The Wild Ones – A glimpse of biker hell

In days gone by, when one thought of  “bikers”, it was the Harley-mounted variety. Today, most of those types are retired bank managers dressing up like bad boys and hopping between Tim Hortons “show and shines”, living out childhood fantasies their parents wouldn’t permit them to. Today, you stand a bigger chance of being terrorized by a spandex-clad turd on a TREK.

Witness an item from the news today: a motorist was beaten and had his car damaged by three cyclo-dorks because he had the temerity to honk at them (police report that a witness said it was to warn of his approach). On the freakier side, they used their bikes as weapons to damage his car (!)). One encounter I recently had, of a number, illustrates an evolving mindset of those pedaling their way for the betterment of mankind:

I pulled to a stop at a complex intersection in the country, not far from Nottawa. I kept an eye on a bicyclist approaching from the other direction. He didn’t stop in the intersection but, as he passed my (open) window, dropped an F-bomb my way. As near as I could figure, he was upset he had to adjust his line through the intersection due to my (stopped) vehicle. (I’d venture he’d have been a lot more “upset” had I continued on without stopping.)

The (legal) “share the road” mandate is not-so-slowly creating some monsters: Large groups of bicyclists effectively “taking control” of entire lanes of traffic, while frustrated motorists attempting to navigate around them are veering into the oncoming lane of traffic with scant attention whether there’s traffic coming the other way.

A further personal encounter: Coming home from work the other day, I saw a pair of bicyclists traveling side-by-side down the road; the female fully on the bike path on the side of the road; the male riding dead-centre down the middle of the auto lane (despite there being more than adequate room for both in the bike lane). ‘Nuff said.

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