the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

It's a simple rule. Why does it escape so many homicidal maniacs?

Travis and I went for a short bike ride* yesterday. We've been slugs for the last three months, if not more, and we were both jonesing for a good aerobic burst. OK. I was. Travis just loves to ride somewhere and check out the scenery. I'm the adrenaline addict. There. I came clean.

* But at a good clip. We did 25 miles in 110 minutes.

We wear cold weather gear along with helmets, of course. I wear a reflective, quite visible jacket; Travis wears a visibility vest. We plan our rides to avoid traffic as much as possible, to use roads with shoulders, and/or use roads with reasonably slow traffic.* We also use hand signals, even when there's no one around.

* HAHAHAhahahahaha snort. OK. Reasonably low speed limits.

We live in the boonies, though. This means we must either put our gear in the truck and drive into town, or ride from where we are, more or less. The roads nearby are quite popular bicycling routes, even though the automobile traffic on them can be a bit scary, particularly because they are two-lane roads (usually) with no shoulders. Plus, loading the bikes up is a hassle. So we will ride from home if we can.

Yesterday, we took the bikes to where the pavement begins* and struck out for Falcon. Most of Meridian (Ave? St? Rd?) is paved with two lanes, no shoulders. However, the visibility is good so riding on this stretch of highway is fairly safe.

* That is, being interpreted, to where the roads were plowed and are now ice-free.

The catch is, driver's licenses are issued to all who pass a driver's test,* even if they aren't the brightest bulbs in the box. I figure that at least one in every twenty vehicles that passes me is being driven by a person who is passively stupid regarding bicycles' right to the road (that was the question they missed), and/or they're actively antagonistic toward bicycles because they think we don't pay road taxes or somesuch drivel.

* Which is just about as disturbing as the fact that even students who barely pass the medical exam get the same license to practice medicine as those who pass with flying colors.

Some will honk. Now. If I'm on a two-lane road and you come up behind me and want to make sure I see you, tap the horn. That's fine. It's even courteous. However. If I am in a turn lane (because--stop me if I lose you here--I need to turn), and you lay on the horn not once, but two or more times, all the while revving your engine and shouting things I cannot hear but which I imagine you wouldn't utter in front of your mama, I suspect that you are not only ignorant of the law, but a jackass to boot.

I'm on a bicycle, yes. I move slower than you in your one-ton machine, yes. But I have a right to the road, just like construction equipment does. Got it?

Yesterday (I keep coming back to this story without finishing it, which means I write pretty much like I talk*), we had picked up a couple of items and were biking back along Meridian (Blvd? Path? Goat trail?) where there were four lanes and a turning lane. In this case--particularly when I'm riding with another person--I'll more or less claim a lane. If you don't do this, see...I mean, if you ride on the extreme right edge of your lane, most of the cars out there will think there's room enough in the lane for both of you. There is not.

* Mother got so frustrated with my meandering attempts to tell a story when I was about 11 that she blatantly told me that I was a poor storyteller. Wait. No. She just said I couldn't tell a story. I still have this effect on people who want to know what happens in the end, even if it means skipping all the interesting details. So for the record: People, to me, the fun of stories is in the details. It's the journey that counts. OK? It isn't The Almighty Punchline. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Anyway. I was riding more toward the center of the lane and Travis was slightly behind me to the right. Cars were passing us nicely in the left lane. No problem. Right? No. Someone screeched to a halt behind us and pulled onto the shoulder. I know, because I looked back and saw this person gesturing in our general direction and driving slowing behind us on said shoulder.

The shoulder* had just begun, and I hadn't seen it yet. Had the person, say, remained behind me or politely pulled around, I'd have had no problem pulling onto the shoulder. Instead, the driver was aggressive and rude, so I...yeah...I was passive aggressive. I figured the person was already slow enough at that point that I wasn't in any danger (after she put a spot in her front seat, I mean), and Colorado law allows cycling in the lane when the reasonable flow of traffic is not impeded--which it wasn't--so I continued peddling where I was until she finally got the hint and pulled off the shoulder and into the passing lane like a good, housebroken little driver. She made a gesture or two as she passed me which suggested I make certain changes to my sex life.**

* Shoulders have their dangers, too, and Colorado law takes that into account. They usually become turning and merging lanes, which not only creates a headache for the cyclist, but confuses drivers. They can't tell what I'm planning to do. They also collect tons of debris, which is quite dangerous to me, so I don't always use them, even when they are there.

** Where I come from, offering unsoliticited sexual advice is a bit rude, particularly when we haven't been properly introduced. So if you're one of those drivers, do me a favor: if you wish to make intimate suggestions to me based upon your lack of knowledge of the law and attention to the road--which defies logic, but who am I to buck the trend?--please pull over and introduce yourself first. Thanks.

I know. I know. If I continue to be passive aggressive and claim my right to the road with one-ton boxes of low-flying metal, I'll eventually lose, no matter what the law says. This is true. I'm usually quite polite and take pains to be courteous to drivers around me, no matter what I'm driving or riding. I just reserve the right to make exceptions when people need correction. I guess I'm hoping they'll go home to their spouses ranting about it, and the spouse will find a gentle way to point out that they were wrong.

It's a long shot, true. But I can dream, can't I?

d