I had just begun my second lap of the Dwelling when I heard a rubbing sound coming from my front wheel. I unhooked the wheel and was realigning it when I saw an approaching rider.
As the rider drew near I looked up to tell him that I was OK when he inquired if I needed help.
Instead the rider continued past without even looking at me. He was a younger rider wearing headphones and obviously didn’t know that mountain bikers always inquire about the condition of any rider they see stopped. This guy just rode away from me without even acknowledging my presence on the trail.
I could not stand for this. There was no way I would allow this punk kid to breach the unwritten code of trail riding etiquette. I had to teach him a lesson.
“Release the hounds!” The chase had begun. I rode at a slightly faster than normal pace for about a mile and a half before I caught sight of the scoundrel. I could hear his brakes squealing as he went down the hills and into turns. I knew I had him.
I began thinking about how I would administer the punishment for violating the “need help” rule. I could just blow by him on a climb. No, that could be risky because I might tire myself out. Maybe I’d roll up on his wheel and yell “on your left!” No, that would just be rude. The cartoon light bulb over my head lit up: I would ride up to his wheel and then back off. I would continue doing this again and again until he learned his lesson. It would show him I am so superior that I can catch and release at will! His ego, confidence and soul would be mine to crush! It didn’t occur to me then that my plan had nothing to do with etiquette.
He began glancing over his shoulder. He could see me. How could he not? I’m six three, two hundred pounds and ride a 29er. I had him. Then he did the unexpected: he pulled over and let me pass. He didn’t slow up he just stopped. To make it worse he asked, “How are you doing?”
I felt bad. I thought this was just some Primal wearing douche bag but it turned out he was a nice kid that perhaps made an honest mistake. My rational was being called into question. How could I have been so angry that I was going to crush the sprit of a nice kid? I was feeling bad, embarrassed and ashamed at my overreaction.
I heard the squeal of mechanical brakes. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him trying to run me down! He let me pass just to use me as a rabbit. Who did he think he was? I was right the first time. He needed to be taught a lesson. Not only did he ignore me, now he was trying to run me down.
I, as my four year old would say, dropped the hammer on him. I didn’t pick up the pace a little, or ride a bit aggressively – I went all out. I was out of the saddle powering up hills. On descents I shifted and kept peddling. I rode the bike as hard as I could. I took corners at speeds I never would’ve dreamed of. My tires breaking free never entered my mind… until one did but I recovered before hitting a tree. I was riding so hard my vision became tunneled. I almost crashed and had little awareness of what was around me but I was flying. My brain and upper body were operating on the minimum supply of blood and oxygen – my legs needed it all.
I never saw him again on the trail.
I am sure he learned his lesson that day. Or he went home and told his friends about some crazy old guy that almost crashed because he was riding like an ass.
Either way, I made my point.
