On Wielding a Plastic Butter Knife

Rutgers cyclists, when riding the roads around Rutgers University, often wear Rutgers Cycling shorts and jerseys, which are adorned with Rutgers insignia such as Rutgers Athletics' Big Block R.


We are recognizable.

Knowing this, and knowing that it would only take one angry phone call from an overzealous driver to convince Rutgers to decimate the team, we follow very strict rules of road etiquette.

For example, we don't run red lights or stop signs ... or at least, we only do so with very rare and 100% safe exceptions.

Also, we stay as far to the right as possible... unless we're attacking or we just feel like riding 2-abreast.

Okay, forget those. We mostly try to be good "ambassadors" with regard to the rules of the road, but sometimes pragmatism trumps our desire to promote the image of "Rutgers Cycling: Law Abiding Citizens".

The one rule that I've never seen a Rutgers Cyclist break isn't even a law, at least not outside of our team's guidelines (and the FCC rulebook, I guess). That rule is: NO MIDDLE FINGERS.

[Confession: I broke that rule last night, rolling around on my bike as Jay pulled into the parking lot, 40 minutes late. I flipped Jay the bird].

Sometimes cars do insanely stupid things, which is something over which we lycra-lovers have no control. Unlike the drivers, our vehicles lack the horns to voice our disapproval (well, some have little bells and are silly). In lieu honking, some hotheaded cyclists will give the ol' one-finger salute.

The very same discrepancies that makes drivers so dangerous are what make middle-finger retaliations so unbearably stupid. They are inside GIANT METAL WEAPONS. We are wearing COLORFUL SPANDEX. A simple touch of their brakes could put us in the hospital without so much as denting the fender of their rusted 1992 Tercel.

There's a questionnaire floating around the blogosphere. One of its questions is:
You’re riding your bike in the wilderness and you see a bear. The bear sees you. What do you do?"
Here's one answer that comes to mind. DON'T POKE THE BEAR!!! Freakin ijjits.

Still, the adrenaline surge that follows an encounter with World's Worst Driver hopefuls is hard to suppress. A deep breath sometimes suffices. In really bad cases, I'll go so far as to let out a scream, a deep howl that starts somewhere in the diaphragm region and even surprises me.

Mostly, I like to go with the "Look of Incredulity". It can be as little as a look of hurt confusion on my face, but usually I try to throw in an upturned palm gesture.

It looks something like this:

This time-wasting illustration was
TOTALLY WORTH IT

I like to think that our self-censoring replacement of the Enraged Middle Finger with the Look of Incredulity actually makes our complaints more effective. Drivers, especially stereotypical NJ drivers (with their greasy hair and mob connections and inability to properly pronounce words like "coffee") are probably desensitized to the middle finger. I like to think that a look of hurt confusion and an upturned palm gesture cut through the apathy.

This presumes that the drivers look in their rearview mirrors after passing. And that I'm close enough when they glance to have a visible facial expression. And that there is even the slightest shred of humanity behind those anonymous tinted windows.

So yes, this gesture is as good as bringing a plastic butter knife to a gun fight. On the other hand, though, in a melee full of guns, you know who's gonna get shot last, if at all? The one with the plastic butter knife who's cowering under a table.

UPDATE: Oh holy crap, I've actually found a picture of the Look of Incredulity. Kinda.