Road Rage and Me

I see you creeping up on my bumper and I don’t like it one bit. This is the way it always goes when I am driving anywhere. The driving instructor instilled a sense of duty in me to check my mirrors every ten seconds. I slow down slightly just to let you know that yes, I am aware you are there and in a hurry, but I do not care. As you encroach upon the space that I claimed as my own, I notice that you are texting while driving. My rage is building and I start thinking about that new car I saw on the television last night. I slam on the brakes and suddenly you fly by me, barely missing me and blowing your horn as if you think I care. I really don’t care what you think. This is my road and I am here to stay. My car purrs along like a kitten with a full belly. I see another victim getting closer and closer to my claimed territory. Another chance to score.

How did I become this curmudgeon? Well, I think it started somewhere in my childhood. My parents did not think that it was important for me to have a ten speed bicycle like all my friends had. They had gotten me a single-speed, banana seat, bike with no bells or whistles. Now, that might sound like everyone’s childhood out there but let me tell you it wasn’t. My friends loved the fact that they could travel everywhere in half the time that I could. They would sit and wait for me and laugh, then take off again as I furiously pedaled to keep up. When I became a teenager, my parents finally bought me the ten speed I had always wanted but by that time, my friends had cars and again, I was left behind. I know this doesn’t have much to do with road rage, I will get to that in a moment.

One day in my late teen life, I was riding my bike down the street heading for the street festival that was going on over the weekend. I had a mirror on my bike and I saw it coming, my friend’s car was on my tail. I pedaled faster and waved them around to no avail. My blood started boiling. I was pissed. I slammed on the brakes. BAM! The car hit me and threw me four foot ahead and totaled my bike. I sat up and my friend got out of his car and ran over to me and helped me to my feet and asked if I was okay. Well, after I screamed bloody murder and threw my bike at his car, I limped to the corner and used a payphone to call the police. I sat down on the curb to wait for the patrol car. I heard the sirens and a feeling of euphoria came over me. I was getting excited hearing the sound of the patrol car. It was invigorating and I could hardly wait for the police to arrive. The dancing lights came into view. They shut off the siren as they parked leaving the lights flashing. The officer got out of his vehicle and pulled a notepad from his pocket along with a pen and started walking towards me. I was really jazzed by this time and I stood up to greet this person who was going to teach that so-called friend of mine a lesson.

My so-called friend jumped in front of me and gave his statement. I listened as he lied to the officer. Not only did he claim that I was the one at fault but that I had damaged his car. I couldn’t believe it. He had stalked me and intimidated me and then hit me. How was any of this my fault? The officer wrote every word down in his little notepad and then asked me my story. What could I say? The other story was a lie? I didn’t throw my bike at the car? I didn’t slam on my brakes in front of the car? Oh, I was angry. Not just angry. I was enraged. My head felt like it was going to explode. I yelled that it was his fault and that bicycles had the right of way. He had hit me when I stopped, but he wouldn’t have hit me if he hadn’t intended on intimidating me. I laid it on thick and that this person had bullied me all of our lives and that this was just one more incident in a long history of incidents.

The officer dutifully wrote everything I said down also, and then he went back to his car and radioed dispatch. After a few minutes of back and forth on the radio, the officer got back out of his car and approached the both of us and handed each of us a citation and said we could argue our grievances in front of a judge. He went back to his car, got in turned off the lights and left.

I stood there shaking with rage. My bike was in several pieces and I was hurting all over from hitting the pavement. My frenemy said, “Listen man, I'm sorry for hitting you, but you asked for it. That's what I am going to tell the judge too. You’re going to pay for all the scratches on my car.” He walked back to his car and he too left the scene.

I picked up the pieces of my bike and dragged them over to the curb and called my parents and told them what had happened. They weren’t very happy about the crash and they were worried that they would have to cover the damages done to the car. They told me to stay where I was and they would be there soon to pick me up and that I was grounded for the rest of the weekend. Yeah, it was like that.

I sat and waited like a good son and I shook with rage. My parents arrived with the truck and I loaded what was left of my bike in the back and climbed in the back seat. My mother looked at me and said, “You don’t look hurt, I guess that’s a blessing. What am I going to tell my friends when they find out what happened. And don’t give me that look. I know you weren’t completely innocent. You two have been at each other since you were in kindergarten.”

My father looked at me and just shook his head and put the truck in drive and headed towards our house. He never once looked back at me when we arrived. He just followed my mother into the house and left me to remove the bike and figure out what to do with all the pieces. I opened the garage door and found an empty box and loaded it with the bike parts and set the box inside the garage.

A month went by and my parents never said a word about the wreck. They pretended like it never happened. I went to school and faced my peers with disdain. The story they had heard first from the bully was the one they believed. It didn’t matter what they thought. I decided that I didn’t care what they thought. I knew who the villain was and he would get his comeuppance in court next week.

As I stood before the judge and told my story. I was surprised that they allowed me to go first. I was being called the defendant. I really didn’t know what that meant. But, he listened to me tell my story and even asked me questions when he was unclear about something I had said. I was amazed. I could really win this case then we would see who would pay who. My nemesis, that was what I had decided he was to me, then told his side of the story. I listened in stunned silence as he gave a speech that a professor would have been proud of. I was trembling with rage as he painted the incident as road rage on my part and that he did everything in his power to prevent the tragedy that had befallen me.

The judge waited until the speech was finished before asking any questions. He told us to wait for a few minutes while he deliberated his decision in his chambers. I waited on pins and needles. I scanned my nemesis with daggers in my eyes. I watched as he stood there calmly, as if this was something that he did everyday. My hands twitched and I jammed them into my pockets to hide the tremor. Minutes went by slowly and I was aware of every breath in the courtroom. My legs were getting numb and my mouth felt like I had swallowed a bag of sand. I swallowed a few times to try and get my mouth to work. I was getting ready to ask the bailiff for some water when the judge returned.

Taking a look around the courtroom the judge’s gaze landed on me.

“I was once a young man, such as you. It is hard to know right and wrong when you are feeling the strain of intimidation. Although, you were at fault by stopping in the path of the car, the driver of the car was also at fault for failure to pass you when safe to do so. I am not going to award damages to either of you. You will both have to accept that the damages caused by this incident could have been avoided if you had both stopped to think. Now leave this room and do not let me see you here again or I will not be so lenient next time.”

I left the courtroom in utter dismay. I was upset. My nemesis owed me a new bike. He had hit me on purpose. I didn’t care what that judge said. My parents escorted me to the car and told me to get in and that I was very lucky that the judge had not made them pay for the damages to that car. I squirmed in the backseat. It was not enough that the judge had blamed me, but my parents did too.

The next day, I went out to the garage and pulled the pieces of my bike out of the box and started the long process of putting back together. I worked diligently every day until I had the bike back in working condition. I started riding again as soon as the last cable was in place. It felt so great to finally be back on the road. I got permission from my mother to take my bike down to the riverfront and ride on the green-way.

As I hit the road, I felt that nudge in the back of my head that something was wrong. Looking in my mirror, I gulped and felt a cold sweat down my back. I cringed in terror, remembering the last time. I pedaled faster and faster trying to outrun the car. It was gaining on me. The road inclined and I lost speed. I changed gears and pedaled like a madman. The car finally gave up and went around me, horn blaring as the driver gave me the finger.

I pulled over and stopped to catch my breath. My brain was reliving the wild ride and suddenly rage set in. Anger like I’ve never known. My pulse pounded in my temples and I put my foot on the pedal and started pedaling again. I changed direction and headed towards a busier roadway. When I entered the traffic in the bike lane and started weaving in and out of cars, my adrenaline spiked and I was high as a kite.

I stalked my first victim. A small compact car was coming up behind me and I slid out in front of it. It couldn’t go around due to oncoming traffic and was forced to follow me. I pedaled as fast as I could and timed it just right. As the car got closer, I slammed on my brakes and yes, took the hit. This time I was prepared for the impact. As I flew over the handlebars of my bike I tucked myself up and rolled when I hit the pavement.

I stood before a new judge this time and when the judge looked at me with my black eye and arm in a cast, he ruled in my favor, not knowing my previous history. The driver of the car was charged with failure to maintain proper distance and I received a new bike for my troubles and a nice little sum of money. Enough to put a down payment on a car when I was old enough to drive. I decided not to try the maneuver on my new bike. Hitting pavement with your body at a speed of forty miles per hour was not fun. I decided that my adrenaline addiction could be better fueled with less dangerous hobbies such as roller coasters for the time being. As for my future, who knows.