On 02/19, you were the Lance Armstrong berating, at the top of your lungs, the cell phone using driver who made a left in front of you on 5th Ave. I was the pedestrian who called you a big shouty dumbass.
Here's the thing, son: The driver was in the wrong, no question. And it's scary to almost get hurt, again no question. However, do you think your tantrum made that driver more or less likely to share the road with you?
I've ridden a motorcycle for 22 years, and a bicycle for 12. In that time, I've had more close calls than I can count, at the hands of cars, trucks, cabs, dogs, deer, debris, and yes, other bikes. Except for some cab drivers, none of them did it on purpose. Many of them looked damn scared when they realized their error.
The driver you yelled at drove away having learned two things: He just got yelled at by a grown man in tights, and all bicyclists are dicks. You might think you taught him some other lesson, but you didn't. You turned a teachable moment into plain old workaday asshattery. Nice work, son.
Moreover, these days people are shooting each other over thrown popcorn. Do you really want to get shot and exsanguinate on the street, wearing spandex and a funny little hat? If that's your bag, so be it, but it sounds pretty lame. I'd much rather go out banging a cheerleader, but hey, that's me.
Here's how you do it, son: Stay aware. Always expect cars to mess up, always. Get a horn. Use it, sparingly, when other people mess up. And for Pete's sake, share the damn road!
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