Riders in the Bry. There are many. Some real, some imagined.
There’s Mr. Alpine Dreamer: Hill-climber extraordinaire, ready to leap tall mountains in a single pedal stroke. Spirit’s in the high places. Known to stay in mountain pose all day long.
There’s Mr. Pack Man: Social, against his nature. Goes with the flow, at one with the herd. Never misses a call-out for the pothole, the road glitter, the car back.
There’s Mr. Lurker: Hangs in the back. Doesn’t say much, kind of quiet and shy. Usually has a fiddle tune in his head.
There’s Mr. Free Spirit: Rides as free as the wind blowing down the road. The lucky one.
There’s Mr. Locomotive Breath: Over his head, determined to hang with the group no matter what. Rarely succeeds, keeps trying.
There’s Mr. Navigator: Knows the routes, all of them, even ones he’s never ridden before.
There’s Mr. Velo Asana: Cool, collected, in the moment. Lives and breathes the cycling pose. Never falters, never fails. Hills, flats, curves, straights, they’re all the same to Mr. Velo Asana. Loves being “out there,” endurance his calling card.
There’s Lt. Solo: Rides epic rides, the whole day, all by his lonesome, through city, farm, coast, desert. Perfectly at ease with his puppy mind.
And then there’s Mr. Weak and Slow: Sometimes seen riding an old mountain bike. A heavy old mountain bike. Rides at 4 mph, in granny low. Even on a lighter road bike, Mr. Weak and Slow’s nature holds firm. Somehow manages to make it to the top anyway, to go the distance.
Lately, it’s Mr. Weak and Slow that’s in charge. Eight months and a mere 180 miles will do that to a person.