For me it was a weekend of skinny-tired riding:
I also continued to enjoy my latest gratuitous acquisition:
And as I begin my second full week of ownership I’m proud to announce that I still haven’t spend any money on it:
That’s called willpower.
No, if I had willpower I’d never have bought the bike in the first place.
Though if I’d never bought the bike it would probably still be sitting in a garage and that would be a shame because it’s a very good bike.
Speaking of my lack of willpower, I’ve noted in the past that confronting drivers is never worth it:
And the same thing is also true when it comes to confronting other types of people you’re liable to encounter while riding, such as pedestrians, other cyclists, and beer-soaked derelicts–or even those who occupy multiple categories at the same time:
Alas, due to the same lack of willpower that compelled me to buy a used bike off Craigslist even though I already have all the bikes I could possibly want and more, I am also not always successful in restraining myself when the potential for confrontation presents itself. This past weekend was one such instance, and as it happens it involved that last category of person.
What happened was, I was Just Riding Along And Minding My Own Business (JRAAMMOB), not too far from this spot:
As you can see, this is a lovely car-free path, though there are certain spots where unsavory types are wont to congregate, often leaving broken glass and other detritus behind from their shattered beverage containers. This can cause flat tires, and is likely the reason I was spogged upon during my short-lived quest for the meaning of gravel:
Anyway, it was a warm and sunny morning, there were a fair number of cyclists and other recreators enjoying the path, and as I approached one spot where antisocial people tend to inebriate themselves I observed three flush-faced fellows stacking cases of beer and taking up their stations along along either side of the path, where they’d presumably spend the rest of the day turning that beer into urine. As I say, it was warm and sunny, so I certainly wasn’t the first cyclist to ride past them. Furthermore, they were basically standing in the path, as on this section of trail there’s fencing on either side of it. However, at last there was plenty of room for me to ride though, and I did so without passing them too closely on purpose or going excessively fast or making a comment or in any way puncturing the invisible veil between regular people and winos.
They, however, were either too drunk or not drunk enough to respect the veil, and started in on how people on bikes “think they own the place” or something like that. This is a deeply stupid thing to say when you’re standing in a busy bike path on a warm and sunny day in the middle of the morning. It’s like sitting in a urinal in a baseball stadium restroom and getting mad because people keep pissing in your mouth.
Still, I didn’t say anything, though after passing I couldn’t help turning around for a parting look, which inspired more inarticulate grousing on their part. And this is where I’m not proud of myself. Years of dodging broken glass, coupled with their sneering, compelled me to make a trite yet effective hand gesture. This prompted even more grousing, as well as exhortations on their part to come back and fight them. Now, obviously there’s not a universe in which I’m going to stop in the middle of a ride to engage in a wino fight. However, I do wage an ongoing struggle against the urge to open up my big mouth, and so I heartily recommended that they should seek employment, though I used the word “job” instead of “employment,” which freed up enough syllables for me to also include an expletive.
This was an ironic choice of words on my part, since I myself am barely employed. However, it certainly landed, since they were either unemployed and unhappy about that fact, or else employed in some capacity and resentful of having been miscategorized. Whatever the case, as I continued to ride away their outraged howls rose to a fever pitch, like in those zombie shows when the undead catch a whiff of humans, and instead of feeling smug about the “zinger” I regretted it immediately, for the following reasons:
I’d Created a Massive Inconvenience for Myself
This path is my main paved trunk route and where I begin the vast majority of my road rides. Now when passing through this spot I’ll have to be on the lookout for the drunks. Granted, it’s possible they won’t even have remembered the incident once they’d gotten through all that beer–or, if they have, it’s equally possible they would never be able to distinguish me from any of the other hundreds of cyclists that pass through that spot on a given day. Yet it’s also possible they’re in possession of some preternatural drunkard memory, and will never forget my words or my hairy face. Indeed, the inability to process and excrete stored rage could be precisely what drives them to drink in the first place. And since, as I say, there’s no way I’d ever engage in a wino fight, I must now be extra vigilant during a time when I’m usually decompressing.
Even worse, you really can’t see too far ahead on this section of trail, and there’s also really no place to conveniently exit it at this spot in order to circumvent potential assailants. So no matter how vigilant I am, by the time I spot the angry drunks I’ll be committed to run the gauntlet, and even with a head of speed they’d be liable to pelt me with beer containers–or worse, pull me from my bike, savagely beat me, and then loot my jersey pockets for more beer money.
So basically, what I’m saying is I’ve now got a Strait of Hormuz situation on my hands, and I have no idea when it will resolve itself.
I’d Possibly Created a Massive Inconvenience for Other Cyclists
The winos were only just getting dug in for the day when I passed them, and I’d clearly angered them. What if, unable to get their hands on me, they turned their rage on the very next cyclist? At the very least, it’s certainly possible that, having reaffirmed everything they think about people on bikes, I only bolstered their resolve to take up as much of the bike path and make as much of a mess as possible on it going forward. So, uh, sorry, fellow cyclists.
I’d Lowered Myself Unneccesarily
I’ve got a very nice life. Do I really need to put a bunch of drunks in their place? Yes, they shouldn’t be building a beer fort in a bike path, but that’s for the police to handle. Meanwhile, I’ve got all the things they don’t: a wonderful family, a genuine Chris Huber road bicycle, teeth… So when I get mad I should simply remind myself of this instead of engaging with them. (Even if, objectively speaking, all I really did was give them some good advice.)
Riding a bike, especially on a bike path, is such an obvious metaphor for life that any halfway decent editor would flag it. Yet apparently I need to keep learning the same elementary life lessons over and over again. Like a weekend ride on a sunny bike path, life is as easy as you make it. The drunks would certainly have an easier time of it they didn’t position themselves in pointed opposition to everything around them, but I’d also have an easier time if I simply ignored them and got on with it. There’s no surer way to be disappointed than to expect other people to behave sensibly, so short of that you’ve got to behave sensibly yourself.