Uninformed Egos and Other Road Hazards

I had an interesting conversation the other day.

Well, this last weekend.

And calling it a conversation is generous, because there wasn’t much back-and-forth and most of it felt forced.

I stopped by to see a friend while she was playing pool. I brought my cues, but when it came down to it, I didn’t really feel like playing. She was in a match against a pool league acquaintance, someone I’ve known by name for a while, but never really interacted with. That’s kind of been my experience in league, honestly.

To his credit, he was trying. Really fucking hard.

So he reached for what he thought was common ground and mentioned that he used to ride motorcycles.

Okay. Fine. Reasonable opener.

But then came the second sentence.

Something along the lines of: “That’s why I always stayed alert while riding.”

Wait. What?

Was he implying that I wasn’t alert? That I somehow caused my own accident? Because that’s sure as hell how it landed. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I kept my mouth shut, but inside, I was fucking seething. And I’m terrible at hiding that.

I replied with something clipped and sharp, probably sharper than polite: “Yeah, me too. Most people don’t realize that in the hour before that accident, I probably avoided three or four collisions because of how fucking aware I am of other drivers.”

The words came out like acid, and I didn’t bother hiding how pissed off I was.

But it got me thinking. Why the fuck are some men so comfortable asserting themselves as the authority in a conversation when they don’t know a goddamn thing about the person they’re talking to?

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know how I ride. He’s never seen me ride.

And let’s not skip over the key detail: he used to ride. He doesn’t now.

So maybe, just maybe, shut the fuck up.

If you haven’t ridden down Cerrillos Road in peak traffic on two wheels in over a decade, you don’t get to question my judgment. You don’t get to question my riding ability. Not without evidence. Not without experience. Not without actually knowing who the fuck you’re talking to.

Yes, I ride aggressively in traffic.

No, that does not mean I ride stupidly.

I find it soothing. I find it centering. I am fully aware of what every car around me is doing. I see the drivers drifting with their heads buried in their phones. I identify my outs early. I execute with precision. This is not recklessness, it’s discipline.

He also threw out something about “idiots who swerve in and out of traffic.”

Oh? You rode motorcycles?

No. I don’t think you did. Riding a dirt bike in the middle of nowhere doesn’t count.

Motorcycles are smaller. They need less clearance. They are designed to maneuver. And yes, that pisses off car drivers. That statement wasn’t from a rider’s perspective, it was from a car driver’s.

So spare me the cosplay biker wisdom. I can see straight through it.

Here’s the truth: riding the razor’s edge in traffic is cathartic for me. There is a profound serenity in being fully present, fully engaged, fully awake among the flow. And if you’ve been reading my post-accident writing, you already know this: the thing that bothers me the most is that I don’t remember the accident.

Because I know how aware I am when I ride.

That awareness is a point of pride.

And yet, since getting back on my bike and riding that same stretch of road, I’ve noticed something important. In heavy traffic, it is genuinely hard to see the small turn lanes from the opposite direction. Even when riding tight to the curb, those mid-block business access lanes are difficult to spot. There are two of them packed into a very short stretch of road.

That’s not my problem to solve. I’m not a traffic engineer, and I’m sure no one would take me seriously anyway.

But to anyone thinking about questioning my riding ability?

Stop. Before you start.

My patience for uninformed egos is running dangerously thin.