Two Wheel Tuesday: Pink Shirt Guy
There he is again; what the hell? It was indeed pink-shirt guy again, walking as slow as possible at the exact same spot I passed him on the first lap - the narrow of the trail, straight-shot, fast descent. Seriously? Is this some attempt to annoy? A protest? A statement? The bike chattered over the rocks, the dangling bell rang, tires scrabbled for hold as I applied pressure to the brakes. Again, just as the first time, there is no hint of reaction from pink-shirt guy - no slight turn of the head to acknowledge my approach, no wavering of his line from the middle of the trail, no deviation from his quarter-mile-per-hour pace.
My own paced slows to the same, matched, crawl, and then there it is - the trail briefly widens from 2 1/2 feet to 3 1/2 feet and I give a quick acceleration, diving into the extra space, bulling into the shrubs, ducking below the overhanging branches. As I pass, my head swivels to give pink-shirt guy the Glare of Doom, but there is only obliviousness in his eyes, staring at a phone, buds in ears. Lost to the world. Figures.
Long-haired-dude was afflicted with the same middle-of-the-road obliviousness, eyes stuck to the screen held tightly in his hands. Only difference was the width of the dirt service road he zombied his way along.
Pink-shirt guy may have been the worst offender, but he had some stiff competition from hoverboard-guy. Oh man, now what? as I came upon the motorized one-wheel, and its rider, traversing the jungle of Nam. Slowly. Unsteadily. One side of the trail, then the other. "Right behind you," because that is where I was, trying to anticipate his next move. There was no response, and I could see why. Focus. Focus on the GoPro at the end of the extended selfie stick, and whatever commentary was being added to his latest YouTube sensation. Look for it, you might just catch me diving into the shrubs on the verge to get around him before the stream crossing.
On the same day we were reminded (at another nearby website), how we (cyclists) should be prophets of good will, liberally casting greetings to our fellow trail-users, I wanted to do nothing more than curse the damn nimrods and encourage them to get out of the way, yell "wake up." There is a whole world of stuff happening around you.
Through it all, or at least three laps worth, I kept coming back to the exceptions - the clueless were not the only one on the trails - the kids! They were totally into the lake, the ducks, the hills. The generation that is, supposedly, hooked on the gizmos was finding, and reveling, in the wonders all around them, not in the sad pixel representations locked into devices. To them I could smile, return waves, and acknowledge the "cool" exclamations as I splashed through the water at the stream crossing.
My own paced slows to the same, matched, crawl, and then there it is - the trail briefly widens from 2 1/2 feet to 3 1/2 feet and I give a quick acceleration, diving into the extra space, bulling into the shrubs, ducking below the overhanging branches. As I pass, my head swivels to give pink-shirt guy the Glare of Doom, but there is only obliviousness in his eyes, staring at a phone, buds in ears. Lost to the world. Figures.
Long-haired-dude was afflicted with the same middle-of-the-road obliviousness, eyes stuck to the screen held tightly in his hands. Only difference was the width of the dirt service road he zombied his way along.
Pink-shirt guy may have been the worst offender, but he had some stiff competition from hoverboard-guy. Oh man, now what? as I came upon the motorized one-wheel, and its rider, traversing the jungle of Nam. Slowly. Unsteadily. One side of the trail, then the other. "Right behind you," because that is where I was, trying to anticipate his next move. There was no response, and I could see why. Focus. Focus on the GoPro at the end of the extended selfie stick, and whatever commentary was being added to his latest YouTube sensation. Look for it, you might just catch me diving into the shrubs on the verge to get around him before the stream crossing.
On the same day we were reminded (at another nearby website), how we (cyclists) should be prophets of good will, liberally casting greetings to our fellow trail-users, I wanted to do nothing more than curse the damn nimrods and encourage them to get out of the way, yell "wake up." There is a whole world of stuff happening around you.
Through it all, or at least three laps worth, I kept coming back to the exceptions - the clueless were not the only one on the trails - the kids! They were totally into the lake, the ducks, the hills. The generation that is, supposedly, hooked on the gizmos was finding, and reveling, in the wonders all around them, not in the sad pixel representations locked into devices. To them I could smile, return waves, and acknowledge the "cool" exclamations as I splashed through the water at the stream crossing.
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