A Victory

Yesterday I had a rare cyclist victory: I intimidated someone into submission.

Sounds savage—I am. I fanaticize about SUVs crumpled in the fingers of some almighty fist; taxis thrown headlong into righteous flames; busses, mechanics vans, and UPS trucks crushed by massive heavenly feet. Urban cyclists all carry some level of this rage in their bellies, and must remind themselves several times a mile that the u-lock is only to be applied very sparingly, very judiciously, in the most extreme circumstances.

Of course, my victory was not over a person in a car; I wish.

It was over a person who, when I walked out of my work last night, was sitting on my bicycle. My bicycle was locked up on the post of a street sign; this person was a parking attendant for the restaurant next to my work. He apparently thought it was justified to rest on a stranger’s bike, while waiting for someone to valet.

I released a flood of abusive vocabulary, enriched by a year teaching public school in the Bronx, and the squatter skedaddled. No arguments or aggression: perfect triumph.

I bent to unlock my bike. As I pulled it away from the post, the squatter returned with a reinforcement. Slightly scared, I reminded myself that I was in one of the richest parts of DC and that a parking attendant would not be foolish enough to risk his job by harming a cyclist in front of his place of employment.

The reinforcement informed me, while the squatter smirked, that I was not allowed to lock my bike to the post, but had to use the bike racks.

For a second, the sheer number of possible responses to this drivel prevented my ability to speak: it was patently wrong, the bike racks were full, etc. What came out was, “It is legal for cyclists to lock up anywhere their lock fits. I’ll wait right here while you call the police and we can have this debate with them.”

This was not a smart thing to say. There are some places to which cyclists are not allowed to lock their bikes. Plus, the police would not come for such ridiculousness, and police side against cyclists as a rule of thumb anyway. However, my aggressive tone worked. Both squatter and reinforcement backed away, mumbling.

Victorious, I mounted my bike, turning to deliver the pithy parting insult, “It’s illegal for you to park your ass on my bike.”

Incredibly childish: that comment, the whole interchange. I see other cyclists, under duress, act the same way, but it’s ridiculous.

I try to avoid these interchanges. Even when it ends in victory, I feel dirty.