Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Going nowhere fast

Some days simply have more than their fair share of strange bicycle news. Like some dude in the Bavarian town of Ingolstadt, wherever the hell that is, deciding to steal a bike.

From a cop.

Right after being released from custody.

As if that's not weird enough, some nuns opened a can of whup-ass on a bike thief in Amsterdam. (Thanks to Blue Collar Mountain Biking for that link.)

And in Boulder, Colo., a bicyclist (well, a triathlete, anyway) slammed into a bear.

And other cyclists in Boulder have been feelin' the need for speed, which is pissing off people who live near a certain big, fun hill.

That story reminded me of my own speed record, humble though it may be. It involved a steep old highway dropping out of Truchas, N.M., toward the village of Cundiyo; my old rigid mountain bike; loudly buzzing knobbies; and some hick in a pickup staying on my tail because he wanted to gauge my speed.

I guess he didn't know I had a bike computer, because once I slowed down and the road straightened out, he pulled up beside me with a big grin on his face and yelled, "Fifty-five, man!"

It was sort of a dirt-bag version of that scene in Breaking Away when Dave drafts the semi.

It still felt pretty cool.

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