drawthings.wordpress.com

that was, drawthings.wordpress.com

It has been more than a year since my last post. In that year I have recuperated from an injury sustained while cycling, biked over three thousand miles, and been re-injured. The re-injury resulted in shoulder surgery and has me in a sling for six weeks and off the bike at least until April. Shoulders, man!

Check out my drawings on www.wordpress.com/drawthings

Comic Relief

I have not blogged about conflict for a while now because I got knocked off my bike in the city and was injured. I'm still working on that story, so in the meantime please enjoy this cartoon I just drew.

Put Down The Phone

An obese thirtysomething wielding a silver Lexus SUV nearly knocked me off my bicycle on Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard today. That stretch of road has a green path on the right with white spray-painted bike icons (bicons?) every ten yards, but that didn't stop this douche from veering into my lane as if to "peek" around the mass of traffic ahead. Compressed between him & an illegally parked mail truck, I pounded on the side of his car to avoid being crushed. He glanced right and I saw the cellphone on his ear. He jerked back into his lane, then veered out once again. I passed him and made an extra effort not to look in his direction.

Thirty seconds later on Atlantic Avenue he honked incessantly as he pulled up behind me at a busy intersection, courting me with a "what gives?" look; I wheeled up alongside his window.

"You were driving in the bike lane and nearly killed me!" He shrugged and mouthed, "Whatever" in slow motion. I pounded on his window and summoned my menacing face, "I took your fucking license plate number! I'm calling the cops right now! You're fucked!" He locked his doors. Of course I had no idea what his license plate number was. I rhythmically pounded an extended middle finger against his window. Some evidently drunk house painters driving by said, "Punch his hood, man, punch the hood!" I spat on his window instead, and rode off.

Within seconds, I heard a screech, followed by the dopplerized bleat of a speeding, honking car. He blasted past, blew a red light at Hicks, blew a red light at Henry, and came to jerky stop at the base of Atlantic Avenue where crossing traffic blocked his passage. I passed him again and made an extra effort not to look in his direction.

It Was Just a Dream

Do Not React

Get inside. Go on, get in there.

I'm Trying To Save Your Life, Asshole

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."