Bikerrorism
I am the most dangerous thing on the streets of Adelaide.
Period.
With a cry on my lips of Come on you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever? I set out from my place of work each and every day. What lies ahead is a twilight zone of danger, darkness, cars and terror.
I flex my fingers as I grip the handlebars, I slam down each sneaker shod foot on the pedals, I push off into the darkness. It's a 2.8km mostly downhill run. I must cross at least 3 major roads bloated with the arterial lifeblood of Adelaide: office workers.
I have 21 gears, a headlight and a tail light. I have a pair of shorts and a tshirt. Socks. The sneakers I mentioned before.
That's it, I'm naked to the world as people who make their lives from repeating routine and not having to think hurtle all around me at high speed thinking about getting home to the tv and dinner.
Yet... people are utterly afraid of me. Here's why: if they see you hesitate, you're dead. If they see you think, you're dead. If they see you as anything less than their worst fears, they'll run right over your sorry ass and not think twice.
So, I don't give them the chance.
High visibility terror attacks of lightning speed and utter precision. I miss fenders by centimetres, screaming past knowing that they have to give way and if they don't, I will sue them from my cripple's hospital bed until I never have to do anything more with my life.
I cut across parks, I jump pavement, I weave between traffic. I cross multiple lanes of oncoming traffic, causing them to slow and be hesitant, leading my band of following cars forward into battle in a kind of 21st century road war. Their horns are the sounds of my victory as the surprise registers, the squeal of brakes is my fuck you, world summed up in the voices of metal.
This isn't road rage, this is road bravery. My bell is my bugle, and my front tire my bayonet. I am terrifying, and they are terrified - the roads of Adelaide are Lucy li Bocage: mine, and forever so shall it be.
Period.
With a cry on my lips of Come on you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever? I set out from my place of work each and every day. What lies ahead is a twilight zone of danger, darkness, cars and terror.
I flex my fingers as I grip the handlebars, I slam down each sneaker shod foot on the pedals, I push off into the darkness. It's a 2.8km mostly downhill run. I must cross at least 3 major roads bloated with the arterial lifeblood of Adelaide: office workers.
I have 21 gears, a headlight and a tail light. I have a pair of shorts and a tshirt. Socks. The sneakers I mentioned before.
That's it, I'm naked to the world as people who make their lives from repeating routine and not having to think hurtle all around me at high speed thinking about getting home to the tv and dinner.
Yet... people are utterly afraid of me. Here's why: if they see you hesitate, you're dead. If they see you think, you're dead. If they see you as anything less than their worst fears, they'll run right over your sorry ass and not think twice.
So, I don't give them the chance.
High visibility terror attacks of lightning speed and utter precision. I miss fenders by centimetres, screaming past knowing that they have to give way and if they don't, I will sue them from my cripple's hospital bed until I never have to do anything more with my life.
I cut across parks, I jump pavement, I weave between traffic. I cross multiple lanes of oncoming traffic, causing them to slow and be hesitant, leading my band of following cars forward into battle in a kind of 21st century road war. Their horns are the sounds of my victory as the surprise registers, the squeal of brakes is my fuck you, world summed up in the voices of metal.
This isn't road rage, this is road bravery. My bell is my bugle, and my front tire my bayonet. I am terrifying, and they are terrified - the roads of Adelaide are Lucy li Bocage: mine, and forever so shall it be.
posted by Dan at 2:49 AM
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