Un-mellow yellow

I wore my plain yellow cycling jacket on a recent leisurely ride down a quiet street near Boston College. Suddenly a young cyclist swooped by in Tour de France leader’s garb (the famous yellow jersey is readily available to fans, just as Red Sox regalia is). He wheeled around, nodded at my jacket, thumped his chest, and said, “This is the yellow jersey!” I laughed so hard I had to stop riding. If passing slow, middle-aged me made that young man feel like Lance Armstrong, I can only smile. Sometimes people who aren’t exactly sharing the love end up making your day anyway.