I rode home tonight in a strong thunderstorm. Each raindrop was a fluid ounce. Traction and visibility were out of the question. The bike lane, a place that begs—and renders—constant hazard, is especially dangerous in conditions like this. Motorists are agitated, and they keep whipping in and out of the protected lane, as if to peek around gridlock traffic. Some even squeeze through and speed past their less audacious counterparts. There were big dirty raindrops in my eyes and I couldn't help but feel a little endangered. One car barged in, braking inches from my revolving shins. I shouted. The window rolled down and a kind-eyed older man said, with apparent remorse, "I'm sorry!" I glared. I think I said, "You're gonna kill somebody," or some PG admonition like that (I have tried to stopped cursing on the road) and rode on. He yelled after me, over the din of the rain and traffic, a vitriolic "Fuck You!" His mock remorse didn't instantly earn him a pardon, so he gave it up and reverted back to blind rage.It reminded me of a story I just read about an off-duty firefighter who shot a cyclist in the head because he thought the biker was endangering himself. Amazingly the victim was unharmed (wear your helmets, kids).
I think the message here is, "If you don't acknowledge I'm looking out for your best interests, I'm going to kill you."
No comments:
Post a Comment