I was on a flier tonight on my way home from work - sprinting up the hill, my knobly tyres rasping on the road as I dashed towards the comfort of a cuppa tea.
A group of hoodies were crossing the road right by my turning onto the bike lane around the dog-fields.
"Scoose me guys, can I squeeze through the middle?" I bellowed, confident as the cold, foggy air would allow.
"Sorry!" they crowed, and herded to the edges, watching my every move. In the Ortons I half expected them to jump me for my 50p and sweaty underwear but instead they yelled, "Cheers mate!" after me as I rode off shouting my "thanks" back.
I wonder if my rebellious underdog biker sides me with the yoof pack or if they were still just trying to suss if I was a big bloke in disguise.
I is down with the hood' I is.
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