Here I am in sunny Florida, which they say is God’s waiting room. If I had my way, the wait wouldn’t be long for a lot of these people. (Hmm, with this Coronavirus thing, perhaps I should cut that line. Ah, screw it. It’s a joke.) So, today’s open letter is to the citizens and especially the visitors of the sunshine state.
I realize that down here, it's legal for grown people to ride bikes and tricycles; yes, you even ride those huge recumbent tricycles on the sidewalk. Talk about inconsiderate. By the way, in other areas of the country, grown people are known as adults. Those of you in Florida are considered tall toddlers.
Anyway, back to complaining. Some of you thoughtless boobs zoom past us pedestrians at twenty miles an hour, while some wobble by barely keeping your balance. The closer you get to us, the more panicked you become. Which way should I go? What should I do? your faces scream. Desperately, you struggle to stay upright. You swerve back and forth, then head right for whoever is in front of you. Why the hell are you riding a bike if you're incapable of doing so without scaring the hell out of yourselves and us?
And those of you who can actually ride a bicycle and rocket by us must believe you're in a freaking Road Runner cartoon. You are not Wile E. Coyote! (I would love to see you bash into the side of a mountain, though, but in Florida, there's no such thing.) Your arrogance and stupidity force us to jump off the sidewalk or be crushed beneath the tires of your swell new Huffy. Don't forget, narcissists, state law says you're to yield and give right of way to pedestrians. So, freaking do it! How the hell was this law passed, anyway? Oh, yeah, this is Florida. Need I say more?
Instead, you say, “On your left." Which means, "Here I come. Get the hell out of my way or I'll bowl you over." While you may be on our left, you're certainly not over left enough. It's a lousy 48-inch sidewalk. Move over! What are we supposed to do, jump off the sidewalk to make room for you? KMA! I have all I can do to keep from pushing you morons over as you pedal by with looks of superiority smeared on your pompous pusses.
The kicker is, just about every road here has a bike lane! Ride your damn bikes there! The sidewalk is for pedestrians – people who walk, trek, amble, plod, trudge, stride, mosey. It is called a sidewalk – not a side-ride! People walk their dogs on the sidewalk. They saunter with their children, some in strollers, on the sidewalk. Since this is Florida, there is the occasional, all right, frequent, disabled person with a walker or a wheelchair on the sidewalk. Think of them.
What are they supposed to do when one, or a whole slew of you Lance Armstrong wannabes decked out in Lycra biking suits and racing helmets whoosh by pretending you’re in the Tour de France? Are we walkers supposed to dive into the tropical flora and fauna to escape being creamed? There are alligators here! Get your wrinkled asses out in the goddamn road where you belong! You wanna ride a bike, do it there.
Or better still, get a Peloton.