Like Sisyphus, Just As Futile But Without the Rock

Last Saturday, while out on a road bike ride, I happened to turn onto Pierce Park Drive. Not a huge fan of this never-ending climb, but I decided to do it for the reason parents make their kids try veggies. About two football fields up the road, I saw the figure of an older gent on a cruiser-type bike -- and the chase was on.

After the better part of a mile, I drew only a football field closer to the lead rider and was getting pretty steamed about it. My pedals were turning as fast as I could manage in a low gear and his were barely turning over. I redoubled my effort; he might not know that it was a race but I did. (To say that I'm a little competitive is like saying Idaho grows a potato or two.)

Just as I'm about to catch the old guy, he makes a sharp turn to the left at a driveway, dismounts and checks his mailbox. As I go past, gasping and dripping sweat, he waves and I see the oversized bottom bracket of an electric bike.

No, I didn't catch the old guy who didn't know it was a race, but I also didn't cheat.

And that's probably the only time I'll ever resemble Peter Sagan.

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