I Would Rather be a Big Man on a Small Bike Than a Small Man in a Big Truck.

Today I made the mistake of riding my 200cc motorcycle to work. The morning ride was nice and chilled but not a bad 15 mile drive through the central valley bog. I even saw some owls and a wily fox on the way. This afternoon was different, much different. Weather reports for today showed partly cloudy skies with a 15% chance of scattered rain. Unfortunately, in Cache Valley weather cannot be predicted. After my bus run I jumped on my bike and started down the road when the light rain turned into ice pellets of death. There was no avoiding the blasted little crusties as they pelted my face. The beard helped some, and so did my glasses, but I am overcoming a sunburn from a nap folly two days ago. What should have been only minor bee stings turned into wasps with rubber band guns. If you have ever stood directly underneath a tall waterfall and looked up you have a pretty clear idea of the pain. This all happened at 25 mph; over that speed and my face would have been cheese-grated.

About halfway through the trip home the ice storm let up and I was left with snow and rain friendlets. Now I could only go about 35 mph because I was soaked and my knees and wrists were non-responsive. Hugging the far right side of a two-lane road seemed the best course of action. I was wrong, though, because that was taking up too much of the road. A jacked-up Super Heavy-Duty Custom Special Edition troop-supporting big-tired F-1050 Ford truck decided I was being a prick and passed within a foot or so of my whimpering Honda 200CM. The draft nearly sucked me off into the smelly muskrat ditch. I tried to apologize to the fellow with a wave of my hand but it was so cold I could not keep my finger up to do it properly. He probably could not see me anyway since I could barely make out his baseball-capped head above the truck's front seat.

After the truck incident and a minivan soccer mom on a cell phone who almost ran my foot over at a light, the ride continued with little incident. Why do we allow small people to drive vehicles much too big for them, anyway? There should be an unwritten law against just that sort of thing. Too many times people too small for their vehicle of choice have encountered me, and it always almost ends badly. The first vehicular collision I had was when an old woman ran into the side of our car. She could only see a few inches above the dash (between the dash and the top of the steering wheel) of her monstrous Cadillac and tried to blame the accident on our yellow Nissan because she did not see it. Oh, and her dog was tiny, too.  My second accident was with a woman who backed into my red Nissan (we upgraded) and could not see over her backseat. My third and final accident involved a small cow, or "calf" as they call them, who could not see me because of  a sagebrush.

I admit that it would be somewhat discriminatory to make an actual law against this sort of thing. But could we not all just make fun of them until they stop doing it? It is pretty funny to see an old short bloke or blokess in their honking machines looking for all the world like muppets or Dr. Seuss characters. Making fun is not only an enjoyable way for us to begin separating small people from their death-carriages, it keeps me from dragging the baseball-capped, oakley-glassed, facial-hairless oompa-loompas  from their behemoth trucks at stop lights and strapping them behind my 200cc Honda like they did in the old days. Until then I will try to be more careful and not take up so much of the road.