Oh Yea! Well, your mother’s a whore!

Yep.  In the days of  my childhood it was the vilest of retorts you could slam-jack on your buddies to s’plode any chance of a come back that could dig deeper than that put-down (as if we knew what it meant).

The other day, riding home from a meeting in Manhattan beach, those were the words that silently resonated in my brain as an insult to each car’s disrespectful driver’s glare as they passed and sneered as I rode the streets with three lanes in each direction but none for bikes, on PCH, during rush hour on my way home; take the lane or get slammed to the curb.   You’re fighting 3000lbs of metal in every direction, no domestiques leading you out or protecting your wheel from behind and you’re envisioning a car bumper jacking up your ass as you fight to control the lane and the respect is thin at best.  It was more vicious than a flat 4 corner crit where bumping through each turn is a passive tactic.

Manhattan Beach to Long Beach: 22 miles of commuting misery; no bike lanes the entire stretch on Pacific Coast Highway until you get to Ximeno in the hood.  They weren’t honking their horns but you could cut the tension with a machete.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

Beast AniMauX!