Thursday, August 26, 2004

Contrary to what you may have inferred from yesterday’s post, gentle reader, not a single biker has tasted my fender yet. It’s my hope that this peaceful state of locomotion will continue, of course, though my eviler side often wishes otherwise. At the core of the problem is the commute, the horrendous ritual that sometimes seems as bad as the destination itself.

Maybe you have a long commute or, like me, perhaps you have a short commute, in which case you’d be more amenable to this discussion. My commute spans a grand total of 12 minutes, but those few minutes contain an eternity of aggravation. Here’s my question: why do biking enthusiasts–you know, the ones that don biker shorts and colorful shirts–insist on biking during rush hour? Don’t they have jobs themselves? And why do they insist on taking up entire lanes?

Now, I understand that sidewalks are for pedestrians, but where the hell are the pedestrians? Hey, I know! They must all be INVISIBLE! Or perhaps they’re hiding at work. In a perfect world, segregation would manifest itself as the perfect solution to this problem: bike paths would stretch as far as the eye can see, allowing diehard bikers to whiz around freely as others return from gainful employment. I would support that in a heartbeat. But is biking really an inalienable right? You’ve probably heard how bikers often congregate in swarms and “protest” in major metropolises by gumming up traffic during rush hour. Yeah, I bet that’s what Gandhi would do if he had a Schwinn.

Because, guy in stretchy shorts, at the end of the day this is just a hobby. You don’t see Tony Hawk skateboarding down the highway at 5:13 PM. Sure, biking is sometimes a necessity, and I’ve used my bike ad nauseum for chores and classes, but I made sure to stay the hell off the road or, at the very least, near the curb. This isn’t the Tour de France, after all, nor do you resemble Lance Armstrong. It’s actually the Tour de Chicago, and I’m competing in a four-door sedan that could kill you in an instant.

Are you riled up yet, dear reader? I know I am. Time to go out for a drive.