the worst kind of cyclist
Today I encountered the worst kind of cyclist: he passed me in an intersection by ignoring a stop sign. Not content with just one, he then ran the next two stop signs – despite fair traffic coming from the side streets. Over the next kilometer or two I saw him partially stop at three red lights, only to proceed when it suited him. On the final occasion, this meant plowing through a big wodge of pedestrians in a cross-walk.
How did I see all of this without blowing through all those stops myself? The secret about the worst cyclists is that they're crap on the straights as well: they don't learn to feel for the road and wind up dodging and weaving through potholes and interactions with emerging cars or those making right turns; they also have low top speeds. Despite behaving like they own the road, these strangers don't even know it.
In short: the worst.
But I have hope for him. From time to time, he'll hit a pedestrian or get knocked about by a driver or caught by a cop and through that series of events he'll learn. Like a violent two-year old, learning to socialize.
(In which I leave the final word to someone else.)
If I had my life to live over, I'd try to make more mistakes next time. I would relax, I would limber up, I would be crazier than I've been on this trip. I know very few things I'd take seriously any more. I'd certainly be less hygenic... I would take more chances, I would take more trips, I would scale more mountains, I would swim more rivers, and I would watch more sunsets. I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans. I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it all over again, I'd have many more of them, in fact I'd try not to have anything else, just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of my day. If I had it to do all over again, I'd travel lighter, much lighter than I have. I would start barefoot earlier in the spring, and I'd stay that way later in the fall. And I would ride more merry-go-rounds, and catch more gold rings, and greet more people and pick more flowers and dance more often. If I had it to do all over again - but you see, I don't.
-Jorge Luis Borges