Joe #2

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. Often.

Joe isn't married, but is in a recently out of 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 one of the wheels I'll follow into the fire because I know he'll bring me to the other side unscathed it punches a good-sized hole. 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 but doesn't necessarily use them to his advantage like he could. And he knows when he's got a smooth rider on his tail.

Synergy.

Baby, oh.

I trust him with my life rolling by at 20 mph but on the screaming downhills I look for Joe #2.

- OB knows there are so many Joes