blazing saddles

Everett sank into the cool velvet chaise in Chloe's living room. From where he sat, he could see the evening sun of Summer setting beyond the western edge of Tribeca, bathing the top halves of its buildings in a sherbet glow, calming the city as if it were singing it a lullaby. Car horns diminished in the distance, and work-a-day Chinese women scurried on the street below, picking up last minute ingredients from the vegetable vendors closing down their stalls.

He was tired, Chloe could see, no doubt from having spent the entire day on his bike riding all over the damn place. She figured he did this, regularly, mostly because he was broke, but also because he needed adventure and this was the only way to get it. Seemingly endless, drawn-out work weeks left Everett more morose and downtrodden than the average daily-grind worker. He just wasn't cut out for it, this sitting in an office chair, day after day. It killed him. These things he had explained to Chloe over and over, while strolling around Columbus Park or while taking tea at the Mah Jong Parlour on Pell Street. And now he was taking action... sort of.

"Man, it was such a fantastic day. I mean, 85 and sunny."

Everett had an admirable tolerance for extreme heat. Actually, it was beyond tolerance. He thoroughly enjoyed humid, hot, sunny days. While Chloe hated even the feeling of potential perspiration, Everett luxuriated in it.

Chloe retorted, "Ugh. The weather was horrendous. I could smell the fishmonger all the way from Canal Street today. Also, I attempted to ride my bike, but the saddle was so hot from the sun I promptly dismissed the idea entirely." (It goes without saying that Chloe complained about the weather rather excessively during the summer months.)

Wisely ignoring her, Everett continued. "Well, for some reason, today, people just seemed dazed by the sunshine. Pedestrians just kind of walked around like zombies everywhere I went, stepping into traffic, barely moving along sidewalks." (Ever since Everett started riding his bike, really riding his bike, he referred to people who were not on bikes as "pedestrians.")

"So, tell me what happened that's gotten you so riled up."

Everett had texted her an expletive-laden message earlier in the day, the content of which Chloe found impossible to decipher. In response, she invited him to "just come over whenever the hell he got back from wherever the hell he was. " And so, her bell rang about 6:30pm, just as she was putting some rose in the fridge to chill. Thank god he had showered before coming over.

Everett recounted:

So, this lethargy I was sensing wasn't limited to pedestrians. Even car drivers seemed to be a little... unconscious. To the point where just getting out of Manhattan over the bridge proved to be near-catastrophic, with cars just coasting through the red light at Canal Street. It's a good thing I'm a careful rider. But the worst was yet to come. As I was coming down off the bridge in DUMBO, I hit the light perfectly so as to be able to cross into that raised, center-median bike lane. And you know how that's just one huge downhill slope down to Sands Street? well, I was just blazing-saddles down that thing, made it through that one light at Gold Street. I must have been going like 40 miles per hour. And for some reason, I just did not notice this car that had driven up onto the bike lane median and whose driver had their door wide open, almost touching the concrete divider wall between bike lanes. So there was nowhere for me to go but into the traffic lane, which, most unfortunately, was taken at that very second by a car. So, I attempted to slam on my brakes, which, of course, didn't stop me in time. My front tire hit the inside of the driver's side door, sending me (with a helmet, thank, god,) straight into the window pane, shattering the glass. It's a good thing I wasn't going faster or I'd be a lot worse off.

"But where are your injuries? Your scratches?," Chloe interjected.

Everett pulled up him pant legs to reveal two equally-sized wounds on each of his knees.

Just these. But look, this isn't the worst of it. I'm getting up, trying to pull myself together, and this huge, fat woman is screaming at me. And I'm thinking, what the fuck, I should be screaming at her. She's still in her fucking car, saying 'Look what you just did to MAH CAR!! YouSONOFABITCH!!' And all the while her lazy, fat ass is still parked in that drivers seat.

I was incredulous. I couldn't believe this was happening. My gut reaction was to start getting myself together to keep riding, and as I picked up my bike, still shaking form the impact, she's saying to me 'That's right, KEEP MOVIN, KEEP MOVIN.' So I shot back, 'You're in the fucking bike lane, what did you expect you BITCH?!' Well, that finally got her moving out of her seat. I defensively scrambled up onto the concrete barrier and in front of her car, so that she was blocked by her open door. At that point, I don't remember what she said. Nothing of consequence, really. Apparently she had just parked her lazy ass there right on a bike lane, for no reason at all but to hinder cyclists.

While she was ranting, I determined that I wasn't seriously injured, and I decided that I would be proactive. As she kept yelling at me, I calmly mounted my bike and, once the traffic lane was clear, circled around her car. I took out my camera and snapped one photo of the scene. The back of her car and car door, clearly blocking a bike lane, with the window shattered and the most important piece, a clear shot of her license plate.

Once she saw me take the photo, she flipped her shit and went after me. I started to ride away but I wasn't fast enough. I guess I was too shaken from the fall. She knocked me off my bike and I was so angry that I promptly got up and hit her, and at that point it was just a full-on fight. Me and this huge, foul-mouthed woman. All I remember is that I just kept punching her, until she finally gave way and flew across the concrete barrier, rolling into the opposite bike lane, where she lay, motionless. Of course, before I had time to process what had just happened, a cop car rolls up with its lights on. He questioned me, I told him the story, and he sent me on my way, saying he'd take care of the situation. He didn't seem to care about the woman laying face down on the opposite bike lane. Once I started riding away, he finally strolled over to her, and as I looked over my shoulder, I saw her get up, yelling and pointing at me as I rode away. I figured, that's justice.

Chloe got up to retrieve the rose from the fridge. She hoped it was chilled.