Before Big Jim settled down and destroyed me and everything I stand for on a bike, he lamented the many times he is mistaken for a particular friend of ours. As it turns out I have on occasion been told I bear a family resemblance to this fellow and his brother. The reason this happens is simple. Racism.
When people look at us all they see is our pale color, our bald heads, and our swarthy Scottish frames. They never look further to see the individual inside that counts. We all deserve to let our little lights shine.
But seriously, I could not have set myself up any better for a head to head ride with Big Jim. I ate quinoa and slept 8 hours. I got deep into my practice (as we say) at yoga last night. Perfect tires. Perfect pressure. Clean gloves. Perfect.
It turns out Big Jim likes to ride his bike quite a bit. All I’m going to say is that I never offered to set the pace and he never really asked. I realized this early in the ride and saved myself some pain and anguish by not responding to his little surges along the way. Just hard blue collar pedaling from a couple of Shmoos.