Agreement, of sorts

Despite (or perhaps because of) my bad experiences on the bike here, I have come to a sort of understanding with Southern motorists, which has taken some effort on my part. Other than driving on the right, everything about Southern driving is different than Northern driving. When a traffic light turns green, a Bostonian will move his foot between the brake and the accelerator at least a dozen times before the first Alabaman in line takes his transmission out of "park." Surry to intahrupt yuh bah-be-queu pahdee, but ahv gut places tuh go!

I am starting to understand, however. Back home, if someone is riding one's rear bumper, it's time to hang up the cell phone... or give 'em the finger. Down here, riding bumpers is not taken personally. It's a simple question of fuel efficiency. I'm goin' downtown. Wanna draft?

Drafting is something we cyclists understand well. And it's something Southerners understand well. (Eureka! Common ground!) Especially Southern truck drivers. Trucks create huge slipstreams. Also, truck drivers get it. When a truck passes me on the bike, I can almost hear him begging me to fall in behind. Come on, man. We'll re-create that scene from Breaking Away. It'll be bella! I'll stick both hands out the window when we get to 60 miles per hour. Just don't leave me when the cop pulls us over.

I wish I could say that I'm influencing Southern roadway culture, but I think it's more likely that Southern roadway culture is influencing me. Or perhaps we're coming to a sort of Hegelian sythesis: NASCAR meets Le Grand Tour.