While waiting to turn onto the main road to go to work this morning, I got stuck. Or trapped. Trapped is a better word. I was trapped. It wasn’t by cars, or an accident or even an old lady who couldn’t see over her steering wheel. It was the damn bicycle freaks.
Every time I had a space to pull out, some clown in neon spandex would come flying down the side of the street looking at me like I’m a monster trying to kill him. Which after the first bike clown blocked me, I was OK. After the third one, I was ready to kill him. So I’m stuck here watching these pavement riders and it is turning into monkey rage.
My only thought on this is I am sick of them. There are sidewalks, trails, mountains, paths – all built for biking. The street is for cars. You can be a dirty smelly hippie at work in the morning peeling your spandex off and talking about how invigorating it is to own shorts with butt sweat stains all you want. Tell us how you have freed yourself from the metal cage that consumes evil gas while your sour B.O. wafts in our direction. Just know that everyone fights the urge not to bump you off of the road 24/7.
Tell your friends how having a haircut designed around sweaty helmet hair is so liberating. Share with me how the water bottle on your fanny pack is cheaper than fuel. Bestow upon my mind the concept that the metal bike frame and rubber wheels are so environmentally friendly. Teach me the process of thought that the parkways built by industrial companies with machines and pollution are so green and awesome. Help me get back to nature while you clog up the street lane built by evil corporate planners.
And while these biker clowns pretend that they have rights to the road, the pretend right to drive down the center lane at speeds below the limit, pulling out in front of you, the pretend right to dive in a lane making sure that you can’t get around them; how did they get these perceived rights? If they aren’t buying gas or vehicles or registering a car, why do they deserve to be on the road? That would almost be like not working and expecting the government to pay for you to have the same lifestyle as your neighbor who works full time. . . Oh. Never mind. I get it.