Spring Break
Bicyclists are trying to kill my truck
Bike theft? Sounds like an awesome idea. Can we get more of that?
By: Steve Humeniuk
Issue date: 3/10/09 Section: Opinion
The Feb. 24, issue of The Battalion reported a story about how 76 bikes had been stolen this semester, and I was astonishingly happy to read about it. I have my reasons. The headline might as well have read "76 Lives Saved by Bicycle Theft."
I'm sorry for the financial loss that was incurred to the 76 bike owners who now have to purchase bicycles, but with the recession, hopefully they won't have the money to do so.
The hood of my motor vehicle has a blue Ford emblem on it, but most days, I feel like I should paint a bright red sign in acrylic that reads, "Your Face Here," and duct tape it to cover my front end. Other motorists will notice it, but I'm convinced no one transporting themselves on spokes, chains and two wheels will. Maybe I possess the magical power of invisibility, but I really doubt that the hundreds of bicyclists who have screamed past my car at green lights honestly couldn't see my big blue SUV about to rumble through the intersection.
You see, I would categorize myself as a motorist - I don't even own a bicycle. I am happy the State of Texas and city of College Station have provided me with the utility of having paved road access to commute to this University. I'm also proud that Texas A&M and College Station have provided sidewalks that allow for pedestrians and bicyclists to commute to school here as well. However, I wish that myself and my fellow motorists did not have access to the same intersections as those crazed adrenaline-junkie bicyclists.
I've long been under the impression that all bicyclists actually have no will to live. They are simply mulling time until they fail a test, break-up with their significant other or stop taking their medication. Then they are going to ruin both my life and theirs.
I came to college for the opportunity to further my education and make myself a competitive candidate for future employment. I did not come to college with the hopes of racking up a 27-year sentence on a manslaughter charge and winding up in a jail cell with Phil the Pedophiliac. I want my mom to cry at my graduation; not at my sentencing.
I'm sorry for the financial loss that was incurred to the 76 bike owners who now have to purchase bicycles, but with the recession, hopefully they won't have the money to do so.
The hood of my motor vehicle has a blue Ford emblem on it, but most days, I feel like I should paint a bright red sign in acrylic that reads, "Your Face Here," and duct tape it to cover my front end. Other motorists will notice it, but I'm convinced no one transporting themselves on spokes, chains and two wheels will. Maybe I possess the magical power of invisibility, but I really doubt that the hundreds of bicyclists who have screamed past my car at green lights honestly couldn't see my big blue SUV about to rumble through the intersection.
You see, I would categorize myself as a motorist - I don't even own a bicycle. I am happy the State of Texas and city of College Station have provided me with the utility of having paved road access to commute to this University. I'm also proud that Texas A&M and College Station have provided sidewalks that allow for pedestrians and bicyclists to commute to school here as well. However, I wish that myself and my fellow motorists did not have access to the same intersections as those crazed adrenaline-junkie bicyclists.
I've long been under the impression that all bicyclists actually have no will to live. They are simply mulling time until they fail a test, break-up with their significant other or stop taking their medication. Then they are going to ruin both my life and theirs.
I came to college for the opportunity to further my education and make myself a competitive candidate for future employment. I did not come to college with the hopes of racking up a 27-year sentence on a manslaughter charge and winding up in a jail cell with Phil the Pedophiliac. I want my mom to cry at my graduation; not at my sentencing.
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