Not all riders mix well. In a given ride the perspective of what is happening will change dramatically based on the surrounding influences and circumstances of the individual ride experience.
Only having my own inner monologue and palette as reference, I have to imagine all others have some similar self-conversation and barrage of images and emotions between their ears during a ride and that their behavior is a response to the particular shade of blue or red that they see.
For example, on an average fast-paced ride my thoughts may look like this-
A Japanese kamikaze is taking heavy fire as he swings the yaw over the horizon and points his gun sight on the deck of a carrier ship.
Scene changes to myself as an old man. Fragile, but riding my three-wheeler to go get the mail/ image changes/ I am eating cat food in the park-
King Kong rises up and spreads his powerful arms, breaking his shackles and roaring in pre-mayhem triumph,
I am standing over the stove, vigorously whisking a roux,
And then I am back. In the woods, on my bike, locked on Wrecking Ball’s wheel, or far out ahead of Mystery and S’quatch. Many minutes have gone by. I remember nothing since passing the last bench, back across the powerlines ages ago.
I try to pay attention, and thus I slow down.
Now I am standing in the sun, soaking wet, dazzled and blind by the sparkling water of a spring. I hear the thump-snap of a watermelon being cracking open
I am an elected official. I am a superhero. My power is turning pedals.
Riders in front of me. Riders behind me. We are somehow together, yet not.