Worst of NYC Craigslist: Self-Loathing Bike Love

The typical bike-related missed connection usually involves either somebody using a bicycle as a pretense to get someone else's attention, or else somebody who has noticed a bicycle which has been used as a pretense to get their attention. Essentially, the bike is serving the same purpose as a haircut, a pair of shoes, a tattoo, or even a book--it's some tuft of brightly-colored feathers which is displayed in order to attract a mate. In this case, however, something much more insidious is going on. I hope this is one of those fake posts because the reality is too much to bear:

To the woman who opened her cab door into my bike - I love you! - m4w - 24 (Midtown East) [original URL: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/mis/484174599.html]

Reply to: [deleted]

Date: 2007-11-19, 10:13PM EST

It was on 57th st. last week in the AM. You were probably getting fed up with the gridlock and opened your cab door right into my moving bicycle. You put a taxi-yellow dent in my handlebars and a huge purple bruise on my arm. A vulgar expletive exploded from my lips and a UPS driver unloading packages from the van in front of us started to laugh at me. As I was checking my arm for fractures and straightening out the wheel which you had knocked out of place, I began to well with anger...that is, until I saw you get out of the cab.

You had that hurried look of tension in your body that comes from a busy professional woman who is unaware of her own striking beauty. Your hips moved wildly from side-to-side as you stepped toward me to apologize hurriedly before walking off in your high-heels, your briefcase swinging gaily with the youthfully relaxed movement of your arm. I wanted to be angry, to yell, but I could only mumble something like "It happens" or "everything is great." All I saw as you walked away was the line of your legs and the curve of your shoulder. You looked like a carefully crafted precision instrument. Your skin reminded me more of the hard shine of steel than the delicate flesh of a woman.

You could have shot me in the guts with a gun right there, and I would only pray that I could taste your lips just once before the last beat of my heart.

You may or may not be aware that there is such a thing as a "self-hating cyclist." Curcumstances have somehow conspired to convince these people that their passion for cycling is not only less important than other aspects of their lives, but that it is something dirty and wrong. Consequently, like compulsive masturbators, they practice their loathsome habit furtively and only during stolen moments--often in the wee hours of the morning, long before their friends, families, and loved ones have arisen. Many are even forced to hide their bicycles and bike-related purchases like a teenager hides a dirty magazine under a mattress. Popular hiding places for bicycles include basements, poorly-secured bike rooms in apartment buildings, overpriced storage units, and--most depraved of all--outside.

What we have here is a self-hating cyclist. (And this is not only apparent from the fact that he's got an FSA carbon stem and a pair of wing bars on a 13 year-old Cannondale.) After being doored, he was indignant--and rightfully so. However, as soon as he saw that the doorer was an attractive woman his resolve melted like Pastali on a mountainous descent. Why? Because he is insecure. And insecurity breeds self-loathing. And self-loathing makes you stammer like a kid caught pilfering from the liquor cabinet after you're doored by some woman who's rushing to get to her Cyclists Suck meeting.

In a sense, dooring is the most insulting thing you can do to a cyclist. I'd rather be actively chased by an enraged motorist "Death Race 2000"-style than doored. At least the deranged motorist acknowledges that I exist. The doorer on the other hand is completely self-absorbed and oblivious. Cyclists do not exist in his or her reality. And there's no greater form of disrespect than non-acknowledgement.

If you're a non-cycling motorist and you happen to be reading this, here is the proper procedure for exiting your car into traffic in an urban environment:

--Pull all the way to the curb;
--Check your rear-view mirror;
--Check your side mirror;
--Open door a sliver, stick something reflective outside, and check again like they do for guards in prison movies;
--Close door;
--Open it again and peek out like an adulterer hiding in a closet;
--Close door;
--Slide over console into other seat;
--Exit onto the sidewalk.

Oh, yeah, and if you're in the middle of the street in traffic, STAY IN THE CAR!

This rider should not have let her get away with this, and the fact that he did means he's got a bigger case of Stockholm Syndrome than Patty Hearst. And even if her beauty was so great as to give him pause, he should not have then posted this entreaty once he had time to come to his senses. I mean, if he wants to degrade himself, that's one thing, but at least consider the rest of us. Plus, however attractive she may be on the outside, the fact that she is a doorer has opened the door to the ugliness of her soul.