Working on Sunday.

Sunday morning. Crap.

I got out of bed and thought "Why do I do this". Started a pot of coffee, and got my clothes on.

I am driving north, and realize I forgot to buy donuts. Great. A bunch of slow, weekend cyclists, angry at not having donuts after their ride, will tear the place apart. And then I realize I forgot my water bottles and my lunch. This is turning out to be great.

I arrive at the shop, and spot one women, on a trek hybrid, at the front door. I cannot believe that someone showed up. Everybody on the team is racing. The usual people from the easy pace group were told there was not going to be a ride. Why is she here? Why am I here? I pull around back, hoping that she will leave.

I am getting out off the truck, thinking of sneaking into the shop, when she comes out of nowhere. "Are you here for the Sunday morning ride?" She asks. She is in a dark blue cotton tank top, has an old dinged up helmet on her head, and a bottle of vitamin water in her bottle cage. I say yes, I am leading it. I can't make eye contact. "Where is everybody else?" she asks.

"We still have 15 minutes." I say.

15 minutes later, and I am riding at 12 miles per hour on my racing bike, with this lady on the hybrid. I am doing my best not to drop here on the hills, or be too rude (she is wearing gym shorts).

As we ride, we talk about cycling. I find out that she sold her car before going to Austrailia and has not had one since. She rides to work every day - about 40 miles per week.

She tells me she hates to ride in traffic, and I tell her how to ride, where to ride, how to use signals, etc.

By the end of the ride, she is convinced she needs a new bike. One that is more efficient than the one she has. One more suited for commuting.


There is often stress between different types of cyclists. Shaven leg roadies, over weight mountain bikers, and poky, commuter/neighborhood riders. In the end, we are all connected by our love for riding bikes. That lady's passion for riding her bike was as great, if not greater, than mine.

I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the shop, and selling tubes to people.

This was my Sunday.