How Cyclists Provoke Rage

Normally I would consider myself a friendly, empathetic person who is tolerant of all types of people. Unfortunately, there is one exception and it's reserved exclusively for cyclists. In their presence, I transform into an unforgiving misanthrope. I've been struggling with my hatred of bicycle enthusiasts for years now, often trying to stifle my deep-seated resentment by pretending they don't exist.

However, there is one problem with that strategy: they do exist and often do a lot of their existing in the middle of the road when you're trying to drive. So recently, I've accepted my hatred and have decided to bring it out into the open. For too long I've been silent and now is the time for me to say it: I hate cyclists.

All too frequently in the Santa Ynez Valley I see major highways shut down or blocked off because a parade of bike riders are rolling into town. Do they forget that other people not riding bikes live here, too? That some folks are trying to make their way to work, school, or simply the other side of the road? The city shouldn't be expected to pause just for the sake of a few wheel-spinners, but perhaps they are too busy making over-zealous hand signals to notice anything else.

As I am writing this, I am particularly enraged by the display of cyclists I saw just this morning. While returning from Santa Maria, I noticed a trail of bright red bike riders lining the side of a major highway. Just great, I thought. But it didn't occur to me until I was in striking distance that they weren't the usual clan of havoc-wreckers.

Today they were also cross-dressers. That's when I said enough is enough. Seeing Armstrong in spandex is one thing, but seeing a middle-aged potbelly in red fishnetsthat's something else. Men of all misshapes and sizes in tight, red dresses and pink feather boas were distracting me from the road ahead. Not only was it a blaringly obvious safety hazard, it was also just indecent. I thought I'd have to travel to Vegas to endure that kind of trauma, but apparently my eyes can suffer in my own backyard.

When this reaches the public and my discontent becomes well-known, I'm sure I'll be receiving plenty of criticism for my beliefs. And unless the event I just witnessed was an extension of the Special Olympics, I won't feel badly. I can't imagine, though, that I'm the only one who feels this way. To all the closet cyclist-haters out there, this is the time for us to take a stand.

We might not be able to reclaim the roads, but at least we can provide support for one another. Before an innocent cyclist gets claimed by a driver with repressed emotions, I propose we form ACHES, the Alliance for Cyclist-Hating Emotion-Stuffers. Together, we can fight this battle (or at least complain in good company).

Learn more about this author, Katie Ryan.
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