Freds

I learned a new term today for a kind of person I run across at least once a week, usually more. These people are called "Freds" -- lycra-clad, bike shorted riders of carbon fiber touring bicycles who, for all their gear and wardrobe, are doing no more than I am doing: biking to work. These poseurs love to dress up in numbered jerseys as if they are gatorade powered tri-athletes, and not just commuters; particularly pretentious, of course, are the yellow jerseys.

I was daydreaming and coasting my first block two days ago, thinking about some work homework I had, when one such yellow-jerseyed Lance-a-like blew by me the other day. Curious, I upgraded my speed to my normal cruising speed, and I was mildly amused by the fact that, without really trying, I seemed to be gaining on this guy. Three blocks later, I blew by him.

This seems to happen a lot - guys fresh out of their driveway, confidently blowing past you in their first half kilometer only to find they can't keep the speed 250 meters down the road. Now I bike everyday - I only skipped December, January, and February this year. I can be a little slow coming out of intersections, but I cruise at a sustained speed of about 30 kph on a department store bike. I end up having to pass these out of shape show-offs as soon as they become winded and wobbly lane obstructions, and I have to pull out into the vehicular lane to do it.

These are the guys who give cycling a bad name - they blow red lights, or cross just before the light goes green. They cross onto sidewalks and back into the roadway randomly. They try to pass you on the left in a bike lane - a bike lane! And usually it is their machismo, not their actual ability to ride at a sustained speed, that has them passing.

I ride to get to work. I ride within my abilities, and I obey the law. I don't blow lights. When I cross at the crosswalk, I dismount and walk. I do this because bicycles are vehicles, and they are required to obey the law. I've heard cyclists give excuses for blowing lights like, "I couldn't unlock my shoes." (Many cyclists ride with shoes that lock into the pedals: I have a set, but I don't like them.) But the nice police officer isn't going to care about your shoes. If you're lucky, he just ignores your shoes as he writes your ticket. And if you are less lucky, he may not even see the shoes that happen to be 30 meters away from the rest of you.

While I am most afraid of big trucks, next on my list are "Freds" -- too many of them drive like idiots.