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By Root 256 0

didn’t see you!” You hear this one when you’ve almost been hit (or actually been hit) by a driver who was either momentarily distracted by something (a phone, a mascara brush, a deeply lodged booger) or who just wasn’t paying attention in the first place. Amazingly, drivers actually think “I didn’t see you!” is a dual-purpose phrase that not only serves as a valid excuse but also as an apology we should accept. However, neither is true. As much as I hate “Get out of the road!” I’d rather someone yell that than almost kill me because they didn’t even know I was there. At least being yelled at means I matter. On the other hand, I’m not particularly comforted to learn that I was almost maimed because I commanded less attention than a piece of dried mucus. “I didn’t see you!” is a confession, not an excuse. It’s like explaining to a cop, “The only reason I didn’t stop at that tollbooth was that I’m completely plastered.”

So why is it that you’re either in the way or invisible when you’re on your bike? Simple—it’s because the average non-cyclist actually believes that no sane person would possibly be on the road without being encased in two tons of sheet metal. The typical driver is like a woman in a female-only household who falls into the toilet when a male guest visits. After all, the seat’s always down—why even bother to check? It’s an article of faith. Plus, motor vehicles have gotten so huge drivers barely even notice other cars, much less bicyclists—which, we all know, belong on the sidewalk.

But the worst is outright hostility. All cyclists have encountered drivers who will use their vehicles to intimidate you. This can be anything from gunning their engines to actually swerving into you intentionally, but most often, it’s the horn. Sometimes it’s a quick tap to let you know they’re there, and other times it’s a prolonged laying on of hands and a deafening blare meaning, “I’m in a tremendous hurry. Furthermore, I hate you, I hate having to look at you, and I especially hate having to move my steering wheel ever so slightly to pass you.” It’s stupid and degrading. Drivers who do this might as well just walk around with air horns all day and blast them in people’s ears until they get what they want. “Welcome to Arby’s, sir, may I take your order?” “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAMP!!!” Roaming around the countryside in bloated vehicles while masticating food and communicating via a series of monotone bleats really makes us no better than livestock.

Since I refuse to live as a cow or to take orders from cows, my response to car horns is always the same: “I don’t care.” In the case of the quick tap, I don’t care because I’m already aware there are cars on the road. The horn just means the driver sees me. Big deal. I’m not worried about the drivers who see me; I’m worried about the ones who don’t see me. The nose-picking texters don’t honk before they run me over. And in the case of the prolonged “I hate you” blare, I really don’t care. The implication that someone’s destination is somehow more important than mine, or that I should cede the road to someone because they’re in a hurry, disgusts and offends me. The only vehicle that has the right to make loud noises and expect me to get out of the way is an emergency vehicle like an ambulance or a fire truck. If a person is not driving one of those things then nobody else’s life is hanging in the balance except my own.

Sometimes, when drivers violate my space or demand I get out of the way, I simply ask them, “Why?” The answer is always the same: “I’m in a car, and you’re on a bike.” Ah, of course, that’s an excellent reason. See, they don’t give cars to just anybody. Only really important people get to drive. Plus, you’ve got to take a test to drive a car, and it’s so hard that they don’t let you do it until you’re in your teens. Never mind that these people are usually driving cars with Blue Book values significantly lower than what our bicycles would fetch on eBay; either that, or they’re driving some really expensive contraption that any sane person would be embarrassed to be paying