The Fire Inside

I don’t lose it too often.  But there are a few things that get my blood boiling and the fire burning inside. 

I took off on my solo ride this morning happy as a clam. I was loving the cooler air temps and the fall-like breeze.  I even thought to myself how lucky I am to be doing this… how awesome it is to have a strong and healthy body that craves a long ride on a Sunday morning.   Whenever I ride alone, I try to take extra steps to mitigate potential “issues” on the road:  I always wear my Road ID.  I always make sure my braided ponytail is visible.  (I just think that most people are less rage-filled when they know you’re a chick.)  And I even wore a cute Trashy Cat outfit.   There’s something wrong with you if a chick in pink on a bike causes road rage.

I was cruising down the big hill on Lower Roswell Road when I noticed a friendly red Jetta behind me, not ready to pass until he had clearance.  Then I heard the blaring horn of the a$$hole behind him, clearly pissed at the Jetta and, of course, me, for what he perceived to be holding him up. What the hell is he in such a hurry for on a Sunday morning, anyway? I was hovering on the white line, completely respectful of the cars on the road and NOT taking  up more space than necessary. This pissed me off. The fire was burning.  Big time.

Just like Pavlov’s dogs had the physical reaction to hearing the bell, I too have a physical reaction upon hearing an a$$hole laying on his horn trying to run me off the road:  my middle finger automatically goes up.  It’s an uncontrollable physical response, I swear.   The Jetta passes and gives me a sympathetic look, and the big fat man in the white Lexus almost clips me as he passes, laying on the horn screaming something about me being an “f-ing bitch.”  I kid you not.   I pay taxes and have the damn right to ride on this road, and I am staying as far over to the right as possible without going in the ditch.  Why am I an f-ing bitch? Because I got up early to ride my bike on a Sunday morning?  Because I choose to live a healthy lifestyle and he doesn’t?  Quit hiding behind your steering wheel, mean fat man, and join me on a bike.  You’ll be huffing and puffing too much to even mutter “f-ing bitch,” I promise you that. 

Because of my “Pavlov-like” response, my middle finger was airborn before he even passed me, which was quite risky. Anyone who has this type of rage is not someone I need to be messing with.  I realize that.  My first thought was “Well, good thing I’m wearing my Road ID, so that my body will be identifiable when he turns me into road kill like the poor gutted rabbit I just passed a mile back.”  I am not sponsored by Road ID, but the way I run my mouth, maybe I should be.

So he’s screaming at me after he almost kills me, and I am now in a rage-like state myself, screaming equally ugly obscenities right back at him.  We’re going down the hill and he decides to pull over and stop.  Oh great.  Now what?  I pulled right up beside him and not-so-kindly told him that I have every right to be on this damn road… and then a few other choice salutations.  He pulls off and I could kick myself for not getting his license #.   I guess it’s hard to see clearly when your eyes are filled with fire.  

I rode on with my heart rate in Zone 12 and my legs shaking– I was THAT mad.   Do people just not GET IT? Cyclists need to be respected just like another vehicle on the road, i.e. you do not pass a cyclist unless you have clearance.  And for the love of god, do you need to get so close?  

If mean fat Lexus man would get his ass off the couch and onto a bike, he might not be so angry.  Bike riding is good for the soul.  And for your ass.  

As long as you’re ass doesn’t end up splattered on the side of the road. 

Be careful out there!