Today I was enjoying the perfect weather on my day off by using my commuter bike to do my errands. My “commuter bike” is really just a mountain bike with a crate on the back. Although it looks dorky its great for holding stuff. I had just dropped a dress off with the tailor in Pawtucket, and was heading toward the Kinko’s on Meeting Street, loping leisurely along Hope Street. How I was enjoying this crisp sunshiney summer day, pedalling along in my flip-flops… This morning’s run had been abruptly cut short by a sharp pain in my left achilles tendon. Clearly I need a little more recovery from the ironman. Well, nothing like an easy spin on the mountain bike for active recovery I thought. Until I saw a cyclist about 50 meters ahead of me on Hope Street… Surely I could catch him! This clown could hardly ride in a straight line. I was lessening the gap with every pedal stroke. Not only had he had gotten a major head-start, but this loser was riding a road bike! It did not seem sensible that I would be in any position to overtake him, but here I was, about to pass him. Nevermind that my recovery ride had turned into an all-out sprint. My mission was clear: I had to pass this overweight middle aged guy on a road bike. Forget about the fact that he had no idea that this was a race. That part is irrelevant. Bit by bit, I was bridging the gap. That was all that mattered. I felt the joy of victory as I passed. My heart swelled as I imagined this poor slob’s thoughts “What? Passed by a girl? She came from out of nowhere! A girl on a mountain bike with a stupid crate no less!” He he. He did pass me later, although this was while I was waiting at a red light. It doesn’t count if someone passes you while you are obeying traffic laws and they’re not. Not to mention I had caught him drafting when I looked back. He obviously did not know this race was NOT draft-legal. In any case I emerged the victor. It feels good to win, even if it is in a race someone who is neither aware of the competition nor registered as a participant.