Night Racing

There's a protocol about bike racing. No words are exchanged. There's no starting line. You just overtake. Or attempt to. Of course, there's a difference between a legitimate overtake and one that's a challenge to race. No words can really express that difference. You simply know when the other guy wants to race.

It started off that night on my way to the lab. I swung by the sweet curve by the Mess overtaking a kid on his bike. Perhaps the kid was bored. Or perhaps he felt threatened. Or maybe he just misinterpreted my overtaking him. Ten meters down the road, he'd challenged me. Who was I to refuse? I was on the Swing weighed down by my bag, but with gears. He was a young kid, but no geared bike.

I shifted rapidly and pulled away, as he stood up on the pedals to try to catch me. The Z-turn was taken smoothly, but he was catching up. I shifted again, the clanking reminding me of the lack of care to my transmission system, and continued to speed away. He didn't pass me. He broke off at the crossroads, knowing it was all downhill from there on. If he hadn't caught me on level ground, what chance did he have downhill?

Don't feel bad kid, nobody's ever caught me on the Kangaroo, what made you think you'd catch me on a Swing?

[the author's tendency to exaggerate must be taken into account to fully assimilate this true-to-life account]