From guest writer, James Roland
I’ve always believed in angels, but I never thought they’d look like Steve McQueen. It could have been a hallucination – that’s how most liberal scholars sneak past the sticky problem of supernatural phenomena, but how else can you explain my survival?
I guess I should explain myself better. Let’s start on Friday the 13th, shall we? It was 90 degrees on Ventura Boulevard. I sat idling at a red light. I was at the front of the line in the right lane. There was a car next to me in the left lane. The light changed and I sped off, anxious to get back to work and out of the heat. Three feet into the intersection I heard a soft rumble and noticed the front end of a blue BMW nose out of my blind spot on my right side. I checked to confirm and sure enough, the idiot was tailing me in the parking lane. I throttled back and tried to pull away, but he sped up and smiled at me through his driver window. I looked ahead and realized he was just moments from smashing into the long line of parked cars along the curb. He seemed to realize this as well, because he cranked his steering wheel to the left, driving me into the left lane, inches from an S.U.V. He sped up and left me behind, shaking and furious.
A block later we came upon another red light, and I saw him stopped in the left lane, parallel to a large bus. I split the lanes and pulled up to his passenger window.
“Hey,” I yelled at the driver and his young, cocky passenger. “You almost killed me!”
The driver turned to look at me. Then – so calmly – he smiled, lifted his right hand from the steering wheel, and made a mocking “throttle” gesture.
When he did this a few things crossed my mind . . . they were red, with horns and hooves, and they told me to do a lot of things to this guy that I can’t repeat here. I ignored them, but since there was no white angel to counter their arguments, (I think he fell off my shoulder when I swerved out of harm’s way) I satisfied my rage by punching the man’s side-view mirror.
This was ineffective for two reasons: First, side-view mirrors are designed on hinges so they fold back when hit, a simple feature that saves you about sixty dollars when you scrape a cement pole while backing out of a parking garage. This means that when you punch one, you are not gratified with the sound of shattering glass. Instead you get a Rubbermaid-type ‘pop.’ Second, this action only succeeds in making the driver angry at you and, in my particular case, using his car to drive you into the side of a moving bus.
If I ever write a small pamphlet of motorcycle safety tips, one of them might read, “When an angry man drives you into the side of a moving bus, it is important to scramble madly up onto your seat so the bus wheel does not crush your leg bone into powder. When performing this maneuver use the assailant’s vehicle for support and do not, under any circumstances, miss the opportunity to scrape his paint job.”
Once I had pulled my leg to safety, I decided it was a good idea to leave. I sped off after the bus. I hit a few red lights, but split lanes at each one, moving to the front of the line and putting as many cars and miles between myself and the assailant as possible.
Three miles later, I see the BMW in my mirrors, inches from my back tire. I speed up and he pursues. Before long we are traveling at 75 mph in rush hour traffic. He is swerving and cutting off other vehicles so he can keep up with me.
By then I was approaching Studio City, which meant heavier traffic and more side streets. As I approached a major intersection I spotted a police officer and pulled over. The BMW screeched to a halt, blocking traffic, and the two men jumped out of their car. I jumped from my bike and ran down the sidewalk towards the police car, waving my arms.
The police let the driver go with a warning. Unfortunately they hadn’t clocked him speeding and had no witnesses of his attempted assault.
It wasn’t until they had all driven away that it really sunk in and I started to shake. 75 mph in heavy traffic, driven into a bus, almost run off the road . . . . All instigated by another person for the pure joy of it.
One slip or miscalculation and I could be under a car or smashed into a tree on the side of the road. And the other driver wouldn’t even have a scratch.
It was then that I wondered if the spirit of Steve McQueen had been watching over me. It seemed fitting that the classic film star with a passion for performing all his own driving stunts would wander the earth, protecting random motorcyclists. I wonder if he floats over us, glowing and flickering like Obi-Wan Kenobi. I wonder if he flies alongside us, down steep hills and around blind corners. I wonder if he watches us dodge loose patches of gravel and stupid, careless drivers.
I wonder if he feels jealous.
