The Tortoise and the Hare.

Thursday, March 25, 2010 at 12:12pm

His polished road bike hummed as he passed me, a blur of spandex capped with a red shell. I crunched along on the sidewalk, gears straining to pull the rusty chain through its cycles. He breathed steadily as I strained and puffed, dragging my jeans and sweatshirt through the unusually dense wind. I swerved to the right and cut through the seminary campus, over the grass, past nodding friends.

On the other side, his polished road bike hummed as he passed me, a blur of spandex capped with a red shell. I cruised down the hill, avoiding pedestrians on the footpath, leaning back in the sun, passing him as he waited at the red light. I smile through my aviators.

Further down the hill, his polished road bike hummed as he passed me, a blur of spandex capped with a red shell. I began to enjoy this. I came to see myself as the tortoise. Not so much slow and steady, but eccentric and free. Not dressed for a race, not equipped for a competition, not stopping at red lights; just going home. I ride to get somewhere, and I enjoy it. I wonder why he rides. He can have no destination in those tights.

I passed him one last time before turning onto the canal trail, where my tires kicked mud all over my jeans. I smile as a little splashes on my face.