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I’m done

You win, cars. I don't go for long road rides anymore because I'm scared shitless that you're going to kill me. I've got a kid now, and I can't bear the thought of leaving the Earth before he graduates from something, or whatever. You don't stop for school busses with stop signs out. You wouldn't know a crosswalk if it was licking your earlobe. Every other goddamn one of you is on your phone - talking, texting, penning masturbatory tomes - who knows? You just get bigger, too. People are afraid of crashing, so they buy a bigger car so the crash doesn't hurt. Gas prices are back down. Hooray! I'm getting an Escalade! There's no money for roads, so the shoulders are for shit. There's no way to get away from you. People don't watch what they're doing behind the wheel. They don't know how to use goddamn turn signals, or follow the rules. They drive slow in the left lane. They gawk at accidents thinking, “That poor dumb sonofabitch! I'm glad that'll never happen to me in my big car!” People think they're owed something. They're owed the road because they pay all them damn high taxes - and who the hell are YOU to slow me down - even for a second. I see billboards whose sole purpose is to remind drivers that people on bikes are, well, people. THEY HAVE TO BE REMINDED! “Mother, steel worker, person, please don't hit her.” That's great, but the fact that it has to be said is fucking horrible. So, I'm not riding out there anymore. My revolution is over. I quit. I'm turning in my messenger bag with ironic patches and I'm sticking to the path, or dirt, or somewhere else. I don't know. Why can't we see each other as people? Just like us. Nobody put us down and said, “You're it. Everyone else out there is working for you, so just do whatever the hell you want.” It doesn't work that way. You win, cars. The cities are all built around your needs. TGI Friday's has shitloads of parking - some of it is even pretty close to Olive Garden, so I guess decisions will have to be made. Cars are safer now, too. Airbags all over the damn things. Crumple zones! It works. Fewer people are pulled in pieces out of mangled cars. Bike riders don't have that shit. We're just as Jell-0-ey as we used to be. Helmets are better looking, but they won't do dick against that F350. So nice work out there, cars. Way to go. Life is easier now. We can live 50 miles from work and be just fine - what's a couple of wars and the destruction of our planet? Chicken feed. Cars can do anything.

The problem is, I have a car too. We're all the problem. We have to start with us. Put the phone down. Don't get drunk and get in your dethwagon. Try not to be a dick. That's all I got.

- Skip

Skip Bernet's avatar

About Skip Bernet

Eric is a pretty ok guy. Tall, loud, personable, slightly annoying, mostly harmless, law-abiding, easy-going, longitudinal, forthrightly wishy-washy, slightly bent, wigged out, dopey, and marginally accident-prone. He lives on cold cereal and American macro-brews while occasionally fighting the good fight. He's fallen down in front of big crowds before, and he'll likely do it again. He sometimes zigs when he clearly should have zagged.

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