BWare

At this point, having biked an average of 2.5k miles per year for the last eight or nine years on city streets, I shouldn’t be surprised that a large fraction of drivers are willing to put my life, limb, health, and their treasure [1] in jeopardy just to get to a red light five seconds faster than they would if they stayed behind me.  Just to sit at a red light, and watch me pull up beside them to give them the finger.  15 seconds?  I can totally understand bunting me off into a curb and sending me into months of rehab if not a wooden box, in order to get to a red light 15 seconds earlier. Texting while driving is a big fine! Hitting a bicyclist probably has no consequences.

Oddly enough, moms with kids late for school are the worst.  I guess they don’t think I’m some mother’s son.  Their metaphoric flesh and blood is more important than my literal blood.

[1] I hereby state that my last will and testament, and final dying wish, should I die on my bike — as I fully expect to, for it is, by far, the most dangerous thing I have ever done — is for someone, anyone, to take the insurance and proceeds from my estate, and spend it suing whoever hits me for the rest of their natural born days [3].  Hopefully it’s a BMW X6 [2]. Take their car, take their house, take their money, take the 401k, take their kids college fund.  Pursue criminal charges.  Put them in FPMITA prison.  Salt the earth. Check the video for evidence.

[2] All BMW drivers are assholes. This is not a statement of prejudice; it is a statement of empirical fact.  If I see a BMW, I know, without fail, I’m about to be cut off.  But with my luck, it’ll be a beat up old Nissan gardening truck. Who won’t stop.

[3]  Or spend it on the dogs and booze.  What do I care, I’m dead.

Oddly enough, people trying to kill me, even without malice, gets my blood all hetted up.