What is it about morning commutes?
As I rolled up behind my building at BU this morning I prepared to make my usual right hand turn into the parking lot. One of the brilliant grounds crew was creeping slowly out of the driveway in his red truck-of-death so I was obliged to slow down through the apex of my turn and engage in the usual bike / idiot driver game of right-of-way-chicken.
Out of nowhere enters one of my perennial favorites: Boston Dude Bro on a Mountain Bike.
He let's out a jager-bomb fueled "ON YOUR LEFT, WATCH OUT!" as he cuts a sharp turn into the parking lot ... a sharp, right turn, on my right side.
I calmly reply "Pretty sure that's my right."
His alpha collar immediately pop's: "Why don't you signal where you're going, you dick"
Amused, I respond: "Are you serious?"
He continues his hair gel fueled fit: "I'm gonna slap the stupid off your face!"
He proceeds to narrowly miss getting struck by a car, and mashes his pedals away.
I offer this open note:
Dudebro,
Chill out, chief! I realize that you're in the zone, cruising along the sidewalk on 26" tires at 20 psi. Sure your back wheel washes out whenever you hit a puddle - its tough to be the man when you're riding your sister's purple Magna and swallowing your knees. 34x24 is a blistering gear ratio, and the wattage you were putting out surely could've lit an incandescent light bulb - or at least a few compact fluorescents.
I know, its never easy when the world gets in your way when you're cruising to GNC for your muscle milk. I can only imagine what would have happened had we collided (can you even get those GAP girl-flare jeans anymore?) but I'm confident your tough guy leather jacket would've saved your axe shower gel covered skin.
See you around the squat rack,
Jordan
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