On The Mark

People make mistakes. Hopefully they’re minor, especially out there on the road. I’ve been privy to the mistakes of others on the road quite a few times, but thankfully, none has been egregious enough to involve me in any big way. When riding, I assume the worst of people and am therefore not disappointed when I find it. Nor – so far – have I been injured by them. I try to remember that I am also human (some would argue the point) and I temper my annoyance with the knowledge that I am slightly off-perfect.

A minor faux pas in a personal setting is usually remedied with a simple apology, frequently the eponymous “My bad” of this column. If you forget to hold the door for someone, as happened to me today, a simple “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you” will more than suffice as recompense for the minor error. Bumping into someone in the hallway is a minor thing as long as it is accompanied by a polite “Excuse me.” Manners are the grease on which polite society slides.

But then, there are…cars. And trucks. And yes, motorcycles. When people are aboard a motorized means of conveyance, something happens to them. A minor slight becomes cause for a major reaction. I understand – the stakes are higher when a very expensive vehicle is involved, but most of the time the intention is no more deliberate that a non-held-door. It’s like every action is an affront to the entire driving world.

For example, today I was returning from our little town. The road from the town merges into a larger state highway, with quite a distance of two-lane travel that narrows down to one. I was coming back from stopping our mail for a big journey we were taking, and I was mentally crossing that off my to-do list. As I usually do, I put on my turn signal, looked in my mirror, and – seeing nothing – began to move left. When I did, a blaring horn sounded and I cancelled my move.

As luck would have it, the young woman and her Prius were exactly in my blind spot, not far enough forward to be in the corner of my eye and not far enough back to be in the mirror. I felt bad and gave the standard little “my bad” wave. Judging from her reaction, however, my action was so egregious, so dastardly, that my simple acknowledgement of error wasn’t enough for her. The violent histrionics she went through inside her car, as viewed in my rear-view mirror, made it clear that if she had anything to do with it, I would be castrated immediately. Her paroxysms were nothing short of seizure-like.

As if the motions weren’t enough, they were apparently accompanied by sounds, and while I am no lip reader, I have no doubt that I was roundly chastised in many different ways. At the next traffic light, I thought about going back to apologize personally, but I realized it could be construed as a road rage response, even if that wasn’t the intent, and that I might end up as a frozen pancake should she elect to take further umbrage at my presence. So, I sat in silence, wondering if she was going to experience an aneurysm as a result of my actions.

It is a sign of the times, I suppose. I remember one time in upstate New York, I mistakenly changed lanes only to find that around a bend ahead, a partially-obscured road sign indicated I should have remained in my original lane. When what I thought was a safe gap opened up to my left, I signaled and changed back. Well, the individual in the car in front of whom I’d moved took it as a great affront, so HE changed lanes, accelerated hard by me on the right, and then rapidly reinserted himself back into the line of traffic in front of me. Apparently that one spot in line was very important to him. If I had the chance, and if I was dealing with a rational human, I would have excused myself and offered the old excuse, “Sorry, I’m not from around here.”

I am not sure why this particular kind of internal combustion poisoning exists. I have read many versions of it, from the suggestion that it is a Napoleonic response from those of small stature to those that postulate it has something to do with reproductive equipment size. I hope the young woman I wronged today got over her high-blood-pressure-inducing event. I hereby offer my sincere “My bad.”