Short one today because the ride was long and hot. I’ve earned my vegging on the sofa today by sacrificing oodles of sweat and a fast beating heart. Anyway the topic is a moan likely to cause a forest of tiny violins to appear around my head and moaning is only amusing if it ends fairly fast.
Firstly, cycling is better and worst for its etiquette. When followed generally it functions as a useful icebreaker when you meet someone on the road. “Can I sit on your wheel?” Is all it takes. Easy to ask and if someone does usually your happy to oblige and you get to feel all helpful to your suffering fellow rider. If they don’t it’s somewhat unnerving. Around Regents park where North London’s cycling tragics like to train it’s fairly scary. Speeds tend to be very high, but ability not necessarily so. Out in the wild it’s generally an individual and things are slower. Unless of course it’s the middle of a bloody global pandemic and all health advice suggests you shouldn’t! An absolute spanner followed me up Layahms Hill and then Skid Hill for the best part of 10 minutes, then near the top sprints off like I’m his sodding lead out man. Wearing full World Champions kit. Here cycling etiquette conveniently lands in my favour. It’s one of my favourite little things about cycling that differentiates it from other sports and probably leaves marketing types in paroxysms of fury: Team Kit is for the team, if you’re wearing the Rainbow bands, please be the World Champion, do not wear the Yellow Jersey. I didn’t turn round and shout SOD OFF MADS PEDERSON, maybe should have done.
Anyway, the ride was a glorious ride out into Kent on the usually autumnal falling leaves route. Sun turns everything into the best ride ever but my goodness was it ever a beautiful day to be in the countryside. Also, as a North Londoner, these locked-down days provide a hopefully fleeting opportunity to get down south were the riding is just better. Landscapes are almost always more aesthetically pleasing if you add gradient. A bit of up and down is good for the soul, and the views in Kent prove it.
Very short one today! Definitely more of a stream of consciousness than anything else. Have something longer and more planned cooking at the back of my skull for tomorrow.
Peace!
Z
Zackonnabike 
Mate, I can’t tell you how many people I have had to turn around and shout at to get the off my wheel over the last 2-3 weeks. By now everyone should know how far away they need to be riding if moving at any kind of speed.
I reserve my greatest ire for the following — ALWAYS MALE — kind of cycling tool. So up there in the distance you see some guy 5-600 metres away. Over several minutes you slowly draw closer to him — it’s very clear you’re riding about 2-2km faster over a long period — then wait a suitable distance behind to judge their speed, make sure there’s no traffic in either direction, before giving them a very wide (3-4 m) birth by riding in the oncoming traffic lane. I always kick hard enough to put 50-100 metres between us straightaway. Then a minute later, rather than fading gently into the distance, you turn round to find the guy sweating buckets to breathe in your effluents. There’s a word for that. It’s short form is “tosser.” Or to give it its full monicker: it’s “male tosser on bike.” Why are men so sad? 😔
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