Saturday, September 24, 2011

please don't talk to me.

I got this thing about certain bicyclists who ride in a certain way.  This thing is called I-Hate-You-You-Suck.  I'm not proud of this thing I have but it seems time to own up to it as for whatever reason I encountered a bunch of it this week.

The bicyclists in question are usually mediocre to slow.  If you figure that I am no bicycle racer and only ride about a hundred miles a week and that these are bicyclists I can smoke you get a sense for their performance.  It is not their speed that I loathe, however.  It's their rudeness.  Yes.  Rude.  Plenty of rude cars out there sure but I expect jack shit from cars.  I expect fractionally more from bicyclists and most of the time I get it and when I do not get this tiny bit more of non-rudeness I am not happy.

Situation #1.  I pass one of these on Bryant Street because these guys are (and they are almost always guys)...slow.  I'm going to name this particular guy DB short for Douchebag of course.  Because he's about as useful as a certain feminine hygiene product foisted off on the American female population to stuff up their vaginas . give them yeast infections, dry them out, and generally decrease their pleasure in sex.

The road ahead has a 4-way stop that is just outside of a school.  There are cars at this 4-way waiting and taking turns and crossing the intersection in an orderly manner.  When I get to the intersection I stop also and when it is my turn I continue through the intersection.

DB knows that stopping at intersections where people are waiting is for idiots so he just barrels on through.  "I hate you Douchebag" I think to myself.  "You fuck things up for the rest of us."  He's still behind me because no matter how many people he treats rudely at intersections well, he's still a slow lame bicyclist.

I approach another intersection to a far busier road.  This time I have a stop sign (as does Douchebag) and the cross traffic has the right of way.  I stop at the stop sign.  There are cars coming by so I pause and wait for a good opening in the traffic so I can cross the road and make my left turn and continue on my way.

DB knows that stopping is for pussies so before getting to the stop sign he heads over to the bicycle lane for traffic going in the other direction. Ah yes.  Problem solved.  No need to stop now because there is no immediate need to get across the street  Hopefully no bicyclists will come around the corner but cross that bridge when you come to it.  Just turn left into the bicycle lane.  The bicycle lane that is for people heading in the other direction but whatever, right?

I've now crossed the street in the more usual fashion and am heading up the road in the correct bike lane.

DB works his way out to the middle of the oncoming car lane.  A station wagon swerves around him. Now he is heading diagonally across the next car lane, he's on a collision course with me.  I pick it up (thankfully Douchebag is slow as ever) and he falls in behind me.  But of course red lights mean nothing to the Douchebags of the world so he breezes by me at the first one we encounter.  And the second one.  And (yes really) the third.  Each time I have to pass him because he is so s l o w.

At the fourth red  I want to turn a right but Douchebag (who plans to go straight) is blocking the entire lane.  I gently maneuver around him so I can take a right, and I'm glad I won't see this loser again for awhile at least.  That's when he says it. Or mutters it.  He meets my eye and offers a toad-like smile and says:


My face has the same expression that it takes on when I spot maggots in the compost.  I do not say anything at all.

What I think:

1.  don't talk to me.  Ever.
2.  is that your face or did your neck explode?
3.  you are such a shitty bicyclist.
4.  you are so goddamned rude I almost want to push you off your bicycle and throw it under a car.
5.  see #1

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