Today I was heading back home at the end of my ride when I came up on three guys riding along at roughly my pace. With my race coming up in just under three weeks, I need to get some practice riding in more or less proximity to others, and this seemed like a good low-key chance to do that. So I rode along with them for maybe ten minutes, keeping pace and staying a bike length or two behind the third guy, who kept glancing back at me every few minutes.
As we wove through some twisty curves at the edge of town, I slowed down to give them even more space. Just as we came out of the curves, the guy in front of me – now maybe ten feet ahead – looked back again. As any rider knows, it’s tough to keep a straight line when you look behind; you naturally pull the handlebar a bit in one direction or another. His wheel wandered right and tapped the rear wheel of the guy in front of him. Instantly, the guy crashed, hard. His bike skittered ten feet and he bounced a couple times on his back.
I screeched to a stop and ran over to him. “Are you okay?” I asked. He rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah. That was my fault. Bad riding.” True enough, but I wasn’t going to agree with him. The second guy had by now come back to us, and he kinda freaked out, insisting that the crasher not move, that he straighten his legs, et cetera. Crasher laid there for a couple minutes, explaining what had happened to his buddy, and then slowly stood up. He looked to be in some pain, but everything functioned and he said he’d be able to make it home. I apologized for the crash and headed off on my own. I hope he took megadoses of ibuprofen today. He’ll need it.