January 15, 2014 § 81 Comments
I was pedaling along Anza. This lady passed me so close I could smell her moist panties even though the windows to her SUV were shut tight.
“Fuck,” I thought, wondering if Sherri Foxworthy would be angry because it had taken two full sentences to launch the f-bomb. “That was closer than a porn star’s razor.”
The real problem, aside from being insane-as-proven-by-the-decision-to-ride-a-bike-to-work, was clear. How can I keep the murderers and negligent-homiciders from plowing me under?
Hundreds of commutes had given me the knowledge to classify cagers as follows:
- Scumfucks who intentionally want to kill me.
- Dumbfucks who don’t know I’m there.
- Law enforcement.
- Babes who think I’m hot.
The fact is that Scumfucks Who Intentionally Want to Kill Me have the upper hand and can’t be denied. So when my number is up, I hope you’ll attend my funeral and NOT say anything sappy like “He died doing what he loved.” Instead, I hope you’ll be profoundly drunk and barf on the curb, apologizing for your bad manners. Law Enforcement are similarly irrelevant. They have guns and handcuffs and radios. Whatever they do, even if it involves murdering innocent homeless people in Fullerton, gets a pass. Babes Who Think I’m Hot currently number approximately one, and that’s a generous estimate.
So that leaves us with Dumbfucks Who Don’t Know I’m There.
“Yo, Dumbfucks Who Don’t Know I’m There!” I thought. How can I let you know I’m there?
The answer, like full frontal nudity, was right in front of me: Lights!
The guinea pig is me
I once had pet guinea pigs, Uncle Albert and Admiral Halsey. They were awesome and smart and cuddly and they squeaked for dinner. They also pooped little oblong guinea pig poops, which didn’t stink and were easily cleaned. Anyone who would experiment on these harmless and loving creatures is a complete fucking douchebag. When it comes to cycling, however, I decided to try a new technique to ward off the Dumbfucks Who Don’t Know I’m There. How? By running my front Serfas 500 on “blinky” mode, and my rear Serfas taillight on “blinky” mode DURING THE DAY.
Guess what, wankers? When the average cager is faced with blinking lights … he/she backs off!
That’s right. If you run your front blinky during the day you will find that cagers hesitate before darting out in front of you, give you the right of way, and if you’re not too big of an asshole to smile and wave, they will smile and wave back. Then, the rear-approaching cagers, upon seeing your rear taillight, will give you a wide berth or, because they know how to drive, will buzz the shit out of you but do it consciously — you’re in no danger because they see you and know the dimensions of their cage and aren’t about to run you over.
In short, run your fuggin’ headlamp and taillight during the day. The morons will see you and give you a wide berth when they pass, or they will buzz the shit out of you BUT WILL HAVE SEEN YOU AND KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING.
Keep the lights on. Really. It will save your life, or at least get you to the next cold beer.
This PSA brought to you by Port Brewing’s Wipeout IPA. And me.