A mostly nice ride

Yesterday I went out for my first bit of exercise since the marathon. It felt great after taking some time off to get outside and enjoy my favorite season. I got on my bike with no watch, no heart rate monitor, no bike computer and no idea where I was going to go. I just went.

Even though it was a little overcast, it was warm enough to be comfortable in bike shorts and a long sleeve top. I brought along my winter riding gloves but didn't need them.

Because I didn't have any timekeeping tools, I couldn't tell you how long I was out but what I do know is it was just long enough. It was a nice route down along Great Bay and finishing up through downtown Durham just at the UNH football game was ending.

In the last half mile I was cruising along when I heard someone yell something from a passing car. I couldn't hear what they said. All I could tell is that it appeared to be a car full of college kids heading back from the game.

It got me thinking what people are thinking by doing something like that. I've spent enough time on a bike and had enough people yell at me from behind that it really didn't bother me that much, nor did it startle me anymore, like it has in the past.

It's as if some people in cars think of cyclists as 2nd class citizens. What other situation is there where something like that would occur. I've never been yelled at from a car while walking down the sidewalk? Even when I run, usually against traffic, I don't think I've ever had someone in a car say anything to me. Arguably people in cars have more of a case against saying something running towards them on the road, but they never have.

Cyclists get lumped into a category at all levels. I've read on many blogs and heard many first hand accounts of cyclists being almost run over, or actually run over. It could be Lance Armstrong, or the weekend warrior, or the bike commuter.

Sadly, the offenders will never read my post or probably anyone else's that describes this but if a miracle happens and one does - stop the foolishness.