written by Danny G.
Cycling is supposed to be an escape. The wind in your face, the ground blurring under your wheels, the quiet hum of the chain—freedom on two wheels. But humans, being humans, can’t help but bring their baggage onto the bike.
So now you’re not just pedaling against headwinds, potholes, and the occasional car trying to make you a hood ornament; you’re also wondering: Why didn’t that guy in the yellow jersey nod back?
Here’s the thing: life is already full of people you’ll never understand. The guy in the office who microwaves fish, the neighbor who mows his lawn in the rain, the cyclist who zooms past you without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment.
These are mysteries. But out here, on the open road, you’d think we could shed that nonsense. A wave, a nod, a simple “hi”—it shouldn’t be complicated.
And yet, here we are, analyzing the politics of a passing gesture.
Why say hello? Why not? And does it really matter if the guy in Lycra ignores you?
1. The Hello Builds Community, One Wave at a Time
Cyclists are supposed to be a tribe. We endure the same struggles—headwinds, bad drivers, saddle sores. A wave is like saying, I see you, fellow sufferer. You’re not alone out here.
“Sometimes it’s just a small thing—a quick flick of the hand, a subtle nod—but it matters,” wise cyclists say.
And they’re right. A nod of acknowledgment can remind you that we’re all in this together—sweaty, wind-battered, and probably late for something.
2. But Sometimes, Silence Speaks Louder
Let’s be real: not everyone’s in the mood to wave. Some of us are pedaling through more than just hills. We’re grinding through the weight of life—the same weight that presses on your chest when the road feels like a goddamn furnace and your legs are screaming for mercy.
You’re fighting a battle, not with the guy next to you, but with something that’s buried deep inside, something you don’t show on the outside. The wind is the only thing that knows the war you’re losing, and the gears are the only thing that hold you together while the rest of you is coming apart.
So, when someone doesn’t wave, don’t take it personally.
Don’t let that flick of the wrist or the lack of it mess with your head. Maybe they’re not being a jerk. Maybe they’re lost in their own mess—deeper in it than you’ll ever know.
Maybe they’ve got a whole storm inside their skull, a hurricane of thoughts and emotions that no wave could fix. Or maybe, they’re just trying not to puke on the climb, breathing so hard they can’t spare the energy to lift a finger.
Whatever it is, don’t sweat it. The world won’t end because one person didn’t nod back. There’s no tragedy in it. There’s no failure in it. The road is full of people just trying to keep their shit together—everyone out here is holding on by a thread, doing their best not to fall apart completely. We don’t all have it together, and sometimes we just don’t have the energy to pretend.
3. A Simple Hello Could Save Your Life
Okay, fine, maybe that sounds dramatic, but hear me out. A wave is more than just some half-assed politeness we throw around like it’s nothing. It’s practical.
It’s a signal—an unspoken message that says, Hey, I see you. You see me. Let’s not accidentally merge in a way that turns this ride into an impromptu physics lesson.
You know the kind—where one wrong move and we both go flying into the ditch, tangled up in our bikes like two broken machines. It’s like a truce in a war you didn’t start, a silent understanding that we’re not here to make the other guy’s life harder.
Out on lonely roads, those little moments of connection matter. More than you think. I met a guy on a fat bike last summer—he was some sort of mountain man with a beard that could have doubled as a tent for a smaller creature.
We didn’t know each other from a hole in the ground, but we exchanged the kind of wave that says, I’m not here to run you off the road. It wasn’t much, just a quick flick of the hand, but it was enough.
After a few miles, we both pulled into the same café, sweating like animals, and we ended up sitting down together for a coffee.
Some bullshit about the weather, then bikes, and then suddenly, we were two strangers passing time. And, hell, sometimes that’s all it takes.
But it doesn’t always stop there. Sometimes, that wave leads to a conversation. A conversation that might turn into a friendship. And the next thing you know, when your derailleur explodes in the middle of nowhere, when you’re cursing your bike, there’s someone who’s got your back.
They’ll come out of the woodwork, pulling up next to you like a guardian angel with grease on their hands.
It all starts with a goddamn wave. Not some fancy gesture, not some flowery bullshit—just a simple acknowledgment that says, I’m here. You’re here. Let’s make this work. And that’s how we survive out here, piece by piece, wave by wave..
4. Big Cities Are Exhausting and Unfriendly
Big cities are a different beast entirely. Cycling there is like being trapped in a video game where you’re the only one who knows the rules, and everyone else is an NPC with zero personality, just robots on two wheels, going through the motions.
You weave through them like you’re dodging ghosts, but nobody’s real, not in the way you’re real.
Waving? Forget it. It’s a joke. Waving isn’t a thing in big cities. There are just too many cyclists, too many bodies crammed into the streets, all of us tangled up in a mess of metal and asphalt. It’d be like waving at every pigeon in Trafalgar Square. You’d lose your mind before you even got a mile in.
It’s not personal, though. It’s not that people are assholes or too busy for a simple acknowledgment—it’s just math. The numbers don’t lie. There are only so many hellos a person can give before their soul starts to crack under the weight of it all.
You wave at one person, and then another, and another, and pretty soon, you’re waving at a hundred strangers, and each one of those waves is just another drop in the ocean.
After a while, it feels pointless, like you’re tossing a coin into a river, expecting something to come back. Nothing does. You start to wonder if the wave even matters anymore, if it ever did.
5. Nostalgia for the Golden Age of Greetings
Older riders love to talk about the good old days when every cyclist waved, no matter what. Back then, a wave wasn’t just a wave—it was a connection, a silent agreement between two people who didn’t need to say a word but knew they shared the same misery, the same small victories, the same grind.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe we’ve lost something in this age of Strava leaderboards, KOMs, and carbon everything. We’re too busy chasing times and stats to slow down for a damn wave. The road’s become a race, not a journey.
Or maybe they’re just bored. Maybe they’re lonely. Who knows? After a certain age, everything starts to feel a little more like a routine than an adventure.
So, maybe a wave is just something to fill the space between their own thoughts, a small reminder that there’s still life out here, even if it’s just a stranger on a bike.
6. But Maybe We’re Expecting Too Much
Why are cyclists expected to be so friendly? Who decided that, anyway? Do you think pedestrians are arrogant if they don’t wave at you when they cross your path? Imagine it for a second—waving at every dog walker, jogger, and confused tourist you pass.
Every time you get near someone, you throw up a hand like a damn politician. You’d look like a lunatic. You’d get a reputation, that’s for sure—some weird bike guy who waves at anything that moves. The truth is, you’d start to hate yourself a little.
Cyclists are people, not mascots for some grand idea of goodwill. We’re not walking billboards for positivity. We’re not here to make the world smile. We’re just people with a love/hate relationship with the road, battling headwinds, dodging bad drivers, and trying to keep our legs from falling off before the next climb.
If someone doesn’t wave, it’s not some personal slight. It’s not a declaration of war or a sign that humanity’s going down the drain. It’s just a guy on a bike, minding his own business, probably thinking about something else—maybe his next turn, maybe the traffic light up ahead, maybe how much he hates hills.
We’re all out here for different reasons. Some of us are chasing records, some are escaping a hell that’s back home, some are just trying to get from point A to point B without losing our minds. So when someone doesn’t wave, don’t read too much into it.
Don’t start imagining stories about how they’re rude or cold-hearted. Maybe they’re in their own head, battling a mental war, or maybe they’re just so damn focused on their ride that the last thing they’re thinking about is waving at some stranger on two wheels. We’re not all required to be a walking ray of sunshine just because we’re on a bike.
It’s just a wave. It doesn’t mean everything, and it certainly doesn’t say anything about the kind of person they are. It’s a fleeting thing, a tiny moment in time. Don’t hang too much on it.
We’re all here, riding through the same world, but we’re not all going to play by the same rules. And that’s fine.
7. But Let’s Be Honest: Some People Are Just Jerks
Not everyone’s out here for the camaraderie. Some people think their $10,000 bike makes them royalty. They’re too busy chasing their next PR to acknowledge mere mortals.
But hey, let them have their delusions. You’re not waving for them—you’re waving for you.
Final Words
So, do you say hello? Maybe. Maybe not. Life’s already a mess of missed connections and misunderstood intentions.
If you feel like waving, wave. If you don’t, don’t.
Just don’t be the guy who drafts uninvited, or the one who thinks his aero helmet gives him permission to ignore the rest of us.
In the end, it’s not about the wave. It’s about the ride. Pedal harder. The rest is noise.
Danny G.
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