November 20th

Because I've only been blogging for a couple of weeks, I'm conflicted as to how to go about it. I am torn between:
1. Posting something to my blog each day, no matter how trivial the post may seem, so that frequent visitors to my blog will not be entirely disappointed.
2. Trying to create with each post a minor masterpiece of thoughtfulness and expression.

Probably as time passes I will strike a balance between boring and brilliant, probably slanted in the direction of boring. Wish me luck.

Riding yesterday on the Cherry Creek trail near CC Park, I was passed by a raggedy three-guy pace line. I'd seen them coming and noted that it took a good while for them to catch me, aerodynamic advantage or not. When they did pass, only one of the three said hi.

Just in front of me, I saw that one of the guys had been dropped by the other two at the base of a long but not steep climb.

I picked up my pace just a little and caught the guy, passed him and moved over in front of him, offering to share the work of riding him back up to his pals. He looked like a rider but he was either fried or unwilling to get on my wheel, so my gesture came to nothing.

Near the entrance to the park, the two guys in front of me stopped alongside the trail. I went ahead and got on the (flattish) park road. As I was riding alone through the park the three guys passed me. Suddenly, a hand patted me on the butt! It was Nelson Vails, trying to coach the three guys, who admitted that they had never before ridden in a pace line.

Nelson told me he'd seen them on the bike trail. They'd passed him, beating each other up in big gears. Nelson pedaled up to them in the small chain ring and told them that they were riding in an unproductive manner - that they should spend the winter riding in small gears, learning to pedal, not trying to murder each other.

They nodded, their eyes on Nelson, just as if they could hear him.

We rode back to town with the three of them. One flatted about halfway back. Nelson helped him change the punctured tube.

Nelson suggested that the guy not turn his bike over and work on it while it rested on its bars, cyclometer and seat. He showed the guy how to put his bike in the smallest cog before removing the wheel from the frame. He even gave the guy a CO2 cartridge to pump up the tire.

As we got closer to central Denver, where the path gets twisty and busy and dangerous, the three guys rode away from us, evidently having never heard a word Nelson said.

We felt that they rode too fast for conditions on the busy, sketchy multi-use trail. We felt they rode as if they were racing. Both those errors could be called youthful exuberance.

Most significantly, we felt they were rude, riding off from a guy who'd tried in several unselfish ways to help them, a guy who's an old hand at something that is new to them. A guy who could've, if he'd wanted to, pedaled away from them.

Can't teach guys about that stuff on the bike trail. Too late. By the time they can afford to buy the racing bike and the Europro jersey, they've learned all the life lessons they're going to learn.