The Cyclist (part 4): A bad day

[Corwin]

They say that trouble comes in threes. I guess today was no
exception. It started on my way to meet Mark. I was biking one of
the trails I take to get to his lab. This particular trail, through
the south side of town, runs parallel to the river. Unfortunately, it
hasn't been completed and put the trail users on some back roads with
cars. Normally this isn't a problem. Today it was.

It was rush hour. It seems to me that there are some drivers who
perceive cyclists as interfering with their constitutional right to
get home as quickly as possible. I do my part by trying to stay out
of their way, keeping to the right and allowing them to speed past me.
Most of the time, it keeps me relatively safe. Sometimes, though,
some drivers go out of their way to cause trouble.

Today's problem jerk was driving a Hummer. Of course, he was talking
on a cell phone while speeding. As we approached an intersection, he
decided he should speed up to try and pass me in the intersection,
making a right turn from the left lane into my bike. Thankfully,
quick reactions and some defensive cycling enabled me to avoid his
SUV. Unfortunately for him, I just wasn't in the mood. I had a hard
day at work and this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I
caught him at the next corner, where he was stopped in rush hour
traffic.

"Hey dickwad! You almost hit me."

He put his hand over the cell phone, "Fuck off, asshole."

Wrong answer. I went behind the Hummer and got off my bike. The
driver saw his break in traffic and tried to pull out. The Hummer
didn't move. Its wheels spun against the pavement. I saw the driver
look in his rear view mirror. He saw me holding the vehicle by a
trailer hitch with my right arm. My bike was in my other hand. I
smiled at him. He turned around and I saw him mouth, "Mother fucker."

I guess that's when it dawned on me what I was actually doing,
overpowering a 500 horse power engine with one arm, my back and my
legs. I could see my massive quads flexing and digging into the
ground, my forearm and bicep pumped and absorbed the jerks and snaps
of the engine's futile effort to move. I felt my bike shirt rip as my
lats spread to keep my balance. I smiled, and began to walk back to
the trail, pulling the Hummer with me. I could feel the engine's
strain against me, but it didn't even really seem hard to me. OK, it
was more difficult than pushing a shopping cart, but not much. I
heard the asshole behind the wheel gun the engine a few times, trying
to overpower my grip and his backward motion. It was a futile effort.
I started to laugh. How strong had I become?

As we approached the trail, the driver wised up enough to stop burning
his tires against the pavement. The smell of the burning rubber only
tended to annoy me anyway. He also put the engine into neutral,
probably trying to protect it from overheating or something. I
stopped at the trail entrance. When I turned, I saw him getting out
of the car. He was a big guy. Maybe I should have noticed the
"Muscle Factory" advertisement on the side of the Hummer, but I
didn't.

"You mother fuckin' asshole! What the fuck do you think you're doing
to my car?" He swung at me. Not smart.

"Just how dumb are you? You can't drive. You try to kill me with
your fucking SUV. I just dragged it 3 blocks backwards with one arm
and you try and hit me?" My anger was being overcome by awe at how
stupid this guy was. I looked at him. He was nothing compared to me.

The guy wore a tank top. His arms and shoulders were big. A few
months ago, I might have even called them huge, but since working out
with Mark and the Team, my standards had changed. The guy looked like
a bodybuilder or powerlifter. His arms were probably over 20 inches,
solid muscle. His top tented over thick pecs, and his lats formed
wings pushing his arms from his side. His waist was narrow. He wore
spandex shorts that showed off thick quads and diamond calves. His
dick looked small. Big surprise there.

He swung at me again. This time, I grabbed his fist and swung him
around so his arm was behind his back. I dropped my bike and flexed
my left bicep in his face. "Dude. Ain't you figured out that you
don't got the power here. This does." Using the arm I had around his
back, I lifted him up, tossing him about 15 feet. He landed on his
ass, mostly unhurt. I walked over to his Hummer. I saw the guy's
cell phone on his seat. I took it, and put it in my elastic band of
my shorts.

As he got up, he saw me lifting the 3 ton car over my head. Seeing that,
he stopped. I walked it to the river and tossed it a few hundred feet
into the center of the water. He screamed something as it sank.
Maybe they'll find it the next time they search for that mythic WWII
plane that's suppose to be down there.

I walked over to my bike. The guy came running over and threw one
last punch that bounced off my hard abs. I pushed him down. I took
the cell phone from my shorts and crushed it with my right hand.
Dropping the debris on him, I got on my bike. I told him, "Now, share
the road next time, asshole!" as I biked away.

On my way to Mark's lab, I calmed down enough to realize what I had
done. How could I be so stupid? I thought about the newpaper
headline, 'Biker sinks SUV in road rage'. What if the asshole calls
the police or something? OK, maybe no cell would hold me, but do I
really need that problem? And what about Mark! No one really knew
about his research besides some folk at the university and the coach
of the football team. How could I be so stupid? I may have just
ruined both our lives!

I was upset when I entered the gym. I hoped a good workout would calm
my nerves. Nobody had seen what I had done, right? Everything would
be OK, or so I hoped. It was just my luck that Brett and Adam were
the only two in the gym.

"Hey guys, know where Mark is?"

"He's meeting with the coach and the freshman players," Brett
responded as Adam worked on a set of heavy squats.

I normally tried to avoid them in the gym. Adam was an ass, and I had
my fill of jerks today. I should have avoided them, but today I felt
the need to do some heavy lifting, like working legs. As Adam
finished his set, I asked, "Mind if I work in?"

Adam looked incredulous. "Ya, let me make it lighter for you."

I wasn't in the mood to jerk around. "No need," I responded, getting
in position. I cranked out 12. "Add a few pounds next time, OK?" I
said as I finished. The look in Adam's eyes was not pleased.

Adam programmed the machine for Brett, who did a set of 8. He
struggled with the last couple reps. The kid was really pushing
himself. Adam went next, commenting that he upped the weight. He
pushed out 8. I went next, doing a set of 12. "Still a bit light," I
said. Adam scowled.

Brett only managed four reps the next time. He sat down as Adam once
more upped the weight. He pushed out eight reps, but the strain
showed on his face. The choice was mine now. Do I take the kid down
a notch, or do I let him think he's still number 1. I guess I was
still in a mood. I cranked out 12 with ease.

Walking up to Adam, I flexed my 50+ inch leg next to his. He was
pumped, but my leg was obviously bigger than his. "Let me set this
thing for some real weight," I said as I added 500 pounds to the
resistance. I did a set of 10, pushing out the last two as my legs
burst into a relief of muscles and veins through paperthin skin. "Now
that's getting there, but it still could be heavier." Looking Adam
straight in the eye, I said, "Your turn."

Adam had a look of steely determination on his face. He got under the
bar, flexing his massive thighs as he prepared himself. He lowered
himself for the first rep, his face turning bright red as he ordered
his legs to lift the impossible weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead
as the strain showed. He screamed as he forced the weight up a second
time. He went down for a third rep and his glutes split the rear his
shorts, unable to contain his massive pump. Raw determination and
obvious pain were the only emotions he showed as he struggled with the
third rep. He knew four would be too much as he placed the bar back.
I have to admit, the kid had spunk and his thighs were pumped beyond
belief. The look in his eyes revealed the anger and hatred he felt
right now.

I walked over to the computer controls and upped the weight by another
500 pounds. I got under the bar and pumped out eight perfectly
controlled reps. Adam's legs may have been pumped beyond anything he
experienced before, but my legs dwarfed his. The size of my quads and
hamstrings pushed my legs apart, and made my huge cock bulge into a
huge package in my spandex shorts. I flexed my massive thigh, showing
off like Adam was prone to do -- giving him a taste of his own
medicine.

"Wanna give it a try," I hissed at Adam, "or have you figured out that
these biker legs overpower those twigs you got." A Robin Williams
joke came to mind: "With thighs like these, you've got two choices --
cycling or go-go dancer." The dumb joke didn't lighten the mood.

"Ya, you may have stronger legs, but I still got the guns," he said,
flexing his massive bicep. It was true, I was still an inch or so
smaller there, but I still 8 treatments to go. Brett and Adam went to
do leg extensions, while I did a few more sets of squats. Lifting the
massive amounts of weight did calm me a bit, and taking Adam down a
peg felt good.

As I finished my 6th set, Mark came in with the kids. They had just
been given their most recent treatment, and wanted to start working
out. It was their sixth, but the results were obvious. All were
bigger, and most would have no problem with the asshole in SUV. One
was exceptional, though. Jonny "The Weed" Romero. He got the
nickname "The Weed" because he was growing like a weed. He was
already proving himself on the football field, and he was the
strongest of the new kids in the gym.

Mark and the coach seemed to be having a disagreement. The coach
walked away from Mark and put a chart on the wall. "Men, thought this
might interest you. The doc here just showed me this. It's some
results from last year combined with the progress of you new kids."
He pointed to the chart. "As you can see, you men are right on
target." He pointed a group of lines clustered in the center of the
page. There were a three lines outside the pack. One was red, one
green and one purple. The coach pointed to the purple line, the one
closest to the pack. "This here is Brett." He pointed to the next
line out, "This is Adam." He pointed to the furthest line. "And this
here is next year's star player Jonny Romero." Adam's eyes shot pure
hatred at Jonny as Jonny's eyes widened with what the coach was
saying. "Yes sir, men, our man Romero is growing faster and stronger
than any other member of the team. In a matter of a few months, he'll
be the strongest football player around."

The new members ran over to "The Weed", patting him on the back. He
flexed and hit some most muscular poses that would have made any 19
year old proud. Adam didn't go over. He didn't look happy. Brett
seemed to be talking to him, but Adam just turned and walked into the
locker room.

"I told him not to do that," said Mark to me as I walked over. "It's
just going to cause problems."

"You mean with Adam? Ya, he didn't look happy."

"Adam's been a problem since he became top dog around here. He seems
to have defined himself by being number one. He's not going to take
this well, and he's strong enough to cause lots of problems. He might
even take it our on Jonny. Sure, Jonny will be stronger than he is
eventually, but that's still months away."

"I don't think Adam will hurt him."

"I hope not, but you never know." Mark shook his head. I thought
about telling him about my encounter with the SUV, then thought I
shouldn't burden him right now. That will just have to work itself
out on its own. "I need a drink," Mark finally said.

"Sure. Let me shower." Mark didn't look happy, and all I wanted to
do was hug him.

In the locker room, a similar scene was playing out between Adam and
Brett. Brett had his arms around Adam. I heard him say, "Don't
worry. I love you and I'll always love you."

"First that old man Scott out lifted me, and now Jonny. That twerp
can't be stronger than me. He just can't be," Adam moaned. "Not
after all I've been through. Not again."

"It will be OK," said Brett, hugging Adam.

I went into the shower, giving them their privacy. I was intrigued,
but I knew that that too would play itself out. Eventually. When I
got out of the shower, Adam and Brett were gone.