Three-Ton Vigilante

In summer I ride my bike to school. My little contribution to lessening the traffic problem, plus also there's nowhere to park near campus ever anyway.

I'm self-righteous about it. I ride on the street, with traffic, and I obey all traffic rules except for one. Someone died in this town recently by riding their bike the wrong way down a one way street, straight into a dump truck. The dump truck was turning onto the street and had a green light. This is a very sad story but HELLO, DON'T RIDE YOUR BIKE THE WRONG WAY ON THE STREET, AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT STAY OFF THE SIDEWALK; YOU'RE THE REASON DRIVERS HATE BICYCLISTS.

I reserve most of my wrath, though, for drivers. If you are driving near me and do something stupid like turn without using your signal or insist on passing me even though I'm going as fast as you and your passing me causes you then to have to cut me off at a stop sign, I'll say right out loud "IT'S CALLED A TURN SIGNAL DUMBASS!" or "HELLO, BIKES ARE VEHICLES!"

But I told you there's one traffic rule I ignore and it's stop signs. Not ALL stop signs; I'm not an idiot. Or, you know mostly not. Mostly I stop at stop signs. But on the way to school there's a half-mile vaguely down-hill stretch with stop signs every block. It's a huge frickin' pain to stop at all of them and have to start up again, so I take stock of the situation as I approach and if no one's coming or if it's clearly going to be my turn I blaze on through. It's ninety degrees out here, people, and each time I have to start my bike up from scratch it's using up energy that came into my body by virtue of the fossil fuels needed to drive the trucks that bring the cans of organic chickpeas to the store. Each time I have to come to an UNNECESSARY complete stop, it uses up THAT MANY MORE fossil fuels. DO YOU WANT THE TERRORISTS TO WIN? I didn't think so.

Also, I'm usually running late.

So today, a van is beginning through the intersection perpendicular to me as I approach. I slow a bit but clearly the van will make it through the intersection well before I get there so I'm not slowing much but. The. Van. Is. Now. Going. So. Slow.

Inching. Crawling. Stopping.

I drift past the stop sign and around the van as it finally clears the intersection and stops and the man who's driving hangs his head out the window and yells back at me.

"IT'S CALLED A STOP SIGN!"

At first I'm kinda mad and then I'm kinda happy because that man, he is just like me. He recognizes the importance of the traffic rules. Even though in this case obviously he's a little bit wrong since I'm on a BIKE and the little extra bit of virtue I gain from that fact makes up for me fudging the stop sign a little.

Then I'm even happier because the man's logic. It MAKES NO SENSE!

This man is so worried that the approaching bicyclist might have the fucking nerve not to come to a complete stop... a situation he addresses by COMING TO A COMPLETE STOP HIMSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INTERSECTION. IN A VAN. IN TRAFFIC.

In the summer, in July, in the United States of America, where lost cub scouts avoid their rescuers because the rescuers are strangers and where scientology woos alumni of the television show, Dawson's Creek.