I'm a Janitor, Oh My Genitals

5.1.2016

For the first time in a few years I can bike to work again and I really love it.  For a lot of reasons:  It's a good workout, it keeps you sharp, it shows you just how shitty drivers drive, and you can chat with and be friendly with other bicyclists - and some car drivers, if their windows are open and if they, too, are friendly and chatty.

Most of the time, though, the discourse between a bike rider and a car driver involves one or the other cussing the b-Jesus out of the other for something one of them did and the other did not care at all for.  I gave up on yelling at cars from my bike many years ago when I decided that they would win any altercation whether they were right or wrong because they had twice as many wheels as me and literally tons of metal they could weaponize.

There are lots and lots of dedicated, striped bike lanes these days.  I don't remember a single one in Chicago or San Francisco and I rode for many years in both of those Championship Cities.  My route to work has a couple, and one of them ... well ... "ends" for a bit, then picks up a lane over to the left of where it was.  This is to let those turning right at the approaching cross street enter the right turn lane that takes over for the parking and bike lanes.  You gotta dodge some cars and Frogger over to the bike lane, and this leads to some driver anger and biker angst, but since the signal is usually red, and because there's no turn on red, and that  there are a quarter-million cars already stopped at the red, nobody but the bikes are moving.

Some days there are lots of bikes in the bike lane.  It's nice to see the variety of people that ride in them.  Some, like me, are clearly off to work or school.  A backpack and some safety gear reveal their purpose.  Some are headed to the beach.  An attached surf board, wet suit or bathing trunks, bikini or whatever give them away.  That and no safety gear whatsoever.  Some are in full kit as if on a team - and many likely are - and are warming up, warming down or already cookin'.

I spied the latter a few blocks ahead of me a day or two back.  He was on a skinny bike (12-speed road bike with skinny tires) and had tight-fitting spandex clothes, bike shorts, a team shirt festooned with logos, SPD shoes and such.  I saw all of this when I got closer, and I got closer in part because I go fast and in part because he was doing a lot of screaming and gesturing to a car.  I caught up to him at a red light, and noticed that he was wearing star-spangled socks, was grey-bearded and was yelling obscenities at and making lewd and obscene gestures at a car.  In a moment I realized he wasn't yelling at "a" car, because he then cussed-out the cars going through the intersection.

"Fuck you, Gasoline!  Gas KILLS!  Fuck you all!"

A car tried a left turn and oncoming traffiic honked.

"SEE?  SEE?  FUCK YOU CARS!  FUCK YOU ALL!"

Whoa.  This guy was raging against the whole burrito.  I noticed a small child in the car that - when I pulled up - he was originally swearing and gesturing at.  Ugh.

The light turned green and I let skinny angry man go first.  He started out and flipped-off the cars that had stopped for the light.  He really didn't hold back from giving the finger to any car.  We went along for a while and I decided he was going too slow (and he was a liability), so I decided to put on the jets and leave him to his rage.

I pushed the big ring, and as I passed him, he ...

... held his hand on my side down in an inverted, two-fingered "peace sign," signalling solidarity with two-wheeled brothers and sisters, and said, in a low voice, "have a good ride."


Tonight - Pop's
(by request - SF's only 13 hr Happy Hour)

bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!