So I'm riding home on Thursday and I'm 'racing' this other biker riding an expensive Italian Pinarello and dressed in biking tights and gear. His bike must weigh 15 lbs.
I'm riding my customized Schwinn cruiser and carrying 50 lbs of gear, meaning all of my tools and work-related stuff, and my bike lock. And I'm wearing khakis rolled up to my knees to keep the grease off. This is how I get around, biking to clients in the city.

Why do I bike? It's the only exercise I get, and it frees me from the stress of the subway: The crowds, the non-existent trains at rush hour, the smell, the feeling of being treated like cattle. Also alot of our clients are always 'luxury' buildings several blocks from the train, and the walk from the station alone always takes longer than the actual train ride.

I also build my bikes, something I derive alot of happiness from. I love finding and buying parts, I love the satisfaction of knowing I ride something I built.

And sometimes I tend to get 'competitive' in my mind, especially on the 59th street bridge, this 3/4 mile uphill climb that tests your endurance and strength and strategy against other bikers.

So back to Thursday, after he's crushed me up the bridge and I've finally caught up to him going downhill, me and Pinarello are waiting at a light.

"Nice day, huh?" he says.
"Yeah, finally" I reply. It's been cold all week and its a sunny balmy 50 or so.
"Hey, I bumped into you last week," he says.
I never talk to anyone. This is NYC, bikers don't even say hi to each other. So he obviously must be mistaken.
He surprised me when he said, "Yeah, you yelled 'I've got 50 lbs on my back!' at me when I passed you."

He was right. In a moment of defeat I did indeed. I had to laugh.

I'm not sure if I should be a little more social with other bikers. None of them say Hi, nor do I ever say anything to them. It's a snotty-biker thing I guess.