Scary Bike Rides

Of all the stories I’ve done, this is the one that still gets to me on the trail. Really? Other day I’m riding this corridor in Boulder with a tall fence on one side, a concrete wall on the other, so: no exits. It goes about . . . three quarters of a mile. I’m cruising along, no hands, when I suddenly feel not alone. I sneak a look behind. Sure enough, there’s a guy on an older bike, a bag tied to it, and he’s the kind of close that says I looked back right when he was about to swing around. And this is no big deal: I was lollygagging, he’s booking, it’s conceivable he could have caught me in this short stretch, even though there was nobody behind me before, and I didn’t see anybody coming from the other path that feeds into this. Anyway, I scooch over, hug the fence to give the guy room . . . and he keeps on not passing. I don’t look back, but, I mean, he never comes around. Finally, right near the end of this where the trail spits out to a road, I look back, and I’m alone, here. And there’s nowhere else he could have gotten off. Turned back, sure, but commuters generally have their path kind of down. Maybe he forgot something, sure, but, man: “The Night Cyclist,” it’s always pedaling behind me, these days. Keeps me honest, maybe. Glad readers are still finding it:

Author: SGJ