Life in the Bike Lane: Rock up!

Several years ago, when I was brand new to bike riding, I traveled to San Luis Obispo to visit my sister. I took my bike with me (my first road bike, a Bianchi Eros) to allow me to take a couple of rides in my former hometown. My sister arranged for me to ride with some friends of hers and a rendezvous was set up for one early morning, meeting in the Food 4 Less parking lot. I had not met the folks with whom I would be riding, but had no trouble identifying them. Two bikes, one tandem and four people dressed in bright cycling clothes was a dead giveaway. "Have you ever ridden in pace line?" I was asked. "No, not really," I answered. "No, not really" means "No, I haven't," but leaves the slight possibility I might at least know what he's talking about. "OK, we'll put Steve in front (because he's the strongest rider), then the two singles, the tandem, then you. You can just hang on the back." "Just hang on" sounded a bit ominous. For those of you who have not ridden in a pace line, typically, the lead rider pulls everyone along (drafting) either until he gets tired or for a specific period of time. He or she then pulls to the side and drifts to the back, letting the next rider take over. This allows the group to go faster while conserving energy. Much of our route was suburban, so "going faster" wasn't always the goal. After several minutes, we were cruising along and I'm feeling like I'm doing well, or at least doing what I was supposed to do, which was to hang on the back. "Rock up!" the leader yelled. I had no idea what that meant, obviously cycling jargon I hadn't heard, being new to cycling and all. But it sounded like we were going to pick up speed or increase effort. Whatever it was, I did it. I was still hanging on the back like I was 'sposed to. A while later, the leader yelled "Truck up!" Another mystery term for me. It probably had something to do with keeping on truckin', keep our pace constant or something like that. But I was still hanging on. Finally, we found ourselves heading past Avila Beach toward Avila Harbor. "Bus up!" OK, I could "bus up" with the best of them, if I knew what it meant. I survived the rocking and trucking, so I can do this. I looked up ahead and saw a school bus making a U-turn, forcing us to slow down a bit. Oh. Bus up. Rock up. Truck up. It's like an NY Times Connections game. What do these words have in common? They are potential obstacles in the road for a cyclist. The lead rider was warning the rest of us of danger up ahead. If he had the chance to say, "Dead skunk up!" I probably would have gotten it quicker. I laughed at my naivete and was thankful I hadn't said anything or asked a stupid question. Of course, since then I have yelled "Rock up" or "Dead skunk up" or "Car back" or "Car right" thousands of times. It's part of being safer on the road. But on one day some 22 years ago, it was all a mystery to me.