OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to the Guy who Told me to Ride my Bike on the F***ng Sidewalk
The blame game between truck-drivers and cyclists is over. Sort of.
Dear driver of the blue F-250,
Have you even seen the sidewalks around here? They’re craters. I’d pop my tire. I’d get hit by someone backing out of their driveway. Or worse — I’d have to ride really, really slow. Besides, a sidewalk is for walking. I’m on a road bike, which is for riding on…the roads.
You got the wrong guy; I’m not like the other cyclists. Those ass-waxed, bronze-tanned, old white dudes in their wasp-yellow, circulation-cutting jumpsuits jetting down the middle of a state route when the bike trail is literally ten feet away. That isn’t me! I also day dream of hitting them with my car.
I get it though; we’re lumped into groups we might not even belong to. You think I’m an arrogant prick because of my vehicle. I think you’re a backwards fat-ass because of yours.
Even though I came up with some really good comebacks in the shower later that night, I know that it’s the city planners I should be mad at. It’s their fault we can’t walk around the place we live. It’s Them you should be maniacally cussing at.
Then again, the city planners have to follow an American tradition — big, fast lanes for big, fast cars. We should be mad at America itself. America came from Europe. It’s the western European philosophies of city planning that’s at fault. Wait — no. Europe has roads with real bike lanes.
Let’s just stay pissed at the city planners.
Thing is, we don‘t know who these people are, let alone where to find them. They probably don’t even live here! I only see you and drivers like you — those who’d rather risk paralyzing some health-conscious person having fun than wait the three seconds at the stop sign they’ll be at anyways.
Until the people help plan the cities they actually live in, I’ll keep taking up the whole lane when you tailgate me uphill. And when you rev your Hemmy past me and bark our some slurs, I’ll smile that arrogant biker smile that says “I’m healthier and more aware than you,” — the only defense one has on a thin piece of aluminum when their life is threatened by someone in a 4,000 lb. machine.
But when we get into our showers at night, let’s think about the city planners, okay? Let’s rehearse what we’d tell those slimy bastard if we saw them on the roads.
It isn’t me. It’s Them.
And you’re with Them.
Smugly,
Your Local Cyclist
