Chicago has been named the best city for bicycling in America by Bicycling Magazine. All I can say is, the rest of the country must be pretty dismal for bicyclists if this is the best. I see those morons all the time riding around Chicago, and it does not look all that great to me. Just last month a semi-truck ran over a rider and squished her dead. Sure there are little lanes alongside the car lanes with arrows and a drawing of a bicycle on the pavement. All the city did was make the car lanes more narrow and squeeze the bike lane in there next to them. So I don't see how it is that great for the cyclists. And speaking of them, they are mostly assholes who think traffic laws do not apply to them. From what I understand they are supposed to follow the same rules of the road as cars. Stop at stop signs, stop for red lights, and stop for white Ford Fusions looking to beat the yellow light. Those assholes weave in and out of traffic as if the cars are just soft bumpers that won't hurt them. Just the other day I got behind two of them riding abreast taking up the whole street. They're very lucky I was driving and not Mark. Scariest of all are the people who ride at night and don't use lights. I always assume they are muggers if they have no lights. Kind of like the idiot who was speeding down our street last night. Black bike, black clothes, no lights. I did not see him until he was right on top of me and the dogs, and that was only for a brief millisecond. Because before I could say "No! Be a good boy!", which usually calms Chandler, I was yanked to the ground by 115 pounds of angry dog muscle. Both Chandler and Scout felt that the guy on the bicycle was intruding just a little too close to their turf and took off after him. I was spun around and flung to the ground with a hard thud. And because I refused to let go of the leashes, I was dragged across the sidewalk and into the grass. I could feel the skin peeling away from my elbow.
I would like to thank the neighbor lady who came out to help me, and Mark who also came out and tried to pick me up off the lawn. That didn't happen. I just laid there like a wounded elephant until the pain subsided enough for me to pick myself up. Even more, I would like to thank Mark for dressing my wounds, considering he usually faints at the sight of blood... if he doesn't puke first.