I think a Fred is someone always in mis-matched kit, who doesn’t seem to pay much attention to how their bike is set up with regard to bar tape matching seat etc. Beards, fenders, mirrors, black socks, fluro vests and mirrors on their bikes. This is not to say that having one or any of these things makes you a fred.
Instead of shredding the gnar, they are responsible for fredding the gnar. In their mind the cycle paths are the champs elysees, and they are the best lead-out man in the business. They love nothing more than controlling the pace of the cyclepath by overtaking you and then slowing down.
it’s the incompetent, wobbly (standing) track-stand at the traffic lights, especially when at a significant intersection where you may have to watch this fool for about 3 minutes straight. This really annoys me.
Seated and your cool.
I love the traffic light lead out…the burst of pace and then slowing to shit everyone behind them. Surely we gotta have a blog or thread called ‘fredding the gnar’.
You should stay in your position at the lights.
If you’re faster then pass after they change.
DON’T roll up when people are stationary and sit at the front.
Although it is funny sitting on someones wheel when they are furiously pedalling to save face only for them to turn up an unintended side street to spew/catch their breath.
I was out on a Sunday morning ride recently, feeling pretty good, when some FRED (with panniers) pulls up alongside, smashing it to keep pace with me. It was a long, straight stretch, so I regularly upped the pace until he blew.
I don’t normally pull stuff like that, but I did enjoy it.
nup. a fred can, and should, be on an expensive bike that implies a level of cycling knowledge/skill far greater than actually possessed
your definition of a fred is more consistent with the definition of a hubbard.
a mamil is obviously your middle-aged professional on expensive crabon who is a cyclist because it’s popular with his peers. if it was ten years ago he’d be on a golf course with his douchey bank manager mates.
