Dear cyclist.
Bless.
You aren’t a superior lifeform.
You aren’t invincible.
You aren’t invulnerable.
You aren’t particularly clever.
You haven’t taken a test of competency.
You also aren’t insured.
So the next time I’m sitting in my car at a set of traffic lights waiting for the red to go away…
And you pull in front of my car…
I’m going to put you in hospital.
Or the morgue.
I really don’t care which.
You choose.
Or better still.
Choose not to get underneath my car.
It’s bigger than you are.
It’s heavier than you are.
It’s turbo-charged, fuel-injected, has a hopped-up, chipped engine management system that gives it a 30-70 the same speed it does 0-30 in.
And it’s automatic so I don’t have to waste time with gear-changes.
So just ask yourself, punk.
Who’s going to be away from the lights quicker?
You, struggling to catch your balance before the C of G has its wicked way with you?
Or me?
Do ya feel lucky, punk?
Huh?
Brennig.
While I appreciate the effort cyclists go to, they must know their place in the foodchain. If everyone knows their place, we’ll all get along unsmashingly.
I love the cyclist species who ride for a green planet and their health. I hate the cyclist species who think they are the kings of the roads knowing that we know they are vulnerable.
They also have to be reminded there are also stupid drivers who think they are the kings of the roads and the battle is unbalanced…