Ok so I arrive at my care-taking job on 120th & Morningside Drive, shirtless and sweaty after battling the chaos and insanity of the Dog Days of summer (lawless) biking streets of downtown Manhattan and riding uptown from East 6 Street.
I”m parking my bike and out of the corner of my eye I observe this homely white straight guy struggling to unload his “mini” fold up bike from the trunk of his car.
I finishing locking up and am walking straight into my building when this nervous Nelly finally gets (her) bike unloaded and unfolded, out of the care and trunk locked up. She jumps on her bike and practically runs right into me! Oh Excuse me sir it says. How could she not have seen me when I’m parking my OWN bike not 5 feet from her for a full FIVE minutes or more? Most likely blind homophobia or sheer body paranoia. For I’m half-naked, sweaty, muscles gleaming and proud of my sweaty big man tits with their oh so wide nipples. To Mr. Straight Clueless car driver however, I am invisible!
It’s the fight or flight response, our most basically survival instinct which kicks in the moment you mount a bike and start to pedal (or just push buttons like most of the Citibike (i.e., “mad as a hatter” riders) do especially downtown and especially on the Westside Highway (one of the most hellish parts of my every day route). Our must basically instinct, fight or flight. That’s what you engage in every time your ride a bike in the present lawless New York City.
My solution. Recently bought an electronic bell; but I am realizing now a few days later that I need a LOUDER one to inflict pain on the ears of the soul less phone addict who haunt the streets like underwater mines—and me, the unlikely candidate for an explosion. I feel more and more like some weird kind of magnet that attracts both hundreds of jaywalkers (what's that?) every day especially downtown. Or as in the case of Mr. Whats-his-name above, I am the target. I'd like to think I'm taking this all much too personally and that a weekend getaway to Fire Island Pines will cure my chronic both biking and what seems to be sexual PTSD--(the latter from having too much of it with guys I'm not really attracted to the former from dealing with every other pedestrian or biker I encounter daily). In terms of the sex, what are you gonna do? It's a stress-reliever and beats jerking off alone...And the people be they my fellow bike riders or fellow citizens of NYC--nothing to do but avoid and fire lots of warning bell rights though warning BELL RINGS are ignored by most they are much preferable to silent but deadly crash or collision. But I digress...What is it I wonder that inspires people to be moving fast on a piece of metal without a thought to signaling (some riders, not all) or to read their phones incessantly while moving at very fast speeds or walking in the street or on any bike designated roadway? __________ riders and ___________ are especially the worst perpetrators of the jaywalking crowd. I mean how do you SHARE the road with people who are there physically but have their phone stuck so far up their ass it's emerging from their dick or twat? The ignorance of youth most likely. Combined with the mindless zombie-feed addiction to our mobile devices. This is a very very dangerous place to be biking right now. Thank you NYC.Gov for making our streets safer by all your non-enforcement of traffic laws and all your completely meaningless signs. The Sanctuary city as Dodge City.
Oh and then today there was the ignoramus who yelled at me—use your bell—after I come up on his left side and yelled LEFT LEFT. What a trigger.
If there is a biker’s hell on earth. It is New York City 2023.
I reflect back to the loveliness of my neighbor’s greeting this morning as I left my building on East 6th...
Enjoy the ride.
How I wonder to myself. That's the question. Now.
God Help us All. Pray while pedaling. Pray with all your might.