Today the Freds were out in force.
That is to say: I wish I had brought my camera, because the level of sheer freditude was staggering. To the right of me, to the left of me, ahead of me and behind, there were Freds. The Freds were likely above and below me too, but I did not dare to look for fear of finding the new and awesome power of the Fred Fighting Forces, united in their mission to spread fluorescent yellow as far as the eye can see.
Without the aid of a camera, I will have to rely on my powers of description to recreate one of the most Fredtastic rides of my short life.
And without further delay, my story...
First, there was Recumbifred. Recumbifred chooses not to ride a bicycle, but another machine designed to fool others into thinking it is a bicycle. A sort of mechanical camouflage akin to that found in the insect kingdom, designed so that its user can sneak up unsuspectingly upon riders and infect them with freddishness. Although the recumbent shares features with the bicycle such as two wheels, pedals, and a chain, closer inspection and observation of its actions reveal how different it indeed is. Case in point: turning radius. When a Recumbifred approaches an intersection or narrowing of the roadways, what is quick work for the bicycle rider becomes a daunting task indeed. Such was the case of Recumbifred #1 that I came into contact with this morning. Upon his arrival at the intersection Beach Drive and the Rock Creek Park Trail (Yes, we are in Washington, DC.), Recumbifred #1 was indeed forced to stop and foot down so as not to fall flat on his...side. Under solitary circumstances, I cannot in good judgment blame Mr. Recumbifred for his action, but in the environs he found himself this Saturday morning, surrounded by bicyclists in front and behind (no doubt visible in his multiple mirrors), it would have been prudent to perhaps pull aside and let traffic flow freely, as opposed to the equivalent of making a left hand turn in front of four oncoming lanes of traffic. Of course, being RecumbiFRED, these thoughts did not occur...
Next there was the fabled Underfred. Underfred is an interestingly uncomfortable form of Fred, so named for the complex apparel choices he makes. To be in the mind of the Underfred must be incredible indeed, as he makes the numerous calculations so that he can make the utmost of his closet and dresser drawers. Underfred, you see, chooses not only to wear cycling shorts (shorts being the uniform of Freds near and far) BUT ALSO the common brief underneath said shorts. The resultant combination, visible in some sort of Freddish Plumber's Crack, is supremely uncomfortable. Surely this, in combination with the weight of the Underfred's Camelbak hydration reservoir, caused him to angrily scream "On your LEFT!" as I passed his three member Fredaway (like a breakaway, but Freds) with about five feet separating us.
This brings us to the subject of Freddish tactics and riding formations. As just mentioned, there is the Fredaway. The Fredaway is the preferred choice of formation for many Freds, as it combines just enough persons to be susceptible to the dangers of half-wheeling and almost enough tools within the 5-6 seatbags and/or backpacks to fix the 8-10 flats accrued on the ride. The ideal Fredaway combines the powers of its Freds to finish the 20 mile ride at a blistering 15 mph pace.
Next up in Fred Formations is the mother of them all, the Fredoton. Also known as a Pel'o'Freds, a Fredoton is either the combination of several smaller Fredaways or the result of an organized Fred training ride. Sometimes swelling up to the size of 75 Freds, a Fredoton is serious business. All Freds are required to stay a minimum of two bike lengths behind the Fred in front of them, so a Fredoton can stretch for what seems like miles. Also, in a strange contrast to a Peloton, in which riders take turns cheating the wind so as to gain a higher speed, the high Freds Per Foot (“Fred Factor”) in a Fredoton actually results in a significant reduction in speed. Whereas a high speed Fredaway can finish their 20 mile ride in a little over two hours with multiple stops, the lumbering Fredoton might take the same course in a leisurely three to five hours, depending on the frequency of flats and/or pileups.
Then there are the less common, the more esoteric formations of freditude. Today's ride included a sighting of the extremely elusive Fred/Recumbifred Fredaway, in which the two factions of freditude join forces so that their members can "live on the edge" by attempting not to crash more than once every ten minutes. Also, the more common Solo Fredaway made itself known, resisting the urge to join more social Freds as well as being swallowed up by the multiple Fredotons.
Within the different Fred Formations, one can find extreme amounts of diversity within the Fred population. Whether it is the die hard, t-shirtted Tri-Fred, the Nouveau Freddie, or the Elderfred, one thing is for sure: although Freds share features, no two are identical. Take, for example, the Decofred. The Decofred is named after the adornments that separate them from the rest of the Fredoton, allowing the observer to easily remember their particular freddishness. Today the Decofred prize was awarded to one particular female Fred (or, "Wilma") who had adorned her Giro Indicator helmet with a replica of the U.S. Capitol. There, sitting head and shoulders above the rest of the Fred's helmets ("Fredmets"), this Decofred's crown signaled to all around that she was a force of freditude, and, perhaps not to crash into her for fear of being impaled by the point on top of the Capitol's dome.
Now, nearing the end of my ride, as you might imagine from all the freddishness I have described above, I was getting fairly tired. Perhaps it was this, in combination with the heat that caused me to see what I almost did not believe at the intersection of MacArthur Boulevard and Goldsboro Road. As I approached the intersection, I could just begin to see their emblems waving in the wind. The famous Double F. The Fred Flags. As I watched, they grew in number, multiplying with every moment, Freds with Flags atop their bikes, careening towards me along the bike path just to my right. As they grew closer, I realized the truth that I most feared. This was a Mega Fredoton of Young Fredensteins. All between the ages of 12 and 16, these junior Freds blazed along the trail, practicing the most dangerous of maneuvers so as to be prepared for the day when they would exchange their matching flourescent vests for Primal Wear and Pearl Izumi and join the senior Freds in their quest for domination of the roadways.
Of course, these junior Freds in matching Frediforms were impressive, but not the most impressive find of the day. That, friends, was the miles long Fredoton spanning the entirety of Beach Drive, organized by none other than Team In Training. As the hundreds of Freds lumbered by, perhaps an onlooker might have asked, "Who's that Fredding?"
The Team-In-Trainees. “Who's that Fredding? Why, it's the TITs!”
