Beware The Bicycles

This may seem like nothing to you (if there are any of you), but it’s my blog and I’ll blog if I want to…blog if I want to.

Today, for the third time in the last month I was almost run down by a human on a bicycle rampaging through the downtown streets of Boston paying no attention to me, the signs, or the law. One of them gave me the finger when I jumped back. Not messengers working, just folks out cruising for the exercise and pleasure of it all. I wasn’t crossing illegally, or in the middle of the street, honestly. I have also been witness to at least two near misses of others.

Wait before you assume anything: I’m a big supporter of fresh air, the healthier lifestyle and especially no gas guzzling or pollution. In fact, when I moved into the city several years ago, after a lengthy stay in a quieter place on the ocean up north, I donated my car to a charity and for the first time since I was 16 have been walking or taking rapid transit (the “T” here) or (god help me) busses when necessary. So someone who talks to me about riding a bike instead of driving has had my regards, my support, and until recently my good will.

But now: they, these killers on two wheels, ride swiftly alongside the autos in traffic, an ipod growing from their heads. These are the ones who don’t wear helmets or any kind of protective gear. They ignore stop signs or red lights. They should have smiley face t-shirts that say, No Stopping! If there is a sufficient crowd at the corner, they will sometimes slow down coming to the intersection, which at first I thought was a small nod to rudimentary courtesy; now I am sure it is so they can try to aim at me more accurately.

They often swerve suddenly to make unannounced left or right turns, and more than once I have witnessed them moving along unconcerned, going the wrong way on a one-way street.

They most often stay hidden in the far left or far right lane, obscure until the last second from view. If you happen to be crossing from the opposite side you might only feel the wisp of a breeze as they zoom on by, missing making contact by a millimeter.

They are silent like a stealth weapon there on the streets of the city. Neither they nor their Schwin’s (or whatever the hell these days) make a sound. The better to drive over your head with a minimum of fuss or noise, and then be on their way without missing one second of a song on their ‘pod. At night they wear no marked clothing, have no lights. These tree hugging mean bastards.

“Hey old dude,” I swear they say, as they pedal triumphantly and swiftly out of sight toward their next unsuspecting target, “ I got the fresh air to breathe, the legs to pump up, the lungs to purify, the places to go. Drive a car if you want to get around, or get a guide dog if gotta’ walk and you can’t handle the pressure on your own. Or best of all, just stay home and watch Oprah. ”