Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I look for Joe on every organized ride I join. I begin as the crowd gathers in the parking lot. I know his truck. I know he tends to arrive late. If I can't make my way his direction during the pre-ride briefing, I'll mark him on the roll-out. We end up riding together. Just about always.
Joe isn't married, but is in a long-term relationship. Doesn't matter. We don't talk about it.
I'm not interested in Joe that way.
I want his wheel.
In the fervor of recreational cyclists burnin' their way down the road, Joe is the wheel I'll follow into the fire because I know he'll bring me to the other side unscathed. He knows how to pick a line, knows how to finesse around pitfalls and people, knows how to gently alter his speed, knows how to stand without affecting his tempo and therefore the riders behind him. Joe knows there are such things as slow days, and that they make a cyclist stronger. And he knows when he's got a smooth rider on his tail.
I trust him with my life rolling by at 20 mph but on the screaming downhills I look for Joe #2.
- OB knows how to pick'em