Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Can't We All Just Ride Along?

I swear, I'm going to run one of them over, and when I do, the motorists of this city will erect a statue in my honor.

I love biking, really. I have a bicycle, it's fun, it gets me from point A to point B. Yay. And there are lots of fine bike riders around here who wear their helmets, stay in the biking lane (and there are plenty of biking lanes here), stop at lights, and signal their turns.

Then there are the shitty bikers. Some are the Don't-Give-A-Crap bike messengers, some think they're making a save-the-environment political statement, and some are just assholes.

They're all the ones I'm going to grind into the pavement.

There is one group that makes a bold demonstration of power once a month or so, at midnight. They ride in a massive pack through the biggest streets and they go out of their way to be obstructive. Last week, one of the dirty little pinheads chose to hold onto my bumper for a bit. No way dude, I'm not going to help you be a dick. So I "tapped" my brakes. He didn't fall, but he was outraged by my show of defiance to his show of defiance.

He and some of his pals slowed down in front of me, keeping me at a crawl for the rest of my ride home.


Like I said, they're really bold making this mass street blockage at midnight. It was me and 100 smelly, greasy hippie wannabees. I could have wiped a lot of them out with one quick movement of the gas pedal. I chose not to... that night. I'd like to see them try it when there are more than just two cars on the streets. Let's see their bravery while the union guys here are driving to their jobs.

Today on my way to work, a grungy dirt bike rider was weaving in and out of traffic. The car in front of me came to a red light. In this city, red means stop, and the driver did just that.

The sudden decision to follow, not just the law, but one of society's most basic norms, came as a total shock to Quicksilver (click on the link for the obscure Kevin Bacon biking reference). He slammed into the back of the car, and then went ballistic.

For the next several blocks he went out of his way to slow traffic and to get within yelling range of the driver, all the while, his baggy pants flapping in the wind.

Bikers of the world, what's your problem? You ride, I drive. I give you your space, why won't you give me and the other cars ours?

Anyway, if you find a pile of spokes, gears and chains, surrounding lots of cruddy helmetless bikers, you'll know where to find me, I'll be posing for my statue.

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