I will never quite understand men, and men on bikes never, for sure. Wednesday's commute in on the bike held some testosterone confusion for me. Let's face it, I am, as billed, an old burd on a bike. I exude this, even from behind. The bike you see, has a mud guard and a back rack. I have a very upright position, and am generally speaking not clothed in lycra. Hair pokes out from underneath a very lack lustre helmet. I look the part, nothing to threaten a healthy young male's status here, no need indeed to prove anything against me.
So then, why overtake me just to slow down and have me slipstream, often free wheeling? I don't do that. I don't race up to someone, overtake and then slow down. Going round a slower moving rider is something I give in fact great consideration to. Firstly, can I do this safely, without putting myself too far into the line of traffic, and yet without going so near to the other cyclist that I could potentially throw them off balance. One of Wednesday's testosterone brigade went so close to me his jacket brushed my hand. Secondly, I look at their pace, my pace, and use my knowledge of the route to know if an over taking maneuver is possibly pointless - i.e. are we about to go up a hill, is there going to be a procession of traffic lights and no point in a rush?
But apparently I am a considerate and careful rider. And a Burd. It wouldn't be such a rant worthy topic if it only happened once in a blue moon, but three times on Wednesday lycra clad boys with drop handled bar bikes went past me and sat in front of me. One of them pretty much in the way as it then slowed my journey down. I can only assume it's the unseasonal sunshine and the testosterone. Poor men. What they suffer.
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