White Necks are the most dangerous people in the world. Everyone who has tried cycling knows the dangers of red necks on the road with their jacked up pickup trucks and tires that tower over you head. They try their best to scare the poop out of you when they come by on the highway, and will honk and yell things (i.e. â€œget off the roadâ€, â€œnice assâ€, or â€œWOOOOWEEEEâ€) out their open window. Luckily, those giant tires warn us from 5 kilometers away that theyâ€™re coming, and the drivers are actually paying such close attention to us that, while obnoxious, theyâ€™re far safer in their actions than the citified, wannabe civilized, overstressed, under-slept, all-organic idiots you find in any urban area of America. Iâ€™m referring to what I call â€œWhite Necksâ€. It includes the lawyers, doctors, soccer momâ€™s, and all types of business people who seem to think that their hurry gives them rights over the highway, and permission to risk the lives of everyone around them so they can get to their next appointment. The White Necks pose a significant threat to my life, and are the reason I feel very uneasy riding through places like Bellevue, Washington and Miami, Florida.
These rolling threats to my life truly seem to believe that the road belongs to them. To the white neck â€œShare the Roadâ€ signs are in place to warn cyclists to stay away from Range Rovers. They worry that their kid will be the last one waiting at the baseball field if they donâ€™t break a few laws to go faster, or that the 10 seconds it might take to slow down and pass safely will cascade into a day so bad that, by calculated risk, my life is a fair gamble.
As a cyclist, the threat of the white neck is far greater than their rural counterparts. Sure, if they notice you they may honk as they go by, or give a dirty look, but most of the time these overbooked suburbanites donâ€™t even know youâ€™re there. Plus, you canâ€™t hear a BMW until itâ€™s close enough to kill you, and the text-messaging trophy wife may never even know she hit you. Sheâ€™ll arrive home and think the scratch on her passenger door is from that suspicious Honda Civic with a bike rack on top that parked next to her at Whole Foods.
In an effort to guide my posts into a more rhythmic pattern of literary excellence, Iâ€™ve decided to commit myself to writing a weekly post within each of certain themes. Iâ€™m shooting for three weekly columns (so I still have room for my random thoughts in case something particularly random and thoughtful occurs). My first category: Pet Peeves. I have plenty of them, and it opens the door to a satirical look at my surrounding and things I find particularly annoying.