Jeremiah's School of Levitation

So, I’m going to dress up like Lance Armstrong and ride my bike real slow in the middle of the street, in defiance of the arrogant car-ists who insist upon thinking that just because they can smash us like coat hangers, that they own the road, own the lanes and black on the blacktops, own the left turns, the right turns, the yields and the stops, the yellow stripes, both the dashed ones and the long continuous ones.

Well, the car-ists don’t own the road, but just the things they do as they damage the earth while they are on the road. Yes, the car-ists own the perils of the road. The crushed animals, the heavy dirty exhaust in the air, the noise of horns and carburetors and backfires and thumpy bassy hip-hip on the radios and the buzzing of the trunk’s resonant frequency—these are the things that the car-ist owns. So, in protest, I ride in the middle of their streets and hinder their progress, here in the rain (and, hell, in the damn devil sun too), and I don’t look back and acknowledge them, nor do I move aside in the slightest because I am the biker, and I don’t own the perils of the road—I own the stewardship of the road. I protect the road, I am its keeper. Yes. I have never left the heaving, fatally damaged body of anything on the side of my road. I pollute only with the gasses that my own clean and organic body expels. I raise my hand to alert you, with respect, of my intent to turn left or right. I make only the noise of simple machinery and human breath. I am blessed, you are cursed.

So, to prove my blessedness, I will impede your evil progress. So, proceed around me, or take an alternate route. You of course dare not crush me, though, deep in the lizard part of my mind, I do fear that. Anyway, I will keep you from your horrible duty. I will not be so callous as to allow you any further damage to this road, at least not at any great speed. I am the keeper of the road. Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO own the road. I own the very consciousness of the road.

So, there.

Oh dear. I'm afraid you're not going to like me a whole lot either... and here we've become "blogger buddies" as S. would say.

You see, I'm not a "car-ist"... I'm a "van-er". Much worse a contributor to all-bad road karma and nastiness.

Perhaps you'll be doing a public service good by mounting your two-wheeled charriot of flaming road-rage (i mean that in the nicest way) passion.

Here in Canada you may even be eligible for the Georges P. Vanier award - a public service award named after one late Governor General. (Vanier sounds so much more sophisticated than "vaner", don't you think?)

I drive a car, an old POS (piece of shit) that gets the kids to school and me to work. BUT I'm always nice to cyclists.

(I had to read your post several times, because I couldn't get the image of you in those tight biker shorts outta my head...mmmm..spandex....)

TG: Aw, I like you just fine. I'm a van-ist myself. See, this piece was actually inspired by a biker co-worker who kind of shocked me when he proclaimed that his biking is not only a form of transportation, but a form of protest and that he DELIBERATELY impedes traffic. Cry Freedom! And, by the way, I deleted your deleted comment, just to keep things tidy. And, also, I promise to never use the word "tidy" again.

Mona: Me in spandex or a speedo is a crime. At that sight, women would grab their children and yank them into the house, cats would hiss and rare up their backs, and birds would whoosh from the trees en masse. Yikes.