I'd ridden down to the Oak Street Chicane and turned around after seeing nasty skies, figuring it's better to be closer to home than not if the skies rip open on me. On my way back north, just barely north of Belmont, I call out 'on yer left' to a guy jogging on the path's yellow line at belmont... let me present:
me: on yer left!
jerk: ...no room for you assholes...
me: (Slowing) What's that?
jerk: Yo, Lance - you guys think you can... (I'm still too far away)
Lance: (I've apparently been renamed) Sorry?
Bowerman (tit for tat. I can rename him to a famous runner): Like, where were you in February, huh?
Lance: Me? On this path, right here. By the way, my name's not Lance.

Bowerman: Yeah, Lance.
Lance: Why all the hate, anyway?
Bowerman: You guys think you're such... (inintelligible aside from another Lance)
Lance: I'm not just some pathlete, dude. I'm pretty serious...
Bowerman: Ha. Pathlete. That's a pretty good one, Lance.
Lance: Ok, whatever, douchebag. Have a good night.
With that, I rode away and finished my Active Recovery ride, though my HR was around 130 because of my frustrating conversation with this idiot.
I'm still not entirely sure why I slowed down, I guess I thought he might have something interesting to say? FAIL. Whatever. I should work on ignoring idiots like this, especially since this kind of heckling will never, ever cease. People don't get cyclists, we're a strange looking bunch, shaved legs and Lycra and the "little seats and weird pedals". Like most people, they ridicule what they don't understand... and they definitely don't understand a wet, snowy lakefront path ride in February when it's 28 degrees outside.
Maybe I pay attention to them because I just want to put them on a bike, especially at the velodrome, and help them understand a bit.

