Roadies: As Unyielding As Their Comically Oversized Bottom Brackets

After Fredding about on Friday I approached the weekend more casually, remaining within the city limits:

And riding in “regular” clothes and shoes:

While conditions were mostly moist, the sun was shining when I headed down to Central Park on Saturday:

By the way, to reiterate:

Anyway, it really is amazing to watch roadies turn people against bikes in real time. At one point, I yielded to a woman who had the light in her favor, but as she proceeded a pair of Freds opted not to extend her the same courtesy and kept going. This forced her to beat a hasty retreat, and after returning Frogger-like to her original position she simply waved me on in a defeated fashion. I’d like to think the fact that I stopped for her at least cancelled out the Freds’ lack of consideration, but the unfortunate truth is that nobody yields in the park. If anything, she probably regarded me as a dimwitted curiosity, like the one wild dog in the pack not participating in the mauling because he’s too busy gnawing at a patch of matted fur on his ass.

Hey, I’m as annoyed by the “entitled cyclist” trope as anybody, but there really is nobody worse than the Central Park Roadie:

Though the Prospect Park Roadie is a close second. I still think about the woman on a Bianchi who cursed me out years ago as I crossed the park road on my Big Dummy with my young child and the light in my favor. But on the bright side, while many lament the existence of a gender gap in cycling, when it comes to being a gigantic asshole it’s entirely nonexistent.

The above notwithstanding, please note that I do not deny my own Fredly tendencies, and I even rode my plastic bike again today–though I kind of wish I hadn’t, because the roads are still too debris-strewn for the paper-thin tires:

In fact, I picked up a piece of glass the size of a diamond in a cheap engagement ring:


More annoyingly, thanks to today’s tubeless-compatible road rims, you can’t always get the tire bead properly seated with just a mini-pump, which mEaNt ThAt FoR tHe ReSt Of ThE rIdE mY bIkE fElT lIKe ThIs.

Yes, I realize I could carry a frame pump, or a CO2, or even go tubeless in the hopes that cheap diamond-sized class chunks would be insufficient to stop me in the first place. But I won’t. Because I refuse to give you the satisfaction.

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