Roadie vs. MTB - Why?

My first bike was also a mtb (I figured, hey, a mtb can ride both on
pavement and trails, a no-brainer). But my mtb buddies all were all
into downhills and "technical stuff" while I am a blood-in-the-mouth
all-out climber.

After moving to CA I was amazed by the numbers of roadies. I could not
resist it, and got myself an all-105, 22 lb bike from the first bike
shop I walked into, on the same day when I moved.

I haven't ridden my mtb for recreation ever since (only for commute).
And I did show up at a local pro ride, after a year of road biking,
weaing mtb shoes, legs all hairy, and confessed that I'd never ridden
with a group. Noone seemed to mind, I only heard "stay in the back"
(despite my worst expectations). The first serious climb gained me some
respect, and my conversion was complete.

busysteve said:

It's funny how things come around and go around. I used to hate
those guys on their bikes with the skinny wheels riding the edge of the
pavement. "Get on the sidewalk!" I would yell from time to time,
wishing I had a P.A. system to amplify my cry of needless frustration.
It was a classic case of car vs. bike. Only a couple of years later I
was introduced to mountain biking. What a rush! I became obsessed. I
rode as often as I could as my competitive side thrived on this sport
that was so new and exciting to me. I started racing to see where I
was at. Second from last in a field of twenty six was pretty bad but
it was a start. Work would get in the way and I couldn't ride as
often as I wanted or needed to become faster.

I started riding at night along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I
monitored my heart rate, my distance and my speed. Twenty miles per
hour on the sidewalk is fun but dangerous. Nineteen miles of sidewalk
every other night at that speed was asking for trouble. I did it in
the day sometimes too. That's when I ran into some roadies at a gas
station. They literally laughed at me. They seemed to be encouraging
each other as they audibly made comments about the "dork" on the
mountain bike. Who were they to say such a thing? Why would they say
such a thing?

I continued to race off road and improve. I was placing in the teens
now in fields numbering in the thirties. Not bad as far as I was
concerned but I wanted to go faster. I spoke with the winners and
asked them how they train. Many of them said "I ride 150 - 200
miles a week most of it road." The road? Really? It wasn't long
before I purchased a brand new steel frame road bike for $650. I
started racking up miles riding the edge of the pavement hoping I
wouldn't get hit by my former self. As I raced I started finding
myself on the podium, not on the top but I was there. It was time to
start riding with a group.

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

These riders rode out to state road 27 in Broward county. The wind
blew diagonally so they drafted that way. They blocked both lanes
causing traffic to back up and reminding me of the reasons I hated
roadies. I wasn't one of these guys, I was a mountain biker. I
refused to follow the draft pattern and was eventually dropped by the
main group. A few sane riders drafted me for as long as I could last
as I was unaware of rotation patterns.

I later worked up the nerve to ride with another group. They called
themselves the South Broward Wheelers. This was a different group
indeed. They welcomed me and taught me the ways of the road. But as
life would have it things came up that prevented me from riding and I
found myself a year and thirty pounds later wondering why I stopped
riding.

Getting back on the bike has been fun but things have changed. My MTB
buddies are all faster than me and they ride the road now. I have a
lot of catching up to do. Something very interesting is happening
though. My off road friends started riding with the South Broward
Wheelers and they are not getting along. It's a classic case of
Mountain Biker vs. Roadie. I can't believe this. Why does this have
to happen? The roadies are starting to carry an elitist attitude and
the mountain bikers are like unshaven gorillas to them. The roadies
want the gorillas to slow down and follow form. The gorillas want the
roadies to shut up and stop telling everybody what to do. So to that I
ask "Why?"

That was a good read. I guess some people are just jerks who like
telling people what to do, or maybe a stange type of humor has taken
over in that one group. As far a yelling, and telling people what to
do, particularly MTB guys who "ruin" the road rides, this is not
without precedent! MTB tends to be a much more individualistic sport.
You can ride with other people, and be quite social, but performance is
more or less about who is stongest. On the road, there is that unique
adversarial/cooperative aspect that is not found in any other sport.
This rolling "truce" that makes the speeds possible is a delicate
thing. Newbies who are oblivious to the subtelties of this truce seem
like idiots who just are there to wreck the system, but they are just
newbies who will eventually learn, but some don't learn, and some folks
don't have the patience to wait for others to learn.

I ride both (as most everyone around here does) but I started on the
road and that is still what I focus on. If our club "training" rides
are anything to go by, the road rides are much more structured, with
specific goals in mind for each ride. The MTB rides are more about just
riding. This may be from the more varied terrain, or maybe from the
attitude, who knows. But on the road there is a plan that is in theory
supposed to be followed. And some lone wolf stompiing up a hill first
might not be on the program for that day, and anyone who does so will
hear about it. If you want to ride with the group, ride with the group,
is the way they look at it. Of course none of this is set in stone and
some groups are more flexible than others.

But if there is a real conflict, and it bothers you, find another
group. It doesn't have to be that way. It might just be the case of 2
or 3 strong personalities who are tainting the whole group.

Joseph

busysteve said:

It's funny how things come around and go around. I used to hate
those guys on their bikes with the skinny wheels riding the edge of the
pavement. "Get on the sidewalk!" I would yell from time to time,
wishing I had a P.A. system to amplify my cry of needless frustration.
It was a classic case of car vs. bike. Only a couple of years later I
was introduced to mountain biking. What a rush! I became obsessed. I
rode as often as I could as my competitive side thrived on this sport
that was so new and exciting to me. I started racing to see where I
was at. Second from last in a field of twenty six was pretty bad but
it was a start. Work would get in the way and I couldn't ride as
often as I wanted or needed to become faster.

I started riding at night along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I
monitored my heart rate, my distance and my speed. Twenty miles per
hour on the sidewalk is fun but dangerous. Nineteen miles of sidewalk
every other night at that speed was asking for trouble. I did it in
the day sometimes too. That's when I ran into some roadies at a gas
station. They literally laughed at me. They seemed to be encouraging
each other as they audibly made comments about the "dork" on the
mountain bike. Who were they to say such a thing? Why would they say
such a thing?

I continued to race off road and improve. I was placing in the teens
now in fields numbering in the thirties. Not bad as far as I was
concerned but I wanted to go faster. I spoke with the winners and
asked them how they train. Many of them said "I ride 150 - 200
miles a week most of it road." The road? Really? It wasn't long
before I purchased a brand new steel frame road bike for $650. I
started racking up miles riding the edge of the pavement hoping I
wouldn't get hit by my former self. As I raced I started finding
myself on the podium, not on the top but I was there. It was time to
start riding with a group.

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

These riders rode out to state road 27 in Broward county. The wind
blew diagonally so they drafted that way. They blocked both lanes
causing traffic to back up and reminding me of the reasons I hated
roadies. I wasn't one of these guys, I was a mountain biker. I
refused to follow the draft pattern and was eventually dropped by the
main group. A few sane riders drafted me for as long as I could last
as I was unaware of rotation patterns.

I later worked up the nerve to ride with another group. They called
themselves the South Broward Wheelers. This was a different group
indeed. They welcomed me and taught me the ways of the road. But as
life would have it things came up that prevented me from riding and I
found myself a year and thirty pounds later wondering why I stopped
riding.

Getting back on the bike has been fun but things have changed. My MTB
buddies are all faster than me and they ride the road now. I have a
lot of catching up to do. Something very interesting is happening
though. My off road friends started riding with the South Broward
Wheelers and they are not getting along. It's a classic case of
Mountain Biker vs. Roadie. I can't believe this. Why does this have
to happen? The roadies are starting to carry an elitist attitude and
the mountain bikers are like unshaven gorillas to them. The roadies
want the gorillas to slow down and follow form. The gorillas want the
roadies to shut up and stop telling everybody what to do. So to that I
ask "Why?"

Sounds apocryphal to me. The real world is not so cut and dried. But
it is normal to hear snickers in the peloton if you are hairy. Ever
heard of the concept of "competitive intimidation?" Get a ball-sac and
suck it up.

On 20 Jun 2006 19:32:56 -0700, "busysteve" <[email hidden]>

Quoted message said:

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

While I wasn't an MTBer this reminds me of my first encounter with a
racing club. I had just started cycling after ten years or so as a
runner and had done some "social riding" with the Outdoor Club of
South Jersey. The I moved to San Diego. On one of my first rides I
came across a group in a park-and-ride putting their bikes back on/in
their cars. I wheeled in and asked where I could find a group for
social riding. They invited me to show up at the Kensington Library
the next Saturday morning.

Turns out I'd run into a group from the San Diego Cyclo-Vets. I showed
up with my Trek 1400, 105 equipped, Bio-Pace ringed, run-of-the-mill
bike and was presented with about 80 to 100 riders, most with either
high-zoot Italian bikes or locally produced custom frames (can't now
remember the name of the frame-builder from La Mesa whose bikes were
very popular with the club).

After talking to a few folks it was recommended I join their "DI
Rides" (Development & Instructional) a series lasting eight weeks
which coincidentally was kicking off that Saturday. The
leaders/instructors/coaches were very patient and I learned quite a
bit over the next couple of months.

While I was pretty intimidated when I first showed up I had a great
time with the Vets and made a few good friends. Unfortunately my time
in SD was way too short, but the lessons I learned while riding with
the Vets have served me well for over fifteen years.

jeverett3<AT>earthlink<DOT>net http://home.earthlink.net/~jeverett3

busysteve said:

It's funny how things come around and go around. I used to hate
those guys on their bikes with the skinny wheels riding the edge of the
pavement. "Get on the sidewalk!" I would yell from time to time,
wishing I had a P.A. system to amplify my cry of needless frustration.
It was a classic case of car vs. bike. Only a couple of years later I
was introduced to mountain biking. What a rush! I became obsessed. I
rode as often as I could as my competitive side thrived on this sport
that was so new and exciting to me. I started racing to see where I
was at. Second from last in a field of twenty six was pretty bad but
it was a start. Work would get in the way and I couldn't ride as
often as I wanted or needed to become faster.

I started riding at night along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I
monitored my heart rate, my distance and my speed. Twenty miles per
hour on the sidewalk is fun but dangerous. Nineteen miles of sidewalk
every other night at that speed was asking for trouble. I did it in
the day sometimes too. That's when I ran into some roadies at a gas
station. They literally laughed at me. They seemed to be encouraging
each other as they audibly made comments about the "dork" on the
mountain bike. Who were they to say such a thing? Why would they say
such a thing?

I continued to race off road and improve. I was placing in the teens
now in fields numbering in the thirties. Not bad as far as I was
concerned but I wanted to go faster. I spoke with the winners and
asked them how they train. Many of them said "I ride 150 - 200
miles a week most of it road." The road? Really? It wasn't long
before I purchased a brand new steel frame road bike for $650. I
started racking up miles riding the edge of the pavement hoping I
wouldn't get hit by my former self. As I raced I started finding
myself on the podium, not on the top but I was there. It was time to
start riding with a group.

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

These riders rode out to state road 27 in Broward county. The wind
blew diagonally so they drafted that way. They blocked both lanes
causing traffic to back up and reminding me of the reasons I hated
roadies. I wasn't one of these guys, I was a mountain biker. I
refused to follow the draft pattern and was eventually dropped by the
main group. A few sane riders drafted me for as long as I could last
as I was unaware of rotation patterns.

I later worked up the nerve to ride with another group. They called
themselves the South Broward Wheelers. This was a different group
indeed. They welcomed me and taught me the ways of the road. But as
life would have it things came up that prevented me from riding and I
found myself a year and thirty pounds later wondering why I stopped
riding.

Getting back on the bike has been fun but things have changed. My MTB
buddies are all faster than me and they ride the road now. I have a
lot of catching up to do. Something very interesting is happening
though. My off road friends started riding with the South Broward
Wheelers and they are not getting along. It's a classic case of
Mountain Biker vs. Roadie. I can't believe this. Why does this have
to happen? The roadies are starting to carry an elitist attitude and
the mountain bikers are like unshaven gorillas to them. The roadies
want the gorillas to slow down and follow form. The gorillas want the
roadies to shut up and stop telling everybody what to do. So to that I
ask "Why?"

I don't ride in groups, so I can't really comment of that aspect of this
post. But from the reaction from other riders, most of the road bike
riders I have run into and talked with are not too bad about what you
ride. Sometimes when I am on the recumbent I get a sarcastic remark. But
have never had any remark at all when I ride my hybrid (which looks more
like a flatbar road bike than a hybrid). When I started riding again I
rode a pos mtb and got some kind of nasty comments / looks.

A road bike is in my future.

Ken
--
Messengers and mountain bikers share a common chromosome. ~James Bethea

John Everett said:

On 20 Jun 2006 19:32:56 -0700, "busysteve" <[email hidden]>

Quoted message said:

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

While I wasn't an MTBer this reminds me of my first encounter with a
racing club.

Quoted message said:

Turns out I'd run into a group from the San Diego Cyclo-Vets. I showed
up with my Trek 1400, 105 equipped, Bio-Pace ringed, run-of-the-mill
bike and was presented with about 80 to 100 riders, most with either
high-zoot Italian bikes or locally produced custom frames (can't now
remember the name of the frame-builder from La Mesa whose bikes were
very popular with the club).

It was sometime around this time last year that I had my first
encounter with a racing club. I thought I was such hot [censored] with a
700rmb bike that even had an odometer on it when I met this dork in
spandex at the bike shop. I can't even remember why I was at the bike
shop, cause I sure as heck wasn't a regular back then and the bike in
question wasn't even a month old.

Shimano Boy invited me to come with him, he was riding out to the beach
along with three students who I assumed were probably tolerant
classmates of his or something that put up with this absurd over
infatuation with spending too much money on trying to look like a real
bike racer when surely no random Chinese person could possibly be that
into biking _and_ good at it to.

(I think I heard him say he hit 60kph on one of this morning's sprints.
And I know he can do 40kph for two hours cause he finished four of the
21 km laps in the time it took me to do three on Saturday.)

I had a pretty good time and I'd previously heard something about this
"bike club" from the guy who sold me my bike. (Who coincidentally
wasn't a salesman but a bored customer waiting for the wrench to finish
something.) But even with meeting Shimano Boy it still took me another
week or three before I finally hooked up with them.

No one actually said anything bad about my bike. But they didn't
bother to spare even a second glance on it. And they sure as heck
didn't go picking it up to see what it weighed or talk about it or
anything.

I catch some of the elitist attitude every so often. When I first
showed up with my hot stuff attitude they put me in my place. Which
wasn't even in the pecking order, let alone high enough to be at the
bottom of the pecking order.

But they were nice to me. Agressively so. Encouraging. Told me how
well I was doing and worked around the point of not mentioning how they
had just done the same thing. So the they eventually became a we and
the 700rmb bike got replaced with one that has 700rmb pedals.

-M

I have the answer to your problem. Get out of the "elitist" racing club
you sound like you're in and go find good recreational (dare I say it?)
touring club.

You'll find it a much more fiendly and tolerant group. Lacking the need
to prove themselves against the rest of the world makes a world of
difference.

- -
Comments and opinions compliments of,
"Your Friendly Neighborhood Wheelman"

My web Site:
http://geocities.com/czcorner

To E-mail me:
ChrisZCorner "at" webtv "dot" net

I would tend to agree except for the fact that I would like for both
groups to get along. I don't mind gangsta's flexin' nuts and all but
we're not racing, there's no money here. Anyway, for what it's worth I
would give my spare tube to a roadie or a MTBr, jerk or not. I guess I
just care.

bill said:

busysteve said:

It's funny how things come around and go around. I used to hate
those guys on their bikes with the skinny wheels riding the edge of the
pavement. "Get on the sidewalk!" I would yell from time to time,
wishing I had a P.A. system to amplify my cry of needless frustration.
It was a classic case of car vs. bike. Only a couple of years later I
was introduced to mountain biking. What a rush! I became obsessed. I
rode as often as I could as my competitive side thrived on this sport
that was so new and exciting to me. I started racing to see where I
was at. Second from last in a field of twenty six was pretty bad but
it was a start. Work would get in the way and I couldn't ride as
often as I wanted or needed to become faster.

I started riding at night along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I
monitored my heart rate, my distance and my speed. Twenty miles per
hour on the sidewalk is fun but dangerous. Nineteen miles of sidewalk
every other night at that speed was asking for trouble. I did it in
the day sometimes too. That's when I ran into some roadies at a gas
station. They literally laughed at me. They seemed to be encouraging
each other as they audibly made comments about the "dork" on the
mountain bike. Who were they to say such a thing? Why would they say
such a thing?

I continued to race off road and improve. I was placing in the teens
now in fields numbering in the thirties. Not bad as far as I was
concerned but I wanted to go faster. I spoke with the winners and
asked them how they train. Many of them said "I ride 150 - 200
miles a week most of it road." The road? Really? It wasn't long
before I purchased a brand new steel frame road bike for $650. I
started racking up miles riding the edge of the pavement hoping I
wouldn't get hit by my former self. As I raced I started finding
myself on the podium, not on the top but I was there. It was time to
start riding with a group.

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

These riders rode out to state road 27 in Broward county. The wind
blew diagonally so they drafted that way. They blocked both lanes
causing traffic to back up and reminding me of the reasons I hated
roadies. I wasn't one of these guys, I was a mountain biker. I
refused to follow the draft pattern and was eventually dropped by the
main group. A few sane riders drafted me for as long as I could last
as I was unaware of rotation patterns.

I later worked up the nerve to ride with another group. They called
themselves the South Broward Wheelers. This was a different group
indeed. They welcomed me and taught me the ways of the road. But as
life would have it things came up that prevented me from riding and I
found myself a year and thirty pounds later wondering why I stopped
riding.

Getting back on the bike has been fun but things have changed. My MTB
buddies are all faster than me and they ride the road now. I have a
lot of catching up to do. Something very interesting is happening
though. My off road friends started riding with the South Broward
Wheelers and they are not getting along. It's a classic case of
Mountain Biker vs. Roadie. I can't believe this. Why does this have
to happen? The roadies are starting to carry an elitist attitude and
the mountain bikers are like unshaven gorillas to them. The roadies
want the gorillas to slow down and follow form. The gorillas want the
roadies to shut up and stop telling everybody what to do. So to that I
ask "Why?"

Sounds apocryphal to me. The real world is not so cut and dried. But
it is normal to hear snickers in the peloton if you are hairy. Ever
heard of the concept of "competitive intimidation?" Get a ball-sac and
suck it up.

An inexperienced (or new and unknown) rider in the paceline can potentially
be a hazard not just to himself but to everyone else. Until he has
demonstrated his skills he will be treated with some suspicion.

OTOH, some folks are just jerks.

Chris Neary
[email hidden]

"We will teach our twisted speech to the young believers"
-- The Clash

busysteve said:

It's funny how things come around and go around. I used to hate
those guys on their bikes with the skinny wheels riding the edge of the
pavement. "Get on the sidewalk!" I would yell from time to time,
wishing I had a P.A. system to amplify my cry of needless frustration.
It was a classic case of car vs. bike. Only a couple of years later I
was introduced to mountain biking. What a rush! I became obsessed. I
rode as often as I could as my competitive side thrived on this sport
that was so new and exciting to me. I started racing to see where I
was at. Second from last in a field of twenty six was pretty bad but
it was a start. Work would get in the way and I couldn't ride as
often as I wanted or needed to become faster.

I started riding at night along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I
monitored my heart rate, my distance and my speed. Twenty miles per
hour on the sidewalk is fun but dangerous. Nineteen miles of sidewalk
every other night at that speed was asking for trouble. I did it in
the day sometimes too. That's when I ran into some roadies at a gas
station. They literally laughed at me. They seemed to be encouraging
each other as they audibly made comments about the "dork" on the
mountain bike. Who were they to say such a thing? Why would they say
such a thing?

I continued to race off road and improve. I was placing in the teens
now in fields numbering in the thirties. Not bad as far as I was
concerned but I wanted to go faster. I spoke with the winners and
asked them how they train. Many of them said "I ride 150 - 200
miles a week most of it road." The road? Really? It wasn't long
before I purchased a brand new steel frame road bike for $650. I
started racking up miles riding the edge of the pavement hoping I
wouldn't get hit by my former self. As I raced I started finding
myself on the podium, not on the top but I was there. It was time to
start riding with a group.

The first group recommended to me wasn't that far from home. I woke
up early on a Saturday and pulled up with my road bike on the back of
my SUV. I was amazed at the number of riders just before I was shocked
to see a group of guys say "who the hell is this?" as they looked
at me then my bike. I parked and one guy called it an ugly-stick he
suggested I go fishing instead. Who where these guys? What jerks!
They were well groomed and looked like cyborgs with their shaven legs
and carbon fiber bikes that matched their clothes. The elitist
attitude was shocking and became my first impression of roadies.

These riders rode out to state road 27 in Broward county. The wind
blew diagonally so they drafted that way. They blocked both lanes
causing traffic to back up and reminding me of the reasons I hated
roadies. I wasn't one of these guys, I was a mountain biker. I
refused to follow the draft pattern and was eventually dropped by the
main group. A few sane riders drafted me for as long as I could last
as I was unaware of rotation patterns.

I later worked up the nerve to ride with another group. They called
themselves the South Broward Wheelers. This was a different group
indeed. They welcomed me and taught me the ways of the road. But as
life would have it things came up that prevented me from riding and I
found myself a year and thirty pounds later wondering why I stopped
riding.

Getting back on the bike has been fun but things have changed. My MTB
buddies are all faster than me and they ride the road now. I have a
lot of catching up to do. Something very interesting is happening
though. My off road friends started riding with the South Broward
Wheelers and they are not getting along. It's a classic case of
Mountain Biker vs. Roadie. I can't believe this. Why does this have
to happen? The roadies are starting to carry an elitist attitude and
the mountain bikers are like unshaven gorillas to them. The roadies
want the gorillas to slow down and follow form. The gorillas want the
roadies to shut up and stop telling everybody what to do. So to that I
ask "Why?"

Good question!

I think it has to do with the need of folks to somehow separate
themselves from the "herd."

Generally, self-confident, mature folks are open and more caring.
Folks with fears about who they are and with a need for an ego boost
will do so by putting others down.

Such is human nature.

There are clubs and organizations where this does not happen near as
much.

Personally, I refuse to cater to the mold. I remember one time where I
was at an intersection of a trail with a bunch of identically dressed
roadies on their carbon steeds who were a bit lost.

I was dressed in Levis, a sweatshirt, tennis shoes and was riding my
old mountain bike. I offered directions, but they were not the least
bit interested in my thoughts.

If I had hurried home, changed into bibs, a "Ride the Rockies" Jersey,
road bike shoes and came back on my Lemond, they might have paid
attention to me (although my Lemond only has a carbon fork). And, I
don't shave my legs. So, maybe not.

But, this is true in all aspects of human life. The more we can prove
ourselves "special" and unique in some way, the better we think we are!

Personally, I do 95% of my riding solo or with my wife. I like the
company!