I have a bike that I ride thus I am a bike rider, or cyclist, not sure what the difference is other than bike rider sounds more passive than cyclist. Bike rider makes it sound like your just sitting there whereas cyclist sounds like you’re doing something. I guess both can be true on any given ride. Going downhill your generally along for the ride, smiling and squealing like a fool, going uphill your wheezing, sweating, cursing, snorting…you’re a cyclist.

Some feel the need to peddle on the downhill…they are called idiots. These are the same people that walk on escalators and habitually partake in other foolishly unnecessary exertions that perhaps provide them some sort of false sense of accomplishment. Poor souls don’t know what they’re missing.

Rapid City has a wonderful bike path that meanders through town along Rapid Creek. The path is a favorite for local bikers, walkers, runners, and general wanderers on walkabouts and such. I have found that the bike path is the most dangerous place to ride a bike in Rapid City. I would rather take my chances with the herds of rental RVs and other motorized forms of metal mayhem.

Dodging destruction on the highways and bi-ways is much safer than navigating the duffers, dogs, kids, squirrels, and most recently…basketballs on the bike path. What are the chances that you hit a rogue basketball so squarely that it completely stops your bicycles forward progress and drops you to the pavement faster than a narcoleptic pigeon?

I wasn’t in a hurry, I wasn’t riding too fast, I was abiding by bike path etiquette. I was coming up behind a young man in his early 20s that was apparently taking his basketball out for a stroll. He was walking and dribbling between his legs and as I approached him I said, “On your left.”

Apparently I startled him or broke his ball handling concentration and just as I was about to go around him he lost the handle on the basketball. A little to the left or a little to the right and all would have been well but I managed to hit the basketball dead solid perfect. I hit the ground and skidded a bit, leaving some of the hide from my hip and arm in my wake, eventually my skin provided sufficient braking and I came to a stop.

When I came to a stop I heard, “Are you all right?” Am I alright? Good question. When my quick assessment of my physical condition checked out okay, other than a few abrasions, I became angry for some reason. I know it was an accident, I know that guy didn’t have any malicious intent when he set out to dribble his basketball down the bike path, but something snapped. Physically I was fine but mentally things were headed south.

When he asked if I was all right I responded, “No I’m not (insert favorite four letter word here) all right!” He should have just shut up at that point and let the crazy old man in tight shorts and funny shoes fret in private but he felt bad and said, “The ball got away from me.” To which the crazy old man in tight shorts and funny shoes replied, “No (insert other favorite four letter word here) the ball got away from you!”

The nice young man that had previously been minding his own business said, “I’m really sorry sir I can call someone for you if you need help.” The lunatic in lycra replied, “I’ve got my own (insert favorite four letter word here) phone!” At that point my anger, which I almost always have absolute control over, boiled over and I picked my bike up overhead like a rabid Yetti…yelled my favorite four letter word…and hurled my bike as far as I could. I was actually pretty impressed with the distance of my bike toss.

The polite young basketball dribbler took that crazed confusing act as his cue to leave the crazy old man in tight shorts and funny shoes alone to battle his demons. As he left he said, “I’m really sorry sir…my apologies.”

Young man, wherever you are, “My apologies.” Crazy snuck up and shanghaied my congeniality. Maybe I should stick to riding escalators. For all those who may be concerned…my bike is fine.