Death Wish Bicyclist

To my readers who may ride their bicycle for transportation through car-dominated areas sometimes:

"Please do not make the terrifying (to me, god knows to the bicyclist) mistake of deciding that it is a good idea to ride your bicycle while wearing a navy blue turtleneck sweater and black pants for maximum invisibility (when, incidentally, the temperature is 90 degrees) ...

on a major interstate...

in a construction zone where there is no shoulder whatsoever...

where the cars in the right-hand lane have to get over to the center lane in a sudden and dangerous way to avoid hitting you and narrowly avoid hitting each other.

Because even if you don't care for the lives of the people driving those cars, having a major car accident, at speeds in excess of 60 mph, occurring right next to you cannot help but have dire consequences for you also. And you are not protected by a cage of metal, air bags, etc. You will just die a bloody, horrible death."

When the two cars ahead of me swerved sort of suddenly into the other lane, I was left with this weird image ahead of me - a dark apparition that did not immediately resolve itself into any specific thing. I got over into the middle lane myself and only then, having gained on the guy, realized it was a person on a bicycle.

OK, I sometimes see people riding bikes on the access road, and that can be a bit dicey but is usually workable if everybody is paying a little bit of attention, but on I-35 itself? Is this complete insanity?! Is it even legal?

One long-standing fantasy of mine is that after I die, I will be assigned to the Department of Vehicular Death: Asshole Division. This job consists of driving around in a vehicle that appears to mortals as an unassuming, older four-door sedan (my current car would be perfect for this) but that is, in reality, the most bad-ass black-with-flames Mack Truck ever built. And when I encounter a driver who is being a serious jerk in his driving habits - like the guy last week who decided that he wanted over in the left lane of the access road so bad that out of nowhere, he cut me off while I was still coming down the exit ramp - I do not make those accommodating moves that allow such selfish assholes to survive their bad driving; I let them get hit by the Mack. And in those time-dilated last seconds of eternity before they die in excruciating pain, they hear my laughter and see the image of Cerberus (the three-headed dog who guards the gates of hell and who, incidentally, bears a striking resemblance to the Mack bulldog, only really mean) slavering in welcome. It's not a job I would want to have forever, but it would be a nice way to work through the anger at being dead and all, taking revenge on assholes, enjoying a genuine upside to the situation.

If I had seen idiot bike boy while on my rounds, you can be assured I would have called up a colleague in the DoVD: Stupidity Division to check in on this. The agents of the Stupidity Division do not let people kill themselves immediately, but stage warning interventions of various sorts to give people opportunities to smarten up. (It's a good gig for someone who is patient with people and likes role play.) Those morons who don't get a clue can generally be trusted to kill themselves pretty quickly.