This morning (Wednesday) was the scheduled Gliders group ride. The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse (me) rode to the Chevron on 43rd which serves as the point of departure. I was recently chastened by the mild rebukes of a couple of the group members last week, being dropped by Boss Hogg and the Guest Lecturer and wiping out trying to make a turn on Friday. I vowed to maintain a low profile and not piss anyone off or injure myself.

At the gas station Boss Hogg and the Guest Lecturer were no shows, so I was riding with the sucker free club. We head out on a route I had never been on before. I'm towards the back of the pace line just chillin. My turn to lead comes up. When that happens you have to start pedaling a lot harder because now you're facing the wind resistance. Immediately this rider I call the Parakeet (small, flits around) comes up and says, "You are apparently new at this. When the previous rider pulls off don't start hammering it because they are dead and out of breath." I'm just like OK, OK, thank you. Inside I'm thinking "Cheese and rice, I'm not up front for 30 seconds and the lectures start right up. Plus I looked at my computer log later. I was only doing 20.5 mph. That's the group's normal speed. So anyway I dutifully slow down.

At this point I'm at a loss. I am now so self- conscious riding with these people it's totally frustrating. Later in the ride I'm up at the front again. This time mindful of my latest lesson I very gradually increase my effort and try not to over do it. I look in my little mirror and I see the group is way back there. So I slow down and wait for them. I am informed that I rolled through a stop sign instead of coming to a complete stop. I'm thinking "Are you effing kidding me? We are on a bleeping county road in the middle of nowhere." I respect their adherence to the rules of the road, but I just wasn't in the mood.

Later we are in the final leg of the ride. We are on the same road I wiped out on last Friday. A turn comes up. I see loose gravel and brake some, still mindful of my injuries. This causes Publix (guy who used to work at Publix) to run off the road and into the grass to avoid hitting me. He is cool about it, but that doesn't exactly boost my precarious standing in the group as the road sign running scofflaw who loves to force people off the road when he isn't busy going too fast except when he goes too slow.

We cross 441, I am up front again, super paranoid about my every pedal stroke. I look in my mirror the group is all strung out again. How did this happen? I am going slowly. The group captain says some people didn't make it across 441 in time. When I crossed I thought we were all together and there was no imminent traffic. Fine, whatever.

At this point the ride itself has been boring. I keep hoping someone will call me so at least I could rock out to Pavement's "Grounded" on my ringtone. We passed a mailbox that had the name T. Moore painted on it. I dreamed that Sonic Youth lived there and strained to hear gentle waves of feedback echoing across the country side.

Back to reality, we are on 43rd street about 2.5 miles away from the finish. This is where they usually pick it up and I get dropped, which is another source of annoyance. But today the overall pace has been slow. Plus between the scolding from the Parakeet and the two group break ups, I haven't been working very hard when leading. So I am pretty rested up. They are sprinting and it's on. I look at my speedometer. I'm partying at 31mph, thinking about my sick ass metal on metal pedals and all the watts I'm raining down upon them. It's me and 2 other dudes. Skeletor is up front, Publix and me. Skeletor drops off. Publix and I are next to each other. Publix stops pedaling and I keep going. Maybe the sprint is to some sign post or land mark, I don't know. I do know that I didn't go out like a chump which in the scheme of things doesn't mean much but it means a little.