Friday, September 25, 2009
How Many Lives I Got? Or WTF?
Here I go!
On my commute home the other night, I counted five close calls—that is, five near misses with motorists almost taking me out. The first, Gentle Readers of This Blog, occurred not while on the bike, but while walking to the parking garage where my bike locker resides. A nurse came speeding from the roof of the parking garage, the second floor, and almost ran over me in the crosswalk. I kid you not when I tell you she was texting on her blackberry. She did not have her hands on the wheel of her car, and she was completely focused on the device she had in her grasp. She only glanced up to place one hand on the wheel and then turn onto the street. She ran the stop sign going out of the parking garage, and then the next stop sign on the way to the entrance/exit of the San. She did not even slow for a moment.
Early morning, heading down from Pusch Ridge to glide into the Desert San, and the office.
This is the second time I’ve almost been hit at the parking garage. The drivers, both times, where nurses working here at the hospital. Both times, they came speeding out of no-where at the crosswalks—WTF is it with these people?
I’ll cut to the chase and not waste your time, mes amis, cause I’m rantin’… Only a mile from my final destination, I must make a right turn at the stop light (notice I said stop light) at Ina and Shannon—the convergence of two busy streets. While coming down Ina in the bike lane, and signaling with my left arm in the classic right turn signal, a fucktard—looking me straight in the fucking eye, suddenly pulled from the entrance of the gas station/convenience store at the corner, right in front of me—and then hesitated and stopped in the wide bike lane. All traffic was stopped—another driver had given him some space to pull into when the light would change to green—but fucktard waited until I was almost ready to ride by him to pull out to try and squeeze into that space. WTF? I had to slam on my brakes almost toppling over the hood of his car. I screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT, DUDE?” He just gave me a dirty fucktard scowl.
Cruising on down the road, I’m thinking what is up with everyone? I mean, its one thing to kind of stop and roll through a stop sign or pull out into traffic—cautiously—but to not look or pay any attention, with complete disregard and oblivion—that is dangerous for everybody.
When I hear some idiot complain that bike riders never stop at signs and break all the traffic rules—I am going to tell them to their chubbly lil faces to go FUCKTHEMSEVLES.
Anyway, I noticed that my average speed for the 16 miles home was 18 mph. That is pretty God Damn fast, My Bitches.
Long Live the Brotherhood!