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One of the many little things I love about cycling is the ‘nod’ exchanged between us as we pass, each on our own journey short or long , painfully pushing or lazily coasting along.
It briefly lifts my spirits, making the sore legs and headwind temporarily disappear. It harks back to a time most motorists have no memory of, unless you’re cool enough to drive a VW ‘split’ and makes you feel part of the gang, that you’re sharing an experience with a total stranger.
It takes many forms, from the full ‘Good morning, sir’ to the single raised digit, but it is always appreciated.
Having upgraded from an ali rim brake bike to a GT Grade carbon with disc brakes, fat-ish 30mm tubeless and a slight flair to the bars the ‘nod’ has virtually stopped. This is most noticable with the middle aged, beardy, paunched (Amongst whom I include myself) local roadies.
The new bike’s faster and more comfortable. If anything I’m more of a ‘proper’ cyclist than before, both having committed more cash and spent more time riding recently, but the old cameraderie is largely missing.
Have I crossed some invisible line? Am I no longer in the club? Are disc brakes that offensive? Is cycling really that cliquey? Am I just in a Grumpy Old Man area (Leicestershire)?
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