“Yeah,” he said, “Saturday and Sunday mornings. Sometimes we'll have 50 or 60 riders.”
She's cute, he thought.“Where'd you come from?” he asked.
“Did you race?” he asked.
“I did,” she said, “collegiate. We had a great team. Not that we won all the time, or won our conference, but we had the spirit. Raced as a team.
I miss that,” she said: “The team.
“I took a job here after graduation,” she said. “I'm just learning my way around town on my bike, finding streets without so much traffic. I like it so far. Seems like an okay place to live.”
“I like it pretty well,” he said. “Been here since '87. The riding's good and there are lots of cyclists. Always someone to train with.
“I hope you like these rides,” he said.
He was afraid she wouldn't. Even if she could hang, he thought, she might find our rides aren't as fun as you want 'em to be. They’re not social; they’re serious. The guys setting the tempo don't actually race but they’re serious about their training.
There’s not much socializing. No heart; just the monitor.
“I'm sure I will like 'em,” the girl with the Specialized said.
Three of his buddies showed up. He hadn't asked her name, the girl with the Specialized, and he felt uncomfortable introducing her without knowing it. So he didn't.
The four of them talked to one another. They talked about last week's ride, Cipollini's five Giro stages, someone's crash, stuff like that.
As they talked, she looked around, standing there just outside their little circle. She didn't appear to be uneasy, just alone, looking around. She was still astride her bike, one foot still in the pedal. Look pedals, he noticed. Carnacs. Ultegra parts.
Three of the four of us are single, he thought. She rides a bike, she's totally cute, and not one of us has spoken to her since the guys arrived. Lame, huh?
Within 20 minutes, there were 50 cyclists in the parking lot.
We all know each other, he thought; we're veterans of 1,000 rides just like this one. The Saturday Morning World's. He watched: None of the 50 of them spoke to the girl with the Specialized.
She didn't look uncomfortable, but she still looked alone. When the group rolled out, he looked over his shoulder. There she was, a few riders from the back.
She looks good on her bike, he thought, flat back, bent elbows. She looks as relaxed as you could be, first time out in a new group, no clue who the squids were, no clue which were good wheels to follow.
When they got near the edge of town, traffic thinned. The pace picked right up. He wasn't in any kind of trouble and wasn't gonna be, not on a flat road in a bunch. Flat road or not, when he looked back, he saw one or two riders gapped off the back, struggling. Hurtin' already.
Next time he looked back, he saw the girl with the Specialized had dropped back herself. He worried for her, but when he looked again he realized she'd slowed to wait for one of the hurtin' riders, a guy.
He watched her patiently tow that guy back up in her draft.
Cool, he thought.
He let himself drift back in the group. He could see her chatting with the guy she'd just helped, her hand on the guy’s shoulder as they pedaled side-by-side. The guy was shaking his head, looking kinda discouraged.
As he watched, she grinned and laughed. She’s telling the guy a story about some ride-from-hell she'd once been dropped on. Soon the guy was laughing too.
Cool, he thought.A few miles later, on the one not-so-steep hill on the ride route, he saw her pushing that same guy up the grade. She was pushing on the small of his back, all the while talking to him, listening to his infrequent answers.
He watched the guy roll over the top with the group. He saw her patting the guy on the back, actually slapping him on the back of his Colorado Cyclist jersey.When the group reached the Java Shack, he was leaning his bike against the hedge when she rolled up next to him and stopped.
“Listen,” she said, “I wanna thank you for making me feel welcome here. I'll be seeing you on these rides when I can make it.”“Did you have a good time?” he asked. “Did you get a chance to talk to any of the guys, Jim there in the Banesto jersey, or Justin or Robert? That's Robert on the Merlin Extralight with the Spinergys. They're the best riders in the club.”
“No,” the girl with the Specialized said, “I never did get the chance. I got to know James though, the blond guy over there. He rode great.“Eventually, I'm sure I'll meet all the guys,” she said. “Gotta go now; they’re supposed to come make my phone work. See ya next week.”
“None of the guys talked to you?” he asked again.
“No,” she said. “No big deal.”
He shook his head. “Bike riders,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, grinned and clipped back in, “bike riders.”
END
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