CLOSED SHOP
At my first 10-mile time trial I had entered a strange subculture with much to observe, not least the idiosyncratic appearances of cyclists fixed to a particular era, dress codes, pre- and post-race rituals, and behaviours. After the race, whilst he was in the middle of changing out of his kit, the cyclist who shouted at me [on the course] came over and carried on. “This is not a park ride you know. You were sitting on your bike looking around at the hills and everything.” “Was I?” I thought.
I looked at him. I politely pretended to listen to what he was saying as he went on. I carried on dismantling my bike as he continued. He eventually walked off back to his car to finish changing out of his racing kit. I grew up on a predominantly white council estate in South-West London. I had lived long enough amongst white people to detect those who
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