Fastest kids on the bike path

I'll start this by writing what I remember of the post I was going to write last Thursday, but my life's pretty crazy in a number of directions and so here it is Tuesday but it's good to have a starting point anyway.

My commute to work typically (there are a few different ways to go, I'm talking about taking the Jail Trail, aka the bicycle highways, though sometimes I take a rode that might as well be a highway, and if I leave the house early enough I take a meandering bike path along the river) goes through a bit of construction, traffic, a speedy bike path, more traffic, and a lot of quick thinking. This past Thursday, a messenger came into my path from a different direction, we crossed and took our separate lines, and as I did a quick track stand and maneuvered myself into a turning line to make it to my building, Mr. Slowerthanme caught up and, apparently heading in my direction, commented on my stellar bike handling skills and good line choice. At the time, I thought, "Well, duh," but afterwards, I thought of it like hockey, being a smaller player who'd already more or less maxed out in the height and density department as far as puberty's concerned while the rest of the players on ice just kept growing like aliens, a la The Deadly Spawn. I'm crediting it to my smaller size but really it's probably what all half-decent players do, but there was a line to take, where you saw the best possibility of catching or keeping the puck, of making it out alive through the group of pubescent mutants on the attack, and get it out of our zone or better yet, get it into the opponent's net.  It translates to riding a fixed gear, knowing almost intuitively how traffic's going to move, and it translates to running late to work, feeling that stopping is not a possibility and moreover as throughout the commute you've not only been yelled at by drivers and almost killed by both fellow bicyclists, who can't both pedal and steer AND look where they're pedaling and steering, and drivers and by that point think, "well, shit" and direct it, quite generally, to humanity at large as I pedal, stop, pedal, like a puzzle, my good line pulling me through like a beacon.

There's more places where this post goes in my head but for sake of not making myself out to be a total misanthropic ass, I'll stop here. Haven't done yoga or meditation since returning from New Mexico, and it's starting to catch up with me.