Has anyone ever, while driving, encountered one of these mean, spandex-clad packs of cyclists? I have no life, hardly go anywhere, yet two of the three roads I travel on consistently attract these people, hunched over their handlebars, all things moving forward, focused. It worries me. I never see enough of their actual faces because of the helmets and the sun glasses; all of their bodies look the same because of the spandex. I sense the evil in these packs, a scary confidence that conjures horrors from the past. Revolutionary horrors.
I think I understand the plight of the cyclists. Our world has gone beyond overdevelopment; roads run over nature everywhere, so even when ideal cycling spots like lakes or resorvoirs provide trails for riders, they still have to risk the major highways to get there. Driving a car and parking it somewhere near the trail for easier access seems unnatural, might take too long, and kill the pure adrenaline of cycling. Because of this, the cyclists show that bravado. They drift on and off the shoulder; even at greenlights, if the pack leader times it right, he will send the pack across the intersection. Who's going to plow through a pack of cyclists, right?
I find it all frustrating. I feel at odds with the pack. Nobody I know put the roads here, and I'm just trying to get to where I'm going. I wish things could be different, that nature could still hold sway in these here parts, but... So every once in awhile, the urge comes to drift onto the shoulder, maybe disrupt a pack's rhthym, or to speed up and beat a pack to an upcoming turn. But then I consider what one of those pointy helmets would feel like rammed into my asshole, and apply the brakes.
If these people ever ride on Washington, we're in trouble.
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