I ride my bike. A lot. I ride back and forth to work and everyone else I wish to go. The library is especially key to several of my treks. Although a large part of my route is usually along a rather busy street, I meander around side-streets as well. Most drivers find a way to share the road with me, the lone bicyclist. There are some who blow to show their annoyance that they had to move their wrist a fraction of a degree to the left in order to safely pass me. Others blow because they know me from somewhere. Others still, blow because they want me to be aware of them coming up from behind. Sometimes, I provide a good laugh for those who like to do things to scare me – like screaming out the window just as they pass or blowing the deep, loud horn that sounds like the Love Boat setting sail for an exotic destination. Why someone would want that for a car horn, I have no idea but it does exist much to my chagrin.
All in all, cars and I coexist on the streets and roads upon which I travel. With one exception, that is. Once, I was traveling on a side-street with no shoulder. As a car passed, I could hear the passenger yell something out of the window as they passed. Due to the Doppler Effect, I could not understand the exact words that were being yelled at me. However, I did pick up from the tone that the comment was mean-spirited and hateful. Because the street was clear, I gave an extended one-finger salute to Mr. Passenger. Weeks later, as I was leaving work on a Sunday, I, again, was yelled at from the passenger window of a car. This time I distinctly understood, “you must want someone to run your little ass over on that bike” being yelled out the passenger window as I safely rode on the shoulder, well to the right of the white line.
The first incident felt slightly random. This one, however, felt deeply personal. It felt like a threat. In hearing and understanding what was being said, I picked up on an almost predatory, menacing power behind the words. Later as I thought about it, I realized it may have been the same Mr. Passenger in a different car who didn’t appreciate my extended one-finger salute to his first effort at communication. I consider myself somewhat happy-go-lucky (only somewhat). As I go about my life, I do not antagonize people and expect that they will not antagonize me. Yet, from the first time Mr. Passenger yelled out the car window, something innate about me riding my bike antagonized him and he lashed out at me. Not interested in cowering on the bike, being a pedaling victim, I saluted him. From our second encounter, I take it he didn’t appreciate my response (or any response from a place of power). I mentioned the two incidents to one of the police officers I know so that I could ascertain the best avenue of response in the event Mr. Passenger decided to harass from a car again. After our conversation, I felt pretty good about being able to nip the problem in the bud if it reoccurred.
Then, one day while eating lunch outside with my bicycle parked nearby, I had a person that I knew of from a peripheral degree say hello. I was immersed in a book that I was reading and looked up to see who was speaking, smiled and said “oh, hello” in somewhat of a distracted manner. He then said something else at the same time an ambulance or fire truck was screaming up the nearby street and I didn’t hear what he said. I probably had my face frowned in concentration because his lips were moving and all I could hear was the siren and other traffic noise. I told him that I was sorry but I didn’t hear what he said. When he repeated himself, I still didn’t understand because of the remaining traffic noise (or am I hard of hearing already?). When I told him I still didn’t hear what he said, he then took a step closer and asked “what part didn’t I understand”. I explained that I didn’t hear him because of the noise. He then replied that one day someone was going to run me over while I’m riding my bike on the road that leads to and from work. The same road on which the second encounter occurred. The same statement without the cursing this time. I now feel as if I know who Mr. Passenger is. Because we work in the same place (different company) I now understand why the second encounter felt so personal. It also makes sense, because the second encounter was on a day that we both got off work at the same time. It could have been a coincidence but it just doesn’t feel that way.
I have now prepared myself somewhat for the possibility of a third encounter (other than being run off the road, there’s no real way to prepare for that) and will also have a conversation with the powers that be about my suspicions so that there is a record of these incidents – just in case. In the meantime, happy-go-lucky-but-prepared me continues to ride…