Set off for the pub last night, and had ridden about half a mile when I met whole herd of mountain bikers coming the other way - and not one of the miserable buggers smiled, nodded or gave me the time of day (despite me doing all three, sometimes simultaneously) . The only one to acknowledge I was even there was some woman who scooted out of the way as she was cycling on the wrong side of the road.
I then cycled a couple of miles further and met a couple out for a wobbly ride with their young daughter - the woman gave me a smile, and the bloke said 'evening' (the daughter just wobbled a bit more).
It seemed like enjoyment of the hobby had some sort of inverse relationship to the amount of lycra, gore-tex, and general massively-over-biked-ness-for-a-pootle-along-the-bridle-way they felt the need to exhibit.
Still, three pints, a Chinese, and midnight ride home across the fields with failing lights and bats flitting around my head cheered me right up again.