Walking down the street, a couple weeks ago. Guy on a bike was going down a steep hill. Meanwhile a mother was unpacking her BMW® X5™ Sport Utility Crossover. Both drivers side doors open into the bike lane. She was laying groceries at her feet; pulling out her baby in the plastic safety chair. The guy started screaming. “Watch your FUCKIN doors, CUNT!” He swerved around her. Was going fast. But he stopped. Backtracked a little. This was so he could give her hood a couple solid hammerfists before speeding off.
At the time I thought: what a nut. But now I understand. Now I remember. Because now I got a bike for the first time in ten years. I had forgotten: riding a bike turns you crazy.
You’re cranking up a hill sweating your balls off and your heart is going four beats a second and you feel every cigarette you’ve ever smoked as nails scraping up and down your trachea. And suddenly a ’94 Honda® Odyssey™ in metallic beige cranks a hard unsignaled right right in front of you. Almost clips your wheel. You are so pumped with adrenaline that you just become an animal. You have to chase the driver down. Catch up to them at the light. Gesture for them to roll the window down. Tell them: next time that happens I’m gonna pull you out of your car and stomp your fucking teeth into the curb. Provided, you know, that they’re white or Asian. African American males get to cut me off all they want. Continue reading