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JULY -- "ON YOUR LEFT"
by Larry Urish
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 BCI member Larry Urish, a part time copy editor and a full time whack job, is a member of the Federal Witness Protection Program. He resides somewhere in the Western Hemisphere. |
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Do you feel completely clueless -- picture George W. Bush in a library -- whenever you ride in a paceline? Do you break out in a cold sweat whenever you’re surrounded by dozens of other cyclists cranking away in a peleton? Have you even HEARD of the words paceline or peloton? If so, then this premiere offering of “Musings of a Psycholist” is just what the court-appointed therapist ordered.
According to the party animals behind the Miriam-Webster Dictionary, peloton is French for “platoon.” However, says M-W, it’s more widely known as “the main body of riders in a bicycle race.” A rider who is way out in front of the main group has “attacked” the peloton. And a rider -- likely running low on EPO, synthetic testosterone, and/or Spanish Fly -- who has fallen behind the peloton has had his “ass kicked.” (Side note: Many cycling-related words are derived from French. As Eskimos have 14 different words for snow, the French have three words for chain ring and 27 words for surrender.)
According to the helpful hammerheads at www.internationalcycling.com, a paceline is “a string of riders that moves at high speed, with each individual taking turns setting the pace and riding in the draft of the others.” A high percentage of the effort used to move your bike forward goes into breaking the wind (insert Mexican food joke here). So a well-organized line of riders can work together as a team. The lead rider, who breaks the bulk of the wind (and regularly dines at Casa de Gasa), does most of the work.
When the riders of a paceline, or, for that matter, a peloton, work together, the overall wind resistance is significantly reduced. A well-organized group of riders is like a school of minnows, except in this case the minnows are wearing helmets, brightly colored jerseys, and bun-hugging cycling shorts. (This is easy to picture, assuming you drop enough acid.)
So, the upshot is this: The unfortunate pinheads who go solo and attack a group of riders usually get drawn back into the group like a moth drawn to a light -- or Lindsey Lohan to a bottle of Jack Daniels.
What follows are nine scenarios that deal with safety and etiquette as they relate to cycling in a group. It’s kind of like role-playing, but without the fur-lined handcuffs and riding crop. So, strap on your helmet, clip in, and read on:
SCENARIO #1: You’re cruising along, reducing the wind resistance for a fellow cyclist
who is on your wheel.
GOOD: Yell “glass!”-- or whatever tire-offending or bike-flipping object happens to be
in the road, point out the offending area, then carefully steer around it.
BAD: Vigilantly point out life- and bike-threatening items -- such as dead butterflies,
individual toilet paper squares, and small leaves -- while completely ignoring potholes,
croquet balls, large rocks, broken bottles, storm-drain grates, and the occasional rhino
carcass.
Important safety tip: If you’re following a rocket scientist who’d choose the latter option,
back off. Staying out of ER is a GOOD thing.
SCENARIO #2: Your Buzzin Bozo‘ energy drink (it’s equal parts caffeine, jet fuel, and
battery acid) has finally kicked in, and you’re about to pick off a fellow pedal freak.
GOOD: Approach the other rider on his left and call out “On your left,” several seconds before you actually pass him.
BAD: Go through the same motions noted above, but get achingly close to the slower
rider’s left-side blind spot and bellow “On your left!!” directly at his tympanic nerve.
Giggle as the terrified sap goes into vapor lock and topples over.
REALLY BAD: Pass the rider on his right, with nary a whimper. Before doing this, it’s
nice to at least have the courtesy to update your life insurance. |
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| SCENARIO #3: You’re leading teammate Lance Armstrong up L'Alpe d'Huez, and,
thanks to your blistering pace, you’ve just dropped the last of his main rivals. Your lactic-
acid level is up to your eyeballs, and it feels as if your aorta is about to “pop like a
weasel.” Lance, right on your wheel, is on his cell phone ordering pizza.
GOOD: Wake up before you wet the sheets.
SAD: Call your psychiatrist. Like, NOW, Chester.
SCENARIO #4: Your front wheel has awkwardly rolled over a lobster (don’t ask), and
you’ve shredded your favorite jersey in the resulting Chevy Chase-like crash. It’s time for
a new jersey. What color, pray tell, should you select?
GOOD: Select the brightest possible color, the kind that would get the undivided
attention of Helen Keller. Popular favorites include Retina-Melting Pink, Nuke Me
Green, and Ignored-as-a-Child Yellow. With a bright, can’t-miss jersey, that clueless
moron reading the sports page behind the wheel of his Ford Excretion might notice the
flash of color and swerve out of the way at the last second.
BAD: Asphalt Gray, Pallbearer Black, Diarrhea Mist, Ambulance Charcoal. You’d better
wear a helmet, Sparky; you’re gonna need it.
SCENARIO #5: The woman in front of the paceline has rotated to the back. You’ve just
inherited the front spot. Game on.
GOOD: Ramp up the wattage, but only enough to keep the same pace that you and the
other pain merchants have been doing. Steer clear of any road hazards and, when it’s time
to do so, carefully rotate to the back, checking behind you first.
BAD: Hammer into overdrive, thereby increasing your speed 5 mph and breaking the all-
important rhythm of the group -- but not before farting, blowing your nose, and riding
your confused compatriots through several hundred thumbtacks. Heads up: Don’t be
surprised if your mean machine has its brake cables and spokes “accidentally” cut.
SCENARIO #6: You check your little glasses-mounted geek mirror, and you see a new,
shiny Hummer -- stylishly accented with helmet fragments and shredded bike jerseys
embedded in the front grill, and piloted by a 20-something hayseed with the I.Q. of celery
-- bearing down on you. Thanks to the kind, sensitive folks at Cal Trans, the bike lane,
about as wide as Nicole Ritchie’s wrist, is situated next to a ditch that doubles as the local
toxic landfill.
GOOD: Hold your line, keep your bike steady, and thank yourself for buying a jersey
highlighted in the brightest shade of Baboon-Butt Orange.
BAD: Show the inbred, tractor-pull-loving dolt your Cookie Monster decal, meticulously
pressed onto the nail of your middle finger. Wobble like Teddy Kennedy during happy
hour, and blame your cash-strapped loved ones named in your will for convincing you to
buy a jersey produced by a new distributor: StealthWear.
SCENARIO #7: You’re leading a large group of fellow BCI riders, and the traffic light
about 120 away turns yellow, then red.
GOOD: Yell “Stopping!” and gently apply your brakes, coming to a slow, steady halt.
BAD: Without making a peep, pull on your brake levers as hard as you can. This can
result in numerous tire marks on the back of your jersey, plus a number of riders who’d
love to blow their nose into your Starbucks Venti Latte.
REALLY BAD: Run the light, which has been red for a full three seconds. Hint: Ever
heard of the Darwin Awards??
SCENARIO #8: You’re in the front of a large group of fellow BCI riders, and the traffic
light about 40 feet in front of you turns yellow.
GOOD: Go like hell…
SCENARIO #9: You spot a fellow cyclist on the side of the road with a flat. Given that
he’s using a box cutter to remove his tire, you determine that he’s probably not a direct
descendant of Mr. Albert Einstein.
GOOD: Slow down and ask if he’s OK. Offer assistance. Plead with him to slowly put
down the box cutter.
BAD: Bellow, “On your left!” at Puncture Boy and blow kisses in his direction as you cruise by. (For you practical jokers: If a friend happens to get a flat, offer assistance. Then, while he is focused on fixing the puncture, slowly let the air out of his bike’s other tire. Hilarity ensues.)
So, there you have it, boys ’n girls. You’ve all earned your online Ph.D.s in Cycling Safety and Etiquette at the University of BCI, proud home of the Fightin’ Freewheels.
Do you have any ideas for a Musings of a Psycholist column? Feel free to hit me with ’em at Laffnatlife58@yahoo.com. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you on the road. |
More Musings
On Your Left -- July/August 2007
Puncture This -- September/October 2007
Lose the Blowtorch -- December 2007/January 2008
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