By Christopher Cudworth

The face of justice simply isn’t pretty at times

You probably know someone with whom you run or ride that always has to be one wheel or one step ahead of you. If you pick up the pace, they pick up the pace. Always one wheel. Always one step ahead. There they go, ruining a good run for everyone.

Pretty annoying, right? Well, here’s a little vindication, albeit a vicarious one as you head into the weekend.

A couple years back the regular group ride on Saturday mornings consisted of 10-12 guys in the 40s and 50s mostly, all competitive cyclists in the 3-4 Category, with an occasional 1 or 2 Category rider thrown in.

There was one rider who joined the group on a semi-regular basis who was known for his frantic need to lead. Trouble is, he could do it too. Off he’d go at 26 mph from the start, dragging the rest of the group along country roads in a clinging echelon if there was a wind. But worse yet, this lead rider would gutter everyone if there was a wind. He didn’t want anyone sucking on his wheel.

That turned every ride with him into an awful suffer fest, with guys ultimately dropping off or dropping back to form their own grupettos and pedal their way home.

Granted, riding with stronger riders can make you tough and improve your form. But blasting the group apart every time does not make you any friends.

That spring a friend of mine who worked for a law firm met a new employee who looked rather fit. They got to talking and my friend learned that this new employee was a newly retired member of a pro team that raced in Europe. Yep, he was that good.

My friend also knew that the 26 mph one-wheeler would be riding with the group that weekend, so he invited the pro team rider, who we’ll call Stefan, along for the group ride.

Stefan sat at the back for the first 30 miles and asked questions. Do you always ride this fast? Does anyone else take the lead? Do you guys really like riding this way? Do you think this makes you better?

Those questions were answered No, NO, NO and NO. So Stefan pedaled toward the point of the group and simply rode off the front at 30 miles per hour. Then he increased the pace. The whole group fell in madly sticking to the pace as it crested 30 and then 35. Then Stefan pulled a couple riders into his specific draft and really took off. They hung on for a while, separating themselves along with Stefan from the group, until the pro rider let up, turned around and grinned. They had a half mile or more on the broken batch of riders behind them.

The one-wheeler pedaled up to them gasping and asking, “Who ees thees guy?” for the one-wheeler is French by heritage and as you learned, liked to flaunt his Frenchiness through his cycling skills and acumen. But he learned his lesson that day, and realized he was duped big time by the quiet introduction of the pro rider to the group.

But did he learn from the experience? Not really. He still takes people out and beats them up at 26 mph. The people that did learn from the experience were those riders who realized upon talking further with Stefan that pro riders do not generally behave like the one-wheeler. “We build a slow base, and do speed work when we’re ready. But we don’t go out and blast the same pace every day.”

I had a similar experience with a distance running partner who always dominated the Saturday morning runs. He could never let anyone get ahead, and as a result, many of the so-called group runs turned into semi-races with pissed off participants.

As a result I vowed to get in shape and take the one-stepper for a real run. I’d finished my competitive career for the most part, but still knew how to get in shape. So for six weeks I trained and turned up the intensity each week until I was able to produce a few 5:30 miles in practice. Again, not equal to my peak fitness, but good enough to put the pedal down on Saturday morning.

One morning I gave notice to the other runners that something special was going to happen. And as the one-stepper added his two bits to the run I went ride with him, forcing him to accelerate the pace every half mile or so. The pace dropped from 8 MPM to 7:30 and then 7:00. The one-stepper glanced over at me a couple times to see if I was holding up and there were no signs of fatigue after 3 miles. Yet he kept one-stepping me, and with every advance I countered his move and pushed him hard. The pace went to 6:30 and finally 6:00. He was running his full race pace at that point, but I knew I still had a 30 second pace cushion on him, and if necessary, could push myself even faster. Because the point needed to be made even if I imploded in a red mist.

For the next 300 yards he was blasting away and then it came. Bam! Like a balloon popping. He bounced into the air with a twist and said, “What the hell’s going on?”

“You tell me,” I answered. “I’m just running with you.”

“You are not. You’re pushing the pace!”

“Oh really?” I said. “You need to think about that. This is what you do to everyone else every week. And frankly, people are sick of it.”

Sure, it was a prick thing for me to do. Most runners and riders are pricks sometimes. We need to be when someone pushes the boundaries against their training partners. Someone has to put them in their place, and try to teach them a lesson.

It seldom really works, of course. The lessons seldom stick. But it sure feels good trying, just to see the look on their face when they realize they’ve met their match.

Sorry, that’s the way the world works sometimes. It’s called justice. Vigilante, perhaps. But justice just the same.