No, your wheelie half an inch away from my toe was NOT impressive.
I don’t know your name. I don’t know what you look like. I know nothing about you. The only information I could process while you were zooming by me on the sidewalk was my life flashing before my eyes.
I really thought it was the end. It was nice knowing you mom and dad. Tell the cats that I love them. As I snapped back into reality and regained my confidence to safely cross the street, I almost got hit by another one of you.
This one is for you, bikers of Penn State.
You come when I’m least expecting you. I cross an empty street, look both ways 12 times, and you still somehow manage to appear. Not only do you appear, but you appear at 60 miles per hour.
You always have to make things complicated. Of course it would be no fun to simply pass me at a safe speed. Of course it would be no fun to pass me by biking in the open road. To have some fun, you decide to take both hands off your handlebars, call your friend, peel a banana, and maneuver through a crowd of 18 people on a 6-foot-wide sidewalk all at the same time.
You never come alone. I’d even go as far as to say that some of you travel in biker gangs. Do you want to know what’s scarier than walking alone at night in the middle of the clown apocalypse? Walking to class at 12 in the afternoon on a sunny day and seeing gaggle of bikers in the distance. I know deep down that you are waiting until I cross the road before you race each other and take me down in the process.
You can’t stop, won’t stop. You don’t seem to know how to use the “brake” feature on your bicycle. Instead of stopping at crosswalks, you seemingly pretend they are the magical speed boosts on Mario Kart that make you go faster when you pedal over them. The only time you stop is when you actually run someone over. Even the squirrels are scared of you.
It’s not you, it’s me. Somehow, you make me convince myself that this is all my fault. I must just be a bike-magnet. The amount of times that I almost get swooped off my feet by your wheels cannot possibly be your fault. Maybe I should just start walking in the grass so I don’t get in your way.
You are just the beginning of my trust issues. Your little friends also love to threaten my young life as I walk to class. The skateboarders, the scooterers, the electric scooterers, the Razor scooterers, the rollerbladers, and, of course, the hoverboarders. This one goes out to you guys, too.
I wish we could coexist. I wish the sight of you didn’t make my heart rate increase tenfold. Maybe one day, we can learn to share the sidewalk. Maybe one day, you won’t break my trust—and by this I mean, maybe one day you’ll choose to walk like the rest of us.
Student, daughter, lover of kittens, victim of bicycle abuse.