Monday morning commute: road rash and asshats

Runners, joggers and perambulators: I’m a cyclist, not a psychic. Also, I’m traveling at about 16 mph and this is a trail, not a slalom course. The laws of physics being what they are, and my lack of psychic ability being what it is, if you weave around like an 18-year-old frat boy on Bourbon Street or jump from side to side like a rabbit on Ritalin, don’t be surprised to find a bike tire in your backside.

Bikers in your nice team kits and on your fine bikes: even though I passed you handily, which appeared to disgruntle you (full disclosure: I also wear team jerseys, but not, you know, the whole ensemble), when you see me sprawled out on the trail, obviously having fallen and slid five or six feet on my side while trying to take a corner too fast, the appropriate response is not to blow by me, but to stop and ask if I’m OK, you asshats.

  • Pedestrians and other unpredictable species should all be on short leashes. Glad to hear you're still alert enough to function, and condolences.

  • I needed to shave some weight off my ass anyway.

    I wasn't planning to do it quite so literally, however.

  • I sympathize with your predicament. Next time, make sure your bike is sprawled across the trail to stop those nice team riders, so they can help you.

    Glad to hear you survived another commute.

  • I'll try to control my wipeout better next time.