Kalah Allen

It’s never been fun to be a non-cis/white/male bike commuter in this city. Between drivers who think bike lanes are a convenient drop-off point and Lycra-swathed bros incapable of ringing the bell on their $5,000 bikes as they whiz past at 25 miles per hour a mere two inches away, the ambiance has room for improvement. Some things are shitty for everyone, but I’ve got a hunch I wouldn’t get called a dumb bitch for crossing the street in front of a car blocking my lane, or harassed whether I ride in the street or on the sidewalk, or yelled at and tailgated by my fellow bikers if I had a dick between my legs or didn’t have a skirt flapping spectacularly in the wind. Next time you feel the need to shout expletives at me while I’m trying to get the fuck home, try keeping your fucking mouth shut and see if it makes you less of a toxic douchebag. And to all you other non-cis/white/male bike commuters out there: Stay safe, stay sane, and stay ready to shout those motherfuckers down off their phallic fucking pedestals.—Anonymous