When you are snivelling up the last hill of the day, cold, exhausted, fight fighting against the dying of the light as the car behind you is forced to change into a crawling gear while you weep to strangle another turn of the pedals out of your hollow legs you are just another cyclist. They have no idea of the bone thick pain, lungs scratched with pride and the deep internal sobbing tempered only by gently shouted swear words and mantra platitudes loudly whispered to crest this final summit.
You are just another cyclist.
Getting in the way.
When you are then flying down the last hill home, cold, exhausted, fight fighting against the wind as the car behind you is forced to realise that they are never ever going to overtake within the speed-limit regardless of their Must Get Past The Cyclist hackles and yet you still try to strangle another mile-per-hour out of your aero-tuck while your thighs trade blows with the fat fists of cramp. They have no idea of the soul thick with exhilaration, heart fluttering with glory and the tingly slight but dangerously real fear that a car is going to slowly pull out of that junction up ahead.
Because you are just another cyclist.
Wobbling along at 12 mph.
You are not just a cyclist.
It's much much more than that.