I bike because it allows me to reach levels of road rage that, frankly, a car just doesn’t offer. A car is so restricting. And people can never hear what your yelling at them when your both in automobiles. A bike puts you out there with the people. Amongst the machines. You can really explain your case about how horrible someone is driving so much easier on a bike than in a car, it’s almost not fair. I mean, if you really wanted to, you could knock on someone’s windshield (Don’t knock on someone’s windshield). I bike like I drive, which is very vocally and downright furious. I believe I always have the right-of-way and when slighted in the least bit, I holler like I’m viewing a mugging. And even better, you get to mess with pedestrians. I mean, they hear everything you say to them, there’s no cars between you at all! It’s awesome.
When I’m on my bike, I cut cars absolutely no slack. Every single driver out there is out to kill me, and I’m there to let them know that I’m not gonna put up with it. I bike on a lot of busy streets that designate a small bike lane next to the parked cars. The second a Goodyear clips a half-inch of white paint designating the bike lane, I yell “Stay in your lane, guy”. If he proceeds to cross that line, I’ll usually inquire louder, “What the fuck are you doing?” Never mind that most of those vehicles are simply taking a right at the intersection or a bus pulling over to pick up passengers, I’m letting them know my strike zone.
About a year ago I was heading down to the lakefront, going pretty fast as I approached a four way intersection. All I had was a guy on my right, but within a split second I concluded that this clown had stopped for way too long and had now forfeited his right-of-way to me. I never thought of hitting my breaks. As I shot through the intersection, he started to pull forward. I quickly reminded him that I was there by yelling “Yoooooooooooooooo” as loud as I could and staring him down. He took a right and caught up to me and told me that I was gonna get hit by a car if I kept riding like that. Fair enough, I thought, that was his honest assessment. “You’re the worst driver I’ve ever seen,” I countered. “Oh, that’s real nice,” he weakly shot back as he drove off. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. Real nice? A bike ride down to the lake during the summer isn’t supposed to be nice. It’s a time for you to get helpful feedback about how horrible you are at things from me.
But the true glory of the spokes is the way you get to talk shit to pedestrians. When I ride, I usually ride along the lakefront. In my mind, it’s meant for bikes. Skateboarders, rollerbladers, couples walking hand-in-hand, dog-walkers, those just coming and going from the lake itself are all just in the way. And I’m sorry if I have to be the bad guy who lets them in on this secret. Whenever any of these dead beats even looks like they’re going to get in my way I sigh as loud as I can and whisper “Jesus Christ.” (By the way, I’m one of the loudest persons I know, and I know a lot of real air raid sirens. Not to mention I have an ipod in my ears that is jacked to it’s top volume. My “whisper” is about the same decibel level of a relatively soft-spoken man yelling fore on a golf course.) Then I pass them and turn back and give them a look like they just said something racist at a company party. Some people have zero clue how ignorantly they walk down a path.
Another one of my big moves is giving parenting advice. Whenever a small child within a fifty foot radius of me gets more than six feet away from their parent’s hand, I’ll toss out, “Watch your kids!” That’s what a young successful couple starting a family needs to hear while they’re enjoying a quiet summer evening on the lake, some scumbag comic who boozes every chance he can giving them hints on how to raise their 20-month old. And I say it with a tone that implies that I’m completely exhausted with having to raise their kids for them. It could only ruin their night. If at least for a little bit.
But my go-to move is the last second left-right quiz. That’s when your trucking up behind some people walking along and when you get directly behind them mumble “On your right.” When they don’t move or move the wrong way, you turn into a kindergarten teacher and shout, “Sorry, I thought you knew your right from your left!” (I don’t care how well you know your right and left, if your given a quiz on the two but only have a quarter-of-a-second to answer it, you will doubt your instincts.) Few things are more pleasurable then having some dissenter mouth off back to you while playing left-right, only to immediately crush their spirit with your truth and wit. In early June, I was riding down a narrow tree-lined path near the lake being taken up by a couple who were barely crawling along. I yelled I was on the right, she moved to her right. I doused the words “Nice job” in sarcasm and spat them out of my mouth. As I continued on she said, “What if I was deaf?” I instantly shot back “Good thing your not.” Now I had her trapped. She couldn’t help herself. She yelled, “How do you know?” I was quite a bit away now cause I was still riding but I screamed as loud as I could, “Cause you just responded to ‘Good thing your not.’ Deaf people wouldn’t do that.” There was a guy biking right next to me and that got a good laugh from him. It says something about my comedy or my biking, or probably both, that I got my best laugh while dealing with a heckler when I was on a mountain bike next to the Lincoln Park zoo.
But I’m not always Lord Biker. Quite the opposite. As a matter of fact, when I get behind the wheel of a car, besides the other drivers and the mindless freaks crossing the street, no one gets under my skin more than these folks in the middle my lane on their bicycles. You wanna lean out the window and say, “Hey lad, we all enjoyed riding our bikes when we were nine. How abouts you join the rest of us adults and learn how to drive a big-boy car.”
