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.