the main drag I looked back and saw her back behind me a couple hundred yards, and for some stupid reason I felt good about that.

Monday morning and I'm having imaginary races with oblivious roadies on the way to work. When my legs start to go later in the week, I'll think back on this and laugh at myself for being so stupid.