Yesterday I did a ride that's a bit different than what I usually go for. Instead of 9pm, this one started at 6am. Instead of hipsters in v-necks smoking cigs, it was middle-age men in spandex drinking Vitamin Water. Yesterday, I rode the Long Beach Bike Marathon.
These things always start the same way. Everyone getting really pumped up at the sound of the gun, but then you have to ride at a walking pace for the first ten minutes due to the density of the crowd. After that, the pack started to spread out and I spent the rest of the course finding a peloton that suited my pace. But it wasn't towards the end till I found him, my drafting buddy.
This guy was wearing a baby blue one piece triathlon suit with neon yellow shoe bibs (you know, to reduce drag). He was kind of overweight, but was blisteringly fast on the up hills. I was content drafting him, riding inches behind his rear wheel, until I made the mistake of looking up. There are two specific reasons why bike shorts are black. One, pubic hair is black. Two, sweat can't make black any darker. When I looked up from my handlebars, all I saw was a dirty V of crack hair and swamp ass. I tried to get around him, but in the end he was too fast. When we finished the race, with me still behind him, we shook hands. But quite honestly, all I was thinking was "Please oh God, I hope he didn't scratch himself."