"Then he turns to me and says something like I was scaring the shit out of him coming on his inside. I told him I was doing that for a couple reasons. One, he was riding orange Maxxis clinchers in the rain. That in itself would justify it."
I kinda wanted to say something like “accomplished older racer considers remainder of humanity untrustworthy bike handlers—drink!” But Tilford’s gift for blunt anecdote and compelling crustiness make this an entirely decent bit of grump.