Today I saw John Hinckley Jr. riding a recumbent slowly on Malden Ave East near Safeway, he had an orange flag and all, Travis Bickle was tearing shit up on a BMX not far behind hitting all the curbs and the root popped sidewalks, catching big air. Hinckley’s parents and older brother were driving like tourists a half a block back in what was obviously a rental car and I think Neil Bush was in the car too. I gave them a half ass thumbs up. Then later on, on Warren Ave North I spotted Thomas Dolby on a tricycle with Miss Sakamoto standing on the back, her hands on his shoulders and good heavens let me tell you she was beautiful, they asked me how to find the Space Needle. Somewhere around the 2:30 lull I saw David Koresh walking up Pike on the sidewalk pushing a cute little fixie with the bars hacked down way too small. He was with 5 or 6 very attractive women, or actually girls and he was wearing really tight stretchy black pants and two or three studded belts and a big empty RE Load bag. And then after work winding down at Monorail I’m pretty sure I saw your father-in-law on a Jonny Sundt cross bike. I just saw his reflection in the window and by the time I turned around he was behind a bus but I think it was him.
I read it on line it must be true.
Yesterday I saw a fair weather commuter (FWC) bombing down Pine Street in the bike lane around 8:15am. Displaying an overblown sense of confidence riding between the thin white painted lines as if they extended upward to infinity like the plane of the goal line. As if they offered extra protection, entitlement or enhanced visibility for chuffers in white button down shirts toting laptops on sunny days. When traffic stacked up at Harvard Avenue behind a car waiting to take a left, a car several spots back in line popped out to the right and cutoff FWC. From my perspective it wasn’t even that close and anyway that’s what cars do, and like Robert Hurst says, that’s what traffic is. People stop using turn signals the day they get their license, get used to it. But FWC stopped and went back to yell at the driver who was pulled over near Seattle Central. He yelled “what the fuck was that” and the driver, a young mom with her kid in the front seat just flipped him off. Nothing was accomplished except both parties left with a bad taste in their mouths, and all before 8:30 on a Monday morning. It reminded me of my younger days. But now I realize if I got that pissed off every time a car came within 25 feet of me I wouldn’t last 4 hours.
Today, here in late 2008, I pick my battles and save my energy like Tim Mason.
Out in traffic on a bike the eye contact, the head nod, the hand gestures, the yelling , the expectoration, it’s all there, in your face as a driver. It’s not diluted, censored, redirected, buffered, sheltered, reflected, refracted or protected by the big steel shell of an automobile. It’s right there, it’s real, it’s scary, it’s loud, it’s profane, it’s me and my adrenaline at your window, in your face. Here I am. Rock you like a hurricane.
The other side of that coin is there is nothing protecting me on my bike in traffic from the big steel shell of your automobile.
What Would Mason Do? WWMD
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