I was riding home from work one night a couple of years ago, and a pickup truck pulled alongside.It was after 1 a.m. and rainy but not yet raining. I was trying to get home before the skies opened up.The truck pulled up and slowed down to match my speed, and as the window went down, I braced myself for what I just knew was about to come spilling out.The driver leaned over his passenger, and I started looking for someplace to ditch the guy if it got too ugly.”Hey,” the driver said, and I visibly stiffened. “It’s about to rain. Why don’t you throw that thing in the back and I’ll give you a ride home?”Normally, when a motorist seeks to make contact at that time of night, he/she isn’t so friendly. I politely declined, since I was almost home, and the man waved and shouted, “Stay dry, my man,” before driving off.I’m so accustomed to all sorts of foul utterances directed my way when I’m commuting by bike, I tend to tune most of it out. You can only hear “Get off the #&^@ing road” or “Get the #&^@ off the road” or the ever-popular “Get the #&^@ off the #&^@ing road, you #&^@ing #&^@” so many times before you become deaf to it.But not all communication directed my way is profane or even vitriolic.In fact, sometimes it’s downright funny.I distinctly recall riding home the night of KU’s commencement. A car pulled alongside, and the passenger matter-of-factly said: “Dude, school’s over. Get a car.” I laughed out loud.Sometimes, the comments aren’t so clever. Just the other night, a passenger frantically rolled down his window to bellow, “Man, your light is sooooooooo bright! Hahahahahahahahaha!” Normally, I don’t respond, but this time I did: “You should see my wit.” “Your what? What did you say to me?””My wit. You should see how bright my wit is.””Your what? You want a piece : “The rest was lost as the car pulled away.Last summer, I pulled up next to a car at a stoplight. Inside were four topless – alas, male – youths. The one in the driver’s-side rear leaned out and said, “Dude, somebody stole your car.””Dude,” I replied, “somebody stole your shirt.”But my all-time favorite exchange came last summer, when I was struggling up a particularly steep hill, particularly slowly.Again it was late, and as the car pulled up, again I feared the worst.”Man,” the passenger said, good-naturedly, “maybe you should consider doping just a little. You’re slooooooooowwwwwwwww.”
