This afternoon, 26 miles under my belt, soothed by the reassuring hum of the Rohloff hub on my RST.
Suddenly, as I round a corner, I lose my glasses; they fall on the road, one lens out - damn!
As I prepare to get going again, not seeing so clearly now, a quadrille of roadies cycles past me, riding high end bikes and all clad in lycra co-ordinated with their bikes. White shoes. The whole Gold Card at Wiggle shooting match!
They are friendly enough, but eye me [sweaty old jersey and a pair of old walking shorts, scuffed touring shoes] and my Thorn [all black, no logos anyhere] with a mixture of vague curiosity [what the hell is that?] and sympathy [poor fool....on that old clunker!]
I let them pass and then cycle off. I am on their tails in seconds [can't help it!]. Then, as I know this road well, we hit a small incline.
The last of the four flounders in the wrong gear and I pass him as his derailleurs clang with a missed gear selection!
Then I pass the middle two, who don't see me coming.
The leader is some way in front. Before the hill is out, I pass him at a speed that simply doesn't make sense.
I am gone in a flash, and see the electric blue of the leading bike, a lovely looking Colnago, recede behind me.
My Feeling: Confidence, comfort and a glint of gentle pride.
Roadie Moral: Beware the scruffy bloke on the odd looking bike.
