Compliments

Ah, compliments. They can be such bitter sweet things sometimes. Once again I was on the return leg of the morning ride (I don’t think too many of the die-hard lycra lads and lasses get up quite as early as I do) and I’m going through my favourite section of my regular 40km route through the wetlands…I suppose it’s really a swamp, but wetlands just sounds so much prettier don’t you think?!

Anyway I’m feeling a little less chipper on the bike today. A little slower.

Halfway through the…wetlands I spotted a lycra lad and lass decked out in matching gear and on their special skinny wheeled, carbon fibre and unobtanium, ultra-light, feathers weigh more, road racing machines parked up at the head of a new , but unsealed (as yet) side track. The man just about pulled out in my path, but the lady warned him about my approach. I gave them no further thought, except to keep an ear open for the sound of their imminent approach and overtake.

It didn’t happen. I thought they must have gone the other direction. It wasn’t until I was giving my numb bum a rest just before the final 10kms, that they rode on past me. The lycra lass smiled and said, “We tried to catch you, but you were moving too fast!” Well my old heart was just leaping and bounding around in my decrepit chest cavity at being paid a compliment from this pretty young thing. Sadly it would be short lived…sort of.

Five minutes later as I ride alongside and pass the same lady at a mere 25kph, I pointed out to her that if she was trying to catch people, she would have to actually pedal the bike. The pair of them looked the part, but I got the impression they might have been from the Latte Lycra clique of cyclists. Well I thought this girl was going to fall off, she was laughing so hard. It gave her partner a fright. He turned his head to look and got another fright, because I was right beside him by then too.

I told him he might have to apply the whip because she was slacking off and not rotating the chain around the cogs. He sighed and gave me a resigned look I knew only too well myself. I have felt that way when biking with my kids.

The savage truth of my fitness came in the last 4kms when I was overtaken by a group of five senior citizens on the final uphill section. The lead rider gave me a cheery, “You can make it young fulla! Keep going, you’re doing fine!” which of course pissed me off no end, but what the hell was I going to do about it?! I was about one heart beat per minute from a bloody coronary as it was.

My faith in myself and my tortoise like ability was restored when I passed them all further along and around the corner at the top of the hill.

I think they might have been changing their pacemaker batteries when they thought I wouldn’t be able to catch up.

I called out, “Come on you old fullas. You don’t get to stop until you reach the end.” The breathless (and laughing) reply from the lead rider came back, “We’ll be right, because it might be the bloody end for us if we don’t have a rest!”

And I was starting to get the impression that all these lycra lot were a surly bunch. For the most part you couldn’t even torture a friendly nod out of them, let alone make small talk! Maybe, I’m finally starting to show them my value and credibility as a rider…But I’m not going to start wearing lycra…Not now…Not ever!