Bike Hater Meets His Match. Will You?

By Kevin Kolodziejski 

You’re about to read about one segment of a supercharged training ride.

It occurred on a nondescript Saturday morning on a Pennsylvania backcountry road somewhere between Lenhartsville and Kempton. Based on the way I remember we were dressed, it had to be late February or early March. Based on the bike I remember riding, it had to be either 1993 or 1994. And based on the way the story is going, you have to be wondering if you can trust the accuracy of anything that follows.

Don’t.

For as the American intellectual Clifton Fadiman once said, “A good memory is one that is trained to forget the trivial,” and in this story, place and date are just that. Moreover, throughout the years family, friends, and former coworkers have expressed wonderment at my ability to recall of past events, but there’s really no wonder to it. I work my memory continually and for a number of reasons, one of which is summarized in an observation by Spanish philosopher George Santayana that’s so true it’s become cliché.

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

But enough about philosophy and my steel-trap memory. It’s time to explain why it’s so suitable to call this ride supercharged.

What Made the Ride Really Supercharged

For starters, among the 15 or so ride regulars were arguably the two fastest track sprinters on the planet at that time, German Jens Fielder and American Marty Nothstein, meaning the normal powder keg of a group had even more firepower that day. Next, what nearly set it alight no more than 10 miles into the ride was an at-first confusing verbal confrontation with a motorist.  It began with him telling us “I pay taxes for these roads” (a declaration that still baffles me to this day) and quickly became profane. Then, about 25 miles later and from well behind, we heard repeated rapid-fire blares from a car horn.

You know the ones.  The motorist Morse code for “get the hell off the road.”

That led a few in the group to make what I’ll kindly call “dismissive gestures.” A hand thrown up in the air.  A one-fingered salute here and there. One rider sat fully upright and did the good old double deuce.

I know all this for sure, for at this time I was the single rider at the back of the double paceline. I was also relatively new to the group and my palmarès couldn’t hold a candle to two-thirds of the guys and gals present, so I kept my mouth shut and simply bore witness. Even though egging on a motorist, according to my moral code, is the cycling equivalent to a husband hitting a wife.

Under no circumstance should it ever occur.

What Made the Ride Really Dangerous

On this day, though, it did — and the speed of the pickup truck increased. Then it passed us about 50 yards or so from a fairly sharp and somewhat blind left-hand bend. After that, the driver hooked the wheel hard to the right. Just about everybody needed to lock up their brakes and take what I’ll kindly call “evasive measures,” which meant a tumble onto the lawn for three or four of us. Two who didn’t go down took after the truck.

Though it was well in the distance, the driver must’ve noticed this in his rearview mirror. He stopped, reversed course, and then he did something that made even less sense than anything first angry motorist said to us.

He got out.

Not a Name-Dropper By Nature

Now I’m not a name-dropper by nature. The reason I told you Jens Fielder and Marty Nothstein — both multiple Olympic and World Champion medalists — were on a training ride I did way back when was not to impress you as much as to impress upon you just how little sense the guy I’ll now call the Bike Hater had. For he stood no taller than 5’7”, carried little muscle, and possessed a beer keg belly.

Fielder and Nothstein were closer to 6’ 2”, carried ample muscle, and much of it resembled beer kegs. Beer kegs that doubled as quadriceps muscles.

I make the beer-keg comparison because there’s a very good chance the Bike Hater did, too, for he expressed a change in attitude at just about the time Fielder and Nothstein dismounted their bicycles, stood tall, and placed their beer kegs on full display. To say the Bike Hater was now contrite about cutting off the group would be correct.  He even wished the two a nice day while retreating to his vehicle.

Good For a Laugh — Or Is It?

Now a number of riders made light of the encounter at the coffee shop stop later, but I did not. Once again, the relatively new guy kept his mouth shut. He will, however, tell you right now what he wishes he would’ve said to everyone, regardless of their palmarès, as they sipped coffee and latte that day.

That the back-window gun rack of the Bike Hater’s truck had contained a rifle. That if the Bike Hater had reached for it before the handle of the door, one or two of you could now be lying in a morgue.

---

Kevin Kolodziejski began his writing career in earnest in 1989. Since then he’s written a weekly health and fitness column and his articles have appeared in magazines such as “MuscleMag,” “Ironman,” “Vegetarian Times,” and “Bicycle Guide.” He has Bachelor and Masters degrees in English from DeSales and Kutztown Universities.

A competitive cyclist for more than 30 years, Kevin won two Pennsylvania State Time Trial championships in his 30’s, the aptly named Pain Mountain Time Trial 4 out of 5 times in his 40s, two more state TT’s in his 50’s, and the season-long Pennsylvania 40+ BAR championship at 43.