Even After The Three Day Weekend, People Still Suck

Remember how awhile ago I was trying out this hydration pack where you screw a bottle into it and drink from it?

Well, this past weekend I was heading out for a ride on my rugged all-terrain bicycle, so I screwed a bottle of liquid into my hydration pack and stuffed it full of sundries.  (Patch kits, tarot cards, personal grooming products, and the like.)  Then, as I was headed out the door, I noticed a wet spot in my tramp stamp area, right were I have this:

So I removed my hydration pack and discovered it was leaking.  I don't know if the pack is defective or if I am, but in any case I quickly ditched the pack, stuffed the sundries in my jersey pocket, and put the bottle in one of these innovative new devices called "bottle holders" that you mount right on the downtube:

So yeah, that's probably that for the hydration pack, since having to turn back as I'm headed out for a ride is high up on my list of incredibly annoying things--though not as high up as idiots who honk at you for no reason:

Must be hell to have to ride your bike in this beautiful weather. Or perhaps the lush and comfortable 67-degree fall in Chicago acts as a small consolation for the harsh and brutal realities that the cyclist must endure every day, dished out by the cruel wretches of the world who drive cars. Or, at least that's what you'd think if you can read body language.

Firstly, the world actually is our enemy, and we are forced to deal with "harsh and brutal realities" pretty much every day, you fucktard:

Secondly, you'd be pretty annoyed too if every time you headed out out to enjoy some "beautiful weather" idiots kept honking their car horns at you for no reason:

About a week ago, I found myself on a backstreet in Ravenswood, trailing a cyclist without a helmet riding on old-style ten speed with a courier bag slung over his back. It appeared to me that he didn't know I was there while we were both approaching the upcoming stop sign. I say he didn't know I was there because it seemed he was off in his own world, daydreaming while riding, and was clearly hearing-impaired from the huge Beats headphones he had on. Being the (sometimes) nice and courteous guy that I am, I figured I'd just give him a heads-up that I was there. So I tooted my horn lightly.

Oh, spare me the white man's burden crap.  It appeared he didn't know you were there?  Why?  Because he had an "old-style ten speed" and a "courier bag?"  Because he didn't have a helment?  (Like that even fucking matters.)  Because he was wearing headphones that may or may not have been playing music at a volume completely unknown to you?  He could have been listening to "News from Lake Wobegon" for all you know.  "Appearances" don't mean shit.  I mean, when I see a mushy putz driving an SUV like the guy who wrote this article, it "appears" to me that they couldn't possibly achieve or sustain an erection (much less hear or see a thing what with his radio and cellphone and cabin insulation and climate control and blind spots), but that doesn't mean I attempt to have sex with their spouse or life partner for them.

Anyway, so what if he didn't know you were there?  He doesn't really have to know you're there.  You have to know he's there because you're the one approaching from behind.  So wait until it's safe to pass him and then do so.  Don't honk at him, especially as you're approaching a fucking stop sign.  It's irritating enough when people honk at you for no reason, but it's quadruply annoying when they do it at a stop sign or red light, and if you want to know why sometimes we're inclined to roll those things then there's your fucking answer.

And for fuck's sake, how do you honk your horn "lightly?"  Horns don't modulate--it's on or it's off, you twit!  Nobody can detect the nuances in your car horn.  We can't even detect the nuances in your prose because you're such a shitty hack.

So, unsurprisingly, the hack gets the finger:

Guess I should have known better. Not that I expected a waive from the cyclist, nor did I expect him to stop and say thank you, but I didn't expect him to give me the one-finger salute in a long, protracted, five-second long flip-off accompanied by a scornful face.

Hey moron, maybe he was just flipping you off "lightly"--you know, just so you knew that he was there.

But of course Hacky the Putz thinks he's allowed to judge cyclists because he owns a bike:

Believe me, I get it. I own a bike. I know how good bikes are for the environment, and I know safety is on every bike rider's mind. Within reason I try to get around the city as much as possible by foot, bike, or public transit every day. But I do own a car and use sometimes I use it. And, believe it or not that doesn't make me a bad person. Sounds silly, but I feel like I have to say to both the professional bike messenger and the dedicated amateur user the following: I am not your enemy.

If I buy a tampon it doesn't mean I know what it's like to menstruate.  Anyway, don't worry, your car doesn't make you a bad person.  It's the fact that you have your head up your ass that makes you a bad person.  And of course it wouldn't be a real anti-bike screed if he didn't feel the need to remind you that his car is more powerful and dangerous than your bike:

Regardless of what reason, now I'm reminded that certain bicyclists have it in for me every time I get on the road, whether it is in the car or while dodging them in trying to cross the street by foot. We're lucky, I suppose, that Che Guevara the Cyclist and his ten speed aren't exactly a danger to me in my Honda Pilot. It's unlikely that, were he to take out his psychological aggression with force and ram me into the curb, that I'd sustain injury. That is, unless these mutineers-on-bicycles are harboring some secret counter-suppression weapons that I don't know about.

Right.  He thinks we're supposed to respect him for the stupid Honda Pilot that he leases, but it really only makes me think of this:


And then he confirms he's just a tiny, neutered Willy Loman with this quip:

Better yet, don't flip me off, and I won't fantasize about throwing hot coffee at you.

What is it with people who fantasize about hurting people who are more vulnerable than they are?  I sometimes see cyclists doing dumb shit while I'm driving (and, I should add, this particular cyclist didn't even do anything dumb), but I never fantasize about, you know, hurting them.  Like, "I hope that guy salmoning on the department store mountain bike gets scalding hot liquid thrown in his face."  That's actually kind of sick.

(Of course, it's perfectly fine if it's the other way around, and if someone almost kills you with a two-ton vehicle it's totally acceptable to fantasize about stuffing their genitals into a coffee grinder or stuffing starving kittens down their pants.)

Anyway, I wanted to know more about this putz, and it turns out he's a "marketing executive" playing at being a writer in his spare time:

Financial services, eh?  Well, service this you schlemiel.  [Indicates crotch.]

Meanwhile, yesterday I was in Onion Square in Manhattan, and I was amazed to see fixie riders that must have been transported through a wormhole in time from the year 2007:

Yep, it's all there, right down to the fanny pack:

I actually suspect they're wearing Halloween costumes--and speaking of Halloween costumes I was searching for a Roger De Vlaeminck costume for my kid (incredibly nobody carries one) when I spotted this:

That's just disturbing.

Anyway, if the fixie riders weren't in costume, then I guess nobody told them they're supposed to be buying cyclocross bikes now--and if you have a cyclocross bike you'll want some really bad art to go with it:

This was forwarded to me by Klaus of Cycling Inquisition, and it looks sort of like "The Scream" if the screamer was riding a cyclocross bike and wearing a helment:

Just make sure to buy a spare for the pits.