In the world of online racing, I’ve come to accept that I’m “that guy.” You know the one— the racer who throws off the vibe, disrupts the flow, and makes the chat turn from playful banter to passive-aggressive remarks. Yes, I am that person, and for those of you who’ve crossed paths with me in a virtual race, you’ve likely been frustrated by my antics.
Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not a cheat. My profile doesn’t claim that I weigh 25kg or stand one meter tall. However, when it comes to online racing, I have a tendency to be, well, an annoyance. While there are racers out there genuinely focused on securing victory, I can’t quite bring myself to take online racing that seriously. For me, it’s a workout— and the primary goal of a workout is to, well, work.
To this end, I’m known for my unpredictable and often frustrating tactics. I launch wild attacks at the least opportune times. I’ll push the pace on a small hill before the real climb, only to be dropped when the serious climbing begins, usually dragging a few others with me. The result? People quickly learn not to trust me and avoid following my erratic moves.
But perhaps the most irritating move of all is my “repeat offender” strategy: I’ll attack, create a gap, and then drop back to the bunch, only to repeat the process again a few kilometers later. This often leaves anyone who tries to chase me out on their own, stranded in a position that looks like the beginning of a race-winning breakaway, but turns out to be a cruel trap.
In essence, I’m “that guy” from your local club run—except now, thanks to the global reach of the internet, I can piss you off from multiple time zones away. Yes, my reach extends far beyond the confines of my home turf.
I feel the need to clarify something here: there’s a distinct difference between racing poorly and racing like an idiot. The former involves putting in your best effort and simply falling short, while the latter involves intentionally racing with an agenda that doesn’t align with the rest of the group’s intentions. It’s easy to confuse the two, but they’re worlds apart.
This sort of behavior isn’t exclusive to online racing. In fact, my friend Bernard employed this same “idiot” approach in real-life racing. His strategy, based on Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, wasn’t to aim for victory in the conventional sense, but to do the thing his competitors least expected. To put it simply, Bernard’s philosophy was that the best tactic wasn’t necessarily the one most likely to lead to victory—just the one your opponents hated most.
Naturally, Bernard’s “genius” tactics rarely paid off. He often got beaten by racers who took a more traditional approach, focusing on what was likely to lead to success. Yet, Bernard would always claim the moral high ground. I couldn’t help but remind him, “Bernie, Sun Tzu never actually won a race.” (None, Bernie. He won none.)
But it’s not just the amateurs who indulge in this type of racing. I’ve witnessed it from some of the best in the sport. Take, for instance, an unforgettable criterium race I did at the Hillingdon Circuit in West London, where Sir Bradley Wiggins was among the riders. The group buzzed with admiration for his tactical brilliance. “You just never know what he’s going to do next,” one teammate remarked. “He’s so unpredictable.”
But here’s the thing: I quickly realized that Wiggins was attacking every five minutes—like clockwork—going clear, then sitting up. It became clear he was simply doing intervals while everyone else did the work. He wasn’t racing with the same goal as the rest of us. Eventually, with a few laps to go, I decided to go with him. After all, I knew exactly when his next move would come. As expected, he pulled me up the road and sat up again, at which point I made my move and went on to win.
In this case, I was racing like an idiot, too. But I like to think of myself as a super-idiot in this instance. While I can proudly say I beat Wiggins in a crit, I never fail to mention that he played a significant role in my victory. After all, he helped me win, and I’m sure that was exactly what he intended.
So, while I may be “that guy” in virtual racing—throwing off the group dynamic and irritating the competition—there’s a certain charm in this chaos. After all, when it comes to racing like an idiot, the line between strategy and absurdity is often thinner than it seems.
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