A motorcyclist rudely and dangerously cut in front of me one day. And I almost hit him. I screamed in outrage at the foolish young man.
The scream was appropriate. But it wasn’t “Geewiz, you should be more careful.” Naturally, the culprit dismissed my balk, as though I had suggested he remove his facial tattoo.
Like livestock, motorcyclists believe they are exempt from traffic laws. This is a dizzying phenom when one considers the infrastructure mess at Lakeside. Guadalajara’s motos don’t make for any leisurely family jaunt either. Despite or because of this, there seems to be a surge in cyclists these days.
The other thing is you can’t see this menace coming from behind you, or in some cases jay-driving in front of you, with the determination of a wrecking ball. Then there are the pizza deliveries. Pizza deliveries appear to be so urgent, they should probably request a police escort.
Now, this isn’t true of all cyclists. (I had to say that if I ever expect a pizza to arrive the same night.) Some abide by every rule. I have spoken to a leader of one of Mexico’s moto groups who claims that on their various group excursions they follow a set of strict rules, abiding by every traffic law and road courtesy. These are rugged sportsmen who challenge themselves to a 1,000 mile (1,610 kilometer) journey in 24 straight and saddle-sore hours. Kudos to all those who meet the challenge. I think it was Lao Tzu’s famous line, “A journey of 1,000 miles starts with one steroid smoothie.” (I may have the mileage wrong, but the rest is right.)
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