As I was about to turn south on 9W at Hillside, I could see there was a group heading my way from the light. It was about to switch from red to green and the group looked like it was itching to hammer. I was happily riding the pace I wanted to go, not sure if I wanted to join in with their party or not.
I made the turn first, keeping the pressure on the pedals steady. The group passed me pretty quickly, not quite sprinting by, taking up the entire shoulder. Then, after 30 seconds, they settled down and dropped their pace. I passed them back. Shortly thereafter, someone I thought was a member of that group rode by me, muttering about how he didn’t like how they rode. He motored a 10-second gap on me and slowed down. He was holding his bars too hard, pedaling too big a gear, not maintaining a straight or efficient line, and toggling between surging and fading. After a minute, I was about to pass him on the left. But, just as I was reaching him, he faded left, into my line, so I stopped pedaling and came around on his right. Didn’t say anything other than ‘hello, again,’ and kept to my ride.
Alone or with others
I didn’t want to ride any harder, but I didn’t want to ride with him. Not that he was dangerous, exactly, but it would take more mental management than I wanted to ride his wheel or even trade pulls. I picked up my pace slightly, still in the range I was happy with, for less than minute, dipped my head a bit to see if I could find his wheel. It wasn’t there, and he didn’t return.
Cyclists are good to ride with. I’m a big proponent of waving. At the same time, I’ve learned that there are cyclists I don’t want to ride near at some times. I think we all have sorting mechanisms, rubrics, algorithms for figuring this out. I think I’m looking for a natural aristocracy on two wheels.
When I come across a cyclist on the road going my way, sometimes we keep it social, jabbering on, at length, about whatever. Nice JRA stuff. A decent conversationalist is a great person to come across. Bikes are usually the subject, but doesn’t have to be, and conversations often stray far, very far, from the world of wheels.
Fast is fun
Other times, it’s more about speed and fitness; it feels good to go fast, and a partner can make it faster and more fun. When it’s about speed, I look for other things in a riding partner. If I’m going to be in this person’s draft, I’m trusting them for some of my safety, so I want to know they are a predictable rider. By this, I’m looking for someone who is smooth, efficient, safe. There are some tells—somewhat relaxed upper body, a cadence that can accommodate slight changes in speed without problem, rides at a steady output, and can pick a good line through messy roads.
They don’t swerve around things or ride erratically. If they ride over potholes or rubble, I want them calling it out. If we are near cars or other people I want them calling out the hazards, either by voice or with hand signals. I also want them to ride smoothly: shifting to keep a cadence which is neither jerky nor unable to keep tension on the chain, holding their upper body loose enough to deal with unexpected bumps but firm enough that the unexpected bumps won’t crash them. I want them putting out a steady effort: I want them to be able to ride with even-ish power, not fading on the downhills nor surging on the rises. And most definitely I want them aware enough that they’re not getting out of the saddle and pushing their bikes back to thrash the pedals when the road resistance rises.
Who I don’t want to ride with is someone who can’t hold a straight line, who holds their bars too tight, has too much upper body movement, can’t find a cadence they can manage well, doesn’t know when to get out of the saddle and when they get out drops the bike back too far and is all over the bike. Swerving around potholes is another no-no; they can wipe out my front wheel if I’m behind them.
Choosing the wheels to follow
This extends to racing. Seeing the people who hold back in corners, who let gaps open, who can’t get back up to speed after the corners, in addition to the criteria above, are the people I don’t want to be behind.
It might be easy to look at an expensive bike and racy clothes and assume the rider knows what they are doing. Easy, but wrong. It can take anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes to evaluate the person riding ahead. When they seem to know what they’re doing, when they seem to know how to handle their bike and the situation, I’m happy to be behind them. When they don’t, I want a change, be that moving up, moving back, dropping them, or letting myself get dropped.
I consider this the natural aristocracy of two wheels.
The term “natural aristocracy” is credited to Thomas Jefferson, and found in a letter he wrote to John Adams in 1813. This might have been a way for both to promote their ideas in correspondence that was private, but designed for public consumption–frenemies polishing each others historic significance. The idea is in opposition to an aristocracy based on birth and/or wealth, which is something the American Founding Fathers had a difficult time reconciling; most of the founders were wealthy and most inherited their fortunes, yet they were modern enough in their thinking to see the difficulties that inherited wealth created.
Jefferson wrote:
“There is a natural aristocracy among men. The grounds of this are virtue and talents. There is also an artificial aristocracy founded on wealth and birth, without either virtue or talents; for with these it would belong to the first class.”
The term “natural” is confusing. While Jefferson is referring to qualities of intelligence, thoughtfulness, leadership, a moral compass, he did not believe that people would rise to the top merely by dint of these qualities. He thought that the way the natural aristocracy would be created is through public education and free reading materials.
Joining the natural aristocracy
Likewise, the natural aristocracy of two wheels is something that people aren’t born into, but can train into. Some will figure it out faster than others. It is, unlike training to improve power, or leg strength, or VO2 max, complicated, impossible to master on one’s own, and calls for an observant self that can take in more than just watts, speed, cadence, and beats per minute. The skill set for riding with others is nuanced. The ability to both ride in such a manner and observe it in others calls for a study where you’re already using your physical skills at a competent level while you are taking in everything around you, both within yourself and beyond yourself. And the only way to do it is to get in a bit over your head, try to learn from others, and be open to criticism.
A lament of someone who started riding in the dark ages, before heart rate monitors, power meters, and Zwift is that too many people get into the sport and seem to assume watts are the only thing that matters. Sadly, in that dark age, too many people thought mastering the group ride was the only thing that mattered. The dominant training ideas of both eras need their counterpoints for good riding to be fully realized.
A skill set that travels well
With the requisite strength and riding skills, one can fall in with a group of cyclists pretty much anywhere in the world, be safe, have fun, and help others do the same. Group rides everywhere welcome a safe, smooth rider who can hold their own in the paceline or a peloton. You don’t need to know the people or speak their language, just show yourself the kind of rider that is safe leading and safe following, and people will welcome you in, make space in the line, even tell you when they’re about to put in an attack.
It’s a universal language that might not be appreciated with awards or praise or selfies or likes. If and when you ever get there, you might not realize you have arrived. It is sometimes most notable because it doesn’t call attention to itself. It is sublime; in the absence of the other concerns, riding is natural, easy, fast, and fun.
Elegantly put.