Attention Cagers

I can tell when you're coming up behind me. I can hear the roar of fire from your internal combustions, the clank of gears and belts spinning faster than my legs can ever go, the thumping of rubber against the pitted asphalt. If I were deaf, I could still smell you, hot metal and burning exhaust streaming around you. If not for the smell, I could feel your approach; your sealed box of engineered metal and safety glass creates a bubble of pressure that disrupts the wind pushing dropped autumn foliage along the path, pressing up behind me even though, safely ensconced in your cage, you cannot feel the effects your machine has on the outside world.

This, friends, is why we call you cagers. I assure you, I know you are coming, and when you honk your horn at me in an attempt to, whether politely or aggressively, indicate to me that you are passing, all you are doing is letting me know that you know I am there.

26 September 2013 15:51