Unfiltered Story #251028

Out on a long walk near where I live in one of New York City’s outer boroughs, I decided to cross the wide four-lane boulevard I was walking along to get to a large park on the other side. There was a pedestrian crosswalk for this purpose with the same traffic signals as a regular cross-street, so I stopped there and waited for the lights to turn.

As I’d approached the crosswalk I’d spotted a pack of two dozen or so motorcyclists headed my way down the boulevard. Seeing them I had a slight flutter of nerves—the word “lawless” jumped right into my head. Then I rebuked myself for getting my ideas about motorcyclists from Mad Max. They didn’t seem to be going too fast, and surely they’d stop for the red light like anyone else, so when the lights turned I stepped into the street.

Big mistake. The first few motorcyclists passed between the stopped cars and roared right past me on both sides, completely ignoring the light. I was saved from worries of tire treads up my butt by one of the leaders, who not only stopped at the white line but raised his fist high to signal the bikers behind him to do likewise. They complied, watching me with amusement as I crossed.

I would have yelled at them about how that red light was for me, it was mine and I wasn’t giving up my rights to it, and I would have if that weren’t the kind of thing you thought of fifteen minutes later. What I did do is gesture incredulously at the red light. They just laughed at me, apart from the stone-faced leader. One of them yelled out, “Go back to Kansas!”

I guess Kansas is where motorcyclists obey traffic laws and bother about pedestrians, even when traveling in packs. Sounds nice!