Not turning, waving

My astute observation of the Australian road cyclist - usually from behind as they disappear up the road - has lead me to believe that they can often be classified according to their behaviour. I thought I would share with you my thoughts on two distinct groups.

First we have the Easter Islanders. This group remains aloof from all who do not inhabit their lofty world - those poor fools who don't have the right kit, the right equipment or - worst of all - the right level of ability. It is easy to recognise an Easter Islander. If you ever have the 'honour' of riding next to one in a bunch then you will find that, should you be so crass as to try and converse with them, all efforts to communicate are met with a stony silence. They might have to ride next to you but they don't have to acknowledge your existence. Instead they stare straight ahead, face impassive... just like the statues on Easter Island.



Note: it has been my experience that those who have 'made it' as cyclists and actually broken into the exulted ranks of the European based professionals are very rarely Easter Islanders. Its more the "almost made it"s and the "would have made it but"s who form the core of this group.

I don't actually mind being treated like a deaf mute by an Islander. I know that I don't have the right kit. And I certainly don't have the right equipment. I mean my bike is more than five years old and aluminium - a material that is neither cutting edge nor old enough to have obtained the retro cool of steel. And I most certainly don't have the ability. In fact the main reason I'm happy to be ignored is that I usually have a good mouthful of stem which I am busily chewing as I try to hang onto the bunch.

No, the real reason I wish they would lighten up a bit is that sometimes there appears in the bunch one who is less experienced in group etiquette than myself - a newbie... or a mountain biker... or even a *gasp* triathlete. Should this individual end up next to an Islander they will find the whole experience quite off-putting. They may even decide that roadies are snobs, give up the good fight and go back to their couch, their knobbly tyres or their *shudder* clip-on bars.

The second group I'll discuss here are the Bondis. They are a friendly, bubbly bunch who are happy to talk to all and sundry... in fact they insist on it! If you end up next to one in the bunch you'll know it. They will introduce themselves, talk about the weather, talk about the latest race results, talk about this week's doping scandal, talk about the state of politics in [insert your location here], talk about their complicated family relationships and then proceed to fill you in on the current state of their saddle sores. And that's just the first 5 minutes. It's not long before you start to long for that killer climb in the hope that it will shut them up... only to discover that they would rather talk than breath. Your only chance of salvation is that hypoxia kicks in and they go out the back, talking the whole way.

Another feature of the Bondis is that when they see other cyclists on the road they have more waves than, well, Bondi. They are constitutionally incapable of passing any fellow two wheel traveller without doing a passable impression of a cast-away who has just sighted a possible chance of rescue. Total strangers are hailed as if they were long lost bosom buddies back from the dead. This appears to be bike specific behaviour - put a Bondi behind the wheel of a car and they don't wave to every other driver on the road. Nor do they greet every pedestrian as they walk the streets. Something about the noble steed triggers the Bondi reaction.

Again I don't actually mind the Bondis. I think it is nice to be friendly and greet one's fellow man (or woman). In fact I was once accused of being garrulous - an accusation that took two hours of non-stop, well structured loquaciousness to refute.

No, the real reason I wish they would settle down a bit is that they take it as a personal affront if you don't respond to their advances in what they deem to be an enthusiastic enough manner. It doesn't matter what you were doing at the time either. Doing an all out effort? It's rude to work so hard you don't have enough breath to say hello! Sprinting for the line in the Saturday World Championships? Eric Zarbel lost the 2004 Milan San Remo by throwing his victory salute too early so you would be in good company if you lost the gallop by waving back! Screaming down a mountain pass at 80 kmh? The next hairpin is still 200 meters away... where are your priorities?? Once you have upset a Bondi sufficiently they will spend the next three hours telling you why they aren't talking to you any more...

A weighty issue

It's been a while since I last blogged. I'd like to say it's because I have been logging lots of miles on the bike... but I can't. If anything I've been logging the miles in the car rather than on the bike. If only I'd cycled 4,500km in the last two months!

During my cycling "career" there have been many peaks and troughs in my average weekly mileage. An observation I've made is that my weight seems to be inversely correlated to my mileage. Strange that! This is all well and good for the lucky few who can be consistent in their training (darn pros!) but a bit of a problem for those of us who have a life - or at least a life that impinges on our cycling.

Cyclists, as a whole, want to be lite. There are a few exceptions to this... trackies - a strange breed who are big, tough, fast, yet scared of both hills and races that last more then 4km. Anyway, cyclists want to be svelte. If you were to ask a cyclist why this is they would mumble something about their power to weight ratio and cross sectional area. They are lying! The real reasons are:

• cyclists wear Lycra. Lycra is unforgiving. What can be hidden with a well chosen shirt will be there for all to see in bike kit;
• cyclists shave their legs. Whilst this will elicit no sympathy from my female readers (hi Mom) shaving takes time. The bigger the legs, the longer the time. Fat legs take longer to shave;
• cyclists lie. Well ok, pad the truth. It's hard to convince people you are a professional rider when you look more like the team bus.

Clothing is another consideration when one has weight that goes up and down like a fiddler's elbow. Not so much bike kit - Lycra will stretch - but what one wears off the bike. A cyclist's weight change can be such that the old clothes just don't fit any more. Common approaches to this problem include:

• have one set of clothes that fit the top of the cycle. The upside: you never face the embarrassment of having to go shopping because your clothes don't fit. The downside: when you are at the bottom of the cycle it looks like you are a kid playing dress-ups with your parent's clothes;
• have one set of clothes that fit at the bottom of the cycle. The upside: when you are looking your best, you look your best. The downside: it's not only your bike kit that makes it obvious when you are becoming all you can be.
• have two sets of clothes catering for both the top and bottom of the cycle. The upside: you look spiffy all the time. The downside: you would have to stake a claim for space in the wardrobe above and beyond the tiny corner you have been allocated by your significant other. Best of luck with that!

Maybe I'll just take to wearing Lycra all the time. Now that would lead to divorce!

Tortoise

A new fixation

I have a new toy.

My very kind wife bought me a new bike for Christmas. She actually gave it to me a few months ago but I justified the expenditure by agreeing to forego the annual visit from Santa.

“A new bike?” you ask. So what's it got? SRAM red? DuraAce? Maybe the new 11 speed Campy?

From the Penny-farthing with its pedals attached directly to the front wheel, through the Safety Bicycle that drove the rear wheel via a chain and the invention of the freewheel, right down to the addition of gears bicycle technology has come a long way in the last 150 years.

Each innovation was aimed at making the bicycle safer, faster and more efficient. Surely then a cyclist would have the most up-to-date equipment that they could afford, right? Um yes, well...

Cyclists are a funny bunch and every now and then a faction will insist on retaining old technology in some misguided belief that it is somehow better than the new-fangled stuff available. Lugged steel frames. Rolls leather saddles. Fixed wheel bicycles.

That's right – my new bike is a fixie. For the uninitiated, a fixie (or fixed wheel bike) is one that has only one gear and no freewheel. If the rear wheel is turning then so are the pedals.

In the time I have been riding it I have made a few observations:

• you never realise how often you stop pedalling on an average ride until you can't. A fixie is none too subtle in reminding you of that fact either!
• never before have I reached the bottom of a hill and thought “phew, I'm glad that's over!”
• it's amazing how many corners you really can pedal around. It's also amazing how long it takes the brain to catch up with this discovery. Is adrenalin performance enhancing??

Surprising as it might sound, there are some real advantages to riding a fixie:

• it's cheap. The first time I rode the new bike with my wife when I had the realisation that my whole bike cost 1/11 th of what her frame cost. My legs are also probably about 1/11 th as good as hers too, mind.
• it teaches you how to pedal fast and smooth. OK, it uses predominantly negative reinforcement (being bucked off the bike if you get it wrong is a negative in anyone's book) but you sure learn fast. Or you end up selling the bike in order to pay for your dental reconstruction;
• it is a great commuting bike. With no derailleurs on the bike there is less to go wrong and less to clean if you end up riding it in the rain. It also means you get a solid workout no matter how short the ride to work. Oh hang on, this is supposed to be a list of advantages isn't it??
• it is less likely to be nicked. First it doesn't look all that tempting due to the lack of shiny bits hanging off the frame. Second, if someone does pinch it, chances are you will find the bike lying on the ground close by... along with the miscreant. That would be the place they first tried to stop pedalling.

I'm really enjoying my new bike. Goes to show that it's not all about the latest technology.

I'll see you out on the road. (I'll be the one spinning like a madman.)

Tortoise

Let me tell you about the time I...

Well that's an hour of my life I will never get back. I've just returned from a meeting of First Aid officers. Every time I go to one of these things I am reminded how much I hate first aiders.


I came to first aid through a circuitous route. I started by qualifying for a Bronze Medallion with the Royal Life Saving Society. I didn't pursue this due to any great altruistic desire to help my fellow man – I was just avoiding having to play school basketball. If you thought I was bad at cycling you should see me in a sport where a ball is involved!

Anyway, one thing led to another and I worked my way up to the Distinction qualification... the threat of basketball was still lurking in the wings. When I moved to the coast for uni I somehow got caught up in surf life saving. Because you might actually have to save someone in the surf (as compared to yelling at kids to “get off the lane ropes” in the pool) one of the things required is a first aid certificate which I duly acquired... and thus began my exposure to first aiders.

Now my view of the role of a first aider is simple: the job involves attempting to stop the condition of a patient deteriorating until advanced medical assistance arrives. That would be those guys - and girls - who turn up in a white wagon that has disco lights on the roof and a Whitney Houston song playing over the loud speaker. (I could be wrong about the artist - but Whitney sure sounds similar!!) I'm going out on a limb here but I'm guessing an Ambo's training involves more than two days of lectures, demonstrations and tests. Surely they get at least a week!?

I've always been bemused during the practical exams that conclude first aid courses as “patients” with an unlikely list of conditions are trussed up like turkeys by over zealous bandage wielders.

Unless you are stuck in the middle of nowhere and the ambulance is an hour away why apply the sling / splint / bandage / wound dressing / improvised collar / Band Aid? By the time you finish all that the Ambos will be standing around looking bored and wondering why you bothered to call them if you won't let them near the patient until you have exhausted your overstocked first aid kit.

I fear I am very much in the minority with this view. If you listen to my colleagues you would think that a crucial aspect of the role is to diagnose the ills afflicting the patient. Why go to a radiologist who needs expensive imaging equipment to diagnose a broken bone when a competent first aider is able to identify the exact problem by the pitch and volume of the screams you issue as they apply the splint?

And the thing that really bugs me? The war stories. Whenever two or more first aiders are gathered together there is at least one who insists on talking about the time they were faced with a serious case of blistering caused by high heels. “That thing was at least 5mm across!” Or the time they were battled a life threatening paper cut. “I mean there was blood!” Or when they had to ring the ambulance because someone had chest pain. “It turned out the bandage I applied to deal with the pimple on their back was too tight... but it could have been serious!”

Why does this "sharing of experience" bother me so much? While these veterans of the trenches prattle on about their moments of glory they are taking up valuable time I could use to tell you about this one time when I had a patient suffering from...

Tortoise

The perfect bike

I was out on a solo training ride last Saturday. [Oh all right, it didn't start out as a solo ride but the bunch got too caught up in the sprint to hear my plaintive “wait for meeeee”.] Anyway, as it is wont to do, my mind started to wander. I began to think about what would go into making the perfect bike. Thought I would share my revelations with all who read this blog... all one of you. (Thanks Mum!)

My very first thought was that it would have to have a comfortable saddle. Might have something to do with the fact I'd just ridden 80 clicks. And had another 20 to go.

Is it just me or do bicycle saddles look like implements of torture? There must be hundreds of saddles out there but they all seem to be along similar lines: small, thin and sparsely padded. And that sparsely padded part seems to be optional – there are some available that have no padding at all! Nothing but carbon. Ouch!! Surely, surely such a saddle is only purchased by the my-rider-is-lazy-and-sitting-down-way-too-much-I'll-show-them type coach!?

Anyway, I'll take a nice big, well padded saddle. These are usually shied away from by serious bike riders. They claim that if a saddle is too padded then it rubs you up as you pedal. Hmm – I will have to think of a solution to that later...

The next thing I thought about were the brakes. [Thanks driver, I did have right of way there!!!] Yeah, I want brakes. Brakes that work. Even when it's wet. Especially when it's wet!!

Obviously I should go for disc brakes. Our mountain bike brethren long ago worked out that in anything less than perfect conditions it was wise to use something other than rubber on alloy rims. And they had never experienced the joys of rubber on carbon rims – wet carbon rims!! Well, I'm not too proud to copy. I'll have disc brakes thanks. And while I'm at it I may as well go for the closed system hydraulic ones. No cables getting gummed up that way. OK, good.

Now I'm going to enter the realms of the really uncool... mirrors. Yep, that's right – I want mirrors. Sure, they're dorky but they are also useful. How else do you enjoy the look of agony on the face of the rider behind you as you turn the screw. How else do you watch the pack disappear behind you as you put in a killer attack. How else do you spot the sag wagon in time to make sure they don't see you intentionally break you own spoke so you have excuse to get in the van?

I figure that lights would be a good idea too. For some reason cyclists need to start most rides in the dark. Evidence of this? When summer arrives and it starts to get light earlier the bunch departure times are adjusted so that we leave earlier. Perish the thought that I would get up in day light!?!

So I want a light. Not one of those piddly little LED jobs. I want a real light. One that lets me see more than a metre down the road. One that stays bright for more time than it takes to reach the bottom of my driveway. One that I can use to intimidate motorists. OK, better chuck in a decent battery too.

Speaking of lights, maybe I should throw in some indicators. Sticking my arm out is all very well but I've yet to work out how to keep it out whilst taking a round-a-bout at speed and dodging debris, potholes and the errant car or two. Indicators would be easier. And maybe if I had them then cars would respect me more too. Hey! Stop laughing!!

Now that I'm getting older I'm finding that my knees can get stirred up a bit from all the bending that comes with pedalling. So maybe I should add a couple of pegs where I can rest my feet when it all gets a bit much. That would also address the friction problem that supposedly comes with a cushy saddle.

At this point in my musing I started to ride up a hill. As I puffed and panted my way up I realised that all of these wonderful additions wouldn't do any favours to the weight of the bike. Maybe I should make one final addition. Add something that would give just a little bit of assistance.

When I arrived home I did some research on the net to see if my perfect bike was available. Lo and behold I found that someone was already producing it...


Yep, my perfect bike is a motor bike. Let's see them drop me now!!

Tortoise

An Introduction to Crashteriums

Daylight savings has arrived and all over the country it's criterium season.

For the uninitiated a criterium is a bicycle race that is conducted on a short road circuit. Short as in often less than one kilometre long and rarely more than 3 kilometres.

Though short, these circuits are often “technical.” When a cyclist uses the word technical what they really mean to say is “it'll be a miracle if you stay upright for one full lap let alone the whole race.” Course designers seem to delight in making sure there is at least one corner where a cyclist would have to defy the laws of physics to get around at any speed above a crawl. Guess it's a good thing that most cyclists don't study physics. You can tell the ones who do - they become course designers.

Races are either run over a set number of laps or for a set length of time and then a set number of laps. As in race for 40 minutes and then the next time you cross the start/finish line race for another three laps. My local races use the time + laps format. Now let's think about this for a minute. The faster you go, the further you have to race. You would think that there would be a gentleman's agreement that the bunch would proceed at a crawl for the first 40 minutes and then race for the last few. That would be the sensible approach... but cyclists were never known to be sensible. I mean they are trying to defy physics on that corner after all!

Criteriums are raced in a fast and furious manner. Given that the circuit is short and the straights are shorter it is vitally important to be up the front of the bunch. If you are caught down the back when the hammer goes down there is very little chance of moving up. What that means is everyone wants to be at the front... trouble is that there is only so much room up there. The end result is that everyone tries to move up by going faster than both the guy at the front and the others who are also trying to move up. In other words the sprint starts when the gun goes and keeps right on going until the finish.

The positioning problem is further compounded by the fact that a rider wants to be at the front but not on the front. If you ride on the front you are exposed to the wind and so do more work than everyone else in the pack. So you have the guy on the front desperately trying to get off the front, the guy in third desperately trying to move up a position and the guy in second desperately trying to hold his position. If you thought cycling is a non-contact sport you haven't been caught in the melee that is criterium racing.

My grade in the local criterium has taken an interesting approach to the positioning problem. We attempt to fit ten riders in the first few rows hence increasing the number who are in the “perfect” position. At first I thought this was a suicidal approach – those corners are bad enough single file. Then I worked out the thinking behind the tactic: packed so close there is no way a rider can fall – there just isn't the room! A side benefit is that there is no way an A grade rider could beat us – they wouldn't make it around the first corner!!

Where do I ride in a criterium? My usual place: off the back. I was embarrassed about this initially but after riding past the bodies strewn across the road the last couple of weeks (seems there is enough room to fall after all) I have kind of decided that I don't really want to catch the bunch after all.

Tortoise

When magpies attack

Continuing the zoological theme I thought I would turn my thoughts to the subject of magpies. This is relevant at the moment as Spring is most definitely in the air. For three quarters of the year magpies are medium sized birds that can be seen going about their business – eating insects, flying, singing and so forth. For one quarter of the year when the weather begins to warm and the trees start to flower magpies turn into vicious aerial combatants, hell-bent on the destruction of all who enter their domain... and cyclists are at the top of their most wanted list.

An aside for our European and North American friends. I am guessing at this point that you have decided that Australians are wimps. How could you possibly be scared of magpies? Let me tell you that the creature we call a magpie is very different to the cute fluffy birdies that you call magpies. Wikipedia describes the Australian magpie as “a fairly robust bird ranging from 37 – 43 cm in length.” That's like describing Jack the Ripper as someone who was fairly unpleasant to spend an evening with.


Wikipedia does go on to describe two telling attributes of the magpie: it has “red eyes and a solid wedge-shaped... bill.” Personally I think the colour of the eyes is an insight into the true nature of this bird. Think of every demon you have ever seen on TV... they all have red eyes!!

Every spring when the female of the species is nesting the male gets all hormonal and feels the need to defend its territory. Now don't get me wrong – I'm all for the man of the house protecting his own. The trouble is that your average magpie male seems to be a little over zealous when taking up the role of defender. You don't have to be climbing the nesting tree to be classified as threat. You don't even have to be moving towards the tree. You merely have to be moving. I have watched a magpie determinedly attacking a wind powered garden sculpture... cause, you know, it might have designs on the fledglings. I passed that way again days later and the bird was still taking random swipes at the now rather battered ornament. Just in case it got ideas.

No one is safe. Dogs, cats, livestock, pedestrians... and cyclists. I am a firm believer that magpies prefer cyclists over any other target. Some postulate that this is because cyclists move faster and so, by quickly leaving the scene, positively reinforce the magpie's attack response. I postulate it's because magpies have figured out that a person on a bike is more vulnerable than one on foot and that the potential for mayhem is significantly increased. It is unlikely a pedestrian will run into the back of a parked car while fending off a magpie. A cyclist on the other hand...

From observation I have classified magpies into 4 groups.

1. The Screamer
   The first time this magpie is encountered it can be quite daunting. You first get the inkling that there might be a Screamer around when it starts screaming at the top of its lungs as if you have already turned its precious eggs into your morning omelette. This is followed by simulated attacks – much swooping, wing snapping and beak clacking. Once you know that a magpie is a Screamer they can be safely ignored. Be warned however - nothing is as constant as change. A Screamer can evolve so it pays to keep an eye on them.
   


2. The Stalker
   Like the Screamer, the Stalker will do nothing more than take air swings. Unlike the Screamer, he employs a stealth approach. No, he hasn't been equipped by the USAF with fancy body geometry and radar absorbent paint... he has just worked out that a silent approach will be far more effective. Often the first warning the prey gets is a beak snap directly behind their head. Very off putting!!! Can be useful though if you are about to do an effort – that adrenalin will start the interval off with a bang!
   


3. The Striker
   This magpie has decided that posture and threat is not enough – direct action is required. He warns of his violent intent with loud, harsh exhortations about what exactly it is he is going to do to you. Putting his body on the line, this bird will barge, peck and scratch in an effort to remove you from its territory... permanently. The Striker often times his attack such that the cyclist is about to enter a busy intersection for maximum carnage.
   


4. The Slayer
   The most dangerous of all, this magpie is also an exponent of direct action... but views formal declarations of war as akin to giving a sucker an even break. A pre-emptive strike will be the first a victim knows of the altercation. This magpie is most dangerous of all, causing carnage far above his military might. His tally of helmet kills alone is substantial.

Cyclists have been observed to deal with magpies in a number of different (and often amusing) ways.

• What magpie?
  The first method is very low tech: just ignore them. This works brilliantly for Screamers and Stalkers but not so well with Strikers and Slayers. Proponents of this method claim that the cycle helmet will protect the rider from the last two.
  
  My view is that whilst it is commonly believed the more holes in the helmet the better (how else do you explain the fact that the less actual helmet you get the more you pay) I think that surely a helmet with enough magpie beak shaped holes has to lose something in the crash protection stakes.
  
  
• Hands up all those who are under attack...
  The second method requires a little more rider participation – raising the arm above the head. This method actually has some impact, not least because it informs the magpie that the victim is awake to their ploy and might even be prepared to retaliate in the unlikely event that they get such an opportunity. This impression can be further reinforced if the arm is waved about energetically as if the cyclist was being attacked by an invisible swarm of bees. The down side to this addition is that it makes the rider look like they think they are being attacked by an invisible swarm of bees. This is likely to confirm in the mind of any passing motorist what they already knew: that cyclists are, indeed, crazy.
  
  This is the method I employ. Well, perhaps not the arm waving bit. At least not all the time. It is by no means fool proof but I've found that it works the best of all the methods I've tried.
  
  
• The eyes have it.
  It is believed by some that a magpie will not attack whilst you are looking at it and indeed this seems to be true in some cases. This has lead to pairs of eyes being drawn, painted, glued or otherwise attached to helmets all across this wide, brown land.
  
  I suspect a magpie's reluctance to attack from the front is not due to any overbearing shyness but rather the fact that a victim is very unlikely to knowingly allow a Slayer close for the kill without taking some sort of preventative action. (Such action usually takes the form of a primitive dance with arms waving and head bobbing.)
  
  
• Zipping along.
  There has been a recent development in magpie repulsion technology - the zip-tie. The tie is placed through the holes of a helmet and then done up so that the long portion sticks up above the head. There is yet to be an industry standard as to the number of zip-ties used. That's ok - there is yet to be an industry standard on attaching cassettes to hubs and they have been around for as long as the bicycle itself. Numbers of ties employed seem to range from an antenna like two to a Guy-Sebastian-on-a-bad-hair-day like multitude that leave no actual helmet visible. The thinking behind this innovation is that these extensions will mean the magpie will be put off from swooping too close and/or hitting the helmet itself.
  
  I'm dubious as to the efficiency of this method – as if a Slayer is going to give up because of a few measly zip-ties! If I am wrong and there is something in this I reckon it would have more to do with the magpies laughing too hard to fly than any fear of the additional appendages.

There are a number of other methods that could be listed but from my observations they don't have a high enough market penetration to warrant detailed description here. I will give an honourable mention to one variant of the zip-tie method though. I observed a cyclist who had a small leafy branch sticking out the top of their helmet, presumably in an effort to confuse the magpies as to whether they should attack the rider or nest in the branch.

As far as I know there is only one sure way to defeat the magpie... wait him out. Most (but not all) magpies return to peaceful ways 2 – 3 months after hostilities began, giving cyclists another 3 seasons of relative safety.

Guess I'll see you in summer then.
Tortoise

Rabbits

An incident that occurred whilst I was out riding the other morning led me to ponder the topic of rabbits and their relationship to cycling. I thought I would share my insights.

Now that the weather is warming up and the days are longer so that down jackets and stadium lighting are no longer required for a training ride there appear to be more cyclists out on the road. This has a number of advantages, not the least of which is that there are more rabbits to be chased. I am not referring to the small, long eared, burrowing lagomorphs (more commonly known as Oryctolagus cuniculus) that were introduced to Australia with disastrous effect. Rather I am referring to two wheeled variety (Outthefrontus cyculus) which appear to have greatly attract cyclists, especially when said cyclists are in a pack.

From my observations I have noticed that this attraction manifests itself in a frenzied need to chase the rabbit and overhaul them in the shortest distance possible. Think Jack Russell Terrier (Canis familiaris) on a caffeine overdose. If the rabbit is unaware of the chase then so much the better! I have also observed that ego comes into play during the chase, especially if the rabbit happens to be a doe and even more so if said doe unthinkingly passed the pack as if they were standing still.

Take the other morning as a case in point. A doe, in the company of a couple of bucks (by which I purely mean male rabbits of course), passed a pack of cyclists that were out on a training ride. This triggered the chase reflex and a spirited pursuit ensued. The pack tasted sweet victory and caught the doe. We won't mention that there were at least eight chasers rolling over in echelon trying to catch non-drafting rabbits. After all it's the catch that matters, not the method of the catching.

At this point I would like to make a couple of humble suggestions about how to behave in such a situation. As a chaser you could either:

1. sit in behind the rabbit, glorying in the fact that you KNOW you could pull them in any time you wanted... but you are just leaving them out there to fry. (Think Felis catus with an M. musculus.) This makes you look both strong and tactically savvy; or you could
   
2. race past them at the highest speed possible - giving them a safe gap so you don't knock them off with the strength of the air displaced by your passing - pretending that you have never even noticed that they are there in the first place and that this is the speed at which you always ride. This makes you look both amazingly powerful and not at all threatened by silly rabbits.

What you should NEVER do is get your bunch halfway past the doe, drop your speed significantly so you are now going slower than the doe and then pull left on top of the doe, forcing her into the dirt.

The reason you shouldn't do this is not because it is unsafe for the rabbit. Neither is it because the rabbit might actually be doing their own training and such an action would right royally mess them up. I mean let's face it, the rabbit is purely there for your entertainment. It should throw up its furry paws in surrender, spear off the road and die of fright in the ditch, shouldn't it?

No, the reason you shouldn't do such a crazy thing is that it LOOKS like you were on the rivet to catch the rabbit, even though (as in the situation of the aforementioned example) you were mob handed and the rabbit was not drafting. It LOOKS like you only just caught the rabbit and then blew up, exploded, died in the... well, you get the picture. Of course this wasn't the case at all!! It just LOOKS like it. And when ego is involved appearance is everything!

In summary:

1. By all means chase the rabbits if this is how you motivate your training;
   
2. By all means catch the rabbits. Congratulations - you just won a race the other rider didn't even know they were in;
   
3. By all means pass the rabbit - but please do so in a safe manner rather than pushing them off the road.

The opening ramble

Hello.

This is the first post on the Creeping Tortoise blog. Why write a blog given that there are already so many out there? Why does anyone write a blog? Because they suffer under the delusion that someone cares about what they have to say. Whilst I would like to think myself above such delusions... apparently I'm not.

So much bandwidth is given to the elite; to those up the front (or even off the front). My view is somewhat different. I get to watch the back of the pack... usually as it disappears up the road. And that's the C Grade pack! *sigh*

Whilst that blog will have a cycling bent I won't feel constrained to one topic. I'll write about whatever. Let's face it, there's probably nobody reading anyway. :o)

Tortoise