The perils of Southern cycling

I have spent considerable hours two-wheeling the roads of Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Michigan, Indiana, and Colorado. Seldom in those places has anyone placed my life in jeopardy. Never has anyone done so recklessly or intentionally.

Now I live in Alabama. Were it not for Alabamans, Alabama would be a terrific place to ride. For one thing, it is easy to ride year round. In the winter the high temperatures are frequently in the 50's and 60's, perfect for logging miles. Also, the city I live in is small, and within 4 miles I am out on rural highways, where the traffic is sparse. Unfortunately, getting home is hardly free from risk. My ride today topped every hair-raising experience I've ever had on a bicycle, for reasons I will explain.

Two problems typically arise here. The first is, I suspect, a function of the NASCAR culture. I have come to expect the worst from Alabama motorists and all too often they prove me right. One reads on cycling blogs collections of all the life-threatening experiences riders have with motorists over the course of their lifetimes. I've enjoyed the thrill of all those experiences just in the past seven months, some on multiple occasions. There is the driver who pulls out from a side street directly in front of you going less then 10 miles an hour, oblivious to the fact that you are approaching at 20 mph or so. I've met several of those. Those are fun. There is the driver who passes you within inches of your handlebars for amusement, sometimes honking the horn for good measure. Usually his vehicle weighs in excess of five tons and has dual rear wheels. There is the little old lady (or man) who brakes suddenly for no apparent reason. There is the driver who approaches you in your lane while passing a car in the opposite lane, travelling directly at you at a combined velocity in excess of 80 miles per hour.

I have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with all of these drivers here in AL. But my all-time favorite is the driver who passes you on the left in order immediately to make a right-hand turn directly in front of you. I've met so many of these drivers that I now instinctively reach for the brakes when I hear a car behind me and I am approaching an intersection.

Today as I was riding along in the aero bars, I heard air brakes over my left shoulder. A moment later, a school bus rolled by me on the left. I caught a flash -- a right turn signal? -- and noticed a road approaching on the right. He's not really going to... he's driving a school bus! School bus drivers are safe! I slammed on the brakes. Sho 'nuf, next moment a sea of yellow filled my entire field of vision and a 40-foot long vehicle was 25 feet in front of me, directly perpendicular to my line of travel and moving less than 5 miles per hour.

Somehow I managed to stop. I watched the bus drive away, incredulous. I mean really, who expects that from a school bus? A school bus! When the school district is trying to kill you, there's no point in even complaining to the police. That's like taking on the mob. I call the cops, within hours a janitor shows up at my front door with black roses drawn on a miniature chalk board.

The second hazard for Alabama cyclists is worse than the first, I have discovered. Alabamans are downright irresponsible with their dogs. I have been chased by big dogs, little dogs, and medium-sized dogs; shitzus, chocolate labs, and dobermans. The experience is always at least a little disconcerting. But today, on my school bus ride, I got the biggest shot of adrenaline my body has ever absorbed.

Have you ever been chased by a pit bull? Me neither, before today. It came flying out of someone's yard at full speed and chased me at least 200 yards down the road. The worst part of it was its silence. It didn't bark, it didn't growl. It wasn't even breathing with its mouth open. It wasn't playing around. The purpose of its existence at that moment was to destroy me. Michael Vick was nowhere to be seen, but I sincerely doubt that dog was trained for companionship.

And lest you think I am indulging in hyperbole, it was definitely a pit bull. I got a really good look when I rode by the second time, on my way home. I had my pepper spray unlocked and ready to discharge. But inexplicably, the dog sat complacently on its lawn and watched me ride by. It never twitched a muscle.

I'm thinking about upgrading from pepper spray to a nine-milimeter. And if the school district mafia asks, you never heard any of this from me.