Bike Commuting Chronicles - 1

I merged onto the Kelly Drive bike path at about 6PM and my fears of the morning were confirmed. The strong tailwind that had borne me so speedily into work was now a punishing headwind on my way home. I was preparing myself for the long homeward slog when a blur of color zipped by. Almost by instinct I sped up and with a short twenty-yard burst, latched onto the wheel of the fast moving cyclist who had passed me. He was a big guy, maybe six-two or six-three and rode a nice Campagnolo-equipped Havnoonian road machine. He wore the colors of a local racing team.

He soon sensed my presence on his wheel and glanced back several times to ascertain I was still there. He churned out a smooth cadence at about 21 MPH in the 53X17. I could almost hear him thinking – ‘Muddy commuter frame, faded jersey with no team logo, fluorescent vest, rear blinkers and a headlight!’ I felt like telling him – I’ve been there, friend.

He began to accelerate and up-shifted to the 53X15, getting to about 23 MPH. He was glancing back every few pedal strokes now and his annoyance at not dropping me was palpable. In contrast, I was happy as a clam in his slipstream – it was like drafting a truck. Then he up-shifted again to the 53X14. I thought - there’s probably ten riders in Philadelphia who can turn that gear into this wind, you’re not one of them. Sure enough, his pedal stroke grew choppy and his speed began to decline as he ground away at the huge gear. Soon he shifted back down to the 53X17.

After about two miles of this, I began to feel a bit sorry for him and came around to take the pull. I rode a steady pace, but he had shot his bolt. Within half a mile he fell off the back. At the Falls Bridge traffic light he was distant dot. I beamed a thought at him - thanks for the tow!