November 1, 2003: I've often reflected on the ongoing enmity between cyclists and a number of our fellow asphalt bound denizens who seem less than inclined to abide by the mantra of share the road. An incident at the second Tour of West Deer race stands out it my mind, as it may shed some light on the quintissentially American hostility toward more vulnerable travellers.

Initially, there was little remarkable about the dark SUV as it pulled through the four corners. True, the driver could have killed a dozen riders in the A pack in the process, but then, a number of drivers chose to ignore the two marshals, leveraging their vehicles' tons against the young woman's sense of self-preservation. Then matters took an interesting turn: perhaps she was thinking of her boyfriend in the pack, or the sense of frustration at having drivers summarily ignoring her pleas to stop (many of the drivers also chose to ignore the 4-way stop signs, as well). In a display born of the rage building through a long morning of inconsideration, the woman screamed "Holy fuck" at the passing vehicle.

Within seconds, the driver swerved to the side of the road. She had a young child in the car with her, and in a fit of sanctimony brought about by that single explicative, she berated the marshal for corrupting her young passenger's morals.

The marshal was understandably flustered, surprised, and a bit chastened. She apologized, but nevertheless pointed out the fact the road had full of cyclists moments earlier, cars were coming in both directions, and the driver's actions could have injured a number of riders. The driver, safely ensconced in her tons of steel, yelled back this cold reply: "I live here, and I can get to my own house when I want!"

Thus, the child's passage from human being to consumer continued, unhampered by any quaint and troubling notions of a greater human good. Mother could rest easy, knowing that she had struck a blow for linguistic decency. The child would doubtless remember mom's protective rage, and at the very least she might think twice before using a foul word, lest she draw such anger upon herself.

The young passenger also learned a deeper, more vital lesson: the lives of those who stand in her way are less important than her own convenience. It's comforting to know that when the girl reaches driving age, she'll at least have the courtesy not to swear as she crushes an interloping cyclist, whose sole crime was preventing her from getting to her appointed destination at precisely the time she desired.