Perhaps the smuggest variety of cycling comment piece is the Cyclist reports conversation with non-cyclist about cycling one. I should know, because Ive smugly written quite a lot of them. Its simply because as a group-bonding experience, its as good as it gets.At one end of the spectrum, there are non-cyclists who are impressed, and we can come together to lord it over them. At the other end, there are the openly hostile, whom we can band together to hate. In the middle there is weird stuff, like the day I ran into someone I hadnt seen since the sixth-form. When he heard what Id been doing since he said, Wow. You must have taken absolutely loads of drugs.We can combine outrage with amusement, share an expensive coffee, and agree that we are best. There is no social interaction with a non-cyclist where we dont come out feeling good. The more of a cyclist you are, the better.Ive found an exception. Ive seen myself as others see me.I happen to have a really lovely neighbour. A man in perhaps his mid 70s, always cheerful, always polite, usually gardening. A couple of years ago he was trimming his front hedge as I got back from a ride.Been far? he asked.I started my answer, About nine His eyes widened. teen miles, I finished, swerving away from the truth, which was ninety. I could tell that the real answer was about to genuinely horrify him. I know I was right because the lie nearly knocked him off his feet as it was.The real answer would have catapulted me into a classification of weird neighbour from which Id never recover. Every time he looked at me hed see a strange man with a disorder. He wouldnt necessarily be wrong, but you still dont want looked at that way. For some reason, this time, I cared what he thought. I really wanted him to water my plants when Im away without muttering, Ninety miles!Ive told him a lot more lies since. He asked if Id ever done any racing, and I told him Id done a little but hadnt ever won anything. He asked me how much a Specialized S-Works time trial bike cost, and I told him about 500, because while Im too old to trade in patronising ageism, I still didnt want to give him a coronary.Sometimes the lies have to be vaguer, because theyre not as baldly factual. Getting back on another hedge-cutting afternoon, one of warm sun and gentle breezes, he nodded and said, Beautiful day. Youll have enjoyed that, Im sure.There isnt really a good answer to this. Bear in mind that most people thank a fitness fanatic is someone who goes to the gym twice a week, and add to that that hed seen me as I headed out five hours earlier. So, Yes, loved it, is odd. But, No, I got dehydrated and didnt take enough food and the last two hours were a nightmare, is worse. Its weird to go on a five-hour physical odyssey and enjoy it. Its much weirder to voluntarily undertake a hobby in your spare time and at your own expense that you fail to enjoy in ways that seem highly predictable to outsiders. On such occasions I have to change the subject hedge-cutting technique is usually a winner.For years Ive manged to stay more or less an undercover-oddball. He thought I was a normal man with an only slightly peculiar hobby. Then, last week, I blew it:Is it not about time you got an electric bike? he asked.Dont fancy it, I said without thinking. It would make life a bit too easy.Damnit.