We were driving along at the posted speed limit of thirty-five when up ahead we noticed a line of cars had slowed down to fifteen.
“What’s going on?” asked my wife, who was driving.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Accident?”
“I can’t see.”What do you do when one guy on a bicycle stops traffic? Click To Tweet
“Neither can I.” I craned my neck to get a better look. Why I don’t know. I would have had to have been a giraffe to see what was going on up ahead. Or Mr. Fantastic. That would have been nice.
The Wrong Way to Use Super Powers
I would have liked the ability to stretch my undersized body to see over a row of cars, or spot danger from afar, or maybe peer into a third floor bedroom window. Hellooooo ladies! Getting ready for a slumber party?
I wouldn’t just be a peeping hero. I’d use my powers for good. Sometimes, I guess. I’d still do a few good things now and then, like saving the world occasionally, but I might also, every once in a while, ever so silently, peep into a lady’s boudoir. Is that terrible? You can’t blame a guy for that. Not even a superhero.
It’s hard to believe such noble intentions would go unrequited.
Back to the Road
Kicked out of my daydream by my wife’s honk, and lacking a Mr. Fantastic neck, I was still unable to see the problem ahead. All either of us could see was one car after another wait for traffic from the opposite direction to whiz past, then accelerate out to the left, and rush ahead as the next car in line pushed forward. It was excruciating.
“If people are rubbernecking-“
“No.” She cut me short. “Traffic hasn’t stopped. It just- Wait.”
“What?” She’d caught a glimpse of the cause.
“I think it’s a biker.”
“No.” We were closer now, only ten cars or so off the lead, so I lowered the window and leaned my head out. Sure enough, occupying an entire lane of road, forcing an entire column of vehicles to slow to his peddle-induced speed limit whirred a biker, a mad peddler,
I leaned back in. I thought my first question a reasonable one: “Is he on drugs?”
“Oh, yeah,” she sneered, “multivitamins and fish oil. Probably goji berries and acai powder.”
“Who the hell does he think he is?” I asked no one in particular.
Bikers: the Real Supervillains
This isn’t the first time this has happened to us. A whole army of these mad peddlers exist. Who gave them the right to take up an entire lane of traffic and block a column of cars from passing? Do they think they’re actually cars? And who told them they could wear those skintight, padded shorts anyway? They think they’re superheroes. What do they go through before they head out?
I hear the call of the early morning traffic. It’s time for Peddle-boy to ride again! I’ll ride my indestructible eight-hundred twenty gram, lightweight Italian carbon frame in front of a stack of puny automobiles. Hah! The fools! I dare them to defy me. I will ram them at top speed with my multi-directional impact helmet, and watch their flimsy metal frames crumple! Pass me at your peril.
I’ll stop them now with one of my magic hand signals. Elbow up, hand down, stop. Clumsy idiots! No one can resist the power of my hand signals!
Yes, they think they’re superheroes, but they’re really supervillains. Even their outfits give them away: the power shorts with the special padded rear end, the tight-fitting clown tee-shirt, the spiked shoes, and, of course, the combat-ready helmet for when they inevitably tumble headfirst over their handlebars.
Handling the Situation like a Real Superhero
How would we handle this situation? We decided on an aggressive approach. The best option for all concerned was to pull even with this biking dweeb and swing hard right and take him out.
We waited our turn. My wife squeezed the steering wheel. I pressed against the dashboard. Minutes passed. One car after another zipped by him. At last, we were behind him. Sunlight skimmed off his neon green tee-shirt. Lana pulled parallel with Peddle-Boy. She looked right. She…
No, she didn’t turn into him, but wouldn’t that have been great? Haven’t you ever felt that urge? Wouldn’t you love to watch one of these traffic-stoppers fly into a ditch? Take that, Peddle-boy! You won’t hold me up again!
Faster than a speeding tricycle.
More powerful than a battery-powered choo choo.
Able to leap tall buildings not at all.
Look! Out on the road! It’s a dork! It’s a nerd! No, it’s Peddle-boy, strange visitor from another mindset who came to our highway with powers and abilities to get under people’s skin.
Peddle-boy, who can blind onrushing automobiles with his lime green tee shirts and frazzle the nerves of his tail-bound followers.
And who, disguised as a carnival clown, fights a never-ending battle for the rights of over-priced Italian bicycles to block irate commuters.
Let’s fight a battle for truth, justice, and the American highway. Get rid of these bikers!