Funny thing, riding cross bikes.
Ginger stepchildren of the road and mountain bike world, roadies can't understand the appropriate convention of baggies and packs (baggies for brambles, pack for three litres of water and eight spare tubes), so dispense with the nod of recognition and break out the old-school sour-faced glare.
And mountain bikers, well, what would you do if somebody riding what is apparently a road bike overtook you and your five inches on a technical descent?
Caught somewhere in the middle, and usually with a foot in one or both camps on other days anyway, those that do seem to plump for either grinning a big, fat, myteetharebeingrattledoutofmyheadbutboyisitfun hello to everyone, or nothing at all - which goes to show how people are funny things as well.
Tell you what, though - cross bikes are the best thing in the world for poaching N. Downs cheek. The ramblers don't have a clue what they are...
jenn.
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