The extent of my biking career is pulling my 25 year old Mastercraft SuperCycle out of the shed, dousing it in oil to get it moving, and then riding to the store to buy toilet paper. The Tour de France is on right now. And whaddya know-- cycling fans are freakin’ hardcore. Some loogin threw tacks and small nails down on the road yesterday. Brit Bradley Wiggins avoided getting a flat while holding onto the yellow jersey. Such is the life of a pro biker.
The not so professional cyclist is a different breed. The ones I notice on the road have got this stern look of determination, when they probably don’t know where they’re going either. They’re decked out in spandex-lycra-neon bike tights, wearing that cereal bowl helmet and those ugly looking shades. Obviously, they’re more than just your average Sunday biker, but wearing all that expensive clothing and riding a 10 thousand dollar ten speed doesn’t mean you’re special.
But the recreational cyclist is simply a menace. This guy rides all over the place, usually talking to another person as they pedal down the road two by two. Then there’s the city riders. I know of people who’ve been thrown off their bikes after some guy had just opened his car door. It happens all the time. Sure, the jerk in the car should have been looking, but you can’t rely on that. Defensive cycling is the key here, and many bike riders don’t practice it.
So to all you bike riders out there: If you want to train, stay off the city streets and go practice on country roads. And to all you other brain dead cyclists: Wake up before some idiot turns you into road kill.