Love Letters

 

Getting real tired of your shit, motorists. 

Why do people become arrogant and borderline-homicidal when they get behind the wheel? It’s like Death Race 2000 out there. I’m talking to you, person who looks me right in the eye as they speed up to blast through a yield sign that I’m just starting across. I’m also looking at you, person who apparently thinks it’s giggle-worthy to sidle just a little way into the bike line right in front of me, or who passes within a few inches of my left knee. Is that what turns your crank, to feel like you’ve got some life-or-death power because you’re driving and I’m bicycling? Or yelling lame crap out the window as you speed by, thinking that makes you superior or something? Hah, you must be a real winner when you’re not safe in your great big metal box, Sparky!

“Damn bikes need to stay in the bike lane,” you may whine. Yeah, right… just a couple of wee little issues there. Bike lanes randomly appear and disappear along Chico’s streets; when they are present, they’re also populated with parked cars, leaf piles, Christmas trees, broken glass, etc. I’d love to see drivers handle roads in that condition. Aww, your tire hit a big nasty pothole? That’s adorable. Try navigating around a still-juicy dead cat while avoiding cars (both moving and stationary), single shoes, and busted beer bottles, in a three-foot-wide lane, with little to no physical protection. Yeah, pretty sure it’s not bicyclists who are the “weak” ones in this conversation.

Getting real tired of your shit, bicyclists. 

Okay, seriously. What is the irresistible attraction to wearing black at night? Acquire a light or three. Wear light or reflective clothing. Stick to the side of the road—on the RIGHT side, genius—and quit randomly weaving in and out of traffic like a squirrel with a Bumble Ball up its ass. The day draws ever closer when I’m just not going to swerve when some two-wheeled idiot glides in front of me out of nowhere, confident in their litigious safety. Someday it may be worth it to just deal with the lawsuit—and the satisfaction of removing a chucklehead from the gene pool—rather than go through cardiac rehab. And while I’ve got your attention: when you’re on a bike, you’re a vehicle too, which means—holy crap! Stop signs apply to you! Can you conduct yourselves accordingly? I know you can.

As for the self-righteous contingent of the jerkwad bicyclist tribe—the Lance Armstrong wannabes and the crunchy “look at us reducing our carbon footprint” types—you need to get over yourselves. Like yesterday. Yes, you’re so very healthy; congratulations! And taking up nearly all of the road by riding three abreast or sauntering leisurely across an intersection while glaring at drivers contribute to your cause HOW, exactly? Trust me, sweeties, you’re not that precious.

Wake up, share the road, and quit being dicks. Both of you. 

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Mona Treme sees a lot of evidence that [insert deity’s name here] has a sense of humor, and not just in the mirror.

Comments

  1. Steve Graydon says:

    Thank you.
    After years on the road, and all the infuriating experiences that come with the time, I think your ‘Love Letters’ was right on point. Bikes are great, and it takes some intestinal fortitude to go head (helmet) to head (bumper) on a daily basis with people who might actually hate you because of your transportation. But on the converse, some pedalers need to transfer some of the air in their head to their tires.
    No one is saintly, and if empathy was possible on the anonymous road, we would all be a little less stressed between points A and B.
    Best, please keep them coming.
    Steve Graydon