So my wife had some short errands she wanted to run tonight, and she needed her trusty pack mule - me - to run them. We bundled up, took down our bikes from our rack, switched on our lights, and were off. There was a raw chill skittering the wet fallen leaves before us and wavering the half-barren tree branches up above. As we approached the first main intersection, I was up ahead and had a green light to continue through. I noticed that the 'don't walk' orange light had just started flashing, and also that the oncoming SUV was looking to make a left turn right across my path. So I slowed enough to let him make the turn easily.
Which is when things got a bit dicey.
Because of course there was a white pickup truck immediately behind him who was insistent on making the same turn. I saw him and accounted for him as I slowed, but he of course didn't do me the same courtesy - he didn't see me at all, and once he did, he slammed on his brakes in a (entirely unnecessary) panic stop.
As I continued through the intersection, I took it a step further that I should have. I saw his window was down, so I was able to look him in the eye, raise my index finger to my own face, and clearly say "You gotta look first, man."
To which he responded, "Fuck you, you bitch."
I stopped my bike, took my feet off the pedals in the middle of the intersection, and with a rising fury and a louder voice said, "I'm just saying you gotta look before you turn!"
His answer: "Shut the fuck up, you little bitch."
At this point I'm standing over my top tube twisting backwards at the truck which had made his turn but was stopped in the middle of the lane with the driver leaning out his window yelling obscenities at me. My wife was on the other side of the street behind us trying to figure out what was going on. I crossed the street, got off my bike, walked towards the truck, and with the last bit of reserve I had I tried to reason that "I got the right of way here, just because you don't know what's right doesn't mean you don't have to look!" At the top of my lungs, but still.
Predictably, I got "Shut the fuck up, you stupid fuck" in return as he sped off.
At least I was able to look the coward in the eye the whole time. What else was left to do? I went back to my bike and got back astride her, and waited for the light to change so my wife could rejoin me and we could run our errands.
I have to confess, I've been in this situation before. Anybody who's ridden in a big city for any real amount of time has been there. You're wronged, you take umbrage, things escalate, adrenaline flows and tempers flare. And then all bets are off. I've chased down cars for blocks that almost right-hooked me. I've gotten into fully-fledged screaming matches with drivers who've cut me off. I've slammed the heel of my fist onto taxicab hoods, slapped delivery van mirrors, dropped my bike in the middle of the bike lane to storm back and get in the face of someone who had almost doored me, yeah, I've about done it all.
Not this time, though. Maybe I've gotten a touch more reasonable. Maybe it's because Jessie was there and I didn't want her to see me like that. Maybe I'm just older and I know I would only make things worse. I still can't abide with being called that, though. As old and mature as I may get to be, the day I accept being called a little bitch is the day I become just that. Here's what I wish happened: I wish I could have kept walking towards the stopped truck and motioned for him to pull over and talk to me man to man. We could've both calmed down and talked to each other like human beings. Of course, he may have pulled out a tire iron and we could have killed each other in the street like a pair of rabid dogs. I don't know.
What would you have done?
My entire life, I've always gone out of my way to be non-confrontational, sometimes to a fault (I'm better than I used to be...a hell of a lot better). I noticed that I found myself worked up with anger over slow pedestrians, cell-phone enthusiasts, and sidewalk cyclists when I was running this summer. However, given my nature, I merely offered exaggerated head shakes as I ran past them. My only near run-in was my own fault, since I was running too close to a building and nearly plowed into a woman coming out of her door. In that case, I stopped and apologized. I guess my point is that mutual understandings in such situations are rare, but nice. Be careful out there, Paul. A tire iron could easily be a knife or a gun. I'd much rather be called a little bitch than get stabbed.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the thoughtful reply, Yates. I know that things can escalate quickly, and I know that things can get straight-up batshit out of the gate. I try to keep at least a tenuous calm in the worst situations, but having some prick calling you out from the safety of a motorized rolling steel cage brings out the worst in me. Add to that the fact that the same prick started the whole thing by nearly killing you out of his own carelessness, and well...
ReplyDeleteYou know what? Good points all. When I was writing my comment, I seemed to have missed the point about the potential for you being hit by the guy's car, plus his rants from the safety of his vehicle. With those points in consideration, disregard my comment about "mutual understandings." You can't do that with pricks.
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