I'm sure that with Kirstie being a girlie his male hormones (and ego) were raging.
I was out last Autumn one dreary damp morning and feeling so depressed I was about to pack and turn for home. Then I saw a rider ahead who could only be going a long way in the same direction (long road!) so decided to catch him up. Caught up and realised he was a her, very fit and about my age, with a chopped off water bottle stuffed with her spare tube, tyre levers and a multti tool. We got chatting and the miles suddenly became a lot more bearable. Turned out that while I was a little faster than her generally, she was faster up hills. We got to my habitual cafe stop and I wasn't sure what to say - I was worried that an invitation to a coffee might have seemed a bit forward (she was married) but she might have wanted to stop too so I just announced that I was stopping for my morning coffee and she replied something like "OK, see you around, thanks for the company". It really does make the miles more pleasant having some conversation.
When I must have been about five I was traumatised by a cyclist - I can remember it clearly. I was mucking around in the front garden, we lived on a slight hill and suddenly I heard this awful groaning sound like a wounded cow. Looked up and an elderly man on a bike came up the hill, I can see the khaki shorts, shirt and tie now as well as his scrawny sinewey legs and straining muscles. He was twisted in a posture of agony and bellowing with each pedal stroke; I was so frightened that I ran indoors. Never forgotten that. Maybe he was riding an early Brooks saddle and with the baggy shorts he had trapped his knackers in the spring and couldn't get off the bike?