A Name to the Face

About a month ago, I was the victim of serious verbal abuse from what turns out to be a local lost cause in the making. Police were called; nothing happened; I had mostly put it out of my mind. Until an odd coincidence.

The story started on a ride home on a Friday afternoon. Riding down Rose Hill Drive, through one of Charlottesville's many examples of crappy bike planning, I got the popular honk and engine rev from the driver of a white SUV. As usual, I noted the license plate, an easy to remember "2 BAB", and carried on.

Sure enough, as I was passing by Walker Upper Elementary, there was the SUV (remember the license plate? Not too hard, that one.) I gave the driver a good look and kept on riding. A minute later at 4-way stop by the whale tail, I realized the SUV was following me, and the driver, a young, fat punk starts with the usual epithets: "Fuck off, faggot." etc., etc. And I wasn't even wearing lycra (at that point in time).

Until then, I had chalked up the episode to the typical idiocy, but when I get treated as such, I don't have much trouble letting people know that their behavior is unacceptable. So I rode back over to Walker, where the SUV was again parked. It turns out the kid was there to help his father fix a second vehicle.

So I rode by, loudly repeating the license plate and was met with the usual taunts of "Come back, asshole!"

So, I did. 

Then it was father's turn to unleash on me. I questioned their motivation for a while but finally decided to leave after Senior came at me with clenched fists for the second time. (Ironically, Junior whined at one point about me making a gesture at him "back there on Rose Hill" -- had the Neanderthals been willing to listen, they could have learned that it's easier to look behind you when you take your arm off the handlebar -- too bad they were busy trying to get in a fight.)

The police were called, story relayed, but I never heard back as to the results of the visit the police said they were going to make.

Now, cut to a few days ago, when a young Barry Booth was arrested in connection with an assault on the corner. I thought I recognized the face, and a quick web search showed not only a budding rap sheet, but also a connection to Barry A. Booth (aka, "BAB"), presumably the patriarch of the family.

I'm sure Pa is so proud...

To Whom it May Concern

An email I sent to a local delivery company:

I was riding my bicycle around 3:15 PM on August 31 at the intersection of Preston Ave. and Harris St. in Charlottesville, when one of your drivers passed me and, before it was safe to do so, made a dangerous right hand turn in front of me -- a classic "right hook".

I followed him two blocks to his destination (--) and tried -- calmly -- to explain to him that he needs to be more careful, and that he has a duty to yield to bicycles in that situation (I was in the bike lane).

Your driver admitted that he saw me, yet still tried to pin the blame on me, though both common sense and Virginia law are on my side. Ironically, he told me that I was the one who needed to be more careful, which is absurd since had I not been being careful, I would quite possibly be dead and you would be dealing with the liability consequences. Clearly, I could not change his mind, so I am leaving it up to you to do so.

The cab was marked US DOT #######; obviously, he was not willing to identify himself.

I expect a clear resolution of this matter.

Thank you,

Mig Selv

Dear Nice Soccer Mom

Just a suggestion: don't stop in the middle of the travel lane to let your child climb out on the driver's side into oncoming traffic. And if you do, please don't then pull into a parking space so you can turn around.

It doesn't help your image much.

"I TRI"

The Myth of the Arrogant Cyclist is pervasive. It doesn't take much of a thought experiment to realize how absurd it would be for me to ride my 20 pound bike in the middle of busy roads just so I can "teach some motorists a lesson." Nevertheless, it's quite clear that many drivers don't understand that, while I'm not actually trying to slow them down, my safety takes precedence over their convenience.

Apparently, there are cyclists that don't realize this either.

Now, I'm far from one of these people who thinks that the common bond between two strangers on bikes somehow makes them instant friends. Sure, I'll occasionally respond with a wave just to make the original waver happy, but really, I could hardly care less if we're both on two wheels. I mean, some people are just assholes whatever they're doing.

Case in point. Park Street is a favorite corridor into downtown for those who prefer to be stuck in traffic on a narrow, winding road as opposed to being stuck in traffic on an eight lane highway with a stoplight every quarter mile. In response, the City has installed a number of "traffic calming" devices that create a number of dangers for cyclists, including narrow and winding lanes and lots of jutting curbs at intersections.

Since mig selv neither rides in the door zone nor does the curb-hugger weave, I was riding down the middle of the lane at 15-20 out of a possible 25 MPH one morning after dropping Syd off at school. An SUV driver didn't really care for my technique and gave me a toot from his horn when he finally found a place to pass. I kind of chuckled when I saw that his license plate read "I TRI" -- the unmistakable sign of a triathlete -- and when he turned into a parking lot 100 feet later, I decided to ask him what his problem was.

"You can't ride in the middle of the street!" he demanded.

"Yes, I can," I replied, reasonably calmly, "if the road is too narrow to share."

He proceeded to give me the "I'm a cyclist, too" speech, complete with telling me where and when I should ride and how I was doing it all wrong, and blah, blah, blah.

I cut him off and reiterated, "I'm not going to ride in the door zone; that's a good way to get myself killed." To which he replied,

"That's the price you pay for riding in the city."

See? Some cyclists really are assholes.

How a Responsible Company Saves on CO2 Emissions

Because what says, "Be good to Nature," better than shipping air instead of something that might use up fuel?

What the Muck?

Sometimes you stumble across such incompetence, such abject stupidity that you just have to shake your head in wonder.

Given all the hassle with mice of late, I decided to check the crawl space under the master bathroom to see if there was any sign of critters. When I looked in the hatch, I noticed that some of the insulation had fallen, which made me fear that not only did I have mice in there, but a snake had found its way to some easy meals. Upon closer inspection, it was even worse.

Observing a pool of water on top of the plastic sheet used to prevent water vapor from seeping into the crawl space, I asked Joy to run some bath water to see if I could find a leak.

And did I.

Now, generally I give people the benefit of the doubt the first time they do something suspicious. I could understand that the previous owner might not have known of the leak in the bathroom roof or the broken water supply -- even though at least the latter happened before closing. But I'd like to know exactly how the owner, who presumably used the master bathroom at least a few times in the 10+ years it's been there, didn't know that the drain in the master shower was not connected to anything whatsoever.

You read that right. For all intents and purposes, all of our shower water had been draining directly into the crawlspace insulation, which finally fell from degradation, but not before causing both a floor joist and some foam pipe insulation to rot.

So I spent the better part of today hooking up the drain, removing some insulation and putting some fresh back in. Next weekend, I'll cut out a chunk of the joist and splice in a new piece, and redo the rest of the insulation.

At least I've been down there long enough to stop worrying about snakes.

Pictures here.

Why?

I often find myself asking this very question, though all too often lately it's followed by, "the heck did you think that was a good idea?"

Maybe I have early-onset curmudgeatarianism. Maybe I'm just more willing to speak my mind. Or maybe I've just finally decided that, no, I don't have to respect your opinion, because sometimes your opinion is really, really stupid.

I don't mean you, the reader, of course. No, you're smart enough to see the wisdom in these words, so let's share a few private moments and point fingers at the idiots around us.

Take my ride home the other day. You (again, not you) might think it's foolish to ride in the middle of the lane on Market Street, but you (yes, you) and I both know that it's the safest way to avoid being doored or squeezed by some idiot trying to "shoot the gap" between me and the Pepsi delivery truck who's already halfway over the centerline because the driver is busy texting his girlfriend. Nevertheless, there's occasionally some driver who thinks I'm being an arrogant, lycra-clad* cycling fag when in reality, all I really want is to get home and see my wife and kids like any other God-fearing**, apple-pie loving*** 'Merican male.

So anyway...the other day I was riding home -- in addition to my usual reasons for not hugging the parked cars, I was actually passing a slower, lesser cyclist -- when a minivan driver decided to honk at me and shoot by close enough to "send me a message." I've learned to deal with such morons, but the funny thing about this incident is that in the course of the six blocks where I rode immediately behind the minivan -- I have little trouble keeping up with traffic since I am a well-trained, faster, manly cyclist -- I was able to study the vehicle quite thoroughly, including noting the vanity plate that read, "B AMOUR" and the bumper sticker promoting the "University of Peace".

Let's digest that for a minute: the driver is (presumably) declaring a belief that we could get along with people of all stripes, all creeds and religions, the communists and the dictators, the America-haters and the terrorists, if only -- if only we would all just sit down and work out our differences and got to understand one another. Such a peaceful world it would be!

But those damned cyclists -- ooh! -- they just get my blood boiling!

---

* I don't actually wear lycra on my daily commute of 3 miles. Please excuse the literary license.
** I'm not actually a God-fearer, though this could change one day.
*** I do like apple pie, but with cranberries for flavor instead of loading it up with sugar.