Thursday, September 6, 2007

Unwinding, Chicago Style

After work each day I have to travel through about five blocks of very heavy after-work traffic to get to the lakeside bike path. Usually people are fine about this; I suspect they see me moving as quickly as I can, and being careful not to make any sudden, un-signaled moves.

Some people, on the other hand, are assholes. You'd think they owned the road; moreover, that they have several lanes doesn't preclude them from thinking that I'm not entitled to using one. Honking and yelling ensues.

Tonight it was a car full of young women, who thought it would be fun to sit behind me and honk, and then pull past me yelling things like "get out of the road!" "get out of the way!"
But see, there's a red light every block, and soon they were frantically rolling up their windows while I rode up to their beeyatch faces.

So for several blocks I volleyed pleasantries such as, "Why not get off your fat ass and walk for a change?"

After the third "get off the road!" I rode up to the car and called through the window, "you want to come out here and make me?" I kid you not that I was dearly hoping one of them would. It had been that kind of day. But none of them was willing to risk her newly gelled hair and plastic fingernails, apparently.

A co-worker who also rides was talking about this problem, and we agreed that we are not queasy about payback. It's war, pure and simple. Because it's still warm and muggy, I'm still riding in Tevas. I'm looking forward to my bike shoes when the weather cools off.

Bike shoes have metal cleats.


SP said...

I am so glad to see that you have finally lost some of that East Coast aggression. The move to the Midwest was really very becoming.

JC said...

I know! How far I've come since I went head-to-head with the gangbanger on the Orange Line, or tried to assault that twinkie at Axis who pushed me off of a platform...

Age has tempered me, and made me gentle.

SP said...

No nothing will stand in your way to follow Margaret Rutherford's steps.