The Dopes of Cycling: They’re Here, They’re Queer and They Hate Cars

Okay, this is Part III of the “Why Am I Writing about Cycling?” series. And before I get into my points, or lack thereof, let me clarify this article’s title before too many panties get bunched up. The Dopes of Cycling: They’re Here, They’re Queer and They Hate Cars is, by all counts, a marginally clever title. However, it is not meant to imply that cyclists are actually queer, or gay, or even homosexual for that matter. Even if their ridiculous spandex might scream otherwise, my use of the word queer is merely meant to infer a difference, a Texas sized lifestyle difference that will separate “bike” people and “car” people until the day the ice caps melt and the sharks inherit the earth.


Ah, Car People, my people. Car People don’t even need to be “car people”, in a traditional sense, to enjoy membership in this sect. They don’t need to be grease monkeys or even have the slightest idea of how cars work They don’t even have to own a fucking car. They merely need to appreciate cars, roads and highways for what they are: society’s highest form of personal transportation. These people need not “hate” cycling or cyclists. In fact, they might even be cyclists. Car People adhere to one principal and one principal only: they’d rather get from point A to point B without getting run off the road by a spandex clad warrior or worse, vice versa and a manslaughter trial. I am Car People, here me roar.


Bike People aren’t real people. I’m pretty sure they’re robots from the planet Egomania. They make the line between getting killed and killing someone much thinner than what should be socially acceptable, if not illegal. When I worked at a deli there was this despicable hippie dude who wore a pro-cycling shirt that said, “Cars are Coffins”. Fucking asshole, I thought. Of course they’re coffins, especially when a brain-dead cyclist forces a head-on collision on a busy road. Bike People feel that wherever cars can go, they can go, even if that means heavily trafficked, winding roads with no shoulders. The disgusting, hypocritical truth of the matter is that that hippie douche bag owned a car and drove it to work each and every day, a quandary I’m sure most Bike People find themselves living through constantly.


There is and never will be a set solution for this problem. As I’ve stated, the Bike people are far too stubborn. So, as we’ve done for the last two centuries plus, since that damn Frenchman Comte Mede de Sivrac invented the first bicycle in 1790, we try and coexist. But like my Uncle Jim says, “it’s not murder if the victim was a cyclist and the weapon was your car.”

(READER’S NOTE: I don’t actually have an Uncle Jim. I took the liberty of fabricating a family member to increase the overall readability of this piece, though I’m not sure if it made a difference. I also, per my admission, would like to stress that I don’t actually advocate murder. However, I do believe that we, as Americans, should drive our cars with disregard for cyclists’ health in hopes that we ourselves should remain living.)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

1 + three =